#shes so soft and simple to draw
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hallowshumour · 2 months ago
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Daydream believer. //more doodles for Turtle 🛏⭐️💤
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fishlung8877 · 3 months ago
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Ever get so tired you just start taking your arms and legs offf?
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secrosss · 8 months ago
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weekly dunmesh ep post here to say that as one of the eps that didn't follow their usual formula I loved this one to bits 😭 pacing felt just right, didn't feel that rushed to me (tho maybe that's bc I kept goin back to watch more details lol) and the canaries and yaads voices in sub are all really really good
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faesdreaming · 28 days ago
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cardinal concept
yandere platonic batfam with a resurrected reader
a/n: because as much as i love neglected reader, dead (then alive again) reader just has so much potential
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the dynamic duo, batman and robin. bruce wayne and dick grayson. then, you came along; a result of bruce’s irresponsible coupling with a young woman he’d long since forgotten about. you grow up in the nastier parts of gotham with your mother, where you’re forces to grow up faster and become more mature, until she has an accident.
after you’re mother’s untimely death, you find yourself under his care. bruce is hesitant and unsure, he’s already struggled with raising dick. he doesn’t want to fail you too. he dances around telling about batman until you happen upon the batcave, at your insistence and a few instances of you following them, he relents and lets you join.
suddenly, it’s batman, robin, and cardinal.
bruce is initially unsure what to do with you, even after you become cardinal. unlike with dick, who needed to become robin lest he go down a darker road, you’re only cardinal because of him. it draws out an agonizing guilt, causing bruce to practically coddle you. but you’re emotionally intelligent, in a way bruce isn’t, you’re able to communicate with soft words and gentle reasoning instead of shouting matches and tearful pouting like your brother. you’re his angel, his sweet, understanding angel. it reminds him of his own mother. you’re kind, empathetic disposition is everything bruce needs in his life. because yes, to him, your brother needs his guidance. but bruce needs yours.
as for dick his relationship is with you as simple as this: he’s the big brother and you’re the little sibling. you can fight and argue, but you two always make up and head off to snuggle or play. you’re bond grows stronger the more time you spend on patrol— having each other’s back, getting into trouble with batman— or at school— although you’re in a younger grade, you still see your big brother at school and go to him when you have problems— or at home— snuggled up, watching a movie and eating snacks provided by alfred— you two are extremely close.
you’re little of family of four— including alfred, of course— is tight-knit. you fight and argue but always make up and you’re always there for each other.
until dick becomes nightwing and a scruffy teen named jason todd joins you. as close as you are with your older brother and father, you bond with him far quicker. maybe it’s because of how close you are in age, or maybe it’s because of your shared past experiences.
the family dynamics shift and change, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. dick grows more distant, going off with the titans. but that’s to be expected, he’s grown up now. you still visit him, of course. and he still pops by to see you. bruce, you notice, softens, almost. he’s grown accustomed to parenthood. jason is your favourite change, though. a sibling close in age, but still younger, so can justify (playfully) bossing him around. your family isn’t perfect, but it’s yours and you love it.
then, jason and bruce start fighting. dick goes off world. a fight with bane leaves you injured and out of commission. it’s just a rough patch, you tell yourself. until, suddenly, jason’s birth mother contacts him. something’s off about it. you want to tell your dad, however, jason is adamant you shouldn’t. reluctantly, you don’t, opting to go along with him just in case.
your gut, as it turns out, was right. you’re injured and unable to do much as the joker captures you and jason. you’re helpless to watch as your brother, your sweet baby brother, is beaten mercilessly with a crowbar. your voice is hoarse from screaming during your own beating and your body is sore, but despite it all, you still rasp out pleas to let your brother go. one child will be effective enough. the joker can spare one. of course, in his cruelty, he doesn’t.
you’re left aching, battered, and bruised. the ticking of the bomb serves as the count to your death. jason, brave jason, tries to gather enough strength to get up. and maybe, just maybe, he could escape if he weren’t focused on trying to save you. he won’t listen to your pleas for him to go, to leave you behind. he’s adamant upon accompanying you to your doom.
you hear the final ticks. with all the strength you have left, you move towards him. you cannot save yourself. you cannot save him. all you can do is die beside him. pressing your forehead to his, the last thing you see is your little brother’s face before the final tick sounds and the ensuing explosion consumes you.
and that’s the end of it, your journey, your life. you’re buried alongside your brother in a sombre ceremony, your uniform cased in glass as a memorial to bruce’s failures. he becomes angrier, loses himself. he’s lost two of his children and is fighting with his only remaining one. dick, is utterly furious, with himself and bruce. he blames bruce. for letting his precious siblings die, for starting them all of this heroic crusade. he blames himself for not being there, for being distant with you and jason.
alas, time marches forwards and batman needs a new robin, in the form of one tim drake. he’s a clever kid, one way too smart for his own good. one you used to babysit while his rich parents were away to earn some extra cash. it wasn’t right, leaving him with no one his age to play with. so, when you could, you’d come over. you’d soothe his loneliness. and for that, he’s forever grateful.
your influence continues beyond your death. for you life has impacted so many. barbara gordan, for example, who viewed you akin to a little sister. who fought alongside you as batgirl. you were loved by many as (Y/N) Wayne. your friends and family still hold candles for you. even as they accept your lose, they never stop fully grieving for you and the lost potential brimming inside you. then, there are those who you impacted as cardinal. as a hero, you saved numerous lives, including that of one stephanie brown, who will forever feel indebted to you and strives to become just like you.
the justice league, who knew you as one of the first sidekicks, who functioned like extended family, mourn deeply for your loss and offer sympathies to your father and brother. they will remember you and your tenacity, carrying on their pursuit of justice with you in mind. certainly villains, such as poison ivy and even harley quinn, are enraged with the joker. while you could occasionally be a pain, you were their favourite kiddie hero. and of course the likes of selina kyle and talia al ghul, your father’s paramours, women who became like family to you.
cardinal will be forever immortalized in the hearts of heroes and villains alike, your legacy of compassion and kindness living on in memories transformed into stories, your death a testament to sacrifice and love and heroism�� except, that isn’t how it ends, is it? no. your story doesn’t end with your death, it’s how it begins.
and your real story begins by waking in the constricting confined of your casket, bursting out with inhuman strength, fueled by the adrenaline boost, and digging your way out of your grave, the cool mud giving way to harsh ground until you break through the service. that night, that stormy gotham eve, is the day you are reborn.
you flee then wander the streets of gotham until you regain your mind. you remember, you remember everything and you, you don’t want to go back. not to your family, not to your friends, not the life you once knew. you were given a new life. and this life, you would live for yourself.
sans your old attachments, you live encumbered, untroubled by past woes. yet, you seem to forget your festering memory, the mark you’ve left on people. you forget that while you may be willing to leave your old life behind, they aren’t as willing to let you go. especially when they learn you’re within reach.
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leona-hawthorne · 2 months ago
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LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS
december 4th. theodore nott — kiss it better.
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theodore nott x fem reader
summary ; he doesn’t mind using extreme measures to get you to put your lips on his. word count ; 2.6k warnings ; fluff, kissing, mentions of blood
navigation ficmas masterlist
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Theodore never quite knew what to do with the attention you gave him.
There you were, sitting across from him in the library, your hair falling forward as you scribbled down notes, lost in thought. He should’ve been focused on his own work, on the potions essay that was due tomorrow, but he couldn’t help himself. His gaze kept drifting back to you. Every time your quill scratched the parchment or your lips pressed together in concentration, his chest tightened. You had a way of drawing him in, pulling him closer with every small, unconscious movement.
It wasn’t like he’d never noticed you before. You had always been part of the group, hovering on the edges of conversations, offering sharp comments when the boys got too ridiculous, but you never quite entered Theo’s orbit like this. Now, though? Now, he was starting to realize that he’d been wrong to overlook you. You were too… soft. Too gentle in a world that had taught him to be hard, distant. It made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling.
Then it happened—something so small, so insignificant that it shouldn’t have left a mark on him, but it did.
A paper cut.
He didn’t even flinch as the thin slice formed on his finger while rifling through his notes. Theo muttered a low curse under his breath, instinctively moving to press his thumb against it, but before he could do anything, you noticed.
“You okay?” you asked, your voice warm, as though you had known him for ages. 
Theo blinked, unsure why you were even asking. “Just a paper cut.”
A small smile tugged at your lips as you set your quill down and leaned forward. “Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?”
For a split second, he thought you were joking. He stared at you, unsure how to respond. That wasn’t the kind of offer people made to him. Kisses didn’t fix anything—not the way his childhood had been, not the way life worked now. But the way you looked at him, playful yet sincere, made something stir in his chest.
“That works?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
 You laughed lightly, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Sure it does. My mom used to do it for me when I was little. Worked like a charm.”
The mention of your mom caught him off guard. His own memories of his mother were hazy, distant, like an old photograph left out in the sun for too long. He couldn’t remember if she had ever kissed his cuts, couldn’t remember if anyone had ever cared for him like that. Affection had always been scarce in the Nott household. His mother had been gone for a long time, and the little acts of tenderness you described had died with her.
You stood and walked around the table. He didn’t know why he didn’t stop you, didn’t say something sarcastic or brush it off. 
“It’s no big deal,” he muttered, trying to pull his hand away, but you held it gently, your fingers warm against his.
“Let me see,” you said softly, and he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. He held his breath as you leaned down, your lips brushing over his finger in the softest kiss. The contact was fleeting, a whisper of warmth, but it sent his mind reeling. He didn’t understand why something so simple, so childlike, could make him feel… different.
“There,” you said, your voice light as you pulled back. “All better.”
He could only stare at you, his throat suddenly tight. “Yeah… thanks.”
You smiled, returning to your seat like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just unknowingly changed something in him. Theo’s gaze lingered on you, the phantom of your lips still tingling on his skin. He didn’t know how to process it. No one had ever looked at him that way, treated him that way. 
But he knew one thing for sure—he wanted to feel that again.
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The next day, Theo’s mind was still replaying that moment, over and over. It had awakened something inside him, something that ached for more, and before he knew it, he found himself searching for a way to feel it again. This time, though, he didn’t want a kiss on the hand. He wanted more.
Theo found Draco leaning against one of the stone walls outside. He approached him with a strange sort of determination, one that was equal parts reckless and desperate. Draco raised an eyebrow when he saw Theo approaching.
“Need something, Nott?” Draco drawled, clearly amused by the look on Theo’s face.
Theo didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Punch me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Draco blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?”
“I need you to punch me,” Theo repeated, his voice steady despite the absurdity of the request.
“Alright, gladly, but why?”
Theo swallowed, his throat dry. He knew it was ridiculous, that this whole plan was absurd, but he needed this to happen. He needed you to kiss him again, to care again. "Just... trust me. I need a bruise, a cut, something that’ll make her—” He cut himself off, his face heating up.
Draco’s smirk only widened, a glint of realization flashing in his eyes. “Ah. Her.” He stood up straighter, clearly intrigued. “So, you’re finally doing something about it. You want me to punch you so she’ll fuss over you. Clever.”
“Just do it, will you?” Theo muttered, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.
Draco shrugged, but there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “If you insist.” Without further warning, Draco’s fist came flying toward Theo’s face. He didn’t hold back either—Theo barely had time to register the motion before pain exploded in his mouth. 
He stumbled backward, his hand flying to his lip. Blood welled up immediately, the sharp sting spreading across his jaw.
“Merlin’s beard,” Theo muttered, his vision momentarily swimming. “I said punch me, not break my damn face.”
Draco stepped back, grinning like he had just done Theo the biggest favor in the world. “There. You’re welcome.”
Theo wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, already thinking about what would come next. He didn’t care about the pain. He didn’t care about anything except the idea of you seeing him like this—hurt, vulnerable—and caring for him again.
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He found you in the common room later that day, sitting in your usual spot near the fireplace. You didn’t see him at first—too absorbed in the book you were reading, a small frown of concentration on your face. 
Theo hesitated for a second, suddenly feeling nervous. What if this was a mistake? What if you didn’t react the way he hoped?
But then you looked up, and your eyes immediately widened in shock as you took in the sight of him—blood smeared on his lip, a fresh bruise forming on his jaw.
“Theo!” you gasped, your book forgotten as you rushed over to him. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He tried to shrug it off, leaning casually against the arm of the couch, though the pain in his mouth made it hard to play it cool. “Got into a fight. No big deal.”
You didn’t look convinced. Your fingers hovered near his face, concern etched into your features. “Does it hurt?”
Theo could feel his heart pounding, his mouth dry as the moment he’d been waiting for arrived. His voice was lower than he intended as he muttered, “A little… are you… are you not gonna kiss it better?”
Your expression softened, that same playful smile from the day before returning. “Again, huh?” 
You leaned in, your eyes flicking to his lips, and Theo’s pulse quickened. When your lips brushed his, it was soft, cautious, but this time there was something more to it—something that made the ache in his lip completely disappear.
And just like that, Theo knew he was done for.
Your lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and it was enough to set Theo’s blood humming. The softness of your touch felt like a balm, not just for the bruise but for something deeper—something buried in the recesses of his mind that he didn’t want to examine too closely.
When you pulled back, your gaze met his, a flicker of something unreadable crossing your face. Concern? Amusement? Theo couldn’t tell. But what he did know was that he didn’t want that moment to end. Not yet.
"You really need to stop getting into fights," you murmured, shaking your head with a small, exasperated smile. "What were you even thinking?"
Theo almost laughed at the irony. He couldn’t very well tell you the truth—that the whole thing had been orchestrated just for this. Just for the briefest chance to feel your lips on his. 
Instead, he shrugged, playing it off. "You know how it is. Slytherins and Gryffindors don’t mix well."
You rolled your eyes, but there was a softness behind it, something that made Theo’s chest tighten in that unfamiliar way again. “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself hurt for real, and then I won’t be able to kiss it better.”
That sent a jolt of warmth through him, stronger than the pain in his lip. He let the silence stretch between you for a moment, watching as you shifted nervously under his gaze.
"Maybe," he said slowly, his voice low, "I just like the way you kiss me."
Your eyes widened slightly at that, a faint blush creeping across your cheeks. Theo smirked inwardly, relishing the way his words seemed to fluster you. You always had a quick response for everything, but now you were quiet, your lips parting as though you weren’t sure what to say.
“I—” you started, your voice trailing off as you looked down at your hands.
Theo’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to grab your wrist and pull you back in, to kiss you again but for real this time—not as some excuse to soothe a bruise or a cut.
Before you could speak, a voice cut through the tension like a knife.
“Well, look at you two,” Draco drawled as he strolled into the common room, clearly interrupting something he knew full well was important. “What did I say, Nott? You’re welcome, by the way.”
Theo shot Draco a glare, a deep scowl crossing his face. Of course he had to show up now, just when things were starting to move in the direction he wanted.
You, however, looked between them, confusion evident on your face. “What’s he talking about?”
Before Theo could respond, Draco answered for him, leaning casually against the wall with that insufferable grin. “Oh, nothing. Just that Nott here got himself punched on purpose. Quite the romantic, isn’t he?”
Theo’s heart dropped. He glared at Draco, fury bubbling up in his chest. “Shut it, Malfoy.”
But it was too late. You were already staring at Theo, your eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait… what?”
Theo tried to backtrack, scrambling for some sort of excuse, but he wasn’t fast enough. You took a step back, your brows furrowed in confusion as realization slowly dawned on you.
"You… you let someone punch you just so I’d…?"
The color drained from Theo’s face as he saw the pieces falling into place in your mind.
“I—” he began, his voice unsteady, “It’s not like that.”
You crossed your arms, staring at him like you were trying to decide whether to be angry, amused, or something in between. “Theo, what the hell were you thinking?”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just… I wanted—” He cut himself off again, feeling ridiculous. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
But you were still looking at him, waiting for an answer, and the weight of your gaze was too much to bear.
“I wanted you to kiss me,” Theo muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Your expression softened, the confusion giving way to something else—something gentler. You uncrossed your arms and took a step closer, your eyes searching his face.
"You could’ve just asked," you said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
Theo blinked, thrown off by your reaction. He had expected you to be angry, maybe even laugh and walk away. But there you were, looking at him with something that felt dangerously close to fondness.
“You… wouldn’t have laughed at me?” he asked, his voice rough with uncertainty.
You shook your head, your smile growing. “No, Theo. I wouldn’t have laughed.”
Theo didn’t know what to say to that. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at you, the words dying in his throat. He felt foolish, standing in front of you like this, bruised and vulnerable, all because he didn’t know how to ask for something he wanted so badly.
But then you reached out, your hand gently brushing against his bruised lip again, and all the embarrassment, all the uncertainty melted away.
“If you wanted me to kiss you,” you murmured, stepping even closer, “all you had to do was say so.”
When your lips finally met his, it wasn’t like before. This wasn’t a kiss to make anything better. This was a kiss because you both wanted it.
Theo’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You responded instantly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, and Theo felt like he was drowning, lost in the feel of you, in the way you kissed him like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together. “Yeah, I still don’t regret anything,” he muttered.
You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips again. “Next time, just ask, Theo. No more getting hurt.”
Theo nodded, his heart still racing as he held you close, a grin tugging at his lips. “Deal.”
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​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind
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© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.
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rafecameronssl4t · 2 months ago
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One Big Misunderstanding || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader
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Summary: Tensions rise when an innocent comment about a missing bracelet sows doubt between you and Rafe, sparking suspicions of infidelity.
Warnings: ANGST GALORE
Word count: 2,711
A/n: inspired by the perfect couple on Netflix 😛
MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)
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The sunlight streamed through the grand floor-to-ceiling windows of the drawing room, casting a warm glow on the pristine marble floors. You sat perched on one of the luxurious cream sofas, a curated array of diamond necklaces sprawled elegantly across the glass coffee table before you.
Across from you, Eloise, your private jewellery consultant, adjusted her notepad, a professional yet friendly smile playing on her lips. “Madeline, sweetie, no touching, please,” you gently reminded, catching your daughter’s small hands as they reached out eagerly for the sparkling treasures.
Her curious blue eyes, so much like Rafe’s, widened in innocent protest before she giggled, retreating to your lap with a playful pout. Eloise chuckled softly, waving at Madeline. “Someone has quite the eye for jewels already,” she teased, her gaze fond as Madeline shyly buried her face into the folds of your dress.
You let out a soft laugh, brushing Madeline’s hair back as your fingers glided over the dazzling collection. “I don’t think it’ll be too long before she’ll be in my position,” You softly say. The newest designs shimmered under the light, each more stunning than the last. “They’re all exquisite,” you sighed, lifting a delicate piece encrusted with diamonds.
“But I think I’ll take this one, and…” Your eyes roamed over the display again, settling on another necklace with an intricate design. “This.” “Excellent choices, Mrs. Cameron,” Eloise praised, jotting down notes in her leather-bound book. Her tone brimmed with approval, and her smile didn’t waver as she looked up.
Madeline squirmed in your lap, reaching up to tug at the simple necklace you were already wearing. You adjusted her gently, holding her small hands to keep them still. Eloise glanced up from her notes. “Did you like the bracelet Mr. Cameron gave you?” Her tone was casual, but her words made you pause. “Bracelet?” you echoed, your brow furrowing.
Your voice held a slight edge of confusion as you looked at her. “The gold bangle with the pavé diamonds,” she elaborated, glancing up with a look of delight. “Rafe spent so much time picking it out for you.” Her enthusiasm was almost contagious as she beamed. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, your mind racing.
You had no idea what she was talking about. A heavy silence lingered for a moment, and you felt the weight of Eloise’s expectant gaze. “Oh! The bracelet!” you quickly feigned recognition, a forced smile stretching across your face. “Yes, of course. It’s lovely—he knows me so well.” Your voice sounded light, but your heart sank as the lie left your lips.
Eloise didn’t seem to notice. She rose gracefully, tucking her notebook under her arm. “Well, I’ll be on my way. I’ll see you next month, Mrs. Cameron,” she said cheerfully, giving you a polite nod before heading toward the door. You stayed seated, your posture still and tense as Madeline babbled happily on your lap.
The silence of the room closed in around you once Eloise left, leaving you to wrestle with your thoughts. Rafe had bought you a bracelet? Why hadn’t he given it to you himself? Had he left it somewhere, expecting you to find it? Or had it been an afterthought, something he had no time—or desire—to present personally?
