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that-sarcastic-writer · 1 year

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Say it

Pairing: RE4R!Leon S. Kennedy X F!Reader

Summary: After coming back from Spain, Leon has been acting distant. You think seeing a face from the past has messed with his feelings, and he wants to prove you that is not the case.

Takes place after the events of re4 remake, mentions the events of RE2 remake as well

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (pls wrap it before you tap it), p in v, creampie, choking, praise kink, soft dom leon, he talks you through it, they're both just desperate for each other, the s in leon s kennedy stands for slut, language, established relationship

WC: 4.4k

A/N: I've been thinking about this mf ever since I played the remake. So I wrote this self indulgent piece of filth. This is my first time writing for him so pls be kind. Enjoy :)

You can also read this over at Ao3 (but pls still reblog and shit here thank u)

Leon Kennedy Masterlist

Creds of gift above to this tumblr

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

You knew you had no right to be upset, not when you knew damn well what he went through. Or more so, you didn’t actually know what he went through, so you couldn’t possibly imagine what was going through his head right now. But still, you knew something else was in his head, and it wasn’t just the horrors he had to deal with to come back alive from Spain. There was something else in his mind. You knew it.

This silence, it was killing you. Leon wasn’t much of a talker to begin with, not after Raccoon City, but for the better part of a decade, you learned to be comfortable with his silence. Right now though, you just felt uncomfortable.

“Want me to pour you one?”

Oh he speaks.

You lifted your head from the pile of papers on your lap at the sound of his voice, you saw him standing in front of the small cabinet where he kept all of his alcohol, glass and bottle of expensive whiskey in hand. You half smiled at him and shook your head.

“Not right now, thank you.” You watched him shrug in response and take a long sip of his glass, before he walked over to join you on the couch. But he sat on the opposite end.

You frowned a bit when he sat so far, but you chose to not comment on it and instead brought your attention back to your paper. A good five minutes went by, and you had made zero improvements, you hadn't even picked up the pen again, so Leon spoke again.

“How’s the paper coming along?” He asked with a clear of his throat as he sat back, propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him and his head was turned in your direction.

You sighed heavily, “It’s not. I can’t for the life of me come up with the right words.” You groaned softly as you threw your head back and rubbed your tired eyes.

You were in the same place you were a little less than a week ago, when Leon left to find Ashley Graham in the middle of nowhere Spain, not knowing if you’d ever see him again or not. You couldn’t even sleep, or eat, let alone focus on a paper. And although Leon was now home, alive, you were still preoccupied.

“And that is exactly why I dropped out.”

“This is a Phd program, not my second year of undergrad. Undergrad was nowhere near as bad as this.” You snorted softly and shot him a look. He gave you an annoyed look knowing you were teasing him. “Besides, what you do is way worse than some paper. Fighting weird cults and bioweapons or whatever they’re called.”

“Yeah..” He scoffed out a laugh, but it wasn’t humorous. His expression quickly turned serious as he looked down at his lap. You could see the way his grip tightened the slightest bit around his glass and his jaw ticked.

He had been home a few days by now, having stayed in D.C for a few days to finish all of the report and briefing, and you hadn’t talked about what had happened to him in Spain, just that Ashley was safe, and some weird cult was behind it all, but he couldn’t say much more, or maybe just didn’t want to. Regardless, any mention of it would make him tense up.

He got quiet, and his eyes not once looked your way again. You bit the inside of your cheek and sat up, leaning over your knees to be able to reach him.

“Leon,” You said his name softly and a gentle hand touched his leg. You felt him tense up, but he didn’t make any attempts to move away from your touch. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t care if he didn’t want to open up, you didn’t expect him to, and you would never force him to, but you wanted him to know you would listen if he did.

A shaky exhale left his lips, but he nodded. “Yeah baby, I’m good.” He answered after a few seconds, forcing a smile and forced himself to look your way, but his eyes never met with yours.

God this was killing you.

Before you could respond, he downed the rest of his whiskey before rising to his feet and he started walking without saying a word. Oh no. Absolutely not. If there was something that made your blood boil, it was him walking away in the middle of a conversation. The avoidance. That was something you couldn’t deal with.

“Leon.” You called his name firmly as you stood up and looked at him with a frown. He turned around with an exasperated spin and a tight jaw, frustration already starting to show. “Do not give me that look, Leon Kennedy.”

He smacked his tongue softly, holding back the urge to roll his eyes, “I’m not. I’m just..” He didn’t finish his sentence, he just sighed out loudly.

You let out your own sigh as you walked to stand in front of him. You stared up at him, eyes big as you met his pale blue ones. They looked emptier and less bright every time he came back from a mission, but this look, this look that screamed he was having a mental hurricane, he only had it after Raccoon City.

“Baby I know… I don’t, I don’t know what you saw, or did in Spain, and I know you’re having a hard time right now. I just..” You sighed shakily, bringing your hands up to hold his face between them. He tensed up again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his head hung low, but he said nothing and didn’t move away either. “See, this is what I mean. You don’t even want me to touch you. I want to comfort you, I want to help, but you won’t let me. I thought.. I thought we were past that.”

Your hands were at your sides now, and you had taken a step back from him. That seemed to make him look at you, now with big eyes full of guilt, like he hadn’t even realized he was rejecting you. He had been in his own head, not being able to forget the events of Spain, and not being able to sort out his feelings like he knew he should have. God, had he been acting like this the whole time he was home? Rejecting your attempts at comfort?

“Baby..” He stepped forward, closing the gap you had just created, but he didn’t touch you. He just looked at you, lips parted. He didn’t know how to tell you. “It’s not that.. And it’s not you. In Spain.. There was someone else on that island..”

You stared at him with confusion at first, unsure what exactly that had to do with this. His eyes searched for yours with this guilt ridden and conflicted look. The same look he gave you after Raccoon City. The same one he gave you before he told you he needed time. And then it dawned on you.

Someone else.

“You saw her again, didn’t you?” Realization quickly flashed over your face, and that quickly turned into a mixture of anger and hurt as your gaze hardened. Leon saw it. “That’s what it is. You saw Ada. You saw Ada and now you have your balls all twisted up. Again.”

Now it was you who was walking away from him. You weren’t even going to argue this time, and you didn’t want to wait for him to tell you he needed time again. You were halfway up the stairs when Leon started to call your name, but you ignored him and simply turned the corner into your shared bedroom.

“Shit.” He cursed to himself, sprinting after you, missing two steps and nearly tripping up the stairs in the process.

By the time he made it to your bedroom you already had a backpack thrown on the bed as you aggressively threw clothes into it. His eyes widened with slight panic when he realized what you were doing.

“Hey, woah. It’s the middle of the night, where the hell are you going?” He huffed, walking back and forth between the bed and your dresser as you continued to aggressively toss clothes on the bed.

“Claire’s. Move.” You muttered as you stopped on your heels when Leon stood right in front of you, arms folded over his chest like a wall between you and your dresser. “Leon, I swear to God.”

“Just listen. It wasn’t like that. Nothing happened, sweetheart I swear.” God he wanted to hold you so bad, he didn’t realize just how much until now. But he didn’t reach for you, he kept his arms over his chest, afraid you would backhand him if he tried.

“Yeah, ‘cause you probably realized she was just using you again, so you had no other choice but to come back home to me, and not with her, right?” You scoffed, the hurt and betrayal clear in your voice. He opened his mouth, but you didn’t even let him speak, “And before you ask me for time to sort out your feelings, I'm just gonna go stay at Claire’s, and maybe don’t bother looking for me this time.”

You grabbed the backpack from the bed with whatever you managed to shove in there and started to walk to the door. But Leon was faster than you, stronger too. And before you could step foot outside that bedroom, he had closed the door and backed you into it, both of his hands pressed flat on the door on either side of your head. Your eyes were wide when you looked at him, lips parted but he didn’t let you speak this time.

“Do not say another word, don’t you fucking dare. Just listen to me.” He stressed every word with an authority that instantly made you close your mouth. You blinked a couple of times but didn’t dare say a word. So he continued. “Get this through your head, Ada means absolutely nothing to me anymore. She asked me to go with her, after everything and I.. I said no. I said no ‘cause I want nothing to do with her. I said no ‘cause I wanted to come home to you.”

“Leon..”

He shook his head at you as one of his hands gripped your jaw tightly and he bowed his head to speak closely to you. “I know I’ve been an asshole to you these past few days, I didn't realize I was shutting you out, and I’m sorry. But know that I would never chose Ada over you, not now, not fucking ever. I love you and I’m gonna marry you someday, don’t ever question that.”

You could hear your own breath, his breath, and he kept a tight grip on your jaw as his nose brushed against yours. You closed your eyes and sigh left your lips as you leaned in to press your lips against his, but he pulled back enough to leave you chasing.

"Stay here. Please baby." His voice was low and almost desperate. Fuck, you wanted him take you right then and there. You couldn't even speak, you just nodded, eyes still closed and lips parted. "Say it."

"Yes. Yes, I'll stay, just.." You breathed out the words, mirroring his desperate tone as you clenched your fists around his t-shirt, pulling his body flush against yours. "Please."

His mouth came crashing down against yours so hard he pulled a gasp from your throat. But it quickly turned into a whimper when he angled your head back, allowing him to slip in his tongue. And you happily allowed him to do so as his other hand gripped the back of your thigh.

"Up." He mumbled against your lips as he nearly effortlessly hoisted you up, you instinctively wrapped your legs around his torso.

He walked the short distance to the bed, fingers squeezing your thigh and lips never leaving yours. He only pulled away when he laid you down on the mattress. You were about to whine when he leaned back, but you only managed to suck in a sharp breath as you watched him pull his t-shirt over his head. Your eyes landed on the bruises and injuries he had come home with, a large knife cut across his bicep, now slightly pink as it began to heal, another smaller one above his collarbone, less angry looking, and more purple bruises than you could count, but they were starting to heal as well. Goddamn, even bruised he was the most gorgeous man you have ever seen. Clearly you must've been distracted by the absolute sight that was your boyfriend because you didn’t realize he started to undress you as well until he pulled your t-shirt -that was actually one of his old ones- over your head. He flashed you with a grin and a look that was outright filthy before he leaned down and wrapped his lips around one of your breasts while one of his hands played with the other.

The whimper that fell from your lips was almost pathetic, and you couldn’t help but arch your back further into Leon’s mouth, his lips sending shocks of electricity down your spine.

“Please Leon.” You weren’t exactly sure what you were begging for, but you were begging.

He pulled back from your breast with a hum, and tilted his head at you, “Please what?” You gave him a pitiful look, and made a sound resembling a whine. He simply stared at you with feign innocence, “What, baby? What do you want? Tell me.”

Oh Leon S. Kennedy. That S didn’t stand for Scott, it stood for stubborn, because he had to have his way, no matter what.

You made the same pathetic noise, instinctively trying to rub your thighs together to give yourself to relief, but of course, Leon’s body was right in the fucking way, “Please I want.. Ugh fuck sakes Leon. I want your mouth, I want your cock, I want all of you, please.”

Leon had this smug smirk on his lips and he hummed, satisfied with your pathetic pleads, “Alright baby, this is what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna make you come on my tongue, then you can come on my cock all you want. Would you like that?”

God, the look you gave him right then made him want to split you wide open. That look of pure need that you could only give him, that you have only given him. And you nodded with so much eagerness it was almost adorable.

“Do you remember how to speak sweetheart?” He asked with this mocking voice and a smirk that made you pull your lips into a small pout as you nodded, and then he smiled at you, head tilted, “Then use your words. Say ‘yes Leon’.”

This motherfucker.

You grumbled a whine of annoyance, for a moment feeling defiant, but Leon quickly gave you a warning look, a look that had you backing down pretty fucking quick, “Yes Leon.” You finally said, hoping that would get you what you wanted.

So he is stubborn, and an arrogant asshole. Checks out.

He gave you a satisfied smirk, and planted a hard kiss to your lips before he moved down the bed. He pressed his lips to your stomach as he pulled your pajama pants down your legs, your panties quickly following. You shivered softly when the cold air hit your core, but the cold was quickly replaced with his warm breath. His pale sapphire eyes found yours for a second as he threw your legs over his broad shoulders, pulling you closer to his face. He dragged his tongue from your entrance to your clit and drew his tongue over the sensitive bud. The sounds that were coming from your mouth were anything but subtle. Your hands instantly flew to clutch his long hair. And while you might have not intended to pull, when two of his fingers slipped into you to join the rhythm of his tongue, you just couldn’t help yourself. You pulled, and fucking hard. He growled, sending vibrations through your core that had you gasping and he dug his other hand into your thigh as he forced you still on the mattress.

“Oooh fuck, fuck Leon,” Your broken moans filled his ears, just as he felt the burn on his scalp from your pulling.

He knew exactly where his mouth needed to be and where his fingers needed to curl to make you come apart, he prided himself in that. And with the way you kept crying out his name and your body wouldn’t stay on the mattress, he knew you had to be pretty fucking close.

“Stay fucking still.” He growled as he pulled back enough for his thumb to replace his tongue for just a second, just so he could watch the way your body writhed each time his fingers brushed against your most sensitive spot. “Yeah that’s it, you’re so close, aren’t you baby? Mhm yeah. C’mon pretty girl, c’mon.”