The questions swirled in your mind as you absentmindedly stroked Madeline’s hair, your gaze fixed on the glittering necklaces on the table. As much as you tried to push it aside, the confusion, and a small pang of hurt, lingered.
~
Later that night, you sat before your vanity, the familiar routine of your skincare ritual grounding you in a semblance of normalcy. The soft hum of the bathroom light and the gentle swish of creams and serums felt like a small act of defiance against the questions that kept circling in your mind. The bracelet. Rafe’s strange omission of it.
The way Eloise had mentioned it so casually, as though it was something you should’ve known. You brushed the thoughts aside, telling yourself you were overreacting, but they lingered, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. The bedroom door creaked open behind you, and without turning, you saw Rafe in the reflection of your mirror.
Still in his suit, looking as polished and untouchable as ever. You didn’t acknowledge him, continuing with your skincare, your movements slow and deliberate. “Busy day?” you asked, your voice flat, more out of routine than affection. His response was distant, lost on you as you remained absorbed in your own thoughts, the quiet hum of your routine enveloping you.
The bracelet. “How was the jewelry showing?” he asked, his voice still detached, but something in his tone caught your attention. You glanced up at him briefly through the mirror. His eyes were on you, studying you with a faint trace of curiosity. “It was good,” you mumbled, your focus wavering again.
Rafe’s brow furrowed as he watched you, sensing the lack of the usual excitement you carried after these showings. His fingers paused at the buttons of his shirt as he tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. “Did you… pick anything you liked?” he asked, his tone slower now, as if he was gauging your mood, sensing something was off.
“Yeah, I did,�� you replied, your voice empty, devoid of any real emotion. Before he could continue, you stood up abruptly, tightening the robe around your body more than necessary. The familiar movement felt like a barrier, an armour you could slip into. “I’ll just make myself some tea,” you said, the words sounding rehearsed, like you were already running from the questions.
You didn’t spare him another glance as you walked past him, leaving the room without another word. You descended the stairs mechanically, but instead of following the usual route to the kitchen, your feet took you in the opposite direction, towards Rafe’s office. Your heart pounded as you approached the oak door, glancing over your shoulder to ensure no one was watching.
Slowly, you pushed the door open, the room still and quiet in its untouched state. The room was a sharp contrast to the chaos in your mind. Your eyes darted to his desk, and instinctively, you moved toward it. You knew Rafe kept everything meticulously in order, and his drawers were always locked. But tonight, your curiosity outweighed your caution.
You pulled open the first drawer, then the second. It was the third one that caught your attention. As your fingers sifted through papers, your eyes landed on a familiar logo—the jewelry shop. Your pulse quickened as you pulled it free, finding a receipt tucked between papers. The words on the page seemed to mock you as you read, Rafe Cameron, the date, and the item listed: Nature Bangle, Pavé, priced at $18,000.
A photo of the bracelet accompanied the receipt. The image burned itself into your mind—elegant, delicate, and undeniably expensive. Your breath caught in your throat, and your mind spun. You quickly shoved the receipt back into the drawer, snapping it closed. The weight of what you’d seen was suffocating, the overwhelming question taking shape in your mind.
Was Rafe cheating on you? The thought gnawed at you, its edge cutting deep. You had been with him long enough to believe that something like this wouldn’t happen. But the pieces didn’t fit. Rafe had always been… Rafe. He wasn’t the type to hide things, or at least, you never thought he was.
The doubts began to creep in, unsettling your thoughts, but before they could settle into a clear conclusion, you stood up from the desk and made your way out of the office.
~
The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. You sat on the plush sofa, coffee in hand, its warmth grounding you as you watched Leo and Madeline play on the rug before you. Their laughter filled the room, a soothing balm to the unease still simmering from the night before.
The sound of Rafe’s footsteps descending the staircase pulled your focus, and soon enough, he rounded the corner into the living room, his presence unmistakable in the tailored suit that hugged his frame. Despite the domestic setting, he still exuded the same composed, businesslike energy he carried everywhere.
“Jordan told me your schedule was clear for today,” you remarked, your voice calm but inquisitive as you tracked his movements. “Hm?” Rafe hummed in response, crouching slightly to press a kiss to the top of both Leo’s and Madeline’s heads. The gesture was effortless, automatic, and yet it made your chest tighten—a cruel contradiction to the doubts swirling in your mind.
“I said, Jordan told me your schedule is clear today,” you repeated, watching him carefully as he straightened, his gaze finally meeting yours. A small, almost nonchalant smile tugged at his lips. “Last-minute meeting, that’s all,” he replied smoothly, brushing off the question as if it were of little consequence. His tone was casual, but it didn’t sit right with you.
You cocked an eyebrow, your expression neutral but sharp enough to suggest you weren’t entirely convinced. “I’ll be back before three,” he added quickly, as though the reassurance might settle you. Without waiting for a response, he stepped closer, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek. The gesture was familiar, practiced, and yet it felt hollow.
You remained still, your eyes fixed straight ahead, your coffee cooling in your hand as his cologne lingered in the air. “Drive safe,” you murmured, your voice even but distant. You didn’t look at him as he pulled away and adjusted his cufflinks. The sound of his footsteps retreated, leaving a subtle void in the room once he was gone.
~
The door to your bedroom creaked open, and Rafe stepped in, his movements deliberate but calm. Your eyes lifted from your phone, following him briefly before drifting back to the glowing screen in your hand. “They’re asleep,” he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with exhaustion. You hummed in acknowledgment, barely lifting your gaze as he moved toward his side of the bed, shrugging off his jacket and placing it neatly on the chair by the window.
Rafe climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He leaned back against the headboard, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt and letting out a quiet sigh. The silence between you felt heavy, the kind of quiet that wasn’t comfortable but wasn’t quite confrontational either. You placed your phone down on the nightstand, your fingers brushing its edge before folding neatly in your lap.
The glow of the bedside lamp softened the room, but it did little to ease the tension you felt knotting in your chest. “Are you cheating on me?” The words left your lips before you could stop them, your voice sharp yet trembling, slicing through the quiet. “What?” Rafe’s hand froze, his body stiffening as he turned to look at you, his tone laced with shock and disbelief. His brows furrowed deeply, searching your face for an explanation.
“Are you cheating on me?” you repeated, softer this time, the vulnerability in your voice stark against the tension building in the room. His lips parted, words stuttering for a moment before he finally asked, “What are you talking about?” You sat up straighter, folding your arms as you exhaled shakily. “The bracelet, Rafe.” The words were laced with hurt as your eyes locked onto his, watching the colour drain from his face.
His expression shifted—confusion, then understanding, and finally a look that you couldn’t quite place. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes began to water, the emotional floodgates breaking against your will. “Eloise mentioned it. She said you spent so much time picking it out, but I never got it, Rafe,” your voice cracked slightly. “So, where is it? Who is it for?”
Rafe ran a hand down his face, the exhaustion in his eyes now replaced with something akin to guilt—but not the kind you feared. He pushed himself up against the headboard, facing you fully. “It’s not what you think,” he said firmly, his voice low, almost pleading, but it did little to ease the storm brewing inside you. “Then explain,” you demanded, your voice trembling with a potent mix of anger and sorrow.
Tears slipped down your cheeks, hot and relentless, and you swiped at them quickly, unwilling to appear completely undone. But your composure was already fractured, and Rafe could see it in your glistening eyes and the slight quiver of your lip. His silence was unbearable. The hesitation hanging between you wasn’t just a pause—it was an admission, a crack that threatened to shatter everything you’d built together.
It cut deeper than words ever could, leaving a hollow ache in your chest. “Explain,” you repeated, your voice firmer now, laced with urgency. “For the sake of our children, for our marriage, Rafe. Tell me what I’m supposed to believe right now.” He ran a hand over his face, his usual confidence, his composed exterior, seemed to falter under your gaze. For once, Rafe Cameron looked unsteady.
“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” he muttered, his voice low. You blinked, your breath catching. “What wasn’t meant to be like this? Stop talking in circles and just tell me.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt your chest tighten with the weight of your fears. Rafe exhaled sharply, finally looking up at you. His eyes locked onto yours, their usual sharpness softened by something unfamiliar—regret, perhaps.
“The bracelet,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, “was supposed to be a surprise. For you.” Your brows furrowed as you tried to process his words, your heart racing. “What?” He leaned back on the headboard, his hands clasped together. "It’s… for our anniversary. I wanted to give it to you then. I even had it engraved.” His voice wavered, and he shook his head.
“I thought I was doing something thoughtful, but I should’ve just given it to you right away. I didn’t think it would—” He stopped, the weight of your reaction sinking in. You stared at him, your mind reeling. His explanation had knocked the wind out of you, leaving you unsure whether to feel relief or frustration. “You… were planning to give it to me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes.” He looked at you earnestly, his expression softening. “I didn’t realise it would make you question everything. That’s on me. I’m sorry.” Your tears slowed, but the tension in your chest lingered. “Why didn’t you just tell me that when I asked? Why make me feel like I was losing my mind?” Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I thought you’d laugh at me, or brush it off as something meaningless.
You don’t exactly make it easy to do… sentimental gestures.” His voice wasn’t accusatory, but it held a hint of frustration. You exhaled slowly, processing his words. The weight of your accusation settled heavily on your shoulders, mixing shame with residual doubt. “You should’ve told me,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “And you should’ve trusted me,” he countered gently, his tone not harsh but pointed.
“We can’t keep doing this—assuming the worst about each other.” You looked away, your throat tight as his words sank in. Perhaps he was right, but the wounds of mistrust weren’t so easily healed. “I just… I don’t want to be a fool,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “Not for you, not for anyone.” Rafe turned his head, his hand reaching over before settling on your knee. “You’re not a fool,” he said quietly, his voice steady.
“You’re my wife. And I know I don’t always get it right, but I need you to believe that I’m trying.” You met his gaze, searching for any flicker of insincerity but finding none. His blue eyes held yours, unwavering, and for the first time that night, you felt the tension in your chest begin to ease. “I’ll believe it,” you whispered, the words tentative but genuine.
"But you have to meet me halfway, Rafe. No more secrets. No more hesitation.” He nodded, his grip on your knees tightening briefly in silent agreement. “Deal.”
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aceyalonso · 4 months ago
Text
can you stay the night? - CHARLES LECLERC
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pairing : charles leclerc x bestfriend!reader
summary : you and charles had always been comfortable with each other, comfortable enough to cuddle, go out on "platonic" dates, and maybe comfortable enough to leave a toothbrush at his place
warnings/notes : swearing, y/n is kinda dense, charles is a simp, sexual innuendos, romantic stuff that they think as platonic, suggestive-ish (??) scene (no actual smut)
word count : 14.2k
song : la vie en rose - édith piaf
a/n : happy 600!!! no angst this time around :p (this fic is a bit long because ik @nepobbylver is gonna love this HAHAHAH)
masterlist
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May 26, 2024 - 5:12 PM
Y/n settled against Charles, his soft blond dachshund snuggled comfortably between them as they cuddled on the couch. She ran her fingers through the dog's fur, enjoying the simple moment of comfort in his presence. Charles wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer as they continued to relax in the quiet peace.
As they continued to snuggle together, a thought occurred to Y/n. She shifted slightly, looking up at Charles with a curious expression. "You know," she began, "I have to ask. Is this really how you want to celebrate your home race win?"
Y/n paused for a moment, her fingers still idly stroking the dachshund's soft fur. "I mean, don't get me wrong, this is nice, but I was just thinking...don't you want to go out to dinner or something? You've won your home race, after all."
Charles chuckled softly, drawing her closer. "Honestly, I just wanted to spend time with you," he replied, his voice low and warm. "But if you want to go out, we can do that too."
A small smile curled Y/n's lips. "And leave this little guy all alone?" she teased, looking down at the dachshund. The dog lifted its head, as if sensing they were talking about him, and wagged its tail lazily.
Y/n couldn't help but laugh, reaching over to give Leo's head an affectionate pat. "Sorry, buddy," she said, her tone playful. "Looks like it's nap time for you. Go back to sleep."
The dachshund yawned widely, as if in response to her words, before settling back against her and closing his eyes, content to ignore them again.
Charles chuckled, watching the interaction between Y/n and Leo. "Looks like he's already got it figured out," he said, his arm still around her. "A relaxing night in might actually be the perfect way to celebrate after all."
Y/n's smile faded slightly as she looked back up at Charles. "I know, but it just feels like… you should be celebrating more, you know?" she said, her voice softly. "You just won your home race. Shouldn't you be doing something bigger than this?"
Charles sighed, a mix of resignation and affection in his voice. "Alright, alright," he said, giving in to her insistence. "If you want me to celebrate that bad, we'll go out tomorrow. We can even bring Leo along."
Y/n's face lit up with satisfied surprise. She hadn't expected him to give in so easily, but she couldn't help feeling relieved. "Really? You don't mind going out tomorrow?" she asked, almost too eagerly.
He chuckled again, amused by her eagerness. "Yeah, really," he reassured her, his arm still around her. "We can have a nicer celebration tomorrow, with dinner and whatever else you want."
She held up her hand in a prayer gesture, looking upwards as if addressing some higher power. "Thank you, oh benevolent lord," she said dramatically. "For providing me with free food tomorrow, I am eternally grateful!"
Charles rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "You're ridiculous," he said, a hint of affection in his voice. "You're getting one meal, and you act like it's a gift from the heavens."
Y/n nodded in agreement, her exaggerated gratitude fading a bit. "I mean, you're not wrong," she said, a tinge of resignation in her voice. "Monaco is not exactly wallet-friendly, especially when it comes to food. I'll take what I can get, honestly."
Charles chuckled, his hand absentmindedly stroking along the dachshund's back. "Well, don't worry," he assured her. "I'll make sure you get a proper meal tomorrow. No more scavenging for leftovers for you."
Y/n's smile waned as she gave him a playful glare. "Now you make me sound like some orphan kid begging for scraps during the Victorian era," she retorted, a hint of mock indignation in her voice.
Charles laughed heartily at her comparison. "Oh, come on," he said, his tone both amused and affectionate. "I didn't mean it like that at all. You know I'd do anything to make sure you were never hungry, Victorian era or modern day."
Y/n's mock frown softened into a genuine smile, her heart fluttering at his sweet words. "I know," she admitted, leaning against him. "But I couldn't resist the chance to give you a hard time about it."
Charles chuckled, his grip around her tightening slightly. "Of course you did," he teased. "You never miss an opportunity to give me a hard time, do you?"
Y/n burst into a dorky laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hahah, hard," she echoed, the innuendo in her tone not lost on either of them.
Charles grinned, lifting his hand to gently cover her mouth. "Maybe you should just go to sleep," he teased, pretending to sound serious. "Save the innuendos for later."
Her eyes widened, a laugh muffled against his hand. She playfully wriggled against his grip, feigning protest but not really wanting him to let go.
He chuckled, enjoyed the way she struggled against him, the playful back-and-forth between them. "Careful," he warned, his tone filled with mock severity. "Keep that up, and I might have to keep you quiet another way."
Y/n's eyes widened with mock horror, her expression over the top dramatic as she stared up at him. "Oh, lord," she gasped, in a faux-dramatic voice, "You're not going to gag me, are you?"
Charles' smile widened at her reaction, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Keep up the smart mouth, and you just might find that out," he threatened, his voice low and teasing.
She scrunched up her nose in exaggerated disgust. "Ew, Charlie, ew" she says, her tone overly dramatic. She tried to look irritated, but the playful gleam in her eyes betrayed her true feelings.
Charles laughed at her reaction, shaking his head at her dramatic display. "Oh, come on," he teased, clearly enjoying the banter. "Don't act like you wouldn't secretly love it."
Y/n shot him a mock glare, refusing to admit that he might be right. "Oh, please," she said, her tone defiant. "As if I'd enjoyed being gagged. I'm too much of a free spirit for that."
He chuckled again, his hand still placed over her mouth "Oh, you're a free spirit, alright," he agreed, enjoying the banter. "A free spirit that could probably use a little lesson in restraint."
Y/n laughed, gently maneuvering Leo off her before standing up. "Get off me, you muppet!" she playfully mimicked, her voice filled with exaggerated indignation. She stepped away from the couch, a small grin still on her face.
Charles couldn't help but chuckle at her playful exit. "Yeah, yeah," he replied, his tone amused. "Go ahead and leave, but keep in mind, I now know one surefire way to shut that smart mouth of yours."
Y/n paused for a moment, her eyebrows raising slightly. She tried to maintain her mock annoyance, but the gleam in her eyes revealed her intrigue. "Okay, and just how do you plan to do that, smart guy?"
Charles leaned back against the couch, a smug smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You really want to know?" he asked, his voice low and suggestive.
She shook her head, feigning nonchalance. "Nevermind," she said, her tone dismissive. "I need to use the bathroom anyway."
He gave her a knowing smirk as she made her escape. "Sure, go ahead," he replied, not letting her get away without a snarky comment. "But don't think I won't remember this later."
She rolled her eyes as she walked away, pretending to ignore his snarky comment. "Oh, I'm sure you will," she called back over her shoulder, disappearing down the hall towards the bathroom.
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Y/n had just finished washing her hands when she suddenly opened the bathroom door. "Hey, Charlie?" she called out, her tone casual.
Charles, who was still lounging on the couch with Leo, lifted his head in response to her call. "Yeah?" he replied, curious to know what she wanted.
Y/n stepped out of the bathroom, her hands still slightly damp from washing. "Hey, so," she began, a small smile on her face. "Are we gonna order food, or do you think maybe I should make something?"
He sat up a bit on the couch, mulling over the options. "Let's order in," he decided, a lazy grin on his face. "No need to cook when we can get food delivered, right?"
She raised her eyebrows at him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "So, you're paying, right?" she asked, her tone half sarcastic, and half-serious.
Charles chuckled at her question, knowing she expected him to pay (as per usual). "Yeah, yeah," he agreed, not really bothered by it. "I'll pay for it, don't worry your pretty little head about it."
Y/n settled back on the couch again, cradling the sleeping dachshund in her arms. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft as she cuddled with the dog. She leaned back against Charles, her hand automatically finding its way to Leo's warm, furry body.
He wrapped his arm around her, drawing her closer. He watched her fondly, enjoying the peaceful moment. "You know, most people would take advantage of my kindness and order the most expensive thing on the menu," he teased lightly.
She chuckled, running her fingers through Leo's soft fur. "Oh, I won't go too crazy," she promised, her voice filled with pretend innocence. "Just a small order of caviar and a glass of champagne, nothing too extravagant."
Charles laughed heartily at her answer. "Right, not too extravagant," he repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "A small side order of caviar, she says. You're lucky I'm feeling generous tonight."
Y/n smiled at his sarcastic response, enjoying their banter. "Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?" she replied, her tone lighthearted. "A little bit of luxury every now and then never hurt anyone."
Charles chuckled, shaking his head in mock resignation. "Oh, believe me, I'm all for spoiling you," he assured her, his arm tightening around her. "Just try not to bankrupt me in the process, alright?"
She laughed, snuggling against him, her fingers still idly scratching Leo's head. "I don't think I could bankrupt you if I tried," she teased. "You're a rich F! driver in Monaco, after all. I doubt a little caviar is going to break your bank."
Charles chuckled, his hand lazily running along her arm. "Hey, don't underestimate your powers of persuasion," he warned, his tone playful. "You could convince me to buy you the moon if you tried, I'm sure."
Y/n laughed heartily, shaking her head. "Oh, the caviar was just a joke," she clarified, her tone lighthearted. "I mean, who in their right mind actually enjoys that salty, fishy stuff? It's like eating fancy seawater, if you ask me."
Charles chuckled, enjoying her commentary. "Yeah, that's a fair assessment," he agreed, nodding his head. "I'm pretty sure the only reason people eat it is because it's expensive and somehow considered posh."
She nodded in agreement, a smirk on her face. "Exactly," she said, her tone amused. "it's like a status symbol for the rich and fancy. The more you spend on it, the fancier you are."
Y/n shook her head, her smirk turning into a thoughtful expression. "Alright, enough talk about weird expensive food," she said. "What do you want to order? Pizza, Chinese, something else?"