His tongue quickly replaced his thumb on your clit, his lips closing around the swollen bud as his fingers scissored you open, the lewd sound of his mouth lapping at your dripping cunt filling your ears in the most delicious way possible. And you couldn’t help it, you pushed his head further against you, and the growl that rumbled in his throat as he abused your clit sent vibrations that had you seeing white. Your release coated his face and hand as you fell into a fit of shaking sobs.

His fingers left you slowly, making sure you felt every second of it as his tongue still circled slowly around your swollen clit, not stopping until you were practically pulling him away by his hair, your body still twitching a bit. He chuckled softly, leaving a wet kiss to your thigh in silent praise before slowly climbing up your body.

You opened your eyes to find him settled between your parted thighs, two fingers in his mouth and he moaned lowly as he tasted your juices off his fingers. Your mouth was wide open, and a whine left your lips.

“Hm? Wanna taste baby?” He smirked as he pulled his fingers from his lips and leaned down, pulling you into a messy kiss by your jaw. You could taste yourself on his tongue, on his lips, and fuck, it had you clenching around nothing. He groaned softly, his clothed cock brushing against your wet cunt. He quickly pulled back, seemingly not wanting to wait any longer. “You taste so fucking good, but you feel even better.”

He ridded himself of his sweatpants in a second or two, boxer briefs quickly joining on the floor. He hissed softly as he sat on his knees and brushed his cock over your entrance, covering himself in your slick.

“Please babe..” You whine softly, legs dangling over his hips as you endured his torture. He chuckled softly and nodded.

“Yeah, don’t worry sweetheart, I got you.” He dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he leaned over you, your legs high on his torso as he slowly filled you, your walls instantly clenching around his cock.

Leon moaned softly, eyes squeezing shut as he slipped further inside you, fingers digging into your hips with enough force to bruise, “Oooh fuck yeah, atta girl.”

You could only moan weakly in response, sounds so pathetic and broken, and Leon loved every goddamn second of it. He sat still for a few seconds, soaking in the feeling of your tight walls around his cock, but the feeling of your nails digging into his shoulders encouraged him to move. He snapped his hips, over, and over, each delicious drag of his cock making you cry out. His pace was brutal almost immediately, and you were clinging on to him like that was all you were meant to do, to take everything he had to give you.

“Goddamn, you’re taking my cock so well baby. Mhmm, doing such a good job,” His words were coming out in between moans and whimpers, the feeling of you cunt clutching him so well making him just as desperate as he made you. “This is what you needed, hm pretty girl? Yeah, me too.”

He had your knees nearly pressed up to your chest by then as he fucked you into the matress, and you took it happily. You nodded eagerly, gripping his hair and pulling his face from your neck to meet your gaze. “You’re.. You’re mine, mkay? Just mine.”

Your words of ownership caught him by surprise, and he laughed between pants, biting down on his lip and he hovered over you enough to press his forehead against yours, the change in angle allowing him to hit your most sensitive spot, and he had you mouth wide open.

“Yours huh? I’m yours?” He asked with a wide smirk, your words clearly riling him up. You nodded quickly. “This dick is just yours, right baby? Is that what you want me to say? That no one else can have me? That no one else deserves it?”

He grunted out the words, lacking as much control as you did, but still in control enough to taunt you, to get you going, and fuck, he got you going like one else could. You were practically screaming ‘yes!’ at the top of your lungs. Your neighbors probably knew Leon was back by then. But neither of you could honestly be bothered to care about noise.

“Yes! Yes, only I can have you.” Your words were broken, your voice was absolutely broken in between fits of sobs. Your hands were gripping at his blonde strands as your toes curled, the flash of heat you so desperately craved to feel a second time settling in your body as you continued to take in his punishing thrusts. But you still managed to say, “Please say it. That you’re mine. Fuck, please say it.”

Fuck, when you begged him like that, so close to falling apart for him, how could he ever deny you anything?”

The moan that fell from his lips at your words left you shaking, but you were not ready for what he decided to do next. He leaned down, as close as he could to your face, lips almost touching as he wrapped his large hand around your throat, and between pants he said, “I’m all yours baby.”

You don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your entire life, and Leon felt it. His mouth fell open and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as your walls clenched around him, hard. A shaky whimper left his mouth as his hips started to falter, his thrusts becoming more sharp and shallow the closer he was to his own release. You held him tightly, fingers gripping his hair and his name left your lips in soft sighs enticing him to fall apart as well.

“Mmm goddamn, I’m so close. Fuck, let me come inside you baby. Ugh,” His words were shaky, so close to falling apart. You nodded eagerly, clinging onto to him as he squeezed your throat, his moans getting louder and shakier before he fell still, cock twitching as he spilled himself inside you, “Ooooh fuck, mhmm that’s it baby. Take it like the good girl that you are.”

You closed your eyes in delight, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you ran your fingers through his slick hair soothingly, his hand now resting beside your head just as he rested his face on your neck. His quick and heavy breaths were hot on your neck, just as his body was hot on yours, but neither of you wanted to move, or leave the other. He needed you to hold him, and you needed him to let you. He never wanted you to doubt what he felt for you, ever again.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like this, holding each other, Leon still inside you. Probably once he no longer had the energy to keep his weight off you, so with a kiss to your jaw, he moved away, lying beside you instead. He ran a hand through his disheveled and sweaty strands, getting his hair away from his face. With a lazy smile, he glanced over at you, equally fucked out, hair just as sweaty and disheveled as his. He bit his lip softly and leaned over to press a soft kiss to your lips. You hummed softly, bringing your hand to hold his face.

“Mmm, I think I should make you jealous more often if you’re gonna fuck me like that.” He laughed softly, a smug smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. You pulled back enough to look at him and you glared at him, nudging his head away. He only laughed harder.

“That was no jealousy, you asshole.” You rolled your eyes at him, lips slightly pursed, but the way he smiled at you and tilted his head made you crack a small smile. “I’m serious. Leon I swear to God if I find out you contact her again I will stab you in your sleep with your own knife.”

Leon knew your threat of bodily harm wasn’t serious, but he knew the reason behind it was, he knew he hurt you after Raccoon City, and it took him a long time to earn back your trust, and he would never put you through that again.

“I won’t, I want nothing to do with her. I never did. I love you, that’s never going to change, yeah?” He leaned forward, a small smile tugging at his lips, and you couldn’t help but smile too. You believed him.

“I know. I love you too.”

“Good. Now I’ll go run us a bath for round two.” He shot you a wink as he got up and laughed when he saw the look you gave him, “That was a joke. I meant to get cleaned up.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and simply shook your head as you watched him walk across your bedroom, but when he was about to walk out, you called his name.

“Yeah baby?” He said, peeking his head into your bedroom from the hallway.

“So, when are we getting married?”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon smut #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #resident evil 4 remake

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inkykeiji · 4 months

Text

you be my revolver, i got you in my hands

character: choso kamo x fem!reader

genre: curseless!au, smut

notes: eeee first choso piece ever!!! i had such a blast writing this and i wish i could’ve gotten it finished in time for christmas but alas! anyway, please enjoy this and as always please heed the warnings below and stay safe! | title credit: girl like me by dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (reader + choso are family friends), age gap, bratty reader, rough sex, minimal prep, teasing, hints of manipulation, hints of dubcon, size kink, pet names

words: 6k

synopsis:

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.” “What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…” “Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—” “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.”

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you.

You’ve known each other for a long time—so long Choso’s lost count of the years, now, having met you when Yuuji was just a toddler (and you were, too) at the bus stop on Yuuji’s first day of Pre-K, only to discover you lived a mere few houses from each other—but you haven’t seen each other in a long time, too.

It’s not through fault of either of you; life had gotten in the way, as it has a tendency to do so, had grown busy with intricacies and obligations that demanded time and attention, tangling around you and keeping you apart.

You had both embarked on university endeavours; him pursuing his PhD, you continuing your undergrad, had both stuffed more and more into your lives—art shows and book readings and music festivals and tropical trips—and lost space for each other in the process.

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you, but it feels as though no time has passed at all, as it normally does with family—you’re still just as bratty as you’ve always been (some things never change, he guesses; some things you’ll never grow out of, he supposes).

Family.

Family is not a word he uses lightly, but you and yours had quickly become his and theirs, had quickly become ours, morphing from neighbours to friends to practically kin, members mixing to form something special, a hybrid of some sort, stuck somewhere between long-standing family friends and blood relatives.

Which is why how you’re acting—how you’ve been acting, this entire winter break—is so undeniably inappropriate.

And although he’s lost track of the years, everything beginning to blur together, to melt and flow and shift and breathe, he still remembers the day he told you to call him onii-chan.

That he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Yuuji’s so lucky, you had pouted, kicking at the sandy ground with the toe of your shoe and swaying a little on the swing. He has a big brother. I don’t. I’ve always wished I had one. Sighing, you looked away, fingers tangling in the chain. But I’ll never get one; it’s impossible.

It’s not impossible, Choso had responded gently, nudging his swing against your own. I’ll be your big brother, if you want.

And you—well, you had been so incredibly happy, all bright smiles and sunshine eyes and breathless giggles, to have a big brother to call your own.

Never in his life did he think he’d come to regret such a decision.

But you seem to be on a mission to make him, this Christmas.

Because you’re really testing his fucking patience, this Christmas.

The term of endearment oozes from your lips as if it’s melted in the wet heat of your mouth every single time, always paired with your worst behaviour: bending over in those short, sweet, slutty skirts and flashing cute Christmas panties at him; placing a hand much too high to be appropriate on his thigh as you watch a film together, leaning close to his ear to murmur out a silky question you already know the answer to; twining your ankles with his beneath the dinner table and gazing at him with eyes full of sin, leaning so far forward on the table that your tits swell, nearly spilling from the too-low neckline of your dress, then giggling when you catch him ogling.

As a result, he’s been meticulous about avoiding being alone in a room with you—he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust what he might do, especially if you start playing your little games—but he should’ve known it would only be a matter of time until you get want you want.

Because it always is.

And on Christmas Eve, you finally succeed.

Somehow, you’ve managed to get him alone in his childhood bedroom—something about wanting to flip through his old sketchbooks, to search for some doodles he had drawn for you many years ago, to rip the pages from the spiral-bound spine and stuff them in your back pocket, for safekeeping, you had claimed.

Tugging at his heartstrings, that’s how you succeeded.

Sitting on the edge of his small twin bed, thighs slotted up against one another and both of your arms looped around one of his, he flips through the curling pages of his drawings, smudged with graphite and pastels.

“Oh, I remember this one!”

A dainty finger points to a cute kitten sketched out in astonishing detail, with a pink nose and a satin ribbon tied in a bow around its neck.

“It’s you,” he smirks. “You asked me what animal you’d be, and then demanded I draw you as a kitten when I responded with a cat.”

“You drew a lot of me,” you lean forward, swelling breasts pressed flush to his bicep, a palm sitting high on his thigh as avid eyes scan over the spread, gaze stuttering as it sweeps from doodle to doodle.

“I drew a lot for you,” he says, the observation entirely unthinking. “You wanted a specific page, but I might as well give you this whole sketchbook. More than half the pieces in here are for you.”

It’s a fact that shocks him in its authenticity, a realization that sends a painful, sick thrill searing through his body, saliva beginning to collect in the dips beneath his tongue.

“I’m such a lucky girl,” you hum out in a sigh, nuzzling your cheek into his arm and looking up at him with shimmering eyes. “I have such a good big brother.”

“You’re spoiled,” he says, but his voice holds no malice, eyes softening as he stares down at you, a small smile on his lips.

“I dunno about that,” you frown, but mischief glints in your eye. “You haven’t really given me what I’ve wanted all holiday…”

Blood turns to shards of ice in his veins, whole body going rigid as his breath stalls in his throat, pounding heartbeat reverberating in his ears.

“Wh-What’s that?”

He doesn’t want to ask it, doesn’t mean to ask it, but the question claws at his tongue, pries past his teeth and tumbles from his lips in a ragged, tangled heap.

And the smile that spreads across your face is nothing short of sinister, that glint flaring to a sharp shine as your pupils breathe, pulse, swallow him whole.

“A Christmas kiss,” you say, stare unblinking and intense as your hand slips between his legs, rubbing little circles into his inner thigh, a mere centimetre or two away from his cock.

The motion makes him jolt, hips involuntarily twitching toward your touch, brushing his half-hard cock against your knuckles.

“That’s all I want,” you sigh almost dreamily, tits pressed harder into his bicep as you lean closer, so tight they’re practically being squeezed from your sweetheart neckline. “A kiss from my onii-chan. Though…”

Trailing off, your hand slides up a little further, pinky and ring finger tiptoeing along the rapidly hardening lump in his jeans, squealing out a short giggle as it jumps beneath your touch.

“I’m not sure that’s all onii-chan wants.”

“Onii-chan doesn’t want anything from you,” he breathes out, but his voice is rough, unconvincing, his hands curled into firm fists on his bedspread, trembling slightly, skin stretched taut across pointed knuckles.

“Another lie,” your lips tug down, voice saturated with disappointment. “You know, good big brothers don’t lie to their siblings,” you fix him with a look, glaring through feathery lashes, expression teetering dangerously on the edges of a pout.

A shiver skitters through his bones, whole body stiffening. His jaw flexes as he grinds his molars, a slow, controlled breath exhaled out his nose, his eyes flicking down. You’re still touching him, two fingertips rubbing gentle circles into his clothed cock.

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.”

“What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…”

“Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.”

“That—That—” he swallows hard, dense saliva pooling at the back of his tongue. “That doesn’t matter—We shouldn’t—”

“But—” your lip juts out further, forehead crinkling. “But I want to.”