Charles thought for a moment, considering the options. "Hmm, I'm up for anything," he replied, his hand idly tracing patterns on her arm. "What are you craving, mon ange?
She thought for a moment, her gaze wandering towards the kitchen. "I kind of feel like pizza," she admitted, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "But then again, I could go for some old-fashioned comfort food like mac and cheese."
He nodded in agreement, his hand still trailing up and down her arm. "Pizza sounds good," Charles said, his voice casual. "And honestly, mac and cheese isn't a bad idea either. We could get both if you want."
Y/n looked up at him, a hopeful expression on her face. "Really?" she asked, her voice tinged with excitement. "You'd let me get both pizza and mac and cheese?"
Charles chuckled at her eager expression, unable to resist her excitement. "Sure, why not?" he replied, his tone indulgent. "We can have a bit of everything. No need to limit ourselves, right? Especially when I'm paying for it."
Y/n's eyes lit up, her smile widening at his agreement. "Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. "I promise I won't get too carried away. We can get pizza and mac and cheese, and maybe a side of mozzarella sticks for good measure."
Charles laughed heartily at her enthusiasm, loving the way she got excited over food. "Mozzarella sticks?" he repeated, his tone amused. "Now you're pushing it. But, since you asked so nicely, I suppose we can get some mozzarella sticks as well."
Y/n grinned, her excitement growing with each added food item. "You're the best!" she declared, snuggling closer to him. "I swear, you give in too easily. All I have to do is bat my eyelashes and say 'please' and you're wrapped around my finger."
He chuckled, his arm encircling her waist. "I can't help it," he admitted, his tone fond. "You're too damn cute when you get excited about food. How could I resist giving you what you want?"
She smiled slyly, a hint of gloating in her expression. "See? I knew it," she teased, poking him in the side. "You're a softie, deep down. All I have to do is ask nicely and you'll cave."
Charles snorted, feigning offense. "Softie?" he retorted, his tone lighthearted. "I prefer the term 'indulgent' when it comes to you. I just like making you happy, that's all."
Y/n's smirk widened, her hand coming up to poke his chest playfully. "Indulgent, softie, whatever you want to call it," she teased, her voice filled with affection, "the point is, you can't say no to me. And you know what? I love it."
Charles laughed, shaking his head at her teasing. "Yeah, yeah, you win," he conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I admit it, I can't say no to you. Especially when you look at me all cute and expectantly, begging for pizza and mac and cheese."
Y/n nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. "And mozzarella sticks," she added, her tone firm. "Don't forget the mozzarella sticks. I can't have pizza and mac and cheese without some fried cheesy goodness on the side, can I?"
She thought for a moment before turning to Charles. "And can we get some soda?" she asked, her voice hopeful. "You know, to wash down all this unhealthy food we're about to consume."
Charles grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Of course, we can get some soda too," he agreed, chuckling at her request. "We need something other than water to balance out all this greasy, delicious goodness."
Y/n smiled victoriously, clearly satisfied with his willingness to indulge her. "Yay, soda!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with childish excitement. "You know, I could get used to this whole 'getting whatever I want when I ask nicely' thing."
Charles chuckled, his hand giving her a playful tap on the head. "Oh, don't get used to it," he warned, his tone jokingly stern. "I have a feeling I'm going to regret spoiling you so much."
She laughed, leaning into his touch. "Oh, come on," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know you love spoiling me. Admit it, you secretly enjoy it when I bat my eyelashes and ask for things."
Charles didn't bother denying her accusations; he knew she was right. He simply chuckled, choosing to indulge her playful banter instead. "You know me so well, don't you?" he said, his voice filled with affectionate amusement.
Y/n grinned, her smile widening as he acknowledged her observation. "I have a sixth sense for these things," she teased, her tone filled with mock self-importance. "I know when you're secretly enjoying spoiling me, even if you won't admit it."
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May 26, 2024 - 8:12 PM
Charles groaned, his hand resting on his stomach. "Oh, I'm so full," he lamented, his voice tinged with mock despair. "I shouldn't have had that fourth slice of pizza, but it was just so good."
Y/n sat next to him, her own hand on her stomach as well. "I know what you mean," she agreed, her voice slightly strained. "I swear I can feel my stomach expanding. But you know what? It was worth every single bite."
She laughed heartily, her stomach feeling more and more stuffed. "You're right," she agreed, her voice tinged with reluctance. "We should probably clean up before all this grease and sauce dries up."
Charles groaned again, his hand still resting on his stomach. "Ugh, I don't wanna move," he protested, his voice filled with exaggerated laziness. "Can't we just take a little food coma nap first?"
She chuckled at his melodramatic reaction, shaking her head. "As much as I'd love to join you in your food coma, we should probably clean up first," she reasoned, her tone slightly authoritative. "Otherwise, we'll regret it later when everything's dried up and stuck to the plates."
Y/n had just stood up, plates in hand, when Charles gently pulled her back down next to him. She looked at him with a mix of surprise and confusion, her hand hovering in the air where the plate had been a moment ago.
Charles placed the plates back onto the table and pulled Y/n closer to him, his head coming to rest on her shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, his body relaxed against hers, seeking comfort in her proximity.
Y/n didn't resist his pull, instead leaning into his touch. She reached up, her hand gently caressing his hair, her fingers running through the messy strands. "You know, you're just using me as a pillow now," she teased, her voice soft and affectionate.
He chuckled, his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of her fingers in his hair. "Can you blame me?" he asked, his tone lighthearted. "You're so comfortable, and I can't be bothered to move right now."
Y/n sighed contently, her fingers continuing to play with his hair. "You're just being lazy," she retorted, her tone fond. "But I guess I can be your cozy pillow for a little while longer."
Charles smiled, his body relaxing even more as her fingers continued their soothing caress. "Good," he mumbled, nuzzling his head further into her shoulder. "I could stay like this forever."
She chuckled as Leo padded over to them, his furry little body weaving between their legs. "Hey, little guy," she greeted the dachshund, reaching down to pet him. "Did you enjoy your food too?"
Leo, his belly full and content, simply looked up at Y/n with his innocent little eyes. He wagged his tail happily, clearly content after his own feast.
Charles laughed, his head still resting on Y/n's shoulder. "Looks like Leo was just as successful at stuffing his face as we were," he commented. "He's got that satisfied, slightly bloated look for sure."
Y/n laughed, her hand still running through Charles' hair. "You can say that again," she agreed, her tone light. "I don't think I've ever seen a puppy eat that much. He's like a little vacuum cleaner."
She scooped up Leo, the dog happily settling on Charles' lap. Then she turned to Charles, her tone more serious. "Actually, I should really get going and start cleaning up all this mess," she said, gesturing to the collection of plates and takeout containers on the coffee table.
Charles groaned again, his hand still resting on his stomach. "But I'm so comfortable here," he protested, his voice laced with mock protest. "Can't it wait just a little longer?"
Y/n chuckled at his protest, her tone firm but affectionate. "No, no, you relax," she insisted, standing up again. "You did pay for the food, after all. I'll take care of cleaning up."
Charles watched her as she stood up, a pout on his face. "Are you sure?" he asked, his tone reluctant. "I feel bad just sitting here while you do all the work."
Y/n smiled at his concern, her tone gentle yet firm. "It's alright, Charlie," she reassured him. "I can handle this. You just stay put and digest all that food we ate."
Charles relented, his pout turning into a resigned smile. "You're too nice to me," he admitted, his hand rubbing his stomach again. "But alright, I'll stay here and try not to fall asleep."
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May 26, 2024 - 8:30 PM
Y/n wiped her hands on the towel, and a satisfied smile appeared on her face. The dishes were clean, the leftover food was packed away, and the coffee table looked presentable again. "There, all done," she announced, her voice slightly tired but content.
She heard a soft, gentle snoring sound as she walked closer to the couch. She chuckled softly, her eyes falling upon Charles. He was fast asleep, his head lolling back against the couch, his mouth slightly open.
Y/n couldn't help but smile at the adorable sight. Leo was sleeping peacefully, his tiny body nestled in Charles' lap. His little paws were tucked beneath him, and his tail was twitching slightly as he dreamt.
Charles, on the other hand, was in a deep sleep, his face relaxed and peaceful. His chest rose and fell with each slow, steady breath he took. It was a sweet, innocent sight to behold.
Y/n settled down on the floor beside Charles, her elbow resting on the cushion of the couch, her face close to his. She looked at him, her eyes soft and content. The soft snoring filled the room, creating a soothing background noise.
She smiled, her eyes still on Charles. She knew all too well how exhausting race days could be for him. The physical and mental energy he expended was immense. It was no wonder he was sleeping so soundly right now.
Charles stirring in his sleep caught Y/n off guard. Suddenly, his hand moved and accidentally smacked Y/n in the face. It wasn't a hard hit, but it was enough to make her slightly recoil.
"Ouch!" Y/n exclaimed, her hand instinctively going to her face where Charles' hand had made contact. She rubbed her cheek softly, a mix of surprise and confusion on her face. "Charlie, wake up. You hit me in the damn face."
Charles roused from his sleep, his eyes slowly fluttering open. He looked blearily at Y/n, still slightly groggy. "What?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "What happened?"
Y/n chuckled, her hand still on her face. "You accidentally hit me in the face while you were asleep," she explained, her tone light-hearted. "Looks like you were dreaming about a boxing match or something."
He blinked, his mind slowly catching up to what Y/n was saying. "I did what?" he asked, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Oh no, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"
She laughed gently, shaking her head to reassure him. "It's fine, I'm okay," she chuckled, her hand still massaging her cheek. "You didn't hit me that hard. But maybe you should watch your hands next time you're dreaming about boxing."
Charles stretched his arms, a tired yawn escaping his lips. "Yeah, I guess I should head to bed," he agreed, his voice groggy. "I'm feeling pretty beat after that food coma."
He rubbed his eyes, then turned to Y/n. "Oh, and make sure you use my bathroom to freshen up," he reminded her, his voice still tinged with sleepiness. "You can use whatever you need in there."
Y/n looked up at Charles, a quizzical expression on her face. "Why can't I use the guest bathroom?" she asked, her tone slightly puzzled.
Charles sighed, rubbing his eyes again. "Right, I forgot to tell you," he mumbled, his voice tired but apologetic. "The guest bathroom's pipes need fixing. Can't use that one. Gotta use mine tonight."
She nodded in understanding, her eyes meeting his. "Alright, no problem," she said, a small smile on her face. "I'll use yours then. I don't want to be without a shower tonight."
He returned her smile, his eyes filled with exhaustion but also affection. "Thanks for understanding," he murmured. "Goodnight, and enjoy my bathroom."
Y/n watched him go, her eyes lingering on his sleepy form as he headed down the hallway to his bedroom. She smiled to herself, feeling a mixture of affection and amusement at Charles' tired but sweet gesture.
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May 26, 2024 - 11:38 PM
Y/n sat on the bed, scrolling through her phone in the guest bedroom. She glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed the time was 11:38 pm. Realizing it was getting late, she decided it was time to get ready for bed. The thought of a relaxing, warm bath sounded perfect right then.
She gathered her small toiletry bag, a fresh towel, and a change of clothes. She quietly walked out of the guest bedroom and headed down the hallway to Charles' bedroom. Upon reaching his room, she gently turned the doorknob, not wanting to wake him if he was still asleep.
Charles' voice came from inside the room, his tone groggy but awake. "You can come in," he mumbled, his words slightly muffled by his pillow. "I'm awake."
Y/n smiled slightly, grateful that he was awake and ready for her. She pushed open the door and stepped inside, her eyes immediately adjusting to the dim lighting in the room.
Charles was lying in his bed, propped up against the pillows, his hair was tousled and his eyes slightly heavy with sleep. Despite his sleepy appearance, he was watching her as she entered. "You're taking a bath?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
Y/n nodded, holding up her toiletry bag and towel. "Yeah, thought it would help me relax before bed," she replied, her tone soft. "Is it okay if I use your bathroom for a bit?"
Charles nodded, a sleepy smile on his lips. "Sure, take your time," he reassured her, his voice slightly hoarse from sleep. "You can use the bathroom as long as you need."
She smiled in appreciation, and his kind words made her feel more comfortable. "Thanks," she said, her tone grateful. "I won't be too long. I just want to unwind a little before bed."
Y/n walked into the bathroom, her toiletry bag clutched in her hand. The soft glow of the bathroom lights illuminated the room as she entered, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
She set her things down on the counter, her mind already contemplating the warm, relaxing bath she was about to enjoy. The bathroom was neat and spacious, the fixtures and tiles gleaming in the soft light. The ambiance was quietly soothing, perfect for a late-night dip.
She turned on the faucet, allowing the water to run in the bathtub, creating a soothing, gentle sound that filled the bathroom. Steam began to rise, the room slowly filling with a warm, comforting humidity. The bathroom was now a miniature sauna, perfect for relaxing tense muscles and calming the mind.
After a few moments, the tub was filled to a comfortable level, bubbles foaming on the surface of the water. Y/n tested the water with her hand, ensuring that the temperature was just right. Then, she turned off the faucet and started to undress, her clothes being neatly folded and placed on the counter.
As Y/n stepped into the tub, the warmth of the water enveloped her. She sank into the bubbles, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips. The stress of the day, and the tiredness in her body, all seemed to melt away as she immersed herself in the soothing water. Her eyes closed, her limbs relaxed, and her mind started to unwind.
The steam curled around her, the scent of bath oil mingling with the warm, moist air. She lay back, the water lapping gently at her neck. A few moments passed, the only sound in the bathroom being the soft, gentle splashes of water. Y/n felt her thoughts drift further and further away, her body becoming more and more relaxed as she luxuriated in the tranquility of the moment.
Her mind wandered, memories, and thoughts coming and going gently like a light breeze. The rest of the world seemed distant as if nothing could disturb this blissful sanctuary. She closed her eyes, her breathing slowing, and her body utterly surrendered to the comfort of the water. Time seemed to stand still, her mind floating in a contented blur.
The soothing warmth of the water and the tranquility of the room lulled Y/n into a doze, her mind and body completely relaxed. She lost track of time, her thoughts drifting further and further away until she slipped into a light sleep, the bubbles and steam gently surrounding her.
However, the peaceful moment lasted only a few short minutes. The sound of the bathroom door opening gently roused her from her doze, the sound bringing her back to reality. Y/n's eyes fluttered open, blinking away the daze as she focused on the figure in the doorframe.
The bathroom door had opened, allowing a sliver of light from the outside to fall across the tile floor. Charles stood in the doorway, a slight frown on his face. He hadn't intended to disturb her, but his need for the bathroom had grown too great to ignore.
His hair was a disheveled mess, and his eyes were still half-closed with sleep. He tried to look away, to give her some privacy, but his voice betrayed his concern. "Sorry," he muttered, his tone soft and gravelly. "Just really need to go... I didn't mean to wake you up."
Y/n stirred, pushing up from the water. The bubbles clinging to her form, she sat up in the tub, her eyes on Charles. "It's okay," she reassured him, her voice still tinged with sleep. "I dozed off for a bit. I'll get out in a minute."
Charles hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting away and back to her. He tried to keep his eyes from wandering too far down, but the sight of her in the tub was a bit distracting. "You're sure?" he asked, his voice a bit hoarse. "I... I can wait."
Y/n chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the confines of the bathroom. "No, it's fine," she reassured him, her tone light but firm. "You need to go, I can get out."
She quickly grasped her towel and wrapped it around herself, securing it at her chest. Charles turned his gaze away, respecting her modesty. He kept his back to her, giving her the privacy she needed.
The sound of her getting out of the tub made a slight splashing sound, the water shifting as she rose. She stepped out onto the bath mat, her hair slightly damp, and the towel clinging to her form.
Charles nodded, still facing away to give her some privacy. "Alright," he said, his voice still a bit gravelly, "I'll be done soon. You can wait in there and brush your teeth when I'm done."
Y/n nodded, her grip on the towel tightening slightly. "Okay," she replied, her voice soft. "I'll wait here. Take your time."
As soon as the bathroom door closed, Y/n hurried to get changed. Although the bath was relaxing, the knowledge that Charles was waiting just on the other side of the door hurried her movements. She slipped into her fresh clothes, the material cool and comfortable against her still-damp skin.
Within a few minutes, she was fully dressed, her hair still a little damp but tucked away from her face. She checked herself quickly in the mirror, making sure everything was in place before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
The silence in the room was broken only by the occasional sound of a car passing on the street outside. Y/n sat patiently, waiting for Charles to finish. Her mind began to drift, her thoughts a mixture of relaxation and anticipation.
Just as she started to feel a bit antsy, the sound of the bathroom door opening broke the silence. Charles emerged from the bathroom, his hair slightly disheveled but otherwise looking much more awake.
He smiled slightly as his eyes met hers, his expression a mix of tiredness and relief. "All done," he said, his voice still roughened by sleep. "The bathroom's all yours."
Charles leaned against the doorframe, still feeling a bit groggy, but also enjoying the sight of her moving around his bathroom. He tried not to look too closely as she bent over to reach for her toiletry bag, the sight of her in his bathroom quite domestic and slightly stirring.
He waited patiently as she rummaged through her bag, her fingers pulling out her toothbrush and toothpaste. She started to brush her teeth, the sound of the brush against her teeth and the water from the faucet filling the small space.
Charles watched her quietly, his eyes following her movements. He observed the way she moved, the way the light played across her skin, and the small sounds she made as she brushed her teeth. It was all very mundane, yet somehow strangely intimate.
The moment felt almost surreal, the quiet of the night and the intimacy of the bathroom creating a bubble of comfort and familiarity. Charles's mind was still a bit hazy with sleep, but he found himself enjoying the simple act of watching her brush her teeth in his bathroom.
Y/n continued brushing her teeth, her cheeks slightly puffed with foam. She then remembered the plan for the following day and spoke with a foamy mouth, her words slightly garbled. "Where... are we... eating... tomorrow?" she managed to ask, her toothbrush still swirling in her mouth.
Despite her toothbrush-filled mouth, the question was clear. Charles chuckled softly at the sight of her, her hair slightly messy, dressed in her pajamas, and talking with a mouth full of foam.
He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest as he responded. "I was thinking we could go to that new café downtown," he suggested, his voice still rough with sleep. "I've heard they have great pastries and coffee."
Y/n nodded, the toothbrush still in her mouth. The idea of pastries and coffee sounded delightful, especially in the morning. However, the foam made her answer turn into a series of mumbled sounds, leaving Charles unsure of what she was actually saying.
Charles chuckled softly, amused by her foamy response. "I'll take that as a yes," he said light-heartedly, unable to keep a smile off his face.
She tried to respond but ended up sending a few drops of foamy toothpaste sputtering onto the sink. She quickly rinsed out her mouth, spitting the foam out. "Sorry," she sheepishly apologized, her cheeks slightly pink. "Hard to talk when my mouth is full of foam."
Charles chuckled again, the sound echoing around the small bathroom. "It's fine," he reassured her, his voice warm. "It was entertaining to watch, even if I couldn't make out half of what you were saying."
Y/n leaned against the counter, exhaustion beginning to show in her every muscle. Her shoulders sagged, and she let out a weary sigh. "I'm too tired to walk back to the guest bedroom," she mumbled, her tone weary and a bit whiny.
Charles saw her slouched form and sympathized with her fatigue. He knew it was past midnight and she'd had a long day. "You can just sleep here if you want," he suggested, his tone gentle yet practical.
Y/n perked up slightly at his suggestion. The idea of collapsing into the comfort of a bed without having to move sounded heavenly. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice a tired murmur.
Charles nodded, his eyes softening at her tired state. "It's fine," he reassured her, a small smile on his lips. "I don't mind. This bed is plenty big enough for both of us."
Y/n hesitated for a moment, her cheeks slightly warm. The thought of sharing a bed with Charles was undeniably intimate, but her body's need for rest was so great, that she couldn't find the energy to protest. "Okay," she agreed, her voice barely more than a weary murmur.
She stumbled to the bed, her weary steps almost resembling a slow run. She practically collapsed onto the sheets, the soft, cool fabric feeling luxurious against her tired body. She landed on the bed with a satisfied sigh, the impact sending the sheets billowing slightly.