You can’t always get what you want.

That’s what he wants to tell you. That’s what he wishes he could tell you. But it just isn’t fucking true, when it comes to you.

“Stop,” he says instead, and although it’s supposed to be an order, it comes out as a plead, his voice hoarse, strained, thin, the proclamation high and false and tinny.

“You’re a terrible liar,” the tip of your index finger traces the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “Did you know that?”

He does, he does know that. He’s a terrible liar, eyes too honest, voice too sincere, expressions too candid, always giving away his true intentions and forthright thoughts.

He’s a terrible discipliner, too, incapable of saying no, of refusing his siblings anything. You know this, too.

“St—” he tries to force the word from his tongue again, protest sticking in his throat. Stop, stop, he wants you to stop, he needs you to stop, please.

But that’s a lie, too, the rejection refusing to take shape, to mold into something audible, something tangible, something worthwhile.

No matter how much he wishes it were true, he can’t will it to become true—not when he wants this just as badly as you do, his straining cock exposing his real desires to you.

You’ve already taken full notice of it, yearning for you through rough denim, hot and hard and throbbing. The pad of your finger rubs over the slit in rhythmic motions, smooth and gliding, aided by the copious amount of pre-cum oozing through the material, and it jerks beneath your touch, eager for more attention.

“It’s so hard, onii-chan,” your hand cups the impressive bulge, rolling it in your palm, a girlish giggle tickling your tongue. “It—It’s throbbing, onii-chan.”

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” he breathes, attempting to keep his tone stern and his eyes stony.

“It’s making me want to ride it,” you whimper loudly, squeezing your thighs together, completely ignoring his question. “Oh, please, onii-chan, can I ride your cock?”

“Fu-fuck,” the curse breaks on his tongue, eyes shut tightly, breaking away from your invasive stare. “Fuck, fuck, f-fuck.”

No.

“I’d really like to ride it, onii-chan.”

No.

“Can I? Pretty please?”

No-no-no-no-no!

He wants to say no. He should say no. It’s the right thing to do.

He’s the older brother, the eldest brother, it’s his duty to say no, to mentor, to lead by example.

But he can’t.

He can’t form the word in his throat, can’t mold it into a sound and push it from his mouth.

He’s never truly been able to, when it comes to you—and he was so fucking stupid to think he would.

Because, as always, you are making it exceptionally difficult to deny, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes like that, mouth licked raw in anticipation, bottom lip bitten puffy from the front teeth constantly sinking into it.

“I—It isn’t right—” he attempts, swallowing thickly, cords in his neck straining, desperately attempting to quell the tremor in his voice.

He knows you don’t care. If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he doesn’t, either, his morality eroded to nothing more than a farce, a thin façade, not nearly strong enough to force him into doing the right thing, not nearly strong enough to fortify his rapidly waning self-discipline.

“I—I won’t tell,” you whimper, and he can see the fine film of tears lacquering your eyes, shielding lust-blown pupils. “Pinky promise! I just—I just want you so badly,” your nose twitches cutely with a sniffle, your bottom lip beginning to waver with infinitesimal quivers, soft palm caressing his cock like you love it. “Please, onii-chan?”

And Christ, you’re so pretty, so pouty, with your glistening puppy-dog eyes and pleads dripping from your lips like thick syrup.

How could he possibly say no to something so precious? How could anyone?

“Alright,” he whispers, defeated, eyes squeezing shut as he nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“Really?”

And just like that, the tears are incinerated from your eyes, gaze bright and blazing with excitement, lips molded into a brilliant smile.

You look so sickeningly beautiful when you get what you want.

“Yes,” he nearly whimpers, and it’s pathetic, his hips twitching up into your touch, craving, desperate. “Yes, yes, ride my cock.”

The affirmative is all you need, squealing a little with happiness as you climb into his lap, fingers up your own skirt to push your soaked panties to the side, other hand pawing clumsily at his waistband.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the words soaking into his neck, sealed with a sloppy kiss. “Oh, thank you, onii-chan.”

He can’t help but chuckle a little as his hands find your waist, instinctive, steadying you.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you.”

“This is all I want,” you tell him, pulling back a little to search his face. “S’all I’ve wanted for a long time.”

He wants to ask you to elaborate on that, confusion warping his brow, but then you’re yanking at his belt loops and pulling at his zipper and wrapping a soft palm around the base of his cock, a heavy groan vibrating in his throat.

“Wait, wait!” he chokes on a gasp as you hover over his cock, head bumping against your hole. “Let me—”

“I don’t wanna wait,” you whine out, petulant and stringy, whole face scrunched in frustration. “I’ve been waiting! I want your cock in me now!”

Fuck, you’re such a fucking brat, he’s growling as he forces you down on his cock in one swift motion, the sudden intrusion pushing a yelp from your lips. Your forehead knocks against his, sugar-stained breath wafting across his face, his tongue darting out to mop up remnants from his mouth.

It’s really cute, the way your little cunt spasms around his shaft as he bottoms out, pressed snug and tight against your cervix, desperate in its attempt to adjust to his girth. It’s really sweet, the way your body splits itself open for him, cracking at the core and struggling to swallow him down.

“Oh, it’s so big, onii-chan!”

“God,” he nearly sobs. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?”

Giggling, you wind your arms around his neck tighter, nuzzling your cheek into his skin, then stringing a garland of wet kisses along the line of his jaw.

“S’really thick, Choso-nii,” you tell him honestly, nodding in lethargic little motions. “I feel so full, onii-chan.”

A laugh falls from his lips, breathy and exalted.

“I don’t know if it’s that I’m big, or if it’s just that your cunt is so fucking small,” his voice tapers off into a whine, raspy and gruff.

“H-Hurts a little, onii-chan,” you admit in a whimper, hips shifting in experimental little movements, conjuring a groan from deep within his chest.

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that, huh?” he asks for the second time in fifteen minutes. “Who was too impatient to let onii-chan prep her?”

“Don’t care,” you mumble. “Wanted you s’bad.”

He laughs again, warm and gentle and full of love, his hands squeezing your hips just enough to make you gasp, fingertips pressing his name into your flesh in blotchy little ovals of purple.

“You have me,” he says, his words ringing clear and true with a painful sincerity.

The vibrations of your responding hum seep from your chest into his, and he sighs, body deflating against yours, pleasant little tingles snuggling between his ribs.

You stay like that for a moment to two, wound up in one another, chests pressed flush, breathing as one. Your auras ebb and flow, presences bleeding, tangling together and creating something that is neither one nor the other but both, a single shared entity.

And it’s nice, it’s real, it’s natural.

But then you become impatient, as you normally do, as he knew you would, wiggling a little in his lap, fingers twining in the strands at the base of his neck.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he urges gently. “Ride onii-chan’s cock.”

And so you do, hips beginning to roll in slow, languid circles, fingers still laced at the back of his skull, half-buried in messy ink.

He allows you to set the pace, allows you to take your time, allows you to enjoy and savour every rock and grind and bounce, staring at you through heavily lidded eyes, hands on your waist merely guiding you—keeping you stable, just like a big brother should.

He’s absolutely breathtaking; gaze glittering in the dim light overflowing with awe, spit-slicked lips licked raw and shimmering as his tongue glides over them again, swollen and bitten cherry red.

You can’t help but reach out to trace his features; the strong line of his brow, the delicate curve of his cheek, the enticing bow of his lips, hips slowing to uneven little ruts as you hone your focus, his eyes observing you with a sick sort of fascination.

“Did you—Have you—Have you thought about this before?”

The question stings his tongue, revulsion flushing through his blood as guilt pricks his flesh, his cock throbbing eagerly.

“Course I have,” you breathe out with a little laugh, as if he’s so silly for thinking you might not have. “Actually, I—I—”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, an unsure giggle on your lips fading into a soft squeal as you hide in his shoulder, shaking your head a little.

“What? Huh?” he shrugs, nudging your face up gently, curiosity clawing at his irises as they search your face, voracious. “What?”

“Well, sometimes I…”

The words tangle in your throat and you choke on them, gaze fleeing his own, and you shake your head again, chest beginning to stammer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, rubbing reassuring circles into your flesh. “You can tell onii-chan, go on.”

There are tears in your eyes now, mouth wobbling a little with the verging confession, and God, that’s so hot, why is that so fucking hot?

“Where’s my brave little sister gone now? Hmm?”

“M’right here, onii-chan,” you whisper, face teetering on a wince, as if you’re bracing for a blow, terrified to admit to him, fearing reprimand. “It’s just that—Sometimes I do, um, really bad things with my stuffies while—while thinking about you…”

Dewdrops of shame glitter in your lashes as your lids flutter, nose scrunching with a soft sniffle, tears breaking free of their wispy confines to roll down your cheeks in fat, glimmering streams—so fucking beautiful in the dim light of his bedroom—but you don’t dare break his stare, gazing at him through a thick shield of water.

“Oh, Christ,” he coughs on the curse, hands flexing on your waist, blunt nails digging into your skin. “And what—what do you think about?”

“Um,” your gaze flits from his own, to his wrinkled bedspread, then back to his face, wide and honest. “Riding you, like this. And—And riding your thighs, makin’ a real mess all over them, and your thick fingers too, filling me up…”

Bolts of dizziness sear his brain as his lungs deflate, oxygen eaten up by pure lust and leaving his chest buzzing, burning, some sort of response mangling itself in his throat, escaping his lips as nothing more than a cracked moan.

“Do you think about me, onii-chan?”

Your question pulls him from the depths of his hedonism and he blinks, your face swimming into view, a peculiar mix of hope and cognizance infusing your expression, eyebrows raised with false curiosity, a smirk twitching on your lips.

Ah, there she is, that brat he knows so well, that brat he’s come to crave, every ounce of uncertainty eradicated from your face, replaced with assured confidence, contradicting the tears still staining your cheeks.

You fucking know he does.

And, oh, how he wishes he was stronger, how he wishes he could lie, how he wishes he could devour the smugness in your eyes and complacency in your smile, to humble you, to knock you from your high throne.

He settles for a kiss instead, mouth crushed to yours as a large hand cups your head, thumb pressing into your ear, fingertips dragging across your scalp as he yanks you closer.

It hurts, his front teeth scraping against your lip as he practically gnaws his way to your tongue, his own big and thick and so fucking strong as it overwhelms yours, shoving it further into the cavern of your mouth and forcing it to stay put as he explores.

He’s making a real mess as he slathers over your molars, over the inside of your cheeks and the backs of your teeth, drenching your mouth in him. Drool oozes steadily from the corners, collecting along the underside of his bottom lip and leaving his chin sticky and slick.

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes shut so tightly his whole forehead crinkles, mouth wet and sliding against your own. “Yes, yes, I think about you—much too often.”

Nose nudging yours, he nuzzles into your face a little, planting a chaste kiss to your lips, then peppering a few more, quick and sloppy, around your mouth.

“But right now, I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to feel you creaming all over my cock—you think you can do that for me, princess?” His palms cushion your cheeks, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones, then brushing strands of damp hair from your temples. “You think you can do that for your onii-chan?”

Yes you can, of course you can, you’re nodding, blinking the last remnants of tears from your eyes, rapid movement eliminating the final stubborn drops, clinging delicately to your outer lashes.

“S’it, baby,” he encourages as your hips start moving again, working up a steady rhythm. “Just like that, good girl.”

A mewl slips from your lips, burrowing your scalding face in his sticky neck again, his undivided attention almost too much to bear.

“Like it when you call me a good girl,” you murmur, lips dragging across his skin with the confession, streaking him with thick glimmers of spit.

“Is that so?” he laughs a little, pressing a few kisses to the crown of your head. “That’s because you don’t hear it often.”

Lifting your head, you scowl at him, though there’s no heat to your glare, fury dimmed by fondness, unable to smother the smile playing with your lips.

A dazzling smile spreads across his own face in response, and he laughs again, his eyes so bright, so brilliant they almost hurt, blazing like two small suns, scorching your skin as his gaze glides over it.

He watches you like a man possessed, a man obsessed, entirely entranced by the way pleasure passes over your face, twisting your features into the cutest little winces as you grind the head of his cock against your cervix, then smoothing them out with bliss as his shaft drags along your favourite spot, bouncing in shallow little motions to rub over that fleshy patch hard and fast, a stream of mewls spilling from your lips, stitched together with his honorific.

“You’re so pretty when you ride my cock,” he groans, words tapering off into a hoarse whimper, as if it pains him to admit it.

His palms run up your sides, fingers counting over each rib, hands committing every dip and curve and bulge to memory, marvelled by the way you fill his grip, as if he can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re his—even if just for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going, use onii-chan like a toy, sweetheart.”

And he tries to be patient, he swears he does—tries not to rush you, tries to relish in the moment, in each swirl of your hips and every puff of his name—except your pace never accelerates, never moves past anything but teasing as you use his now aching cock to continually edge yourself; moans building higher and higher, louder and louder, on the cusp of the crest before they disintegrate into nothing and you start the process all over again, the delicate fluttering of your cunt enough to drive him fucking insane with desire.

It has his entire form trembling with such vigour it’s quivering the mattress, muscles locked stiff and tight as he tries to keep from moving, from bucking up wildly, from forcing you to speed the hell up. Rough fingers sink into your flesh so deep it dimples, a pathetic attempt to ground himself, rapidly blooming bruises staining your flesh.

But he’s powerless to stifle the whines leaking through the gaps of his gritted teeth, hands flexing on your hips, whole body pulled taut with restraint.

He’s sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, eager and impatient, begging you to move faster, to fuck him harder.

But you aren’t going to do any of that—not unless he asks for it, he realizes dimly, after you bring yourself to near orgasm for the third time in a row, giggling a little at his crestfallen expression, his hair having fallen almost completely from its trademark spiky buns, braided fishermen sweater soaked with sweat and sticking to his now heaving chest.

He really thought it was real this time. He really thought you were finally going to cream all over him, so he could finally flip you over and fuck you properly, pound you into the mattress and stuff that pretty, cute little cunt to the goddamn brim with his seed.

He’d been trying so hard to be nice, to be the loving, doting, good big brother he is—but he’s also only human, and there’s only so much misbehaviour he can bear before, finally, he snaps.

Because, sure, big brothers are meant to care for, to lead and to nurture, but they’re also meant to teach, to punish, to put bratty little sisters back in their fucking place.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Huh?” his grip on your hips tightens, halting you from moving. “You think I’m fucking stupid?”

“Never, Choso-nii,” you gasp, astonished. “I would never—”

Sincerity rings in your voice, but he can see it, the mischief tugging at the corners of your mouth, barely suppressed by your façade of innocence.

Anyone else would’ve been fooled—enchanted by your doe eyes and your dainty voice.

But not him.

No, he knows better now.

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, eyes narrowed sharply. “You wanted to ride my cock, but you’re clearly incapable of it—”

“No I’m not!”

“—So it looks like I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“No! I—I can do it!” you cry, face crumpled in fury, nails scrabbling at his shoulders.

“You lost your chance to prove it to me,” he growls.

The world flips suddenly, momentarily a blur of inks and ivories, a breath of surprise punched from your ribs as your back slams against the mattress, trapped between the bedspread and your big brother’s heaving chest.

“You have been testing me all fucking holiday,” he snarls, specks of spit splattering across your cheeks. “Onii-chan shouldn’t give you his cum—onii-chan shouldn’t have given you his cock at all!”

A certain type of haughtiness corrodes your shock, lips spreading into a pompous smirk.

“Oh, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you, onii-chan.”

“You little bitch!”

His hips shove forward, forcing you further into the plush of the mattress, cockhead ramming against your cervix. A little noise of pain vibrates on the back of your tongue, shattering your arrogance, and a grin smears across his face, glinting in the moonlight.

“I think it’s time your big brother teach you a lesson in respect.”

“Y-Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“You’re going to take what onii-chan gives you, and you’re going to fucking like it. And then, at the end, when you’ve gone stupid from the cock you don’t deserve, you’re going to thank me for giving it to you at all. Do you understand me?”

Defiance shines in your eyes, lacquered by a thin coating of tears, nose scrunching up in a glower.

A rough thumb and forefinger, hardened by charcoals, clamps around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks with such force that your mouth puckers, a sticky little whine squealing in your throat.

“Do you understand me?” he asks again, each word said slow with purpose, each word annunciated with intent, his eyes boring into yours, sharp and painful.

Finally, those tears push past your bloated lashes, shoved from your eyes by rapid blinking and rolling down your cheeks in glistening pairs, a half-stifled hiccup stuttering your chest.

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, nose twitching.

“What was that? Onii-chan couldn’t hear you.”

“Yes, onii-chan.”

“Good girl.”

And then his hips are snapping, hard and fast and immediate, fucking into you with such ruthlessness that it jostles your body up the bed, sheets collecting in little wrinkled bunches beneath you. Your nails sink into his shoulders, piercing flesh through the knit of his sweater, the muscles in your thighs tensing as your ankles hook around his waist, his shirt riding up, your heels digging into the those cute little dimples that cushion the base of his spine.

It hurts, every pound of his cock producing a dull, throbbing ache low and deep in your gut, another torrent of tears rushing to flood your vision.

“Ch-Choso-nii, Ch-Choso-nii,” you whimper, face screwed up in pain, his name stuttered by his rapid thrusts.

“What’s the matter?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending, dripping from his lips in an over-exaggerated coo. “Can’t take onii-chan’s cock?”

The question wafts across your face in a panted breath and you lick at your lips, sopping it up with your tongue.

“N-No,” you say, and that telltale brattiness is back, watered down by his viciousness. “I can do it—I-I can do it for you, onii-chan.”

A throaty curse escapes his lips, thrusts stammering out of rhythm for a moment as his cock twitches, and a helpless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Even angry, he’s still so fucking easy.

He regains his composure quickly, though, face hardened to stone but beginning to splinter with pleasure.

“Brat,” he breathes out, though there’s mirth shining in his eyes, pure and fond and full of love. “You better.”

And even angry, he still sounds so fucking pretty; cracked moans and dense groans and choked gasps, all flowing from his mouth in a single stream, fractured by the piston of his hips.

The pain doesn’t fade, of course—it barely diminishes at all, the sheer massiveness of his cock making it near impossible to be dispelled, keeping the cramping pang in the pit of your belly steady and constant—but it does amplify the pleasure, nerves gnawed raw by the agony, left hypersensitive to the sparks of ecstasy that blaze through your veins with every quick, rough pump of his hips, every deep, hard slam against your bruised cervix, every rapid drag over that engorged spot.

It leaves you feeling high, leaves you feeling stupid, brain melting in a hot haze of lust and rendering you incapable of forming a single coherent thought beyond how incredible his cock is, his name and his title the only two things your sloppy, numb tongue can fully scrape together.

It’s all so much, too much, but it all feels so fucking good—s’good, Choso-nii, y’r so-so good—sentiment vibrating indistinctly in your chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, words gone wispy, fading into a whine. “Does your onii-chan’s cock make you feel good?”

Yes, yes, yes, onii-chan, it’s so good, you’re so good!

Your head nods frantically, fingers curling in the collar of his sweater, a mess of affirmatives fucked from your mouth.

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute when you’re too cockdrunk to misbehave,” he chuckles a little, biting back a moan as your cunt clenches at the compliment. “May-Maybe onii-chan should fuck you stupid more often, huh?”

Oh, God, yes, onii-chan; oh, please, onii-chan!

“Yeah, you’d like that a bit too much, though, wouldn’t you, you little sl—ah—slut.”

Drool dribbles from the sides of your mouth as you continue nodding, eyes wide and unblinking, encrusted with stars.

“Y’so pretty, onii-chan,” you manage to mumble out, sentiment tangled in threads of spit, fingers flexing in the fabric of his sweater, as if they yearn to touch but can’t find the strength to carry out the action.

And he is, so beautiful it’s borderline sickening, strands of onyx plastered to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, strung together in clumps and saturated in sweat; damp skin glittering in the waning moonlight spilling through the slits of his window, dewdrops catching delicately in the beams as he pounds into you, every drive of his cock accelerating his pace.

“W-Wan’your cum now,” you slur the demand through a lax pout, lids beginning to weight with exhaustion, heavy as they frame dopey eyes.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, gaze shining with adoration, and it’s breathless, it’s beautiful, his affection wafting over your scalding face. “Onii-chan needs you to cream all over his cock first. Can you—” a grunt cuts him off, and he whimpers, pushing through his sentence, his voice strained. “Can y’do that for me, angel?”

“Uh-huh, uh—uh-huh,” your head begins nodding more fervently again, pushing your lids open with some effort to stare up at him, pupils swelling with devotion and determination.

“Then show me—Show me how gorgeous my good girl looks when she’s making a mess all over her big brother’s cock.”

Three more thrusts and your cunt is obeying, convulsing on his thick shaft as heat gushes around him, so much that you can hear it—a sick, slick squelching as he jackhammers into you, your essence coating his thighs in a shiny layer of arousal.

“Oh, fuck,” his eyes shut tightly before springing open again, suddenly rabid, ravenous.

The bed creaks as his hips speed up, skin sticky with arousal as it slaps against your own, the sharp sound mingling with his ragged pants and your hitched mewls.

“Onii—Nii-chan,” you nearly wail, fingers tangling weakly in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scraping against his flesh. “Please, please, cum, gimme—gimme y’r cum!”

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps out, voice cracking into a whine.

But you don’t care, you can’t care, pleads spilling from your lips as your thighs tense around his waist, hips twitching in erratic little motions, crudely trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Need it, need it, onii-chan, fill my belly with it, onii-chan, please!”

“Christ,” he chokes on the curse, pace faltering as he finally gives his baby sister what she wants, cock throbbing almost violently while it fills you with hot, thick cum, so much you swear you really can feel it, stuffing your belly as full as it can be, tummy bulging cutely with his seed.

You must tell him that, sentiment slipping from your lips without your permission, because he moans again, his cock giving another weak spurt, hips stuttering as he tries to fuck further into you, grinding the head into your sore cervix.

“Yeah, yeah,” you’re murmuring, hips rolling up to meet his own. “Push it into me, onii-chan, push it into my cunt nice n deep, do-don’t waste a single drop!”

“You really are gonna be the death of me,” he whines, face buried in your hair as he collapses on top of you, hips still moving in lazy little circles, shudders of overstimulation rippling through his form.

“Mm,” you hum, on the cusp of unconsciousness, nuzzling your face into his neck like a kitten, then lapping at a few droplets of sweat streaming down the column. “What are lil sisters for?”

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #this ended up being waaaay longer than i originally indended #absolutely no one is surprised #tw:pseudocest

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 3 months

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There's definitely a conversation to be had about the presentation of real historical figures in historical fiction, I think. As both a professional historian (PhD student 🤘🏾😔) and a man of color, I'm a bit more sensitive to this than a lot of people, and for me it always comes down to the question - what real harm is being done here?

And that's where I think OFMD does well enough for me to be comfortable. If you look at the fact that the show is based on real-life terrible people who did awful things and participated in the slave trade and you don't wanna fuck with the show, that's completely understandable, but I find it so much more palatable than (for the easy comparison) a piece of media like Black Sails (I actually like Black Sails, believe it or not, but there are a lot of things about how it treats many of these same figures that make me uncomfortable).

Now, yes, OFMD is hand-wavey with the slave trade in the Caribbean. None of our main characters own slaves or directly reference the slave trade (again, this is a romcom, I'd be shocked if they did). For me, this works alright for two big reasons. First, there are things that I think you can include in a romcom and have it still be a romcom, and a thoughtful, respectful depiction of the slave trade would take the show firmly out of romcom territory. Second, the show doesn't pretend racism doesn't exist, it treats its characters of color as three-dimensional people, and we always get the last laugh when racism is depicted. The very first episode sets the scene by having racist English Navy officers demean and call a Black character "slave" and they immediately get their asses kicked for it. Compare this to a show like Black Sails, where one of my main criticisms is how we're expected to sympathize with characters who actively participate in the slave trade and own slaves.

My other thing here is the people OFMD is working with are both heavily mythologized and not treated with any degree of historical accuracy. Many of our characters who are famous pirate names you might know are nothing like their real-world counterparts (take pirate queen Zheng Yi Sao, who wasn't even born yet when the show takes place). We know so little about any of the real people, anyway, that OFMD doesn't even bother trying to get anything right.

Like I said, I'm a professional historian and I love working with the golden age of piracy. That's a big reason I was drawn to this show in the first place! And if there's one thing I know, it's that pirates have been made into legends. We know very little about the real people, and in pop culture they're just myths.

The characters in OFMD are basically fictional characters working with the loose mythology based around the real people.

Now, back to my big thesis here: are the real, awful people benefitting in any way from OFMD taking these characters and making them into the good guys? Realistically, no, I'd argue. Most people with any critical thinking skills know that real pirates were not good people. Many people think Blackbeard is a made-up generic pirate character as it is. I've been to the real-life Stede Bonnet's grave site (NOT for the show, this was years before it aired and I was visiting the archives there to see the trial documents for a research project), and the historic marker there says he was "brought to justice." No one is wataching this show and thinking "oh those real guys must have been pretty great dudes!" because it's not about those real people.

This show isn't trying to change your perception of the real people, it's showing you fictional characters with the same names. One of our characters is runnig around in crocs, this show isn't trying to teach you about history or the real people and it's obvious.

If you're put off by the premise, I get it! But I just don't buy the idea that OFMD is putting anything harmful into the world just by existing.

#ofmd #our flag means death

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theblueflower05 · 1 year

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Just a Little Taste

A/N: Welp. Somehow my breeding/breastfeeding kinks manifested themselves into a story. I wrote this sky high on painkillers and I am a little in love with the whole premise. @tiredmamaissy -I hope more than anything that you enjoy this. You deserve all of the goodness on this site. Your Masterlist is my personal spank bank lol

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: This story is Filthy. Smut with very little plot. Breastfeeding. Pussy Eating. Slight mommy kink if you squint. Very pregnant reader getting pleasured, because pregnant beings can still be sexual. Aged up!Neteyam

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Summary: You’re eight months pregnant with Neteyams child, and after a long day, you both need a little relief. Neteyam x Human! Reader

"Sugar, Honey, Iced Tea

Bumble-bee on the scene.

Yeah, I'd give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie"

- See You Again, Tyler the Creator ft Kali Uchis

Life in the village is always busy. Constantly bustling with life and movement as everyone; human scientist, Avatar and Na’vi alike, rush to keep things afloat.

High Camp is so different then Home Tree had been, the rage of war adding a constant edge to long days and restless nights. You miss the comfort of a slow life, of hazy days down in the jungle. The jagged cliffs of the Hallelujah Mountains still don’t quite feel like home to you.