Y/n sank into the bed, her limbs feeling like lead. A weary groan escaped her lips as she wrapped her arms around a nearby pillow, pulling it close to her chest. The pillows felt soft and supportive, the bed molding around her form like a cozy, welcoming cocoon.
Charles watched her with an affectionate smile, amused by her eagerness to be in bed and the speed with which she had buried herself in the pillows. He moved to the bed, sitting on the edge and watching as she settled into the sheets.
He couldn't help but chuckle softly at the sight of her, her body half-buried under the pillows and blankets. Her eyes were closed, the exhaustion of the day evident in the way she had slumped into the soft bedding.
"Comfy?" he teased gently, his tone a mix of amusement and affection. He reached out and ruffled her hair, his fingers briefly touching her forehead.
Y/n mumbled an affirmative reply, her words barely intelligible as she mumbled into the pillows. "Mmmhmm..." was all she managed to get out, her eyes still closed, and her body snuggled deep into the bed.
Charles smiled at her sleepy reply, finding her exhaustion endearing. He continued to sit on the edge of the bed, watching as she nuzzled into the pillows, almost melting into the bedding.
"You look like you're ready to hibernate," he teased her again, his tone gentle but amused. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair once more, his touch tender but affectionate.
Charles smiled at her lack of reply, amused by her quick transition into sleep. He had barely finished speaking when he saw her body relax further into the bed, her breath evening out into the slow rhythm of sleep.
He chuckled softly, realizing she had fallen asleep mid-conversation. He stood up from the edge of the bed and walked over to the light switch, flicking it off. The room fell into darkness, the only light coming from the sliver of moonlight from outside.
Charles carefully slid into the bed, trying not to disturb Y/n's sleep. Once he was settled, he moved closer to her, gently maneuvering her body so she was pressed against him. His arm curled around her, pulling her close against his chest, and he held her close, her warmth and soft breathing against his skin.
He lay there, awake, listening to her breathe, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest. The soft sound of her breathing was like a lullaby, and he found himself soothed by her closeness.
Charles began to hum softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The melody was slow and soothing, the song a soft rendition of Édith Piaf's "La Vie en Rose." His voice was warm and gentle, the sound reverberating silently in the quiet room.
He continued to hum as he held Y/n close, the sound of his voice mingling with her soft breathing. The melody was a small, comforting addition to the silence, a soothing lullaby only meant for her sleeping form.
As he hummed, his eyes traced her features in the dim light. He could make out the soft curve of her nose, the gentle angle of her jawline, the fluttering of her eyelashes against her cheeks. She looked peaceful in sleep, her face relaxed and free from the lines and shadows of daytime.
His hold on her was gentle but tight, his arm wrapped firmly around her, keeping her close. The feel of her body against his was comforting, a steady reminder that she was there, safe in his arms.
Charles's voice trailed off as he finished singing the final note of "La Vie en Rose." He let the silence settle for a moment, his breath a soft sigh against her hair.
Then, he whispered, his voice barely audible in the darkness, "God, if only you knew how much I love you. If only you weren't so dense." His tone was affectionate yet tinged with a hint of melancholy.
Charles continued to hold Y/n close, his eyes still on her face, even in the dim moonlight. He whispered softly to himself, his words barely a sound.
"One day," he muttered, his voice a whisper. "I'll tell you one day."
His voice was filled with a mixture of determination and uncertainty. He knew confessing wouldn't be easy, and the fear of rejection was a constant gnawing in the back of his mind. Yet, the need to tell her how he felt was growing more powerful by the day.
For now, though, he'd continue to hold her close, appreciating the quiet intimacy of the moment. He closed his eyes, listening to her steady breathing, and willed himself to sleep.
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May 27, 2024 - 8:16 AM
Y/n stirred, her eyes slowly fluttering open. The room was filled with the soft morning light, and for a moment she was disoriented. Then she became aware of her surroundings, the realization that she wasn't in her own bed slowly dawning on her.
She sat up, her head still fuzzy from sleep, and her eyes widened as she saw not Charles but Leo lying next to her, in the same spot Charles had been the night before.
The sight of Leo sleeping peacefully made her blink, a rush of surprise and confusion going through her heart. A million questions raced through her mind. Where was Charles? Was this a dream? But she quickly became aware that this was very real, and Leo was indeed sharing the bed with her.
Y/n's hand moved almost on its own, gently reaching out to stroke Leo's head. The soft fur felt warm under her fingers, a stark contrast to the cool sheets she had just woken up from.
Leo stirred slightly at her touch, his head nuzzling closer to her hand. He let out a soft, contented sigh, still mostly asleep.
She scooted closer to Leo on the bed, her eyes still heavy with sleep but her curiosity stirring. "Leo," she whispered, her voice soft yet a hint of worry in her tone. "Do you know where Charles went?"
Leo blinked open his eyes slowly, his intelligent gaze meeting hers. He yawned widely, showing off his little tongue before tilting his head to one side, clearly not understanding her question.
Y/n's head whipped around at the sound of a laugh, and her eyes met Charles's form standing in the doorway. A wave of relief washed over her as she saw that he was okay and had not disappeared into thin air.
"You're here," she said, her voice a mixture of surprise and relief. She pushed herself into a sitting position, shaking the last tendrils of sleep from her mind. "Where did you go? And why is Leo in the bed?"
Charles chuckled at her question, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. He walked over to the bed, a cup of coffee in his hand. "I went to get us both some coffee," he explained, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, next to where Y/n was still sitting.
"And as for Leo," he added with a smirk, "he just wanted to keep you company."
Leo had also perked up at the sound of Charles's voice, his tail thumping softly against the sheets. He let out another soft sigh before stretching out, rolling onto his back and exposing his stomach.
Charles took a sip of his coffee, his eyes watching Y/n and Leo with fond amusement. "Seems like he's quite comfortable here," he commented, his voice laced with a hint of humor.
Y/n yawned and stretched slightly, her eyes still half-focused on Leo's adorable form on the bed. Her gaze then flicked to Charles, a sleepy smile on her lips. "Well," she teased, her voice still raspy with sleep, "who wouldn't be? Your bed is huge."
Charles chuckled at her comment, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I guess I have a lot of room to share," he replied, his tone lighthearted. He took another sip of his coffee, savoring the hot liquid.
"It's a good thing," he added, his tone becoming a bit more serious. "It means I have enough space for both you and Leo." He reached out, his fingers gently scratching behind Leo's ear, earning a soft, satisfied whine from the dachshund.
"See? He likes the bed," he said, his tone softening as his gaze met Y/n's again. He put down his coffee on the bedside table, his eyes studying her face. "How'd you sleep?"
Y/n took a moment to consider his question, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "I slept well," she answered, her voice still a bit dazed from sleep. "Although, I admit waking up to Leo instead of you was a bit of a shocker."
Charles chuckled at her reply, his shoulders shaking slightly with the sound. "Sorry about that," he apologized, his tone slightly sheepish. "I didn't want to wake you, and I didn't expect Leo to take my place so quickly."
Leo, as if sensing they were talking about him, let out a small, tired 'woof' before rolling over onto his front, his paws sticking out adorably. He let out another sigh, his eyes half-closed in contentment.
Charles bent down and patted Leo's head gently, his smile widening at the dog's adorable display. "Looks like I've been replaced," he joked, his tone playful but laced with a hint of affection.
Y/n chuckled softly, her eyes watching the interaction between Charles and Leo. "Looks like you have," she agreed, her tone light and amused. She reached out a hand, scratching behind Leo's other ear, eliciting another soft whine of contentment from the dachshund.
She pushed the covers off, reluctantly leaving the warm, comfortable bed. With a small groan of sleepiness, she stood up, the cold hardwood floor against her bare feet.
"I'm going to go use the bathroom," she announced, her voice still hoarse from sleep. She stretched her arms over her head, yawning widely as she made her way across the room.
Charles watched her as she moved across the room, her sleepy form padding towards the bathroom. "Take your time," he said, his tone gentle. "I'll be here when you're back."
Y/n nodded, her hair slightly mussed from sleep. "I won't be long," she said, her voice still half-slurred from sleep. She pushed open the bathroom door and disappeared inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Charles leaned back against the headboard, turning his attention to Leo, who was now rolling back and forth on the bed, seemingly enjoying every inch of the large expanse of sheets. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, reaching out to scratch the dog's belly gently.
Charles's hand continued to rub Leo's stomach, his eyes watching the dachshund lazily rolling around. His question hung in the air, the weight of it echoing around in his mind.
His expression softened, and he spoke softly, his voice just above a murmur, "When do I tell her?"
He hadn't expected a response from a dog, but speaking his thoughts out loud helped to somehow organize them in his mind. The sound of Y/n moving around in the bathroom filtered through the door, background noise to his contemplation.
Charles sighed, the weight of his feelings for her seeming to get heavier with each passing day. The need to tell her how he felt was becoming more urgent, the words threatening to spill out at any moment. But the fear of her rejection, the possibility of losing her friendship... it was enough to keep him holding his tongue.
As the moment passed, he shook his head slightly, forcing the thoughts away for now. Y/n would be out of the bathroom soon, and he didn't want her to see him too lost in his own thoughts.
He turned his attention back to Leo, continuing to rub the dog's stomach, the repetitive motion helping to soothe his own restless thoughts.
The sound of the bathroom door opening brought his attention back to the present. He looked up to see Y/n exit the bathroom, her hair slightly less mussed now. She walked back to the bed, her steps a bit less sleepy than before.
"Feel better?" Charles asked, his voice still a soft murmur. He watched her approach, the morning light from the window casting her figure into a soft golden glow.
Y/n nodded in reply, a small, satisfied smile on her face. "Yes, much better," she answered, her voice clearer now, having lost the sleep-induced huskiness. She collapsed back onto the bed, the soft sheets welcoming her tired form back into their embrace.
She scooped up Leo, her hands gently holding the dachshund's small body against her chest. She cradled him against her, his soft fur rubbing against her bare skin. Leo let out a soft, contented sigh, snuggling closer to her neck, his warmth and scent offering her comfort.
Y/n looked down at Leo, her fingers gently stroking the soft fur on his head. A soft, affectionate smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she whispered, "Oh, you're my little baby, aren't you?" she cooed, her tone soft and affectionate.
Leo's ears perked up at her words, his small head lifting from where it was resting at her neck. He let out a soft whine, as if in agreement.
Charles watched the interaction between Y/n and Leo, his heart skipping a beat at her use of the word 'baby'. The casualness with which she used it, the affection in her voice... it made something stir within him.
He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, a mix of fondness and subtle jealousy swirling within him.
The word 'baby' echoed in his mind. He wanted to hear her say it to him, longed to have that affectionate tone directed towards him. But he pushed the thought away quickly, not wanting to dwell too long on his own unrequited feelings.
He chuckled softly, his tone purposefully lighthearted, "Looks like Leo's got a new favorite."
Y/n looked up at Charles with a playful, mock-mean expression, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "What do you mean, 'new favorite?' I've always been Leo's favorite," she declared, her voice carrying a hint of playful defensiveness.
Leo seemed to sense the playfulness in her tone. He let out a soft 'woof,' his little tail wagging fiercely as if agreeing with her statement.
She stuck out her tongue defiantly at Charles, her tone playful but laced with a hint of satisfaction. "He loves me more than you," she stated, holding up Leo as if to prove her point.
Leo seemed to know he was the center of their playful argument. He let out a soft whine, his head tilting from side to side as if unable to pick a side.
Charles feigned hurt, placing a hand over his chest in mock-shock. "Ouch," he joked, his tone light but with a hint of genuine amusement. He raised an eyebrow at Y/n, playing along with her banter.
"Traitor," he muttered jokingly to Leo, though his eyes were still on Y/n, the sparkle of humor dancing in them.
Charles leaned back against the headboard, a hand rubbing his chin in thought. "Unfortunately," he said, his tone laced with a slight hint of disappointment, "the café is closed today."
He paused for a moment, mulling over his next words before continuing, "Apparently, the owner is having his birthday party, and he's given all his employees the day off."
Y/n's expression mirrored Charles's disappointment, a small pout on her lips. "That's a shame," she replied, her voice softer, the playful banter from before replaced by a genuine hint of disappointment.
She looked down at Leo, who was now lying comfortably on her lap, his little eyes closing as if falling back asleep. "I was looking forward to their pastries," she added, her tone slightly wistful.
Charles reassured her with a small smile, his tone hopeful. "It's okay," he said, his words gentle, "We can stay here for now, and later we can go out for brunch."
He shifted slightly, turning his body to face her more directly, the morning light bathing them both in a soft, warm glow.
"Besides," he added, his tone a hint more playful, "we can have Leo all to ourselves for longer. He seems quite content right where he is." He nodded towards the dachshund, who was still lying peacefully in her lap, now fast asleep and lightly snoring.
Y/n looked down at Leo with a soft smile, her fingers gently scratching behind the dachshund's ear. "But is it normal for puppies to sleep this much?" she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.
Leo stirred slightly, his little nose twitching as if sensing they were talking about him, but he continued to sleep, his tiny paws moving occasionally in his dreams.
Charles nodded in confirmation, a small smile on his lips as the memories of Leo's earlier antics filled his mind. "Yup," he confirmed, his tone casual. "He had a major case of the zoomies this morning. Running laps around the living room, barking, the whole nine yards."
Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, a hint of disbelief coloring her voice. "I slept through that?" she asked, her tone laced with a mixture of shock and amusement.
Charles chuckled at her reaction, nodding. "Oh, yeah," he confirmed, his voice slightly amused, "You were out like a light."
"You were completely oblivious to all the commotion," he added, a hint of fond admiration in his voice. "Leo was running circles around the room, barking like his little heart was about to burst, and you didn't even twitch."
Y/n couldn't help but laugh at the mental image of Charles trying to wrangle a hyperactive puppy while she blissfully slept through the chaos. "I feel like I should apologize," she said between giggles, "but it's also kind of funny that I missed out on all the fun."
Charles chuckled along with her, his eyes sparkling with amusement at the memory. "It was a sight to behold," he said, his tone lighthearted. "Honestly, I didn't know what to do with him. He was like a little tornado, zooming around the room at top speed."
"I tried to get him to calm down a bit," he confessed, "but he was having way too much fun. He was chasing his own tail, running into walls, yipping and barking like he'd just discovered the meaning of life."
Y/n looked down at Leo, her initial shock replaced by a soft, affectionate smile. "Poor baby," she murmured, her voice soft and gentle. "He must be exhausted."
She gently stroked the sleeping dachshund's head, her fingers gently running through his soft, short fur.
Leo stirred slightly in his sleep, his little nose wrinkling as if in response to her touch. His eyes remained closed, but he let out a soft, contented sigh, snuggling deeper into Y/n's lap.
Y/n looked up at Charles, a soft yawn escaping her lips. "Can I go back to sleep for a bit?" she asked, her voice still a bit drowsy.
Charles smiled, nodding gently. "Of course," he replied, his tone reassuring. "You can sleep for as long as you want. Leo and I will be right here when you wake up."
Y/n's shoulders relaxed in relief, her tiredness seeming to overtake her. She let out another, wider yawn, her eyelids already starting to droop. "Thanks," she murmured, her words slightly slurred with sleep.
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May 27, 2024 - 10:21 AM
He gently shakes Y/n's shoulder, drawing her from the pleasant world of dreams. "Y/n," he says softly, his voice warm and gentle. "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's time to get ready."
Y/n slowly opens her eyes, the remnants of sleep still clinging to her. She blinks a few times, her vision clearing, and meets Charles's gaze. "Already?" she mumbles, her voice still thick with sleep.
Charles nods, a small smile on his face. "Yep," he confirms. "I'm all set, and Leo's ready too."
He gestures towards Leo, who is now sitting by the bed, his little ears perked up and his tail wagging as if he understands the conversation.
Charles nods patiently, his smile still in place. "Sure," he replies, "Take your time. I'll wait for you here with Leo."
Y/n smiles in appreciation, and with a last, lingering glance at the duo, she heads into the bathroom to freshen up.
A few minutes later, Y/n poked her head out from the bathroom door, her hair still slightly damp. "Charlie," she called, her voice carrying through the open door, "Can you grab my dress for me? I left it on the bed in the guest room. I had it all ready last night before I fell asleep."
Charles looked up from where he had been playing with Leo, the dachshund now chewing on one of his shoes. "Sure thing," he replied, standing up and heading towards the guest room.
He navigated his way into the spacious guest room, the bed neat and tidy, the dress laid out meticulously on top. He picked up the dress, his eyes running over the delicate fabric and the design that Y/n had chosen.
He took a moment to appreciate the dress before walking back towards the bathroom, the dress safely in his hands. As he approached the bathroom door, he knocked gently, alerting Y/n of his arrival.
"I've got the dress," he called out, his voice soft so as not to startle her. He waited for a moment, giving her a chance to respond before proceeding.
Y/n peeps out from the bathroom door once more, a warm smile on her face. "Thank you, Charlie," she says, genuinely appreciative of his help.
Charles smiles back at her, holding the dress out for her to take. "You're welcome," he replies, his voice gentle. He takes a moment to appreciate the view of her standing there in the doorway, the morning sunlight catching the wet strands of her hair and making them sparkle.
He hands her the dress, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. There's a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of Leo's soft panting and the distant hum of city life outside.
Y/n emerges from the bathroom, the soft fabric of her dress falling gently around her legs. She smooths out any wrinkles, adjusting the straps and hemlines until she is satisfied.
Looking up at Charles, she says, "All ready," her voice cheerful despite the early hour.
Charles does a slow, subtle scan of her appearance, his gaze taking in the way the dress hugs her figure and accentuates her curves. He can't help the small appreciative smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.
Y/n scoops up Leo, the dachshund snuggling comfortably against her chest. She grabs her phone from the bedside table and gives Charles's hand a firm pull, practically dragging him towards the door.
"Let's go," she urges, her tone full of eagerness.
Charles chuckles at her eagerness, allowing himself to be led by Y/n, their hands still linked together, and follows her towards the door. Leo lets out a soft little bark as if cheering them on.
The three of them head out into the hallway, Charles keeping pace beside Y/n as they make their way towards the front door. The soft pat-pat of their footsteps and the occasional squeak from Leo were the only sounds in the apartment.
They reach the front door, and Charles holds it open for Y/n and Leo, a gentlemanly gesture that seems almost second nature to him. "After you," he says, his tone light but filled with affectionate warmth.
Y/n grins at his old-fashioned chivalry, passing through the open doorway with Leo in her arms. "Why, thank you," she says, her words tinged with affectionate amusement.
Charles follows, letting go of the door as it closes behind him. He falls into step beside her, their shoulders nearly touching. "No problem," he replies, the corners of his mouth curving upwards into a small, private smile.
She notices Charles's unwavering gaze and asks, a hint of curiosity and amusement in her voice. "What? Is there something on my face? You've been staring at me the whole way down."
Charles's smile widens, caught in the act. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck before replying, "No, no, nothing on your face. I was just watching you with Leo. You two are so cute together."
Y/n smiles, her gaze shifting down to Leo in her arms, who is oblivious to the conversation. "Oh, yeah," she says, a hint of pride in her voice, "We do make a pretty cute pair, don't we?"
He nods in agreement, his gaze shifting to both Y/n and Leo in her arms. "Absolutely," he says, his voice soft and sincere. "You and Leo are the cutest pair I've ever seen."
His eyes dart between Y/n and the dog, taking in the sight of the dachshund, so completely at ease in her arms. The elevator dings as it reaches the lobby, and he steps out, holding the door open for Y/n and Leo once more.
They step out into the lobby, the world outside the glass doors filled with the sounds of the city. Charles leads them out into the street, the sun warm and bright. As they walk, he can't help but glance at Y/n every so often, a small, fond smile playing on his lips.
The pair walk down the street, crossing intersections and passing by shops and cafes. Leo stays snuggled in Y/n's arms, his little head resting on her shoulder. Y/n and Charles walk quietly beside each other, the comfortable silence between them occasionally broken by a comment or a soft laugh.
They reach an open-air café, the outdoor seats under a shady tree filled with people enjoying their breakfast. Charles pulls out a chair for Y/n, gesturing for her to sit, his chivalry still very much in play.
"Have a seat," he says, his tone warm and gentle. "I'll go get us some breakfast menus."