Still, you go about your daily duties.

Being a Pandoran raised human had always given you a different insight, the two massively different cultures you we’re brought up in clashing and mending to create a skill set that was like no other- it had taken many years of painful trial and error to find your place within the Omiticaya, but healing had always come naturally.

Both holistic and surgical alike. You’d spent years shadowing Mo’at and learning the ancient herbal ways of the people, while well as taking advantage of the many PHD toting scientist back at Hell’s Gate. Medicine had no boundaries, was a way for you to feel close to both sides of yourself. To broach the gap between human and clansman.

You find your skills being needed more than ever. The ever constant raids against the RDA means your hands are rarely idle, forever in movement as you tend to the wounded. Some days you sit in the big Healers Tent with Mo’at and the other Taskarem, and others you’re in the makeshift Medi Bay, which is really more of an Avatar Pod Trailer turned OR, with the handful of human surgeons.

The long hours spent on your feet leave you sore and exhausted, but you have to pull your weight.

Even if said weight is far heavier than usual as of late-

“Y/N” you’re broken out of your thoughts by Max- as he enters the trailer with a holo-tab in hand and a concerned look in his dark eyes “What are you still doing here?”

“I was just finishing up inventory- our antibiotic stock is back way up. Jake was right, those helicopter raids were more than worth it” you’d sorted out the tiny vials of vital medicine by hand, not wanting any to be misplaced or mislabeled.

“You don't think maybe you should head home?” He continues and you sigh.

You miss your tent, and the soft bed of furs that lay inside the secure warm flaps. And the man that waits for you inside of the patchwork leather walls-

“I’m fine” you assure. And really, you are.

It's a fact you have to keep reminding people of.

Yes, you’re as big as a Strumbeast, but you are no less competent. No less able bodied.

Pregnancy is one of the most natural parts of life, a base staple in all’s existence. There are plenty of pregnant Omiticaya women who were expected to play their roles, even as the battle raged outside the safety of the mountain cave system.

It was the nature of your pregnancy that was more…fragile then average. Inside your womb grew a child that would be the first of it’s kind. A scientific mystery: no one had even known it was possible for Na’vi and humans to procreate.

And yet all of the evidence now lies under your shirt. Your stomach round and pronounced, full of growing life.

Full of the love between you and the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son.

Neteyam had left his permanent mark on you. Had part of himself growing inside of you. The thoughts we’re enough to make your knees buckle if you focused on them too hard.

“You’ve been here since 6am, you really should get some rest. Take one of the empty bunks if you want. Have you checked your blood pressure-”

You’re a grown woman. You’re not going to huff and puff and roll your eyes, but fuck, do you want to.

Everyone was so overbearing lately.

Norm and Max we’re constantly breathing down your neck; “The baby has a different growth rate then a human child, we need to monitor the way that your body is responding” Followed closely by Jake who watches you with sharp eagle like eyes and Neytiri, who used to all but ignore your presence, constantly checking in on you throughout the day. Mo’at’s always poking and prodigy, and Kiri almost always has her hands on you in some way shape or form.

You are glad for the support, happy that this baby would be so loved.

But really, you missed being treated like the competent, independent woman you knew you we’re.

“My blood pressure is fine. I thought since we ruled out preeclampsia we weren’t going to worry about it anymore” you know that it’s not going to silence his worry, but still. You can try.

Max goes on one of his science mambo jumbo spiels, and by the end of it you’re waddling out of the lab and back to your hut, annoyed as shit but placating your pseudo father figure all the same. Only a month and a half mor of this and then things could go back to normal.

Everything had just…changed so quickly.

You 're a caretaker by nature. Caring for others is easy, feels right. You’d tucked the much older scientists into bed when you we’re just a pre-teen. Made dinners. Looked out for Spider and the other Sully’s-

And the role reversal still didn't quite sit right with you. Your control freak ways didn't do well with not being the one in charge- you’d been stripped of your title so to speak. You we’re supposed to relax into your new role, enjoy being doted over before the nine month’s we’re over.

You and Neteyam’s shared tent is in the centered in the cave, close to his families, but standing on its own. As private as anyone could get in the busy, close quartered camp. The walls of the hut are familiar, adorned with your combined belongings. Cozy and familiar.

You shimmy free of your confining bra, step out of your cargo pants, then toe off your boots, releasing your swollen sock covered feet with a groan before collapsing into your well loved bed, the soft blankets and familiar scent of your mate lulling you into a deep state of peace.

It’s kind of wild how quickly you can fall asleep these days. Growing a little person from scratch tends to burn a lot of energy and the moment you relax, you’re out like a light.

You don't wake up, even when the horns are sounded for the return of the War Party.

Not when Neteyam makes his way through the camp and enters the tent. He’s wearty, grime covered and hunched over. He only softens when he sees you, tucked safely, into his bed. Your eyes still closed and face still scrunched up as he strips out of his battle band and shin covers. He’s quiet, washing off with the large freshwater basin in the corner before making his way over to his much-missed bed mat.

It isn't until he's crawled under the blankets and wiggled his way as close to you as possible that you begin to stir. His large cat like snout nuzzles into the vulnerable crevice of your neck, chuffing hot breaths against the smooth skin.

You’re not upset at him for waking you up, a drowsy half alert smile stretches over your lips as your hands run up his strong back. Gently working the tense muscles.

He gets so greedy when he comes back from the War runs. He needs to be comforted, to be held and you are all too willing to comply.

Everyone else infantiles you now, and yeah, Neteyam could get a little intense and overprotective, but your relationship had always worked because you were the one person in all of Pandora that babied the future chief.

He was such a sweet man, with so much responsibility on his plate. You loved nothing more than holding him in your arms. Letting him release any and all tension because you had him. You, a tiny soft skinned human, were the barrier between him and the ruthless world.

You’d be such a great mother to his children. His hind brain purrs at the thought. That even through all of the controversy, he knows he’d chosen the right mate. Little and fierce, he hopes the baby is just like you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, tone hushed in the darkness of the tent. The only light coming from the small dying embers of the firepit in the center of the space. Hypnotic shadows dance along the canvas walls and Neteyam's breathing grows shallow as he sinks into it.

The way you smell. The way your heart beats, strong against his cheek. The way your plump body feels so good under his wandering hands. He hadn't been okay, just moments ago. He was delirious, so sick of the fighting that he felt ill with it.

But how could any of those bad feelings exist when he had you waiting for him? Ready to welcome him into your body, your heart, your mind. He doesn't think he could survive without knowing the solace of your love.

“I’m okay, narlor(beauty). Just missed you” he mutters, still trying to dig his face deeper into your skin. He wants to escape inside of you, you chuckle at his futile attempts to mend you both into one entity. His large palms rest against your bloated belly, tenderly and your heart flutters “Missed you both so much”

Being so loved is overwhelming.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

“I missed you, my sweet baby. I missed you all day” you assure him with the words you know he needs to hear. “Our son here thought it would be fun to jump on his sa’nok’s bladder all day. It was like was playing the wokau(pendulum drum) all day long- I spent hours in running back and forth to the bathroom”

Neteyam's laugh is deep and rich. Thoroughly pleased to listen to your stories of your day, eager to hear every minute detail. Desperate to drown out visions of blood and gun smoke with your voice.

“Ah, you have to be nice to your momma, little one” he chastises the bump, raising your shirt over your head, wanting that flimsy barrier gone. His lips trail over the tight skin of your bulging belly as he speaks to his child.

Your son, still safe inside your soft body, knows his fathers voice already. Recognizes that slightly accented cadence, and squirms inside of you happily.

Neteyam usually speaks strictly in Na’vi to your unborn child-

“He needs to know the language of our people, first and foremost”

-he’ll spend hours whispering his mother tongue into your flesh. It always leaves you boneless and shaking. Feeling so special and cared for. Na’vi, though your second language, is familiar to you. You’re fluent in the language- but fuck. The way your mate speaks it is the most beautiful thing. It’s musical, he tells sprawling stories with his colorful words.

There is one English he’s very fond of though. Every time it leaves his plush mouth it makes you grin, sharp. Knowingly.

“Are you gonna be nice to momma, Neteyam?” you question him after a while. His ears quirk, swiveling on his head and his tale flicks once, in obvious excitement.

You know what he’s wanted, ever since he woke you up by nuzzling at your chest. Ever since he peeled off your top and left your heavy breasts bare. Did he think you missed the way his golden gaze would flick to them, eyeing them hungrily.

He needs this as much as you do, but as usual, your sweet boy is too selfless to ask. Won't trouble you with his wants unless you bring it up first.

You reach for his big hand that rests on your belly, and drag it to where you need him. His palm enveloping your tits, the rough callus’s catching on your sensitive nipple just right-

Your pregnancy had been different than regular humanoid pregnancies. Your body worked hard, thrown into overdrive in an attempt to keep up with the fast growing fetus in your womb. You’d started lactating months ago, far earlier then normal. Your breasts firm, full with milk. Ready to feed the child that had not yet come into the world.

At first it had been both painful and embarrassing. You had no child to drink what you were producing and the other breastfeeding women in the tribe we’re hesitant to feed their babies your tawtute(human) milk. Already over emotional due to the hormone change, you’d wept at the fact that you had no one to give what your body readily made.

The fact that you couldn't be a bigger part of your community due to your human heritage, combined with the intense pain that came from having backed up ducts had been too much,

Eventually you’d turned to Neteyam, both your eyes and shirt soaking wet. Begged him to help you. And of course, as always, he did.

It should be awkward, or shameful- but connecting with him on any level is something you cherish. Why would this be any different?

“I’m always nice to you, aren't I, love?” Neteyam gruffs as he gently works at the breast in his hands. Its firm and full of milk, his mouth waters “Do they hurt again?”

“Mhmm” you whine pathetically, and you’re not lying. The skin of your chest is now marred by stretch marks and you’d had to stuff precious, hard to come by toilet paper down your bra all day to keep them from spilling over “They’re so full, Nete”

“Oh” He hums, thumbing at your nipple “Poor momma, I’ll help you. Don't worry” his lips are wet against your skin as he kisses his way to your breast, his tongue peeking out to circle your puffy nipple. A pearlescent drop of milk tops the rosy bud and he groans as it hits his taste buds.

He tells you that you taste good, often. The juices of your pussy, your spit soaked kisses. He’s always been greedy for it, his tongue bullying its way into your holes, desperate for your essence. Your milk is just as delicious as the rest of you.

It quickly goes from kitten licking, wide wet stripes against your pebbled nipple to sucking your big breast as far into his mouth as he could. Careful of his fangs as he gorges himself on your flesh.

He’s loudly appreciative as he suckles on your nipple. Grunting and humming and moaning at the flavor. Your arms come around him, cradling his head to your bosom because it feels so good. Having him this close, knowing that he'd do anything to take care of you. That he truly loved the way you tasted-

Many people thought you and Neteyam would never last. It was lust, they’d claim. Curiosity. A childhood friendship that would fizzle out eventually. Na’vi needed Tsaheylu, it was the lifeblood of all their relationships. Why would the much desired future Olo’eyktan stay with you if he couldn't even properly bond you?

While you couldn't deny that there we’re doubt filled moments that you yourself wondered why he’d chosen you and stayed so loyal to you…you still felt your own form of connection to him. While you’d love to make that sacred bond with him, you didn't feel any less close to your mate.

You never thought that you could be so intertwined with another being.

As Neteyam takes his fill from your breast, you massage the base of his Kuru, firm enough that it makes him hiss. You have no special braid of your own, but he’s always been very free with his when it comes to you.

You can do with as you please. Stroke it. Lick it. Massage it. Hell, he’d even let you touch glowing pink tendrils at the end of it before. Let you feel his exposed nerves, so vulnerable and raw in your hands that he had shed tears as you explored.

Nothing was taboo in your relationship. There was no space undiscovered between you.

Your bodies we’re so very different, and yet you knew his like the back of your hand. All of the strong muscles and hard sinew. The cobalt expanse of his skin didn't have one blemish that you haven't memorized. You could point out his striped pattern in a sea of other Na’vi.

And he knows you right back.

Loves to dig his fingers into your doughy hips, into your pillowy thighs. Your wide ass and ample chest. He loves your form, goes crazy for all of your alien curves. He never cared for your human modesty, he’d wanted to part your ass cheeks and stare at plump of your pussy for as long as he could remember. Wanted to strip you of all of those clothes and just stare.

The fact that he gets to do just that, for the rest of your lives, is his favorite, favorite thing.

You watch him eagerly as he slowly nurses. You can't get enough of the sight of him, his hollowed cheeks, the bob of his throat as he swallows your free flowing milk. He's so strong, his muscles flex in the dim light. All of that strength, and yet he’s so very gentle with you, his rough tongue laving at your sore buds every couple minutes. Soothing and tickling you all the same.

You giggle at a particularly quick swipe, letting out a small squeal as Neteyam’s tongue plays with the flesh in his mouth. His eyes peek open, glittering with mirth and low boiling heat as he meets your gaze. Whin his lips split into a smile, a dribble of translucent white milk escapes. Trickles down from the corners of his lips.

Heat pulses between your legs and you know he can smell how aroused you are.

Neteyam has always been able to turn you on without even trying. A well spoken word, or even a pointed look could get you running your thighs together. All desperate to get him alone and put your hands all over him.

You hate that you cant kiss him the way you want to, your Exo Mask, while necessary to your survival can be suck a fucking menace sometimes.

Your thumb traces his lips, the ones you want pressed against your own so bad. You rub the spilled milk from his chin. Cleaning him up in a way that's so simple, and so beyond erotic.

He breaks eye contact first, like he just can't look at you anymore. His brows all scrunched up, his chest raising and falling rapidly. He releases your sloppy nipple, completely covered in his saliva, and presses his face against the damp skin. Making a sound of distress.

Your fingernails skritch at his scalp, tangled in his many braids “What is it, baby?”

“I wanna fuck you so bad. Eywa, do you even smell yourself, Y/N? So good. I have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay” You nod, agreeing blindly. He can have whatever he wants.

“Fuck you hard, though. Gotta pound you. I know I shouldn't but it’ll be alright, huh? Won't hurt the baby?” his face is still buried in your skin, you cant even see his expression as he pleads for your pussy. It makes you so hot.

You push at his chest, needing him to get off of you for just a moment. He’s heavy as shit, a dead weight- doesn't really move until you're pouting and demanding for him to just give you a little space.

Enough that you can wiggle out of your panties and spread your thighs wide for him. Your swollen, sticky pussy on display for your mate.

His nostrils flare, and his thin tail whips wildly behind him.

When he swings your thick thighs up onto his broad shoulders, you let out a low, appreciative moan.

“Such a good boy for momma” you praise him the way the people praise the Great Mother. The cradle of your thighs a sanctuary where you both come to worship.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Welp, I should be finishing up Part Three of First Love/Late Spring or plotting out future installments of The Sweetest Sylaung, but here I am writing nursing filth. Lol I truly have zero regrets, this story was so very self fulfilling(even though it partially came from a request). I hope you guys enjoyed though

As mentioned many times before, requests are currently open. Please send in all that good shit. I could use a good distraction from real life!

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam sully smut #aged up neteyam #Neteyam x pregnant reader

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strawbeerossi · 11 months

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If You Leave Me

Pairing: Fem!reader x Spencer Reid

Description: After coming home, Spencer has nightmares of his wife leaving him after the weight of prison weighs on him after his release.

Content Warnings: Depression, mentions of problems with eating, nightmares, fear of abandonment, mention of parental abandonment, spoilers for the prison arc, mentions of blood and being beaten, anxiety, there’s a panic attack, general angst, light fluff towards the end

Word Count: 1.4K

Navigation || Masterlist || Join My Taglist || Request

'The Show' is so amazing, so I might make more based on each song on the album.

“Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future.” John F Kennedy.

Spencer had faced change for his whole life. Between his father leaving him with no explanation when he was a child to his mother’s schizophrenia spiralling, he was the poster child for adapting to the plethora of things that life can throw at you and making the best of things.

Child abandonment coupled with a mother whose illness was worsening, there was a lot of pressure on him at a young age. Spencer wanted to take care of his mother, make sure she was safe and sound. He enjoyed lying with her and reading, spending his time with the woman who he cared for. He struggled with making many friends.

Not a lot of high schoolers want to be friends with a twelve-year-old child prodigy. He was the target of relentless bullying, his safest place being home where he could read in the comfort of his own bedroom.

Most children who had any form of trauma as a child turned out to be psychopaths, incapable of empathy and most who exhibited those symptoms were serial killers, he was quite the opposite. Spencer would say that he turned out alright.

Three PHDs, being a supervisory special agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, as well as being a literal genius. He had a team of people who loved him dearly, a good amount of godchildren who he adored, as well as a beautiful wife who did so much for him.

When Spencer was imprisoned, his experience killed a piece of him. The once sweet, innocent Dr. Spencer Reid was now a man who was more prone to showing his complex emotions, his temperament changing. He wasn’t nearly as talkative, he was having a harder time processing things that used to take him mere seconds to understand. It was why they had placed him on a weird schedule; every one hundred days spent in the field would have thirty days off following behind. He thought it was the stupidest decision they made.

Despite all of his protests, nobody would hear him out. It brought on the thoughts of him being untrustworthy. After all, he did kill Nadie Ramos. He may have been under the influence of drugs but that didn’t excuse a damn thing. He killed her with his bare hands.

That haunted him. The fact that he could be capable of madness, capable of murder. It didn’t help that soon after, he was producing a tampered batch of drugs that he was being forced to push within those four cement walls.

Everyone told him that it wasn’t his fault, that some people were pushed to dark acts in order to ensure their survival. After all, a federal agent in the general population sector was a huge target, someone who would have a lot of enemies. Too many enemies.

After his release, there came a plethora of emotions. Y/N was a saint, patient as could be and more loving than he ever could’ve hoped for. Even when he was dissociating into his mind to shield him from all too familiar territory, she was right there. It had gotten to a point where he severely depended on her, the attachment so strong that he would follow her around the house as if he were a kitten who needed constant attention.

Dinner was hard, the man having to be reminded that he could take his time to eat and he had no risk of someone coming and taking it whether he allowed them to or not. There were nights where he wouldn’t take a packet of cookies from his wife, stressing over having to ‘pay her back’. It took a lot to break him out of that routine.

Don’t get him started on the nightmares. They were vivid, placing him back to the night when he was beaten in prison or to the day where Luis Delgado had his throat slit in front of him because of his own choices. It was like he could still feel the warmth of the crimson blood staining his hands in the failed attempt to stop the bleeding.

In addition to nightmares that were filled with blood and violence, there was another recurring nightmare. One that killed him more than any sort of guilt of association ever could. It started out the same way every time, he would come in the house after a long winded case. There would be a lot of stress on his shoulders, a tightening in his chest because of the fact the case didn’t end the way the team had anticipated. He would then walk into the kitchen, where Y/N would be waiting for him. There was no sweet greeting, no kiss against his lips while she hugged him and cried about missing him.

Instead there was a tense silence, the usually warm apartment freezing. She would turn to him, her eyes filled with exhaustion, no glimmer of love shining over them as they faced one another.

“I can’t do this anymore. You aren’t who you used to be, this time by myself has made me realize that I am much happier without you here. I don’t have to coddle you, treat you like a baby. I just can’t bring myself to love you anymore.”

Spencer was waking up in a cold sweat, his body jolting upwards on the mattress while his other hand was quickly, yet cautiously reaching beside him to feel his wife’s shoulder. The touch had Y/N stirring awake, a gentle frown on her face. “Spencer?” Her voice was filled with drowsiness, her hands slowly pushing her to sit up on her knees while her free hand was leaning over to turn on the bedside lamp.

Any form of annoyance from drowsiness was wiped away when she noticed her husband’s state. His face was drenched in sweat, his chest was heaving from the impending anxiety attack, he was unable to talk as his body trembled. “Shh, hey.” Y/N whispered as she was shuffling closer, pulling back the duvet so she could carefully pull her husband into her arms.

Her fingers were threading through the messy curls, a weak sigh leaving her lips as she could feel his arms tightly wrap around her torso, practically squeezing the life out of her.

“I’m here. It’s okay, baby, I promise. Luis dream again?” She asked softly, her lips pressing a kiss to the crown of his skull.

“You left.” His voice was hoarse, the tears joining in soaking his face the same way that the sweat had done over the course of the night. “Baby..” Y/N whispered while her fingers were lightly scratching over his scalp, her cheek resting against his head as she was being hugged tightly, as if she would disappear if Spencer let her go. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that.” Her words were dipped in that sweet assurance, her eyes slowly fluttering shut.

Spencer faced enough people who abandoned him in his life with little to no explanation, she could never be added to that list. He spent three long and gruelling months in a maximum security prison for a murder that he was pushed into doing under the influence of a drug that Cat Adams and Lindsey Vaughn got their hands on.

This wasn’t like he was a man who snapped and murdered an innocent woman because of deterioration of his sanity. He was absolutely nothing like the men and women he hunted down for his job, she tried to push that every time that she could. “You’re a good man, you know that. I would be a fool to leave you.” She said softly.

As her body was eventually laying down against the mattress, she couldn’t help but smile once Spencer quickly followed her movements. Her legs were spreading in order to invite him between them, the male laying on top of her as his head was against her chest. “There we go..” She cooed softly, her fingers continuing to comb through the tousled curls.

With his cheek now smashed against his wife’s chest, he listened to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

The drumbeat mixed his wife’s sweet words of assurance and the warmth of her love radiating against him was enough to have Spencer starting to drift off to sleep.

How did he manage to get so lucky to have a woman who wouldn’t give up on him?

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dear-ao3 · 6 months

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by far my least favorite genre of tumblr is when i post something about a family recipe/tradition/piece of culture and someone in the replies goes “ummmm actually you’re doing it wrong” like ?????? last i checked i’m not famous enough for anyone to have a phd in my personal life so just take the l and move on.

#not a tag #from saph

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irisintheafterglow · 7 months

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No Prey, No Pay (opla!zoro x you)

summary: after steering him to a successful bounty, zoro can't stop thinking about you. he decides to do something about it. (Part 2 to Parley)

wc: 1.67k

cw/tags: domestic zoro crumbs, idiots in love but they don't know how to express it, canon-typical violence, zoro is so himbo i love him

note: thank you for all the love on my first two zoro posts!!!! i'm so so so happy y'all liked them; this is one of the first times in a while i've actually been super giddy writing a character. i really hope he's not too ooc, i tried to keep his himbo-ness intact. hope you enjoy!!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3

“Here to try killing me again?”

“Oh,” is all he can sputter out, frozen on the doorstep of the Lady’s manor. The stout, shriveled old woman before him was not who he was looking for. To make matters worse, the flower he’d picked from the hillside on his way up the driveway suddenly seemed like a gargantuan beanstock in his fingers. His face was warming but, for the life of him, he could not figure out why. “You’re not–”

“Nope. They’re in the Farmers’ Market,” she deadpans without hesitation, eyeing him with all the amusement of a PhD candidate reading a children’s book. “The Farmers’ Market I created, by the way.”

“Right,” he replies shortly, turning abruptly on his heel and letting his eyes widen in pure horror when she can’t see his face. He tosses the flower into a nearby planter, well aware that she can still see his every move. After several misguided attempts to navigate back to your isolated piece of land in the East Blue, he approached the ornately decorated door with a little more excitement than he expected. Having the Lady whom he’d tried to kill a few weeks prior be the one to open the door was another funny twist of irony that caused him an odd feeling of embarrassment, like he’d dropped you off after a date ten minutes past your curfew. “Thank you for your time.”

“Tell me, pirate hunter,” she called to his back patronizingly. “Why grace us again with your oh-so-menacing presence?”

“I’m wondering the exact same thing,” he mutters, irritated at his failed attempt to find you on the first try.

“When you find them, tell them to pick up more sweet potatoes. I thought we had enough for dinner, but we could use a few more now that you’re here,” the Lady instructs him and her words take a few seconds to register in his mind. But, by the time he’s turned around to ask her what she meant, the door is already shut and he’s too proud to knock again.

As if the mortification on your porch wasn’t enough, it’s nearly impossible to find you in the milling swarms of people in town. The people part naturally for him as he passes, sneaking anxious glances at the three swords on his hip. Whispers of his occupation and intentions float around his ears but he pays them no mind, determined to spot you. Again, he wasn’t sure what he was doing there in the first place; but, no matter what anyone else said, he did know one thing. By some unexpected turn of Fate, he missed you.

“Shopping for produce while you hunt? I didn’t know you could multitask.” The teasing lilt of your voice appears behind him and he can’t help smirking. You’d found him before he found you, even though it was his job to find people. “Word to the wise: the vendors will upcharge you because they know you’re not from the island.”

“What if you’re there with me?” When he finally turns to face you, his eyes flick to the canvas bag slung over your shoulder. It’s stuffed with fruits and vegetables, along with a jar of honey from the beekeeper just up the road from your house.

“They’ll upcharge you more and insist you pay for my stuff,” you reply nonchalantly. “Now that I think of it, maybe we should walk around together.” You brush past him and re-enter the bustling square like he was the last thing on your mind, when really he was the only thing for the past week. You’re certain he’d follow behind you and your theory is confirmed when his voice comes from over your right shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’re wearing the bracelet,” he observes, easily slipping into place next to you as if it was natural to be by your side. With the sword-clad bounty hunter next to you, it was much easier to navigate the market without bumping every resident of the island.

“Mhmm, I told you I liked it,” you say absentmindedly, stopping at a stand and picking up a vibrantly colored fruit from the stack. Observing it for bruises and finding none, you signal the seller that you’d like to buy the piece in your hand. His farm-worn hand stretches out to you and you fish around in your bag briefly for coins. But, before you can place the money in his hand, Zoro’s fingers are already dropping an unnecessarily large quantity into the shocked farmer’s palm. You gape at him and his unchangingly blank expression, shaking your head in disbelief when he glances at you, eyes shining arrogantly. “Where’d you get all that money and why did you do that?”

“Bounties,” he answers plainly, “and ‘cause I wanted to. Next stand?” You’re still slightly frozen from pure surprise, but he shrugs carefreely and tilts his head toward the rest of the vendors.

“Feel like enlightening me on why you’re here again?” It’s the fourth or fifth stand he’s accompanied you to and, at this point, you were just window-shopping. Since he joined you on your errand, you hadn’t spent any more money; before you could pay any of the sellers, they were already thanking you profusely for your generosity with a pile of shining coins in their hands. Zoro proved to be a very patient companion, respectfully giving his opinions on which piece of produce looked bigger or more appetizing. With most of the required items on your shopping list successfully in your bag, you find yourself drifting over to the stalls of mundane things like pretty flowers and colorful crystals.