Y/n smiles in appreciation, settling down on the comfortable chair with Leo still in her arms. She watches as Charles makes his way towards the counter, weaving through the tables and chairs with ease.
He reaches the counter, chatting with the employee behind it and perusing the menu on the wall. After a few moments, he returns with two breakfast menus, a smile on his face.
He hands one of the menus to Y/n and takes a seat across from her, a small gap between their chairs. He opens his own menu, his eyes scanning over the options. Leo stretches in Y/n's lap, his little arms and legs stretching out as he lets out a soft yawn.
Y/n grins at the sight, her fingers absently running through Leo's soft fur. She looks at her own menu, her eyes darting over the various breakfast items. "So many choices," she muses, her tone a mix of amusement and slight indecision.
Charles glances up from his own menu, a lopsided smile on his face. "Tell me about it," he agrees, a small huff of laughter escaping him. "I don't know if I want pancakes, eggs, or just a straight-up bowl of bacon."
Y/n laughs, imagining the sight of a plate stacked high with bacon. "A bowl of bacon does sound tempting," she replies, her tone jokingly serious. "But it might not be the best choice for breakfast."
Charles laughs along with her, the sound filling the space between them. "True," he concedes. "I don't think I want to start the day with a heart attack waiting to happen."
He looks back down at the menu, his expression thoughtful. "How about waffles?" he suggests, the word coming out slowly as if he's mulling over the idea.
Y/n considers the suggestion for a moment, her lips curving into a small, approving smile. "Waffles sound good," she agrees, nodding her head in agreement. "But only if they come with extra syrup."
Charles grins at her request, his eyes lighting up in amusement. "Extra syrup? That's non-negotiable," he clarifies, his tone still lighthearted. "Waffles without enough syrup are just sad, cold pancakes."
Y/n laughs in agreement, the sound ringing out around them. "Exactly," she says, a firm nod of her head. "Syrup is the most important part of a waffle. Without it, it's just a waste of carbs."
He wags a finger at her in a playful manner, his tone half-serious. "You know, I'm starting to think you just have a thing for sweet things. Coffee with too much sugar, syrup on everything..."
Y/n grins slyly, feigning ignorance. "Me? A sweet tooth?" she replies, her tone innocent. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I just like my food to have actual flavor."
Charles gives her a mock-skeptical look, a small chuckle escaping him. "Oh, really now? So that time last week when we shared a cheesecake and you almost went into a sugar coma..."
She laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "That was for scientific purposes only," she clarifies, her tone light and playful. "I was testing my body's tolerance to sugar. It's all in the name of science."
Charles rolls his eyes in mock exasperation, his tone equally light. "Right, because science always requires two whole slices of cheesecake to be eaten in one sitting."
Y/n raises a finger in the air, a mock-serious expression on her face. "Science demands dedication," she says, her tone bordering on solemn, though her eyes still sparkle with amusement. "It's not my fault that cheesecake is the perfect medium for testing."
Charles watches her, his expression is fond and affectionate. He's so used to her antics and quick wit that even her playful arguments are endearing to him.
"Alright," he concedes, a small, affectionate sigh leaving his lips. "You win this round, scientific genius."
Y/n grins, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "I win every round, Charlie," she retorts, her tone smug. "It's a curse, really. My powers of logic and science-based reasoning are just too much for mere mortals like yourself to handle."
Charles laughs, shaking his head in good-natured defeat. "I should've known better than to argue with a genius," he admits, his tone filled with amusement. "From now on, I'll just stick to nodding along and agreeing with everything you say. Much easier that way."
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May 27, 2024 - 11:42 AM
After they're done with their breakfast, Charles pays the bill and they head out of the café, Leo snuggles comfortably in Y/n's arms. As they walk back to Charles' place, he can't help but steal small glances at Y/n and Leo, his heart swelling with affection.
Leo gives a soft yip of recognition as they approach the apartment building, and wiggles in Y/n's arms, eager to get back to the familiar surroundings.
They enter the elevator, the metal walls gleaming in the harsh artificial light. Charles stands close to Y/n, Leo's weight between them, their arms occasionally grazing against each other.
The elevator dings, signaling their arrival at Charles' floor, and they make their way to his door, Leo's little paws tapping eagerly against the plush carpeted floor.
They enter the apartment, the door closing behind them with a resounding thud. Y/n sets Leo down, and he immediately barrels off, small paws thudding against the floor as he scurries into the living room, a little ball of energy.
Charles shuts the door behind them, his eyes lingering on Y/n for a moment before looking away, a slight flush creeping up his neck.
He clears his throat, the blush on his neck deepening slightly. "So, Y/n, I was wondering... when will you be driving back to France?"
His voice wavers slightly at the mention of her leaving, his heart heavy at the thought of not having her around. But he tries to hide it, maintaining a casual tone.
Y/n glances at her watch, her expression thoughtful. "I should be leaving for France before 5PM today," she replies, her tone firm. "The roads can get busy, so I want to make sure I have plenty of time."
Charles nods, a faint feeling of dread settling in his stomach. "Right, right," he says, forcing a small smile. "Gotta beat the traffic." He tries to match her casual tone, but the tightness of his voice betrays his emotions.
Y/n senses the change in his demeanor and steps closer, her voice softer now. "Don't worry, Charlie," she says, meeting his gaze. "I'll be back before you know it. And we can FaceTime every night until then. It's not like I'm disappearing off the face of the Earth."
She gives him a reassuring grin, her own heart heavy at the thought of leaving him behind. But she knows they need to face this reality, and her determination overrides her sadness.
Charles looks at her, his expression a mix of relief and sadness. "Yeah," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're right. FaceTime will be great. We'll stay in touch. And I'll plan our next movie marathon for when you're back."
He gives her a lopsided smile, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Just... promise me you'll drive safe, yeah?"
Y/n smiles, a genuine warmth radiating from her eyes. "You know I will, Charlie. Promise," she assures him. "And we're definitely having a movie marathon the moment I'm back. Just keep the popcorn ready."
He nods, a soft chuckle escaping him. "You know I always have popcorn ready," he says, his voice tinged with affection. "And we might as well make a day of it. Pizza, popcorn, the whole nine yards."
Charles glances at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, the hands ticking softly, the rhythmic sound echoing in the small space. "You still have about five hours before you need to leave," he points out, his tone thoughtful.
He looks back at Y/n, his expression hopeful. "How about we watch a movie? Take our minds off the fact that you're leaving for a bit?" He offers her a small smile, the invitation genuine.
Y/n smiles, a bright sparkle lighting up her eyes. "That sounds like a great idea, Charlie!" she exclaims, a hint of excitement in her tone. "You make the popcorn. I'll pick the movie."
Charles nods in agreement, a grin spreading across his face. "You got it," he says, his tone light. "I'll whip up some popcorn. You get the movie set up. Just don't pick something too depressing, yeah? I don't think I can handle both of us feeling sad."
Y/n laughs, playfully rolling her eyes. "Please, I have impeccable taste in movies," she retorts, her tone laced with mock-affronted humor. "I wouldn't dream of subjecting you to a depressing film. We'll stick to feel-good, laugh-a-minute kind of stuff. We can save the melodrama for another day."
She makes her way over to the couch, the soft cushions beckoning her. She takes a seat, kicking off her shoes and getting comfortable. The sound of the grandfather clock continues, marking the passing of time, as Y/n scrolls through the movies on the TV, searching for the perfect film to suit the mood.
"Hey, Charlie!" Y/n's voice rings out across the room, her tone light and playful. "I've got two options here: 'Mamma Mia!' or 'Wild Child'. What do you feel like watching?"
Charles appears through the kitchen door, a bowl of fresh popcorn in his hands. He chuckles at her shouts, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, both sound tempting," he muses, his tone light. "But let's go for 'Mamma Mia'. Can't go wrong with some ABBA, right?"
Y/n grins, nodding excitedly. "You read my mind, Charlie. We can't pass up ABBA on our movie night. It's a crime against good taste." She taps a few buttons on her phone, queuing up 'Mamma Mia!' on their streaming service.
Charles hands her the bowl of popcorn, his fingers brushing against hers in a fleeting moment of contact. He settles down beside her, a comfortable distance between them, as the opening credits of 'Mamma Mia!' begin to roll. They munch on the popcorn and lose themselves in the familiar tunes and lighthearted storyline, enjoying the shared moment together.
As the movie plays on, Y/n finds herself singing along to the ABBA classics, her voice light and slightly off-key, filling the room with a contagious joy. Charles joins in too, his tone deeper and more confident, harmonizing with Y/n's vocals. They laugh at the cheesy jokes and dance along to the catchy songs, their worries momentarily forgotten in the shared fun of the musical.
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May 27, 2024 - 4:22 PM
As the credits roll, and 'Hamilton' comes to a close, Y/n catches sight of the digital clock on the side table. The bright red numerals read '4:22 PM', and a sense of unease washes over her.
"Four-twenty-two?" she exclaims, a hint of panic creeping into her voice. "Damn, how did time slip away so fast? I need to get going soon."
Charles glances at the clock, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. "You're right," he nods, his tone tinged with regret. "We need to get you back on the road soon. Can't have you driving after sunset." He rises from the couch, gesturing towards the guest room. "Let's get your things ready."
In the guest room, Charles helps Y/n pack her clothes efficiently. They work together in a comfortable silence, their movements synchronized. Charles carefully folds Y/n's clothes and tucks them into her suitcase, his touch gentle and efficient.
As they work, the atmosphere in the room is tinged with a sense of nostalgia and a hint of sadness. Although they're focused on the task at hand, they're both aware of the impending separation looming over them.
Y/n's gaze occasionally meets Charles as they pack, the unspoken emotions lingering between them. Charles steals glances at her, his eyes softening at the sight of her. Y/n, too, finds herself stealing glances at him, her heart growing heavier with every item packed.
Once the suitcase is packed, Charles closes it with a gentle click, securing the zipper. He steps back, his gaze meeting Y/n's with a mixture of sadness and affection. "All set?" he asks, his voice a soft whisper as if he's reluctant to break the comfortable silence that has settled between them.
Y/n looks at him, her gaze filled with an unspoken emotion, a mix of yearning and bittersweet acceptance. "Yeah," she says softly, her words barely above a whisper. "I think so. Just one more thing to do."
Without hesitation, she closes the distance between them, enveloping Charles in a tight hug. Charles wraps his arms around her, holding her close. The embrace feels like an unspoken promise, a silent assurance of their connection despite the physical separation that awaits them soon.
They stay like that for a few moments, and the world around them seems to fade away. For those brief seconds, time stands still, and they allow themselves to savor the warmth and solace of each other's presence. Eventually, Y/n pulls back slightly, her eyes meeting Charles's in a silent understanding. It's time for her to leave.
"I should get going," she says, her voice laced with a mix of sadness and determination. Charles nods, understanding the finality of the moment. "Alright," he whispers, his voice a tender caress against the stillness. "Drive safely, okay? And don't forget to FaceTime me tonight."
"Of course," Y/n confirms, her voice steady despite the pang of heartache. "As soon as I get settled, we'll FaceTime. You can't get rid of me that easily." A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, a bittersweet expression that echoes the emotions swirling within her.
Charles smiles, mirroring Y/n's bittersweet expression. "I wouldn't dream of it," he says softly, his fingers gently brushing a stray hair away from her face. "Until tonight, Y/n. Drive safely, and I'll be here waiting for your call."
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May 27, 2024 - 5:42 PM
Y/n's car pulls into the parking lot of her apartment building in France. As she parks, a sense of familiarity washes over her, the sight of the place she calls home comforting after the long journey. But there's an emptiness, too, a void that she knows will only be filled once she's reunited with Charles.
Gathering her belongings, she steps out of the car, the familiar scent of the French countryside filling her senses. For a moment, she just stands there, soaking in the surroundings, a mix of emotions swirling within her - excitement to be home, sadness at the prospect of being away from Charles.
The sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the landscape. Y/n takes a deep breath, the cool evening air filling her lungs, and she starts walking toward her apartment building.
As she approaches the entrance, a bittersweet pang tugs at her heart. The thought of being separated from Charles for days, maybe even weeks, is daunting, but she knows they can weather this distance.
Y/n dives into her unpacking routine, meticulously organizing her things. However, she keeps getting side-tracked; a stack of books needing proper arrangement, a pile of photos requiring categorization, or a collection of trinkets demanding specific display spots.
As a result, she doesn't notice how time ticks away as she turns her simple unpacking task into a full apartment makeover.
By the time she checked the clock, 4 hours had passed. Her apartment looks spick and span, but she's only unpacked about half of her luggage. She lets out a laugh; it seems unpacking and cleaning were just covered for an impromptu interior design overhaul.
As Y/n finishes up the last of her unpacking, a sudden realization hits her. Her toiletry bag, a staple for any extended stay, is nowhere to be found. She recalls leaving it behind in Monaco. Frustration and disbelief flit across her face, the inconvenience of the situation sinking in.
Y/n stands in her spotless bathroom, torn between two unappealing options: going a night without brushing her teeth or making a late-night trip to the store for a new toothbrush. The thought of sacrificing oral hygiene isn't all that appealing, but neither is the idea of stepping out in the brisk evening air to buy new tooth-cleaning supplies.
Just as Y/n contemplates skipping her evening teeth-cleaning session, a sharp pang of longing for Charles hits out of nowhere. It catches her off guard, the realization of being separated from him sinking in once again. The empty toothbrush holder on the bathroom counter seems to echo the emptiness she feels without his presence
Suddenly, the truth hits Y/n with the force of a freight train. The feeling of having left something behind wasn't about a toothbrush at all; it was the poignant realization of leaving Charles behind in Monaco. Their separation weighs heavily on her heart, and in that moment, she misses his presence more than ever.
Y/n finds herself gazing at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, a sudden clarity dawning on her. A profound understanding washes over her as she whispers quietly to herself, "I love him."
The words hang in the air, echoing in the silent apartment. The realization brings a flood of emotions: joy, vulnerability, relief, and a sense of finally acknowledging what has been there all along. She loves Charles with a depth and intensity that leaves her breathless.
Without a second thought, Y/n hastily snatches her phone and car keys from the kitchen counter. She dashes through the darkened apartment, hastily flicking off lights and unplugging appliances as she goes.
Within minutes, she's out the door, the cool evening air enveloping her as she steps outdoors. A sense of urgency fuels her stride as she makes her way towards the parking lot, each step carrying her closer to the road that will bridge the physical distance between her and Charles.
Y/n's hands grip the steering wheel as she navigates the darkening streets, her heart beating with anticipation. The night is deep, but the city lights guide her way as she drives towards Monaco.
The prospect of seeing Charles again fuels her determination, her foot growing heavier on the pedal as she presses onward. Every mile feels like an eternity, but she knows that each one brings her closer to the moment when she'll be reunited with the one person who truly matters.
Her thoughts wander, imagining the moment when she'll see Charles. How his eyes will light up, or the warm embrace they'll share. The images fuel her determination to keep driving faster, to bridge the distance that separates them just a little bit quicker. The cityscape whizzes by, but she's resolute in her goal: to be with Charles once more.
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May 27, 2024 - 11:09 PM
As Y/n stands outside Charles's door, a rush of emotions washes over her. Her heart races, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through her veins. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself before finally knocking on the door. The sound of her knuckles against the wood echoes in the quiet night.
Y/n braces herself, unsure of what awaits on the other side. Will Charles be surprised? Happy? Relieved? The anticipation gnaws at her, building with every passing second.
The sound of soft footsteps approaches from inside, and then the door swings open, revealing a bewildered Charles. He stares at Y/n in disbelief, his expression a mix of shock and delight. "Y/n? What are you doing here?" he queries, his voice tinged with both surprise and warmth.
Y/n musters up a shaky explanation, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and slight hesitation. "I... I left my toiletry bag here," she stammers, her words tumbling out in a hurry. "I didn't realize until after I had unpacked and organized my things. And, well, here I am." She flashes a sheepish smile, trying to downplay the fact that she drove all the way back just for her toiletry bag.
Charles stands dumbfounded for a beat, his mind trying to process the situation. But then, a slow grin spreads across his face. "You drove all the way back... for your toiletry bag?" he says, a hint of amusement in his tone. Despite the unconventional reason for her visit, he can't help but find the situation charming in its absurdity.
Y/n gathers her courage and blurts out her true feelings, the words spilling forth in a rush. "I... I missed you," she confesses, her voice filled with a mixture of earnestness and vulnerability. "I know it sounds crazy, but being separated from you, even for a few hours, felt unbearable. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing."
Her words come out in a rush, her emotions spilling over. "God dammit, Charles, I love you!" She can feel the heat rising in her cheeks as the words escape her lips, laying her heart bare in front of him. The vulnerability and intensity behind her confession hang in the air between them.
He doesn't waste a moment, pulling Y/n inside and pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. There's a sense of relief and longing in his touch, the realization that their separation was unbearable for both of them. Y/n clings to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, matching his fervor and intensity.
Charles pulls away just enough to meet Y/n's gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of adoration and vulnerability. His voice carries a hint of awe as he continues, "You have no idea how long I've prayed for this moment. That maybe, just maybe, you felt something for me too."
His confession hangs in the air, the sincerity in his tone washing over Y/n like a wave of emotions.
Y/n's heart swells with a rush of emotions as Charles's words sink in. The longing she had tried to deny was mirrored in his own confession.
"I prayed for this too," she admits, her voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and tenderness. "I didn't realize the extent of my own feelings until the moment we said goodbye. The thought of being apart... it was unbearable. And now, here you are, saying what I've been too afraid to put into words."
Charles leans in for another lingering kiss, breaking away just long enough to ask, "Can you stay the night? I don't want to be apart from you any longer. Please." His voice is filled with a mixture of tenderness and longing, silently pleading for a positive response.
Y/n smiles, her heart filled with warmth and anticipation. "Yes," she whispers, the words barely above a breath as her lips brush against his. "I'll stay the night. Nothing would make me happier than being with you, right here, right now."
He gently pulls Y/n towards the bedroom, his lips never leaving hers as they make their way through the apartment. Once inside, he locks the door behind them, shutting out the rest of the world.
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pucksandpower · 4 months ago
Text
Pollinated
Day 11 → Sex Pollen 💋 Max Verstappen
Warnings: 18+ content and dubious consent
Kinktober Masterlist
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“You’ve got a stack waiting for you.” Alan leans on the edge of your desk, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He’s holding a bundle of envelopes, some thick with scribbled messages, some thin and printed with clean, crisp fonts.
Your PR officer’s eyebrows raise in mock exasperation as he shakes them at you. “How do you even have time to race with all these fans wanting a piece of you?”
You grin, setting down your coffee and wiping your hands on your pants. “That’s the problem of being so popular, Alan. It’s a curse, really.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s a real burden. Everyone loving you.”
“Someone’s gotta do it.”
He drops the stack in front of you with a soft thud. “Take your time. I’ll be back in a bit.” His tone is teasing, but you catch the flicker of something more serious underneath, like he’s reminding you there’s more work to be done after this.
You roll your eyes as he walks off. You love this part of your day — the letters, the drawings, the fan art from kids who see something in you that makes them believe they can be here too. They’re always so personal, full of energy, like they’re rooting for you from their living rooms or school desks.
You flick through the pile, reading the familiar opening lines. Dear Y/N, you’re such an inspiration or I love watching you race! Your heart lifts as you come across a brightly colored drawing from a girl named Chloe, of you standing on a podium, arms raised in victory. It makes you smile so wide your cheeks hurt a little. You can practically hear the little girl’s voice, excitedly telling her parents, “That’s gonna be me one day.”
“This is what it’s about,” you mutter under your breath, running your fingers over the crayon marks.
More letters. More words of encouragement. A scribbled note from a group of university students who drove twelve hours just to see you race last season. A letter from an older woman who says she’s been watching F1 since her husband introduced her to it in the ‘70s and how proud she is to see a woman making waves. You pause at that one, your chest swelling. You’ll have to write her back.
You reach for the next envelope, a bit plainer than the others. No stickers, no hand-drawn doodles in the margins. It’s simple, just your name written on the front in neat black ink. Your gut tugs slightly, but you brush it off. Not every fan is an artist.
You open it, pulling out a card with a printed picture of a car on the front. Your car. You smile, flipping it open to read the message inside.
But your smile fades as you start to read.
You don’t belong here.
The words are bold, black, and stark against the white paper. They stand out like a punch to the gut, each line colder and more hateful than the last. The handwriting is meticulous, like whoever wrote it wanted to be sure you’d understand every word.
Women like you are ruining the sport.
Your throat tightens. Your fingers grip the edges of the card a little harder than before, the edges bending under the pressure.
Go back to doing what you’re good at: nothing.
You try to swallow, but it feels like there’s a knot lodged in your throat. It’s not the first time you’ve seen something like this. Hell, it’s not even the worst thing anyone’s said. But right now, it’s too sharp, too specific, too venomous.
You reach up to close the card, your hand trembling slightly. But before you can fully shut it, something catches your eye — a tiny puff of fine yellow powder shoots from the fold, drifting into the air in front of you.
“What the-” You blink, confused for a split second.
Then, it hits.
A burning sensation spreads through your throat and nose. Your skin tingles, a wave of heat rushing over your face. You gasp, trying to catch your breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling fire. Panic spikes as your vision blurs.
“Alan!” The name barely makes it past your lips before you feel your legs give way beneath you.
“Alan!” You try again, but it comes out weaker this time. Your limbs feel heavy, your chest tight, and the room starts to spin in slow, nauseating circles.
Footsteps pound across the floor. Alan’s voice sounds far away, muffled, like he’s underwater. You catch a glimpse of him sprinting toward you, his face pale, eyes wide. “Y/N?”
Your body jerks uncontrollably, a violent shudder running through you. The room twists, everything turning hazy as you hit the floor hard, your fingers twitching against the cool tile.
“What the hell — Y/N!” Alan’s panic is sharp now, cutting through the fog. You can barely see him through the haze clouding your vision, but you feel him grab your shoulders, shaking you gently.
“Stay with me. Just stay with me, okay?” His voice cracks, fear bleeding through the edges.
Your entire body seizes again, every muscle clamping down painfully. A sharp cry escapes your throat as the convulsions take over, uncontrollable now.
“Help! Somebody, help!” Alan’s voice is frantic, desperate, echoing through the room as the world starts to fade. His hands are on your face now, trying to keep you conscious. You feel his fingers trembling against your skin, hear the panic rising in his voice as he keeps shouting for help.
But you’re slipping, sinking deeper into the darkness as the convulsions wrack your body. You can’t speak. You can’t move.
Alan’s voice is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.
***
The world returns slowly, like surfacing from a deep dive. There’s a ringing in your ears, muffled voices blending into the constant hum of machinery. Your body feels like it’s on fire — each nerve sizzling under your skin, radiating heat. You try to move, but it’s as if you’re bound by weights. The sheets beneath you cling to your body, too warm, too tight, too much.
Someone’s talking nearby, but it’s distant, warped. You can’t make out the words yet. Everything feels heavy — your eyelids, your chest, even your breathing. Your mouth is dry, your tongue like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth.
Slowly, the fog begins to clear, and you catch fragments of conversation.
“… highly illegal substance …” A voice, crisp and professional, filters through. The doctor. “… extreme toxicity … very few cases on record …”
You try to focus, but the burning sensation inside you only intensifies. It’s everywhere — your limbs, your core, your mind. Like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.
You manage a groan, the sound barely escaping your lips.
“She’s waking up,” someone says, closer now. Alan? It sounds like him, but there’s a hitch in his usually confident voice. Panic.
Your eyelids flutter open, and the room comes into blurry focus. Harsh fluorescent lights. Sterile white walls. The sterile smell of antiseptic clogs your senses, a sharp contrast to the heat still coursing through you. You blink slowly, your vision sharpening enough to see Alan standing by your bedside, pale and jittery, his hand running through his hair in nervous strokes.
Across from him is the doctor, his white coat stiff and immaculate. He’s holding a clipboard, and his face is a mask of concern. When he speaks, it feels like each word takes a lifetime to process.
“… the substance she was exposed to … it’s not just any powder,” the doctor is saying, his voice measured but grim. “It’s a synthetic pollen derivative, known as Lust Dust on the black market.”
Lust Dust. The words sink into you, but you don’t recognize them. Your throat feels too tight to ask for clarification. Alan, however, doesn’t hesitate.
“What does that mean? What the hell is that?” Alan’s voice is raw, frayed at the edges.
The doctor sighs, flipping through the notes on his clipboard before answering. “It’s an extremely illegal bio-weapon, developed underground. It was used in several isolated attacks a few years ago, mostly in war zones. The symptoms … well, they’re brutal.”
You don’t like the sound of this. Brutal. Illegal. Bio-weapon. The words swirl around in your head, each one setting off alarm bells, but you can barely move enough to react. You just lie there, heat pulsing through you, your body screaming in agony.
“The pollen attacks the body’s nervous system,” the doctor continues, his tone clinical. “It acts as a stimulant, targeting primal instincts, heightening … certain responses. The most dangerous part is that, if untreated, the body will burn out within hours.”
“Burn out?” Alan echoes, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What does that mean? You mean … she’ll die?”
“Yes,” the doctor replies, his tone darkening. “In most cases, without intervention, the victim’s body will shut down. It’s a highly sexualized toxin. The only way to counteract the effects is through physical release.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence. The words hover in the air, sinking into the room with a weight you can almost feel. Your heart races, your mind struggling to comprehend what’s being said. Physical release? The burning sensation in your body intensifies, like it’s reacting to the very idea of what the doctor’s suggesting.
Alan’s face pales further, his hand gripping the back of his neck in horror. “Wait, are you — are you saying she has to-”
“Sex,” the doctor says bluntly, not sugar-coating anything. “Yes. If she doesn’t have sex soon, she will die. The sooner, the better, to mitigate the damage the pollen’s already caused.”
A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, despite the unbearable heat raging inside you. The fire in your veins is consuming everything, twisting the doctor’s words into cruel irony. This can’t be happening. Not this.
“I … I …“ Alan stammers, clearly at a loss, his eyes flicking to you, desperate and terrified. “There’s got to be another way. Medicine? A procedure? Something?”
The doctor shakes his head. “There’s no antidote. The only option is the one I’ve given you.”
You want to scream. You want to cry. But you can’t do anything except lie there, burning from the inside out, unable to stop the panic surging through you as the realization sinks in.
Alan takes a shaky breath. “What … what do we do now?”
The doctor straightens, his voice calm but commanding. “The most important thing is finding someone who’s willing to … assist.”
Alan’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can say anything, the door bursts open and several members of your team file into the room — engineers, mechanics, staff. Their faces are tight with concern, and they crowd into the small space, murmuring amongst themselves.
“What happened?” Someone asks, their voice tense.
Alan quickly explains, his voice shaking as he goes over the details. The pollen. The bio-weapon. The need for “intervention.” Every word makes your heart pound harder, and you can feel the collective shock ripple through the room as the reality of the situation sets in.
“She needs someone,” Alan says, his voice thick with emotion. “She needs someone to …”
He can’t even finish the sentence.
The room falls into stunned silence. You can hear the soft hum of the machines around you, the ragged breathing of the people in the room. It feels like time has stopped, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone.
Then, the whispers start.
“I’ll do it,” someone mutters.
“No, I will,” another voice pipes up. You recognize it as one of the engineers, his voice shaky but sincere.
“I mean, she’s our driver, right? We have to help.”
More voices chime in, each one offering, each one willing. The panic in the room turns to a frantic eagerness, as though everyone suddenly realizes what’s at stake. You can barely comprehend it — the idea that your team, your colleagues, are discussing this as though it’s just another task, something to be done to save your life.
Your mind is spinning, your body trembling with the heat still coursing through you. You want to shout at them, tell them to stop, that this isn’t how things should be. But you can’t move, can’t speak. All you can do is listen as the conversation grows more chaotic, more desperate.
Then, the door opens again, and a new voice cuts through the noise.
“Everyone out.”
It’s Max.
The room falls silent instantly, every head turning toward him. He stands in the doorway, his face hard and set, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity you’ve never seen before. He looks around the room, his gaze sharp, taking in the faces of your teammates, the panic, the confusion.
“I said out,” Max repeats, his voice calm but firm.
No one moves at first, too shocked to respond. But then one by one, they start to file out, murmuring to each other in hushed tones as they leave the room. You hear Alan hesitate for a moment, but even he doesn’t argue. The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone with Max.
You’re too weak to turn your head, but you can hear him walk closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He doesn’t speak right away, and the silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the soft beeping of the machines monitoring your condition.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Max’s voice fills the room. “It’s going to be me.”
Your heart skips a beat.
“No one else is touching you,” he says, his tone low, steady. “I’m your teammate. I’m the one who’s going to help you. Not them.”
You can’t see his face, but you can hear the resolve in his voice, the determination. He’s not offering. He’s deciding. There’s no question, no hesitation. It’s going to be him, and no one else.
And as the burning inside you flares again, you realize that part of you is grateful.
***
The air between you and Max is thick with tension, the kind that crackles in the silence, heavy with unspoken words. You lie there, your body still ablaze, the fire under your skin pulsing in waves, but something about his presence — steady, resolute — grounds you, if only just. You can’t move, can barely speak, but your mind races, half-paralyzed with the agony of the pollen and half with the strange anticipation of what’s to come.
Max stands beside the bed, his face framed by the fluorescent lights above, casting shadows that sharpen his features. He doesn’t look afraid, though you can tell there’s something behind his eyes — something that trembles just beneath the surface. His gaze locks onto yours, and it feels like he’s looking past the pain, past the situation, to something deeper.
“This isn’t how I imagined …“ His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, as though the words aren’t meant to be heard by anyone but you. He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours, tentative at first, like he’s asking permission for what’s about to happen.
You want to respond, to say something, but your throat is too tight, too raw, the burning heat still tearing through you. You manage the faintest of nods, your hand twitching against his, and that’s all he needs.
Max leans over, his face close to yours now, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand trails gently down your arm, his touch soft, careful. “I’m here, okay?” He murmurs, his voice low, soothing. “We’ll get through this.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, in that same quiet, tender voice, he adds, “Schatje … you’re so strong.”
The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, and despite everything — despite the fire tearing you apart from the inside out — it brings a strange, aching warmth to your chest. Max has never called you that before. The intimacy of it catches you off guard, though you don’t have the strength to dwell on it for long.
His hands move lower now, brushing across your skin with reverence, as though you might break under his touch. You shiver, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.
“You don’t deserve this,” Max whispers, his forehead nearly touching yours. His voice cracks ever so slightly, betraying the calm façade he’s trying to maintain. “I’ve … I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he admits softly, his words a confession, raw and vulnerable. “But not like this. Never like this.”
You close your eyes, focusing on the feel of his hands on your body, the way he’s handling you with such care, as though he’s afraid of hurting you. And somehow, through the pain, you manage to relax just enough to let him in. Just enough to let him take some of the weight from you.
He presses his lips to your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, and you can feel the tremble in his breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.”
The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the burning inside you dims, replaced by something else. Something warm, and tender, and utterly consuming. Max moves with purpose now, his touch becoming more sure, more confident, but never losing that careful tenderness. He’s cooing to you, whispering soft praises in Dutch, his voice like a balm against the fire raging inside you.
“I’ve always wanted you,” Max admits again, his words spilling out like he can’t hold them back any longer. “For so long. I just … I didn’t know how to tell you.”
His hands continue their journey, and despite the circumstances, despite the fire still licking at your insides, your body responds. Every touch feels magnified, every brush of his skin against yours sending a jolt of something deeper through you, something primal and desperate and… needed.
“You’re so strong,” he says again, his voice reverent, almost in awe. “So perfect. I don’t know how you do it.”
Your body trembles beneath him, not just from the fire that’s still coursing through you, but from the way he’s touching you, the way his words wrap around you like a soft embrace. It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t expected, the vulnerability of the moment stripping away any pretense, any barriers you might have once had.
“I’m here, liefje,” Max whispers, his lips brushing against your ear now. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
You don’t know how he manages it, how he makes something so painful feel like this, but he does. His hands are everywhere, soothing the burn, coaxing your body to relax, to give in to what you need. And with every touch, every whispered endearment, the fire inside you dims, just a little, just enough to let you breathe.
“I wish it was different,” Max murmurs, his voice thick with emotion now. “I wish this was … just us. Not because of this. Not because of …“ His words trail off, but you understand. You understand perfectly.
He presses his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged, his body tense with the effort of keeping himself composed. “But I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says, his voice fierce with determination. “I’ll do anything for you.”
Your body reacts to him instinctively now, every nerve ending lighting up in response to his touch, the fire inside you blazing hotter but in a way that feels … different. Less painful. More like an ache, a deep, desperate need that only he can fill.
“Max …“ you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse, barely audible. It’s the first word you’ve spoken since waking up, and it feels like a release, like a crack in the wall you’ve built around yourself. He hears it, though, and his gaze softens, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “I’ve always got you.”
His movements quicken, and you can feel yourself spiraling, the fire inside you building to a crescendo, but this time it’s not just pain. It’s something more, something overwhelming and all-consuming. You can feel him with you, guiding you, coaxing you toward the edge.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers again, his voice breathless now, his own control slipping. “I’ve wanted you for so long …“
His words send you tumbling over the edge, your body convulsing in a wave of pleasure so intense it nearly takes your breath away. The fire beneath your skin peaks, then suddenly, blessedly, begins to recede. It’s like the flames are being extinguished, one by one, leaving only warmth in their wake.
And Max is there, holding you through it, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing is ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move.
As the last of the fire dies down, as your body finally begins to relax, you hear him whisper, so softly you almost miss it.
“I love you.”
The words slip out before he can stop them, unguarded and raw, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The room, the pain, the circumstances that brought you here — it all disappears, leaving only the two of you, tangled together, vulnerable and exposed.
You’re too weak to respond, too exhausted from everything that’s just happened, but Max doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach.
“I love you,” he whispers again, like he’s afraid you didn’t hear him the first time. “I’ve always loved you.”
His confession hangs in the air, delicate and fragile, but it feels right. Like it’s been waiting to be said all along.
As the fire beneath your skin finally dies out completely, as your body settles into a state of calm for the first time in hours, you let yourself fall into the safety of his arms, his warmth the only thing keeping the remnants of the fire at bay.
Max doesn’t let go. Not for a long time. And you don’t want him to.
***
Max holds you close, his body pressed against yours, his breath still coming in shallow bursts as the two of you lie in a tangled heap on the bed. The burning fire that had been searing through your body has finally been extinguished, leaving only a lingering warmth that feels manageable now.
But even though the pain is gone, even though your body has found relief, there’s still something… unfinished. A strange, restless feeling that hums beneath your skin, an ache that begs for more.
Max is quiet beside you, his hand brushing gently through your hair as he watches your face, his expression soft but intent, like he’s still worried, still waiting for some sign that you’re okay. But you can see it in his eyes — he knows. He knows it’s not over yet.
You shift beneath him, the subtle movement sending a ripple of sensation through you, and your breath hitches involuntarily. The fire is gone, but that need, that craving — it’s still there, simmering just below the surface. It’s not the urgent, desperate heat of the pollen, but it’s undeniable.
Max’s gaze sharpens, reading the subtle cues in your body. His hand stills in your hair, and you feel him shift beside you, his body tensing slightly as he watches you, waiting for you to say something, to ask for what you need.
You don’t have to.
“Oh liefje,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “You still need more, don’t you?”
Your throat tightens, and you nod, unable to form the words. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes — understanding, maybe, or something deeper. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He already knows.
Max’s hand trails down your body, his touch feather-light, and it sends a shiver through you, your body responding to him instantly. He presses a kiss to your temple, then to your jaw, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “I’m here,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “Whatever you need.”
His lips travel lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, and you arch into him, your body aching for more. He moves slowly, deliberately, savoring each touch, each kiss, as if he’s committing every inch of you to memory.
You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips when he moves lower still, his mouth brushing against your collarbone. He’s taking his time, drawing this out, making sure every second is filled with pleasure, with tenderness. There’s no urgency now, no frantic need to cure the fire. This is something else — something deliberate, something intimate.
Max’s hands slide down your sides, his thumbs brushing lightly over your ribs as he lowers himself down the bed. His mouth follows the path his hands have carved, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and teasing, as he moves lower, kissing across your stomach with slow, deliberate care.
Every nerve in your body is on high alert, each touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your fingers tangle in the sheets, gripping them tightly as you fight to keep your composure, but Max makes it impossible. His lips are everywhere, soft and warm and completely unrelenting.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I don’t think you even realize …”
His words send a thrill through you, and your breath catches as his hands slide lower, his fingers brushing the curve of your hips. He presses a kiss to your navel, and you feel the heat pooling deep inside you, the need building again, stronger this time, more insistent.
“Max …” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears you. He always hears you.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers back, his voice soft, reassuring. “Just relax.”
You try, but it’s impossible with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s kissing you, like every part of you deserves his undivided attention. He’s worshiping you with every movement, and it’s almost too much to bear.
Max’s hands slide up your thighs, and your breath stutters as he spreads your legs wider, his eyes dark with want as he looks up at you. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he presses a kiss just below the dip of your waist, teasing you, making you wait.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Do you know that?”
You can’t respond, can’t do anything but arch into him, desperate for more. He knows exactly what you need, and he’s giving it to you slowly, carefully, savoring every moment.
Max’s hands grasp your thighs, and he pulls them apart slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something in his gaze — something raw, something vulnerable. He’s giving himself to you completely, just as much as you’re giving yourself to him.
His lips trail lower, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there, and your entire body shudders in response. Every nerve is on fire again, but this time it’s not the cruel burn of the pollen.
This is different. This is Max.
He pauses for a moment, his lips hovering just above where you need him most, and he looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.
You can’t form the words. All you can do is nod, your body trembling beneath him.
Max smiles, a small, almost shy smile, and then he lowers his head, his mouth finally, blessedly, on you. The sensation is immediate, intense, and you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets as he works you with a precision that only he seems to know. His tongue moves slowly at first, teasing you, drawing out your pleasure, but it doesn’t take long for him to find the rhythm that makes your entire body sing.
He’s relentless, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, driving you higher and higher until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you’re sure you’re going to break.
“Max!” You gasp, your body arching off the bed. “Please …”
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. If anything, he goes faster, his tongue working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling. You’re so close, so impossibly close, and he knows it.
“That’s it,” he whispers against you, his voice thick with need. “Let go, schatje. I’ve got you.”
And then, with one last flick of his tongue, you’re gone, tumbling over the edge into a wave of pleasure so intense it almost hurts. Your entire body convulses, your vision going white as you fall apart beneath him, your fingers gripping the sheets so tightly they burn.
Max doesn’t let up, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re nothing but a trembling, panting mess. When he finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your body slick with sweat, your heart racing in your chest.
He crawls back up the bed, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he goes, his hands soothing over your trembling limbs. When he finally reaches your face, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing your hair back from your face.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft, reassuring. “You’re okay.”
You can barely nod, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. Max pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back as you come down from the high. His breath is warm against your ear, and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours.
For a moment, everything is still. Quiet. Perfect.
And then, just as your breathing begins to slow, the door creaks open.
The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable as he takes in the sight of you and Max — sweaty, tangled together, your bodies still humming with the afterglow. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at his clipboard, then back at you.
“Well,” he says after a moment, his tone entirely too clinical for the situation. “It appears the cure has been administered.”
Max stiffens beside you, but the doctor doesn’t seem to notice — or care. He simply jots down a few notes on his clipboard, his pen scratching loudly in the silence.
“Residual effects of heightened libido may persist,” the doctor adds, almost as an afterthought. He glances up from his notes, his gaze flicking between you and Max, then nods, satisfied. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”
And with that, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving you and Max in stunned silence.
Max lets out a breath, a low, incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Did he seriously just …”
You nod, still too dazed to form a coherent response.
Max shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “Well, I guess we’re not done yet.”
And with the way your body still hums with need, you know he’s right.
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luveline · 1 year ago
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your bombshell!reader x spencer is feeding me so well, i'm obsessed!! SJSJS since we've seen reader jealous, is it possible to have a fic where it's spencer that's jealous?
thank u!! fem!reader
Your outfit today is simple. Pencil skirt, dark stockings, hair pristine. The thing that catches Spencer's attention, holds it between two squeezing palms, is the shirt and blazer ensemble you've styled. It's cut to fit, sleek and dark and hard to look away from. 