“There’s a Marine defector turned intelligence smuggler hiding somewhere in the area. Thought I’d knock out two birds with one stone.” You turn over a piece of aventurine in your fingers, admiring it from different angles in the sunlight. Your breath hitches slightly when Zoro’s face dips down next to yours, watching the crystal from the same angle.

“What’s the other bird?” You glance at him from the corner of your eye.

“Visiting you,” he replies without hesitation, plucking the crystal from your fingers and tossing more coins at the vendor. You don’t stop the laugh that escapes your mouth and you swear his smirk gets more self-assured as he drops the rock into your bag. At a point when you aren’t looking, he swings your bag onto a broad shoulder as easily as if it was a piece of paper. “Also, we need sweet potatoes.” Your eyebrows raise in amusement at his slip.

“We?” You have to fight down another giggle when his face becomes slightly pinker, imperceptible if you weren’t already staring at him. “Since when were we anything?”

“Your boss said she needed more sweet potatoes. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I wasn’t aware that you went to go see her.”

“I wasn’t either, and then she opened the door instead of you,” he admits and you chuckle at his expression of distaste. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have–get behind me.” Before he can finish his thought, his arm shoots out in front of you, effectively halting you a split second before a knife darts across your vision, embedding itself into the wooden post next to you. The surrounding market-goers break into chaotic panic and you have no choice but to press your back against Zoro’s to prevent getting swept away. Emerging from the crowd, a lethal-looking group of fighters encircle you two and your hand finds the hilt of your saber.

“Pirates?”

“No. Bounty hunters.”

“Friends of yours?” You eye the group warily as the marketplace empties, people running into the nearest building they could find to spectate the upcoming battle.

“I’d call them ‘occupational competition’ on a good day.”

“Ah, great,” you huff sarcastically. “What’d you do to piss them off?”

“Exist,” he deadpans and you hum in assent.

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” you mutter and you start to pull your blade from its sheath, anticipating the fight ahead of you.

“Don’t.” The single word halts your movements and your stomach drops in fear of what he’s sensing.

“What?”

“Let me handle this,” he says in a low tone that makes your skin break into goosebumps. “Can you hold the bag while I deal with them?”

“You sure?”

“Yep. This won’t take long,” he says irritatedly, scowling at the rival hunters that interrupted his day.

“Alright. I’m gonna go get sweet potatoes, then.”

“Third one down on the left. I’ll meet you over there,” he promises before moving faster than you can comprehend, whirling and downing the two attackers in front of you without even drawing his swords. They howl in pain when you stab your blade into their feet for good measure before leisurely making your way further down the street. As you walk, Zoro clears the path for you, mercilessly incapacitating every enemy with ease. By the time you find the sweet potato stall, there’s only one persistent fighter still giving the swordsman problems. You don’t feel any ounce of fear, however, as you pick through the salvageable gourds while the clashing of swords rings out behind you. Eventually, the street quiets and Zoro returns to your side as if nothing happened at all. “Good?”

“I’m fine,” you say truthfully, running your thumb over the bruise of an otherwise good potato. “You think this one’s still okay?” After peering at it and deeming it safe, he nods.

“Yeah, it should be fine. If anything, you can just cut off the ugly spot.” There’s a splattering of red just under his eye when you meet his gaze. Your fingers unconsciously come up to wipe the speck of blood from his cheek and his skin feels just as electric as the first time you touched him.

“Cool. I’m done shopping then, so we can go back home.”

“We?”

“You’re staying for dinner. It isn’t a request,” you command lightheartedly and smile when his steps fall into line next to yours.

“Mmm, I can’t wait.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #opla!zoro x you #opla!zoro x y/n #opla!zoro x reader #opla x you #opla x reader #opla x y/n

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totowlff · 8 months

Text

le temps fera les choses

➝ request: you could write a story where toto and reader are divorced [...] drunk toto calls reader and just rambles about life and how he misses her and everything, or if you wanna go further

➝ word count: 8,5k

➝ warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, angst, smut, an overprotective reader and a lot of real life references

➝ author’s note: well, working with the idea of divorced!toto turned some gears in my head and this one shot was born. it was inspired, in a way, by the song le temps fera les choses, by angèle, and the text even has some references to the lyrics, so don't be surprised. toto's aunt is actually called elisabeth, and given my commitment to reality, i kept it that way (a happy coincidence, i won't deny it). hope you enjoy!

Looking at the man on the seat in front of you, part of yourself refused to believe you were doing this. “This is insanity”, you could hear your mother's trademark accusatory tone of voice telling you. You know she was right, even as a voice inside your head, but there you were, sitting across from your ex-husband, watching him completely absorbed in that day’s edition of the Financial Times, as you sat on his private jet, en route to Sardinia.

Your story with Toto began in the fall of the year 2000, at the gala opening of an exhibition at an art gallery in the center of Vienna. You had earned your Masters in Art History, and had always been enchanted by antiquities, and had done extensive research on the history of antiquarians in Vienna. Your research led to an invitation given personally by Elisabeth Sturm, daughter of Czesław Bednarczyk, one of the most prominent antique dealers in Vienna, and the subject of a paper you were writing for your PhD.

You just had no idea that what she invited you to discuss wasn’t your paper, or the pieces on exhibit.

— You know, Y/N, my son also recently graduated in contemporary art and has a great interest in post-war pieces, just like you — she said, as she led you through the multitude of guests with a wide smile on her face.

After passing by a couple she seemed acquainted with, and greeting a friend of many years, Elisabeth finally found who she was looking for. Nodding toward two men holding champagne flutes, you walked over to them with her. The words of the specialist in eighteenth century pieces became distant murmurs in your head as your eyes were fixed on one of them, who seemed to be looking at you with curiosity.

— Alex, honey, I want to introduce you to Y/N Y/L/N. She's doing a doctorate in Art and Economics at Die Angewandte, so she’s doing some research on the city's antique shops — Elisabeth said, smiling — Y/N, this is my son, Alexander. He is working on his masters’ at the University of Vienna in contemporary art, but I am sure that you will find a lot to talk about.

You forced a smile, offering your hand for a handshake. He was the same height as his mother, with carefully combed-back brown hair and stern dark eyes.

— It's a pleasure — you said.

— The pleasure is all mine — he said.

Then, your gaze returned to the man who had caught your attention. He was much taller than Alexander, but had dark hair and dark eyes that were similar to Alexander’s. The two of them definitely looked related, but there was something tender about the way he was looking at you.

— And this is Torger, my sister’s son, who just arrived back in Vienna from the United States. California, right?

— That's right — he replied, his deep voice flowing through you in a warm wave — San Francisco.

— Remind me, what you were doing there again, Torger?

— Learning about the business side of the technology industry — he said, smiling — By the way, you can call me Toto. Nobody calls me Torger.

— Your dziadek calls you Torger — Elisabeth muttered, something bitter in her voice.

— Good to know that dada still remembers me — Toto muttered, before taking a sip of champagne — Even though it's probably just to call me ungrateful because of the fucking tuition he paid when I was 12...

— Well, is he wrong? — Elisabeth growled, before looking at her son, who seemed to be silently begging her to control herself — And it's no use looking at me like that, Alex, you know it's true.

— We don't need to discuss this here, mom.

— No, no, your mother should speak her mind, Alex — Toto said, giving his aunt a challenging smile — I don’t mind at all.

— You should be much more grateful to your dziadek, Torger. If it weren't for him, you would never have finished school, much less...

— Gotten that internship at the bank, I’ve heard all of this before, auntie — he replied — But that doesn't change the fact that he was an asshole who disowned my mother for marrying my father.

Elisabeth took a step forward, one finger raised.

— Be more careful with your words, Torger — she said through clenched teeth.

— Mom, please — Alex said, placing himself between Elisabeth and his nephew — Let's get you something to drink.

After some protest on her part, the woman finally agreed to accompany her son, who apologized before taking Elisabeth away from them. Alone beside Toto, the silence between the two of you stretched for a few seconds before your gaze met.

— Are your family gatherings always like this? — you asked, making him smile.

— They're usually worse — Toto replied, making you laugh.

It was the first of many times that night that he would make you laugh.

You didn't see any more of Elisabeth or Alexander that night, and you didn't want to. You only had eyes and ears for Toto, listening to him talk about his trip to San Francisco and the investment he had made in SMS.AT, the country's most-visited website, as well as asking you about your background and life in general.

— Do you have a boyfriend? — he asked you.

You both stopped in front of a sculpture of a woman on her knees with bitter tears in her eyes, you suddenly felt nervous.

— What do you think?

— I can’t imagine someone as intelligent and beautiful as you being single.

You chuckled weakly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

— I'm sorry to say that I am. Not everyone is willing to spend hours listening to me talk about old things sold by old people.

— Well, I am — he said immediately, in an almost boyish rush to demonstrate that he was, in fact, interested in what you had to say. And it was at that moment that you were sure that what you were feeling was not simple anxiety or infatuation.

You were falling in love with that man.

— Find something interesting? — someone said, bringing you back to the present, your gaze meeting the same pair of mischievous brown eyes from that night at the exhibition.

— There’s an article about an exhibition of Yayoi period artifacts from Japan — you replied, making Toto turn the cover of the newspaper to find the article you were glancing at.

— Asian art? I thought your interests were more in Europe — he said, the corners of his lips curling up mischievously.

— Nothing wrong with learning all I can, Toto — you replied, turning your face away when you heard the sound of someone shifting in one of the other seats. Sleeping with her head against the window was the most important person in your life.

Magdalena. Your daughter with Toto.

Born just over four years after that night at the exhibition, she was the tangible symbol of the love you felt for each other at one time. She had your nose and her father's charming smile. Lena, as you called her, was a girl with a strong personality. She was incredibly intelligent and particularly observant. Nothing went unnoticed by her brown eyes, not even your indecision in participating in that trip.

You took off your seat belt and walked over to your daughter to check on her. After putting a blanket over her and taking the book she was reading before falling asleep from her hands, taking care to mark the page she had stopped on, you took a few seconds to watch her.

There had been many times when you had felt that you didn't have the strength to continue wearing the many hats you did: university professor, gallery curator, private consultant for antique dealers and private collectors. However, Lena was your motivation to keep going. She was the reason that you got up early and went to bed late, after correcting piles of academic papers. She was the reason you signed on the bottom line of a legal document to put an end to yours and Toto’s marriage on a gray winter day so many years ago.

— You don't have to watch her like you did when she was a baby — Toto murmured behind you. When you turned around, you saw that he had folded up his newspaper and that it was sitting in his lap.

— I'm just making sure she's okay — you replied, running a hand through her hair before returning to your seat — After all, we're here because of her.

Toto smiled.

— Indeed. Always for her.

That trip wasn’t planned very far in advance, but it was the result of Lena's excitement at having achieved excellent grades in the Reifeprüfung, the end-of-school exams that students in Austria took to graduate.

Sardinia was her favorite place in the world and she wanted nothing more than to go and enjoy the sun and the sea with the two people she loved most in the world. You hesitated, after all, it had been years since you had gone there with her and Toto.

You were capable of giving up anything for Lena, even your own promise of never flying anywhere with your ex-husband again. There was nothing you wouldn't do for your daughter's happiness.

The rest of the flight was quiet, with Lena waking up near the end of it. Her messy hair earned her a good-natured jab from Toto, which his daughter returned to him in kind. The interaction made you smile, after all, it was just another proof of how similar your daughter was to her father, even though she hadn't had his constant presence since she was five.

“Genetics are impressive”, you thought to yourself as the captain of the jet asked over the intercom for everyone to fasten their seatbelts in preparation for landing in Olbia, in the north of the Italian island. However, contrary to what you thought, Toto had not chosen to book suites in a nearby hotel, but in a more distant location. It was all to preserve the privacy he had lost when he decided to dive headlong into the world of Formula 1.

His passion for motorsport wasn’t ever a surprise for you, after all, since the first night you’d met him, Toto had been talking about how he competed in junior formula racing, just for fun. However, nobody could have predicted that buying some shares in a Formula 1 team that seemed to be on the brink of bankruptcy would lead to him being the team principal and part-owner of one of the largest, most prestigious teams in the sport, almost a celebrity in his own right.

However, the attention brought him unwanted problems, especially with the paparazzi, who insisted on photographing him in private moments during his rest days, even more so when he was with Lena. In the end, the further away from the hustle and bustle of the island's busiest cities, the better.

He and Lena had chosen a resort in Valle dell'Erica, which had a small network of luxury villas connected to the main building by stone paths traveled by golf carts. After settling into a golf cart with your daughter, Toto sat in the driver's seat, asking the concierge to ride the front cart with the bags.

— Are you taking us camping? — Lena asked, after a few minutes of meandering through the compound's tree-lined paths.

— No, I'm not, though I think a few days away from your cell phone wouldn't hurt you, would they? — he replied, laughing — We're going to one of the villas that’s the furthest out, to make sure we don’t get a repeat of last time.

— You mean when my classmates saw your pictures on the yacht and started asking if you were still single? — she murmured, forcing you to try and hold in a laugh. You would never forget the way Lena recounted, indignant, the way her schoolmates were talking about her father.

It was useless to deny that Toto was a handsome man. With his piercing eyes, broad shoulders, and imposing height, you'd been drawn to him since the first time you'd seen him in the gallery. And as much as you wanted to deny it, the power he wielded over you hadn't diminished with the divorce.

If you were honest with yourself, it had only grown.