You brush past the back of Hotch's chair with a sigh, clearly unaware of the attention you're garnering from across the way. “What's wrong with him?” you ask. 
“The same thing as usual,” Hotch says. 
“It's not like we've ever instantly solved a case. Gideon knows this takes time.”
Elle pokes her tongue into her cheek, eyes flared wide. She says a lot without saying anything, flicking through the police files in front of her dispassionately.
“How come you stayed?”
It takes Spencer a moment to realise you're talking to him. “What?” 
“You didn't go with Gideon?” You hold your chin in your hand. “Not getting along anymore?” 
Spencer isn't not getting along with his mentor. He would've accompanied Gideon to meet with a past mass murderer, only you're here, and so he'd found unrelated reasons to stay. 
“We're fine,” Spencer says, not wanting to say more and give himself away. 
“Well, he took Morgan.” You pout, your voice dripping to a wistful whine. “What am I gonna do now without him? None of you guys ever wanna play with me.” 
Hotch smiles to himself. Spencer's stomach ties itself in knots, a tight noose that grows tighter still when you notice his expression and lean in toward your superior. “What's that smile for, Hotchner?” 
“Don't you have emails to look through?”  
You hold your cheek in your hand lightly, fingertips digging into the soft of your cheek. Your smile is like a kick to the chest, achingly sweet on such a pretty face. “No…” Your pinky digs into the corner of your mouth. “I don't remember that being on my agenda today.” 
“Consider it an addition.” 
Is Hotch flirting back? Spencer isn't sure why that strikes him so hard. Maybe because Hotch would actually have a chance with you if he wanted it; your flirting with Hotch is more real than if it were with Spencer, because Spencer is a twenty-something know-it-all who still dresses like his mom buys his clothes. 
“It's a lot of emails, boss,” you say. 
“You have time. Start with the ones sent by Hughes and work your way down.” Hotch slides the login information across the desk into your reach. 
You look at it unhappily. Look up at him. 
Just being looked at by you is a full body experience. Whenever you look at him, he begs himself to play it cool as Hotch is now, to treat it as the affectionate playfulness of a friend rather than serious flirting. He'd have a better chance of being taken seriously by you if he didn't blush whenever you so much as breathed in the same room. 
He wishes he could respond calmly like Hotch. (He wishes you'd flirt with him and him alone. He buries that deep.) 
Envy eats at his hands. Pins and needles he tries to shake away. His movements draw your attention, and your smile worsens, which is to say sweetens, like seeing him again is a treat for the eyes. 
“You'll help me, won't you, baby?” you ask.
He goes a little blind. 
Hotch and Elle watch the encounter with similar parts pity and amusement. 
“You can read through them so quickly, I could really use your…” —you drag your fingertips down your face until your nails are at your jaw— “expertise.” 
“Reid has his own tasks–” 
“I can help,” Spencer interrupts. 
You drop your hand from your face altogether. “Thank you. Have I mentioned how much I missed you while I was away?” 
“Only five times,” Elle says under her breath. 
“They try so very hard to keep us apart. It's not fair.” 
Because unlike Reid, you don't have multiple degrees. You're still learning, and you can't be here permanently, but your talent, your knack for profiling, is unignorable. You're guaranteed a place on the team as soon as you can prove yourself to Strauss. Without a Gideon to vouch for you, that could take a while, and yet you're never jealous of Spencer skipping a few hurdles to get here. 
If anything, you admire him. “They don't understand our bond, that's all. And together we're hard to beat. Isn't that right, Spence?” 
Perhaps Spencer shouldn't be jealous. You don't call Hotch by anything so saccharine, after all. 
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benevolentbones · 6 months ago
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Haiii idk how to word this but basically season 10 spencer reid seeing reader in a backless dress nd hes all flustered but also really attracted to her ? idk if i worded this right sorryy
green dress | spencer reid x fem!reader
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warnings: mention of scar, uncomfortable body image! fem reader
word count: 1.5k
a/n: thank you for your request!! i hope you enjoy this<3 requests still open, im getting through them! reblogs n comments always appreciated <3
you’ve always been insecure about how you looked in dresses, especially backless ones.
a year or so ago when you were out on the field, an unsub had managed to corner you and stabbed you in the back resulting in a scar a few inches long that rested between your shoulder blades.
even before the incident you weren’t keen on showing off much skin, but now the scar made you even more self-conscious.
you often found yourself shying away from outfits that revealed too much, particularly those that might expose the mark left behind from that encounter.
the fear of judgment and the constant reminder of that day made it difficult for you to feel confident in anything but the most modest clothing, so when you went out dress shopping, and penelope pulled out a backless dress she could immediately sense your discomfort.
you were out with penelope and emily, using your very rare day off to go dress shopping for agent rossi’s annual ball he liked to host in his mansion.
a frown graced your features as penelope held up a simple dark green satin dress with a plunged neckline and, of course, it was backless.
emily noticed your frown, turning around in one of the many dresses she had tried on in the last hour. this one was by far the nicest, it hugged her nicely and the shade of red complimented her striking features.
“c’mon y/n, you’ll look so good.” emily hummed, smoothing down the dress on her form as she looked in the mirror.
“i- i don’t know guys- you know that’s not really my style.”
“oh but it could be- just try it on please!” penelope practically begged, shoving the soft fabric into your arms. despite your dislike for showing off your body, you knew this would make the girls happy so you obliged, stepping into the changing room and drawing the curtain closed.
penelope and emily waited anxiously for your return, still adorned in the dresses they were also trying on. penelope opted for a bright pink number, with many layers of tulle, very much her style.
you slid the curtain back, taking a step out and shuffling awkwardly towards the mirror where the girls sat. their expressions ranged from shock to excitement, penelope had a huge grin on her red stained lips.
“you look perfect!” she squealed out, adjusting her thick framed glasses to get a better look at you.
emily nodded in agreement, her dark eyes scanning how the dress hugged your form. “wow..you’ll be the prettiest at the party.” she chuckled.
you stood in front of the mirrors, turning slightly so you could get a look at how the dress sat on you. you had to admit, it suited your figure well, accentuating your curves. you turned to see the back of the dress, it cut rather low, stopping just before the small of your back.
your eyes flickered up to the scar on your back, you instinctively rolled your shoulder blades back. “i- i don’t know…” you mumbled out under your breath.
penelope shook her head. “you look amazing- you have to get it.”
still uncertain you sighed, “i feel so exposed- im not used to this.”
emily glanced towards penelope, a smirk turning up on her lips before she spoke. “that’s spencer’s favourite colour you know..” she muttered out half casually.
instantly you could feel a rush of warmth spread to your cheeks, the thought of spencer seeing you at the party in a dress like this made you nervous. you shot emily a fake glare which she returned with a knowing smile.
“so….yes to the dress?” penelope quizzed, eyes wide as she waited for your answer. you paused for a moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
“fine..”
~
it was the night of the party. guests were arriving, music was blaring, derek and spencer were standing near the punch bowl.
as you walked in, you could feel the buzz of excitement in the air. the soft fabric of the dress clung to your skin, making you more aware of every movement you made. emily and penelope flanked you, their presence giving you a bit of courage.
you scanned the room, heart pounding, until your eyes landed on spencer. he was deep in conversation with derek, but as if sensing your gaze, he turned. his eyes widened slightly when he saw you, and a small, appreciative smile played on his lips.
spencer’s figure adorned a deep green suit, complimented with a black shirt and tie, the colour a few shades darker than the dress you were wearing. your eyes flickered away, as you whispered to penelope.
“did you know-“ she cut you off with a small smirk. a breath escaped your lips as you drew closer to the two men, emily and penelope not leaving your sides incase you decided to make a dash for it.
“wow you ladies look incredible.” morgan whistled lowly, penelope and emily as if on que, abandoned your side, linking arms with derek. “i’ll see you later lover boy.” morgan shot back to spencer as he lead the two women away from you.
spencer’s eyebrows furrowed at morgan’s comment, his gaze quickly fixing back on you.
spencer's eyes widened as they fell on you. his jaw dropped slightly, and a rosy hue crept up his neck to his cheeks. he fumbled for words, clearly flustered.
"y-you look... amazing," he finally managed to stammer out, his voice barely above a whisper.
you felt your own cheeks warm at his reaction, your heart fluttering. you took a step closer, your eyes meeting his, and you could see the genuine awe in his gaze.
"thank you, spencer" you replied softly, a shy smile playing on your lips. despite feeling so out of place and out of your comfort zone in the dress, the way spencer looked at you made you feel…confident.
he cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure. "i mean, —you always look nice, but tonight... you look... stunning."
the sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. spencer, usually so composed and articulate, was completely gobsmacked, and it was all because of you.
his gaze shifted to the dress again, now noticing the low cut, how it showed off your back and the scar between your shoulder blades. he felt a surge of warmth rush to his cheeks, his breath practically getting caught in his throat.
"i, uh," he started, his eyes still locked on you, "i didn't expect... i mean, wow." he let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, soft brown locks falling over his face.
"it's just a dress…” you said, though you felt a thrill at his reaction.
"no," he shook his head, his gaze unwavering, "it's not just the dress. it's you. you're... breathtaking— you’ve always been breathtaking.”
his words left you momentarily speechless, the intensity of his gaze making you feel both exhilarated and shy. you took another bold step closer, your hands lightly brushing against his.
"spencer, i.." you began, but the words failed you. instead, you let your eyes speak for you, hoping he could see the effect he had on you.
he took a deep breath, his fingers trembling as they curled around yours. “—you’re- god.. you’ve always been so beautiful- and i should’ve said something earlier— told you sooner..”
your eyes widened as he spoke, the taller man taking a step closer to you, his hand resting at your waist, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin on the backless dress. your breath hitched slightly at his warm grasp.
“i— fuck.” he mumbled out, for once in his life spencer found himself unable to formulate a sentence, to describe how he felt about you. he had longed for you, for months, years even..and now he had the chance to just tell you.
your eyes flickered over his facial expression, the pale pink hue deepened as he brought his gaze back to meet yours. his dark eyes traveled down to your lips once more.
he wanted nothing more than to just kiss you right now, the way the light made your skin glow, how the dress wrapped around your body- the low cut back, it was all too much for him.
spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. it was gentle at first, filled with the unspoken feelings you both had kept hidden for so long.
as the kiss deepened, you felt a surge of warmth and happiness, a feeling of rightness settling over you. his hands moved to your hips, pulling you closer, and you responded by wrapping your arms around his neck, losing yourself in the moment.
taglist!! @0108s22m @rainoftearss @potatovoyager @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @luvmia222 @shardsofmarxx @silver138 @lover-of-books-and-tea @thedancingnerdmermaid @khxna
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pastryfication · 4 months ago
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say yes to the dress
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pairing: lando norris x reader (or more likely lando’s family x reader) note: i have been watching way too much say yes to the dress lately so i just couldn’t stop myself from writing this.
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the soft chime of the bell above the boutique door rings as you step inside, followed by a warm rush of air scented with lavender and vanilla. the room is bathed in soft light that reflects off the rows of pristine white wedding dresses hanging delicately on their racks. you take a deep breath, feeling the thrill and nerves swirl in your chest. today is the day. today, you’ll—hopefully—find the dress.
your mother is the first to stride forward, her eyes twinkling with excitement. she squeezes your hand, a mix of pride and nostalgia evident in her lingering gaze. “i can’t believe my little girl is getting married,” she says softly, her voice catching in her throat. “i can still remember when you were a little baby resting on my chest.”
beside her, your sister grins, playfully nudging your shoulder. “she’s about to be mrs. lando norris!” she teases, drawing a laugh from you. it still feels surreal, like a beautiful dream you never want to wake up from.
lando’s mother, cisca, approaches you with a warm smile, her two daughters—your future sisters-in-law—flo and cisca, close behind. “i think we’re all in for a treat today,” she says, her eyes scanning the racks of dresses. “we’re not leaving until we find *the* one.”
you look around, feeling surrounded by so much love. these are your people, your family. it’s just the six of you today—no cameras, no fanfare, just a group of women on a mission to find the dress that will make you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
the boutique owner, an elegant woman with a thick french accent, greets you all warmly. she gestures toward a plush seating area with a mirrored platform. “please, make yourselves comfortable. i’ll bring out a selection to start with. if there’s anything specific you’re looking for, let me know.”
the anticipation bubbles inside you as you take a seat, flanked by your sister on one side and flo on the other. you look over at the group, feeling grateful to have everyone here with you. “so, i’m thinking something simple, maybe lace—”
“maybe lace?” your sister interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “girl, you’re about to marry lando freaking norris. this is your moment to shine!”
you laugh, feeling your cheeks warm as you send her a playful glare. “okay, maybe a little sparkle, but nothing too crazy.”
flo leans over, whispering conspiratorially. “don’t worry, we’ll make sure you look stunning. lan won’t know what hit him.”
the boutique owner returns with a selection of dresses, each more beautiful than the last. as you browse through them, running your fingers over the intricate beadwork and soft silks, you hesitate, glancing at the price tags. it’s hard not to feel a pang of guilt at the sight of the numbers, even though you know lando would give you the world if you asked.
“i don’t want to go overboard,” you say quietly, almost to yourself. “i mean, we have a budget, and i don’t want to spend too much—”
cisca turns to you, her expression immediately softening. she places a gentle hand on your arm. “sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about that. you have no budget. lando wants you to have exactly what you want and he’ll take care of everything. if you even think about being humble, i’ll have him on speed dial.”
you blink, taken aback by her generosity and the easy confidence with which she says it. “i just . . . i don’t want to—”
she shakes her head with a reassuring smile. “this day is about you, and lando doesn’t want you to hold back. you’re part of our family now, and we want you to feel as special as you are.”
your mother nods in agreement, her eyes misty. “you deserve this, honey. you and lando both do.”
you feel your heart swell, grateful beyond words. you’ve always known Lando would do anything for you, but to hear his family say it, to feel their unwavering support—it’s everything. you’re marrying into more than a relationship; you’re becoming a part of something bigger, something that’s filled with love.
you try on the first few dresses, and all of them are gorgeous, but they don’t feel special. it isn’t until you take one of the most simple gowns, a soft lace gown that hugs your figure just right, that your heart gets stuck in your throat.
you step onto the platform and look at yourself in the mirror. for a moment, you’re speechless. you see yourself, not just as a bride, but as a woman surrounded by the people who love her most.
there’s a collective gasp from the group, and you turn to see their faces lit up with joy. your sister is already snapping photos on her phone, and lando’s sisters are whispering to each other, both clearly enamored with the dress.
cisca wipes away a tear, her smile broad. “you look absolutely stunning. everybody’s gonna be speechless.”
you feel a surge of happiness as you spin around, the dress twirling elegantly. “do you think this is the one?”
your mother stands, crossing the room to take your hands in hers. “only you can decide that, but if it feels right, it’s perfect.”
you glance back at your reflection, and you know. it’s perfect. this is the dress you’ll walk down the aisle in, the dress you’ll wear when you say, “i do,” to the love of your life.
and as you stand there, surrounded by laughter, kind words, and the unconditional love of the women around you, you know this is just the beginning of a lifetime of beautiful moments.
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cthulhus-curse · 22 days ago
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Soft mommy Wanda who…cradles you closely whenever you have a bad day, something yoou don't even need to tell her. "Mommy knows," is what Wanda oftentimes explains. She will hum softly as you lay against her chest, her arms wrapped around you as nimble fingers trace lazy fingers along your exposed skin -- her body similarly nude. She will plant one, two, and maybe three kisses for good measure atop your forehead, each bettering your mood more than the last. "I'm here for you, baby," Wanda promises you. "Mommy will always be here."
Soft mommy Wanda who…loves cooking for you. She takes it very seriously, ensuring to try a handful of recipes on a weekly basis. You feel a tad bit antsy as you sit around waiting for whatever new meal your mommy will prepare for you, but she has none of that. Instead, Wanda sends you off to enjoy some time alone, partaking in your hobbies to not dare peek into the kitchen and ruin her surprise. One of your favorites ends up being a deliciously made tomato soup, albeit simple, with a grilled cheese oozes out the cheddar in only the most mouth-watering of ways. And of course your mommy doesn't let you take a bite of your food unless she blows on it to make sure you won't burn yourself.
Soft mommy Wanda who…can spend hours between your legs making you see the stars. She gets off from simply using her mouth to please you, at times her fingers which stretch you out in the most lewd ways imaginable. Wanda leaves love bites all over your skin, worshipping you as though you were an entity -- which, in her mind, you might as well be. And when you cum, Wanda has to hold you down. "Shh, mommy's got you, sweetheart. Let go for me. There you go. There's a good girl. Oh, you did so well for your mommy."
Soft mommy Wanda who…enjoys aftercare more than anything. She just loves taking care of you so much. Cleaning you up, getting you a glass of water and a snack, all while she peppers sweet kisses on you. And then of course she draws a bath for the two of you to enjoy, ensuring she sits behind you to carefully wash your hair, her fingers casually massaging themselves along your scalp, as you relax on her.
Soft mommy Wanda who…shudders when your lips encircle her nipples. Oh but does she love it. At times she has to grab a fistful of your hair to keep herself grounded, but soon finds relief in the way you suck on her breasts. It makes her feel all warm and fussy inside, much like your checked-out mind in those moments. "There you go, baby. Bet that feels good, huh?" Wanda mumbles to you, her lips hovering over your forehead as you keep nursing. "Such a good girl. Oh, mommy's best girl."
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agirlsguidetolove · 1 year ago
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I NEED MATHEO OR THEODORE X FEM READER AND SHE JUST LOVES HIS HANDS AND ARM VIENS AND SHE WALKS INTO HIS DORM AND IS GOBSMAKED TO SEE HIS ABS
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pairings: theodore nott x reader
word count: 0.9k
summary: ^^
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You feel safe. Your head rests in Theo’s lap, staring up at his handsome face as he reads, a hand massaging your scalp unconsciously.
Your gaze wanders down his arms, pursing your lips when you notice the veins that flow down his arms into his hands, watching as his huge hands delicately flip a page.
It’s hard to suppress a giggle, and you don’t, thinking about your man, mister mean Theodore Nott being gentle with a book, but nearly as gentle as he is with you.
It’s seductive, his loveliness, his kindness, his softness, but so is the way he looks down at you, eyes curious as he silently asks what your giggling about. You shrug up at him, but his hand leaves your hair and you from, sitting up from your spot on his bed, and turning to look at him over your shoulder.
“What’s up, babe?” you ask, watching as he crinkles the corner of his book page to mark where he left off. You cringe. Maybe he’s not the gentlest.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he starts, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips, you pull away, he chases after your lips, muttering, “Quidditch.”
You roll your eyes, pulling away from his second kiss. You had already forgotten about his quidditch practice even though he was already in his practice jersey.
You groan, throwing yourself into his pillows. “Why, Lord, why must you do this to me?” you yell into his pillow. You can hear him chuckle.
“I’ll be back soon, hun,” he assures, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Two hours at most.”
“Two hours,” you groan again, letting your head fall into his chest. You can feel his abs underneath his thin shirt. Your mouth waters.
He pats your hair, smoothing it down before slowly backing away, off his bed. “I know,” he groans. He stands up, eyes never leaving you as he backs to his door. “I’ll be as fast as I can. Okay, sweetheart?”
“You better be.” You hum, watching him slip out the door.
The next hour is the most boring hour of your life. You mindlessly looked through Theo’s book that he left on his bed, reading his beautiful annotation, but he’s a quiet guy, his annotation are drawn down to simple cursive words with vocab you can hardly understand.
Boredom brings you back to your dorm, lying in bed, listening to Pansy draw onto her hopeless crush on Luna Lovegood. It’s entertaining, much more entertaining then sitting around and doing nothing. It’s when she leaves it get boring again, and you find your way back to Theo’s dorm.
Without a second though, you shove the door open, welcoming yourself inside.
You flush when your eyes land on Theo, his back to you, bent slightly as he stared down at his bed, completely bare from the waist up.
“Shit,” you say under your breath, hopelessly staring at your boyfriends back, unable to move.
He’s toned, the muscles in his back stare at you and you can see triceps flex at you as he holds his jersey. His veins are more prominent in his arms as he runs a hand through his sweaty hair. He’s glistening like a greek god.
“You’re shirtless,” you breathe, still standing in the doorway of his dorm. The words come out as an exclaim, and you’re embarrassed and incredibly flustered.
He turns around and your greeted with Theodore’s abs. Your mouth gapes, and you can feel your own drool forming in your mouth. You feel hot all over.
Theo smiles at the sight of you, his green quidditch jersey still in his hand, the silky material practically melts in his big hands and all of a sudden it’s hard to look away, but you manage, meeting his eyes.
“Hey, honey,” he smiles, walking up to you and grabbing you by your forearms to pull you inside his dorm and close the door. He stays close, his body heat radiating off him as you try to look him in the eyes and settle your uneven breaths.
“I didn’t know where you went,” he chuckles, looking down at you with a loving expression in his eyes. “I was beginning to get worried.”
“Worried?” you choke out, still frazzled. “Why would you be worried?”
Theo hums, pulling you as he walks backwards to his bed. He sits, pulling you between his legs so he can look up at you, his hands resting on you hips. He leans forward and kisses your belly. You can see the muscles of his back. Fuck, he was hot.
“Didn’t know where my girl was,” he shrugged, resting his chin on your belly and gazing up at you. He smiles, leaning back to fully look at you.
“I’m here,” you mutter, anxiously nibbling on your lip.
It’s so, so hard to breath. Your hands drift to his abs, feeling them tense beneath your touch. They drift downwards, until you can see the label of his boxers where they peak out under his pants. You take your hands away, Theo groans.
“And I’m so glad,” he pants. “But why don’t you come a little close?”
You yelp when he pulls you onto the bed, pushing you underneath him so he was towering over you. Under him, you can see the sharp curve of his jawline and his sweaty muscles just before he plops down on you, bearing his head in your chest and leaving little kisses. He sighs into your skin. “That’s better.”
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again, not proofread i’m lazy and imperfect but here you go! hope you like it @annaisabookworm! 🧸🫶🫀
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rockingbytheseaside · 5 months ago
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Hey I really love your writings and drawings, could I request a capitano one shot, where he meets the embodiment of death on a battlefield and after some time they fall in love, please. I hope you have a great day/night.
(anon, you are literally speaking my language rn, because I had that same idea. Hope I did it justice ❣ slight enemies to lovers, fluff, reader hinted to have abyss powers) 
✦ A dance between the unyielding & the unconquerable
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✧ The current Pyro Archon, Mavuika, harbored a profound distaste for dealing with You and Il Capitano.
Not because of the obvious concerns such as the 1st Harbinger jeopardizing the safety of the gnosis, or you being an entity of abyssal nature. But because currently, the two of you stood in the grand arena exchanging too many… pleasantries. 
“To see you grace this battle arena with your might is truly an honor no man can ever hope to achieve. I'm looking forward to witnessing your grandeur once more.” 
The Captain held your hand in his armored one, his helmeted head leaned for a reverence kiss, knowing well these same hands could end him if you so desired. You mirrored his polite gentleness and smiled with a soft bow - “Nonsense, the honor is all mine to see you in action.” 
Mavuika was already removing her red optics and sighing dejectedly. They will never get this over with. She saw a fair share of competitive banter between opponents in her time: tense bickering, respectful encouragement, or excited chatter. But witnessing the stoic, stern Harbinger exchanging smitten words with his immortal enemy? You two looked more like a couple ready to slow dance. 
Perhaps your and Capitano's everlasting rivalry always resembled a dance. 
✧ Centuries ago, when the enigmatic faceless Fatuus first acquired the title of “The Captain”, he was employed by The Jester for one simple task – Find you and eliminate you. You resembled a simple mortal, yet one gaze at your eyes, and the vision of abyssal hell could be reflected. The personification of oblivion, strolling the surface of Teyvat innocently, leaving no trace behind yet appearing soundlessly. 
Your first exchange with him proved uneventful, as well. “A Fatui… Harbinger? What's that?” - was all you said back then. Nonetheless, Capitano knew he shouldn't underestimate your anomalous powers, he is a powerful man himself, and his blade knows no deception. 
He almost died that day. 
Years passed, and the scars or toils of your battles with him remained. With constant expedition to the abyss, The Harbinger ventured between realms seeking you out for revenge. Each time you crossed paths, the outcome remained the same - a polite exchange, followed by earth-shattering battles where both of your weapons clash and bodies are exerted. However, was the Harbinger seeking you out of his obligation for the Fatui, or because you were the only one who witnessed his full might? Perhaps, because you were the one to draw scars along his skin, a fair result of the duels he ignited. Or because only you knew of the thrill the two of you provided when battling? 
When bodies are taught with swift agility, blood surges hot with each evade. He feels your movement, swift and soundless, yet each murderous blow carries elegance as you fight him. This wasn't a gentle dance where he'll hold your delicate hand, and guide you on the ballroom floor by the waist. No, even if he secretly wished to. Alas, this was a dance where you would crush him to his knees, feel his sword pinning back against your weapon, holding his knuckles to block his direct attack. 
And he loved every second of it. The way you moved effortlessly, mirrored his excitement and triumphantly knocked him to the floor, or used your abilities to loom over him. The Captain makes sure that all his attacks are up close and personal against yours. 
✧ At times, when fate mockingly sends him back following your shadow, he’d encounter you in less hostile places. You sat at some ledge of a cliff, not far away from the People of the Springs tribe, your head raised to look at the fake stars of Teyvat. The Harbinger knew there were civilians nearby, initiating the usual duels would be unwise. Instead, he would sit next to you and raise his helmeted face at the taunting stars that brought you together. It was a rare moment of solitude, to see your figure next to him, so human-like and simple. Even he feels so human in your presence. 
And on such quiet, gentle nights – you two would just talk. Legs inching closer to sit close by. A hand gently placed on top of another. Silhouettes of two faces leaning tenderly into one, unseen by the dark sky as they exchange silent kisses. 
It was a foolish fate, for the immovable to fall in love with the indestructible. Thus, this was your life with the 1st Fatui Harbinger.  
✧ Going back to the present with Mavuika; the Pyro Archon received reports that not only did the Fatui send their strongest Harbinger, but the Abyss also sent their most formidable entity. For Natlan, this would be grave news, but as she delves deeper into understanding the two of you, the pieces of the puzzle start to fit together. How come the Captain is always conveniently there when you are sighted? How come when you two are supposedly meant to clash, no actual devastations happen? 
Instead, Il Capitano stays close to you. His armored hand is often clasped around yours to kiss the skin that can shower the world with annihilation. He'd drape his coat over your figure protectively, shielding you from stranger's fearful stares. You never liked unwanted attention, only he had the right to bask you in his. And most importantly, he'd kneel beside you so you may cup his helmeted face and bestow upon him tender kisses on his pitch-black visage.
Perhaps Mavuika has nothing to worry about. If the immovable cancels out the indestructible, then you two are not here to wreck chaos onto Natlan. Maybe you two are using it as a honeymoon destination. 
-
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rafecameronssl4t · 5 months ago
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Can you do Rafe’s reaction to reader being criticized by her parents in the forced marriage au?
At your defence || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader
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A/n: Ty for the request anon!! Sorry this took awhile 😭
Warnings: body shaming, baby pressure, ed is not implied whatsoever in this
Word count: 1,474
MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)
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divider by @h-aewo
"Ah, there they are," your mother beams, rising from her chair with a delighted smile. She moves swiftly toward Rafe, who holds your 7-month-old son, Leo, in his arms. You remain still, not even turning your head to greet them, a small defiance that doesn’t go unnoticed by your father as he sets his glass of scotch down with a faint clink.
You hear your mother’s cooing voice as she reaches Leo, her fussing over him overly enthusiastic. "Oh, hasn’t he just grown since the last time!" she gushes, taking Leo from Rafe’s arms and settling him onto her lap, her affection almost too much for you to bear in the moment. Your father offers nothing but a curt nod, maintaining his usual distant reserve.
Rafe’s presence draws closer. His hand, firm yet not unkind, comes to rest on your shoulder. The sensation causes you to look up, meeting his eyes just as he leans down to press a brief, familiar kiss on your cheek. It's a gesture you’ve grown used to—affectionate, yet tinged with a sense of routine rather than passion. His gentle smile is meant for show, a mask for the public image you both maintain especially in front of your parents.
As he sits down beside you, the warmth of his thigh presses against yours, his hand resting on your knee. You focus on Leo, who babbles away in your mother’s lap, a sweet, innocent sound that eases some of the weight on your chest. "Do you know what you're going to order?" Rafe’s voice is casual as he flicks through the menu, his tone suggesting the same routine formality that colours most of your conversations these days.
You glance at the menu half-heartedly, appetite distant. "Probably just a salad," you mutter, though the words feel hollow, like so many of your thoughts these days. Before you can dwell on it, your mother’s voice cuts through the room, bright and commanding as always. "Darlings, I'm hosting a gala next week. You must attend," she declares, not so much an invitation as an expectation.
You don’t bother to respond right away, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. "Of course we’ll be there," he answers smoothly, already accustomed to fulfilling the social obligations expected of you both. His answer is automatic, effortless, as if this was just another item on the long list of duties you both perform for the sake of appearances.
Great. Another event. You force a smile, knowing full well what it would entail—another night of pretending. Pretending to be the perfect wife, locked in a marriage that felt more like a performance than a partnership. Another evening of tight smiles, polite laughter, and meaningless conversations with socialites you’ve long grown bored of.
Rafe’s hand remains on your knee under the table, a subtle gesture of unity that contrasts the emotional distance. You glance sideways at him, wondering if he feels the same weariness, but his expression is unreadable, composed in the way he’s perfected over time. You’d both become skilled at it—this charade of happiness.
Your mother gently hands Leo over to you, his little arms immediately wrapping around your neck as if he’s missed your warmth. The sweet gesture brings a chuckle from your lips, a sound you rarely hear from yourself these days. Rafe notices, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches the two of you, the rare moment of peace settling briefly between the tension.
"Did you miss me?" you whisper to Leo, your hand softly patting his back as he squirms in your arms. His tiny fingers soon find your family crest necklace, grasping it with curiosity. It’s a simple, innocent action, yet it tugs at something deeper within you—a reminder of the weight that symbol carries, not just for you but for the life you're expected to live.
Your father calls for a waiter, the sound of his authoritative voice interrupting your thoughts. The orders are taken swiftly, and when it’s your turn, you manage to say, "I'll have the Nicoise salad, please—" before you're abruptly cut off by your mother’s sharp tone. "Oh, no," she interjects, her voice firm, slicing through the air.
You and Rafe exchange confused glances, both unsure of what she was going to say. Her stern eyes focus on you for a moment before she turns her attention back to the waiter, the smile on her lips tight and forced. "She will have the Club Sandwich, thank you," your mother says, closing her menu with a finality that leaves no room for argument. You stare at her, lips parted in disbelief, as the waiter politely retreats.
"That’s too much for me, I—" you begin, but she raises a hand, silencing you effortlessly, as if it were nothing. "You’ve gotten far too skinny, my dear," she remarks, her tone almost casual but laced with that familiar sting of judgement. "A body like that will surely not produce a healthy baby." The words fall from her mouth so easily, so thoughtlessly, that it takes a moment for them to truly sink in
Your chest tightens, the prickle of tears stinging your eyes, but you quickly look away, blinking them back before they can betray your emotions. "What is your chef feeding you? Perhaps I should overlook his menu," your mother continues, leaning forward slightly, her concern veiled by her need for control.
Instinctively, your eyes flicker toward Rafe, cursing yourself the moment you do. It’s a habit you’ve never quite broken—looking to him when your parents begin their critique, hoping for some sort of allyship. Your parents likely notices, and you hate that you’ve given them another tell. Rafe, to your surprise, responds with a tone of calm indifference.
"We both eat the same meals, all very nutritious, I can assure you. There’s no need for concern." His words are delivered with an air of boredom, as though he’s tired of the performance your family demands at every turn. "My wife is perfectly fine and healthy," he adds, his voice steady, almost detached. You lower your gaze, staring at the table in front of you, feeling an odd mixture of gratitude and discomfort at his defense.
Your mother’s hum lingers in the air, hovering between indifference and criticism, and that ambiguity leaves you restless. As the conversation continues around you, the voices blur into a distant hum. You stare blankly at the glass of water in front of you, losing yourself in thoughts that feel miles away from this table, from these expectations.
You don’t even notice Leo beginning to fuss in your lap until Rafe’s hand on your thigh gives a slight, firm squeeze, gently pulling you back to reality. You blink, looking up to find both of your parents' eyes trained on you, their disapproving expressions almost instinctual. Without a word, you begin to tend to Leo, but Rafe is quicker, reaching out with an effortless, "Here, let me take him."
Relieved, you let him lift Leo from your arms, watching as he settles the baby against his chest. Leo quiets almost immediately, and for a brief moment, the tension in the room seems to ease. Rafe's hand remains on your thigh, a subtle reassurance that grounds you amidst the weight of your family’s expectations.
When the meals arrive, you glance down at the sandwich before you—far too large for your diminished appetite. The sight of it makes your stomach turn, not out of hunger, but out of the pressure to conform. You can feel your mother’s watchful gaze, an invisible but palpable force, compelling you to start eating.
You take a bite, swallowing it down even though the taste barely registers. "Mind if I have some?" Rafe’s voice breaks through the silence, and you turn to him in surprise. He’s already reaching over, transferring some of your food onto his plate without hesitation, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
"Yeah, of course," you reply softly, watching as he begins eating from your plate. His casual gesture surprises you, but it also lightens the mood, if only slightly. A small smile tugs at your lips, grateful for his quiet way of easing the tension that lingers between you and your parents.
When it’s finally time to leave, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. Bidding your parents goodbye, you stare out at the perfectly manicured lawn, the scent of freshly cut grass filling the air. Leo is fast asleep in your arms, his little head resting peacefully against your chest.
"Thank you," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you glance over at Rafe. He turns his head toward you, his expression softening. Without a word, he nods, moving his arm behind your head. You lean back against it, letting yourself rest against his warmth for a moment.
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mapis-putellas · 26 days ago
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𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔
Happy new year my loves. Here’s to 2025 ✨
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The kitchen was warm, the air filled with the rich, enticing aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and paprika. Alexia stood at the stove, her focus sharp as she stirred a bubbling pot of sofrito, her movements fluid and practiced. She had tied her blonde hair back into a loose ponytail, the strands swaying slightly as she moved. She looked impossibly beautiful, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she tasted the sauce with a flick of her wrist.
You were perched awkwardly by the counter, watching her with both admiration and a growing itch to help. “Can I do something?” you asked, your voice hopeful as you leaned forward on your elbows.
Alexia glanced at you, her expression skeptical. “No, cariño,” she replied firmly. “Sit and watch. I’ll do it.”
“Please,” you whined, pushing off the counter and walking toward her before winding your arms around her waist. You squeeze tightly, hands clasped together on her hip.“I’ll be careful,” you promised. “Just…let me help a little?”
She sighed, softening at the pleading look in your eyes. With a small shake of her head, she gestured toward the chopping board. “Fine. Vegetables. But be careful.” Her tone was stern, but you caught the faintest tug of a smile at the corners of her lips.
Grinning triumphantly, you grabbed the knife and got to work. It started well enough, the rhythmic chop of the blade against the cutting board filling the room as Alexia stirred her pot. But then—predictably—you slipped. A sharp sting shot through your finger, and you hissed, jerking your hand back as the knife lands on the chopping board with a clatter.
Alexia was at your side in an instant, her green eyes wide with concern. “¿Qué pasó? Let me see,” she demanded, grabbing your wrist gently. The cut was small, barely more than a scratch, but the sight of the blood made her frown deeply.
“It’s nothing,” you tried to say, though you winced as she dabbed at it with a dish towel.
She shook her head, muttering something in Spanish that you couldn’t quite catch before disappearing to grab a plaster. When she returned, she carefully wrapped it around your finger, her touch soft and deliberate. “No more knives,” she said firmly as she hoisted you up onto the counter. She pressed a kiss to the bandaged finger, and despite your embarrassment, you felt your heart swell.
“But I want to help,” you insisted, tugging lightly on the hem of her shirt as she turned back to the stove. She sighed again, this time deeper, and allowed you to pull her to stand between your legs.
Her hands came to rest on your thighs, her thumbs brushing soothing circles through the fabric of your leggings. “You’ll get hurt again,” she said, her voice softening as her eyes met yours.
“I won’t,” you promised, leaning in to pepper her face with kisses—her cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose. “Please, Alexia. Let me do something. Anything.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, clearly trying to steel herself against you. But then she relented with a small groan, a lopsided smile breaking through. “Fine,” she said, lifting you down from the counter with ease. “You can stir the sauce. Nothing more.”
You beamed at her, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Gracias,” you said, drawing out the word dramatically. She shook her head, chuckling, and handed you the wooden spoon.
Stirring the sauce seemed simple enough. “This isn’t so bad,” you said confidently, glancing over your shoulder at Alexia as she diced something at the counter like she was some sort of Michelin chef.
But then you had the bright idea to taste it. You scooped up a bit of the sauce with the spoon, blowing on it lightly before taking a bite. Immediately, your tongue burned, the scalding heat overwhelming your senses. You let out a yelp as you instinctively swallow, dropping the spoon back into the pot as tears sprang to your eyes.
Alexia spun around at the sound, her expression shifting from surprise to concern in an instant. “What happened?” she asked, rushing to your side.
“Hot,” you managed to choke out, fanning your mouth desperately with one hand. She grabbed a glass of water and pressed it into your hands, her other hand resting lightly on your back.
“Drink,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. You took a long gulp, the cool liquid soothing the worst of the burn. When you finally set the glass down, she was watching you with a mix of exasperation and amusement.
“You’re dangerous in the kitchen,” she teased, though her hands came up to cup your cheeks, her thumbs brushing away the stray tears that had escaped. “Sit. There.” She pointed to the counter again, her voice firm.
You pouted, but her no-nonsense expression left little room for negotiation. With a dramatic sigh, you hoisted yourself back onto the counter, crossing your arms and watching her resume her work as you absentmindedly swing your legs.
It didn’t take long for boredom to set in. Your eyes wandered around the kitchen, landing on a nearby tea towel. An idea sparked, mischievous and irresistible. Grabbing the towel, you twisted it tightly, creating a makeshift whip. You waited for the perfect moment, watching as Alexia turned her back to you.
With a flick of your wrist, the towel snapped against her backside with a satisfying thwack. Alexia yelped, clutching the spot and spinning around to face you. Her eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open in shock.
“¿Qué hiciste?” she demanded, her voice sharp but tinged with disbelief.
You froze, your laughter dying in your throat as you saw the look on her face. Without thinking, you slid off the counter and made a break for it, darting out of the kitchen. “It was an accident!” you called over your shoulder, though your grin betrayed you.
“¡Vuelve aquí!” Alexia shouted, her footsteps echoing as she chased after you.
You rounded the corner into the living room, but you weren’t fast enough. Alexia caught you easily, her arms wrapping around your waist as she tackled you onto the sofa, her legs ending up on either side of your hips.
“You are in trouble now,” she said, her voice low and teasing as she pinned you beneath her, hands circling your wrists.
“I’m sorry!” you said between giggles, though your hands came up to cover your face as she started tickling your sides mercilessly.
“Lo siento? That’s all?” she taunted, raising an eyebrow as she leaned closer.
You nodded quickly, your laughter making it hard to breathe. “Yes! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”
She finally relented, her hands still resting on your sides as she hovered over you. Her eyes softened, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “You are lucky I love you,” she said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.
“I know,” you replied, grinning up at her. “You can’t resist me.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, allowing you to sit up before pulling you into a tight hug. She was straddling your lap now, and the familiar sensation of her weight on top of you was oh so comforting. Your arms circled her waist as burrow your nose into her neck, and you hear her hum in content as she wriggled forward a little to get closer to you, her hands running absentmindedly through your hair.
You hold one another in silence for a few moments before the smell of food reminded her of the stove, and she sighed dramatically as she pulled away and climbed off of your lap. “I need to check on dinner. You stay here.”
You stuck out your tongue but obeyed, watching her walk back to the kitchen with a satisfied smile.
**
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