— I'm not to blame for anything, mon bébé...

— Just don't walk around… Dressed like that — she replied.

— Like that?

— With only a pair of shorts on, especially those shorts — Lena said, making her father laugh.

— Bébé, it's just a pair of shorts...

— They were pink! They’re way too flashy for someone your age!

— You’re talking as if I’m just some decrepit old man, Lena.

— Maybe not decrepit, but definitely an old man who shouldn’t be wearing pink shorts.

He brought the cart to a stop as the concierge, in front of them, opened a red gate.

— I bet your mom likes my flashy shorts — Toto murmured, glancing at you and you just rolled your eyes.

— I don't care about your shorts, Torger.

— You used to — he replied, revving the cart again.

— But I don't anymore. And honestly, you shouldn't care either, Lena. Your father is probably just going through a midlife crisis like every man has at some point. Don't be surprised if he shows up one day with your name tattooed on his arm, or riding a Harley-Davidson.

The statement made your daughter burst out laughing, while Toto shook his head, as if disapproving of your idea of him during a midlife crisis.

Well, a second midlife crisis.

Toto stopped the golf cart just behind the concierge, who was unloading your bags with the help of another employee. After you disembarked, the man invited the three of you to join him as he showed you your villa. With a living room richly decorated with colorful paintings and vases made by local artisans, three suites and spacious balconies overlooking the private pool, as well as the sea in the distance, the place felt like something out of a dream.

— Anything you need, we're here for you.

— Thanks — you replied, smiling.

Finally alone in the living room, the three of you looked at each other silently, as if waiting for someone to say something. Then, after looking at his watch and running a hand through his dark hair, Toto cleared his throat.

— So, what do you ladies want to do first? — he asked.

Looking at the orange tones that took over the sky, you smiled.

— I think we can start by figuring out where everyone will sleep.

— Dad can have the exterior room, right? — your daughter said.

— Why do I have to stay in that room? — Toto asked, his voice full of faux-outrage.

— Because mom and I are girls — Lena replied, linking her arm with yours — And girls always stay together on trips.

Your ex-husband couldn't hold his feigned disappointment for long.

— Okay, you can stay together. Just don't bring any boys here — he said, as he grabbed the handle of his bags and turned toward the door.

— What about men? — you asked, defiant. As he looked over his shoulder, something inscrutable flashed in his eyes.

— No men either, Y/N — he said as he left the villa’s main hall.

Giggling with laughter, you planted a kiss on Lena's forehead before telling her to go and put her bags in her room. After seeing her going through her bedroom’s door, it was your turn to make your way to your quarters, dragging your well-used suitcases noisily behind you. After setting them down in front of the small wooden cupboard, you allowed yourself to slump onto the soft mattress, closing your eyes.

The fact that you were on this trip was crazy.

The days dragged on at an excruciating pace, even though you were on vacation. As much as seeing Lena happy to be together with her father and mother on a trip after years was satisfying, but something was making you feel set on edge.

You couldn't say what it was, but you were sure it was related to how Toto was treating you. Unlike the interactions the two of you usually had, filled with sarcasm and acidity, the way your ex-husband was speaking to you was almost… sweet, delicate. He had even asked you to dance during a dinner in Porto Cervo, when the musicians started to play the music that had played during your first dance as husband and wife.

— I remember that night like it was yesterday — he murmured.

— Do you? — you asked quietly, as you felt his hand firmly hold yours — I thought you had too much on your mind to remember that.

He smiled.

— I could never forget the day my life changed, Y/N.

You should have guessed that this was just a strategy, a way to get you to drop your guard to deliver the final blow the next night, over dinner at one of the resort's restaurants. Silently, Toto, who was wearing one of his white monogrammed shirts and comfortable linen shorts, placed his silverware on the plate of ricotta ravioli and looked at Lena.

— Mon bébé, I know we're here to celebrate but I can't help but ask you about your plans — he said, with a serious expression — Have you chosen what you're going to study yet?

Your daughter wiped her mouth with her napkin, as she finished chewing.

— Well, I was talking to mom these days about it and I would really like to work on something related to international studies. You know, diplomacy.

— Diplomacy?

— You know, I learned how to be a mediator at home — Lena murmured, giving you a mischievous little smile. In a way, she wasn't wrong, after all, Lena had always been the person that balanced you and Toto, putting out the fires you started, especially because of her upbringing.

— And have you researched universities, bébé? — Toto asked, before taking a sip of wine.

— Mom gave me the contact information of some professors in the Political Science and Philosophy departments at the University of Vienna to schedule a visit and learn about them — she replied — Why?

— Well, I was thinking that maybe, if you wanted to, you could apply to a university outside of Austria.

You swallowed hard, the hands that held the cutlery going cold.

— Do you mean — your daughter babbled.

— Well, you know that I live in Oxford and there is a university of international prestige there, which has formed dozens of important figures in world history. American presidents, British prime ministers, kings, Nobel Prize winners. Perhaps you could…

— Study there? — Lena completed, looking impressed by the offer. Toto smiled.

— Exactly.

— But, I would need a place to stay…

— Magdalena, don't be ridiculous, you know you can live with me there. In fact, I would be very happy if you would move in with me while you're in Oxford. What do you think?

Your heart was racing in your chest, the cutlery clenched in your fists. You felt like you were going to explode with rage at any moment, jaw clenched. You couldn't believe your ex-husband had been capable of such a dirty move. But, you weren't going to let him win, not that night.

— Bullshit — you said, before Lena could process the question — That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard, Torger.

— I was talking to Lena.

— She doesn't need to bother answering — you said, gruffly — She's not going to England.

— Mom — your daughter said, in a warning tone.

— What? Do you really think this is a good idea?

— Of course it's a good idea, Y/N, Oxford is a great — Toto began to argue.

— I don't care if Oxford is a good university, Lena won't go to England — you interrupted him, in a cold tone — And that's not open to discussion.

— But, mom...

— No buts, you're not going, Magdalena.

— Why not? — asked Toto.

— Because I will not let my daughter go to a foreign country alone, without any help or support…

Toto snorted.

— Y/N, did you really think Lena would be alone? Did you forget that I live there?

It was your turn to laugh.

— You live — you said, making air quotes with your fingers — Let's not be naive, you spend more time traveling than in that slum of yours in Oxford.

— Mom!

— For your information, my house is in one of the best areas of Oxford and has more than enough space for me and Lena — Toto spat.

— It’s not about space, Torger, I won't let her be alone there while you’re gallivanting around the world, playing with your cars!

— Would you rather she be left alone in Vienna while you play with your ancient junk collection? — he returned, venom dripping from his voice.

That sent a hot wave of anger up the back of your neck, your jaw clenched. Everything you had done had been for Lena. All the hours of work, all of the writing, research, assistant teaching, grading, earning your PhD, and working your way up in the university to be a respected, tenured professor, it had all been to provide for the life you two led in Vienna, as had been agreed upon during the divorce proceedings. Of course, the workload eventually took you and Lena apart physically, but that didn't lessen the love you felt for your daughter.

In fact, it only made it grow. And it was that love that made you get up, dropping your cloth napkin on the floor, jabbing your finger at your ex-husband.

— You watch your mouth talking about my work, you son of a bitch! — you snarled, causing several pairs of eyes to turn towards your table.

— Mom, for God's sake! — Lena exclaimed, trying to lower her hand — Everyone's looking at us!

— Let them look, Magdalena! — you spat — Let them know I'm not going to let this idiot say whatever he wants about my job!

— I just was repeating what you said, Y/N — Toto replied in an ironic tone.

— Dad! — your daughter growled, before looking back at you — Please, mom, calm down. Sit, please.

Annoyed, you settled back into your chair, your jaw set in anger. Your ex-husband looked at you with a certain cynicism in his eyes, as if he knew he had touched your most sensitive point. Beside you, Lena let out a sigh, as if trying to collect her thoughts.

— Is it really that hard for you not to fight like two kids? — she asked seriously.

— Lena — you stammered.

— No, mom — she said coldly — You promised that you wouldn't fight with dad on this trip, that you'd be nice. You promised me, mom.

— Bébé, please — Toto tried to interfere.

— Don’t bébé me, dad! — Lena exclaimed — You also have your share of blame. I asked you to be polite to my mother, not to make comments like that, to be understanding…

— I am being understanding, Lena!

— Being understanding is calling her work a joke? That’s your idea of being polite? — she asked, before turning to you, as if anticipating you were going to say something — And that goes for you too, mom. You two are acting like fucking children!

You thought of scolding her for her language, but you weren't able to, especially when you noticed that her eyes were wet.

— I just wanted that we could be a family, without these stupid fights over stupid things. You think about me so much that you forget that I think too, that I also have wishes and desires — Lena continued — It never crossed your minds that I don't want the same thing as you? That I don't want to stay in Vienna or go to England?

Your eyes met Toto's, guilt filling your chest. You always wanted Lena to have the freedom to do whatever she wanted, to fly even higher than you and your ex-husband. However, in your eagerness to provide a life full of experiences, you had forgotten the main thing, which was Lena herself.

— Lena — you said, watching her wipe away a tear that had trickled down her face.

— I just wanted you to stop thinking about yourselves and think about me — she spoke in a choked voice — That you would consider my opinion before deciding things for me.

— But we'll always consider your opinion — Toto said, reaching out a hand toward your daughter, who shrank away.

— Then why did you say you were going to take me to England?

— I — he hesitated, looking at you and then at Lena — I wanted to offer you a different experience, in a different country, in a different culture. I didn't think your mom would be so dramatic about it…

— I’m not being dramatic, Torger — you snapped.

Suddenly, Lena stood up, throwing her cloth napkin over the dish of spaghetti and shrimp she'd ordered, letting out a frustrated grunt.

— I give up on you two — she said, while picking up the bag that was hanging on the back of the chair — I give up!

You tried to protest, but didn't have time before you saw your daughter marching out of the restaurant, not looking back. A few seconds of hesitation later, you followed after her, not minding leaving the plate of pasta, that was already cold by that point.

— Lena! — you shouted, as you saw her walk towards one of the carts, sitting behind the wheel and throwing her purse on the seat next to it — Wait! My dear, please!

Your pleadings were of no avail as she stomped off the cart's accelerator, disappearing into the dark of the night and leaving you standing halfway on the dirt road with tears in your eyes.

Arriving back at the villa, after generous help from one of the staff who knew how to drive the cart, you went to Lena's bedroom door, placing a hand on the handle. However, when you turned it over, you found that it was locked.

— Lena, my love — you said, knocking lightly on the door.

— Go away! — she replied, the words hitting you like a knife.

— Lena, please, my daughter, open the door, let's talk...

— I don't want to talk to anyone! — she yelled — Go away!

You sighed in defeat, letting go of the handle and backing away from the door. Hearing Lena sobbing softly broke his heart into a thousand pieces. This was supposed to be a time of joy and celebration, not sadness and tears.

— Is Lena in the room? — you heard Toto ask. Looking towards the entrance, he was standing with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, a worried expression on his face.

— Yeah.

— Were you able to speak to her?

— No — you replied, realizing he was walking towards the door — And I doubt she'll talk to you.

Toto stopped suddenly, turning towards you slowly.

— You think you know everything about Lena, don't you?

— I'm her mother, Torger — you said, crossing your arms.

— And I'm her father, Y/N.

— And that changes the fact that you know anything about her?

— She is my only daughter — he began to say.

— Which is a miracle — you muttered, being solemnly ignored by him.

— So, I’d like to think I know her pretty well.

You laughed mockingly.

— So tell me, Torger, what's her favorite color? Who is her favorite singer? What is her favorite dish? If you know your daughter, you should know this.

Toto let out a sigh.

— This is pathetic, Y/N.

—The only thing that’s pathetic is you playing dirty — you snapped — Pathetic for you to want to take my daughter away from me! My only daughter!

You expected an equally aggressive response to yours coming from Toto. He had always been hot-headed, which, along with your short temper, was a recipe for disaster. However, your ex-husband just shook his head, heading towards the bar in the corner of the large living room.

— Whiskey? — he asked, as he grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

You blinked, shocked.

— You can't be thinking about drinking in this situation...

Toto took the bottle and poured a generous dose. Then, glass in hand and leaning against the bar, he sighed.

— And is there anything else we can do considering our daughter is locked in her room and isn’t going to talk to either of us? — he asked, taking a sip of his drink and grimacing — Ugh, this needs some ice.

As your ex-husband turned back to the bar, you walked slowly over to the couch and sat down, heaving a frustrated sigh. The feeling you had was that you had completely failed, not just with Lena, who had high expectations for that trip, but with yourself, for not being able to control your own feelings towards your daughter and Toto.

— Want some? — he asked, holding the drink out to you. Staring at the amber liquid for a few seconds, you were sure this was a very bad idea. “Fuck it”, you thought, picking up the glass and taking a generous swig of whiskey.

— Ugh — you growled, as the alcohol burned in your throat. Sitting beside you, Toto smiled at your grimace.

— Bad, isn't it?

— Terrible — you replied — I thought there was only good stuff here.

— Me too — Toto said, chuckling — Even that Ottakringer we drank on the way back from the Hockenheimring that one day tasted better.

You laughed at the memory, the watery taste of the beer being a funny reminder of the years when you still looked at each other with something other than anger and resentment.

— Indeed — you muttered, taking another sip before returning the glass.

The silence stretched for long seconds, the only sound in there being the ice clinking on the crystal as Toto poured another shot. After taking a sip, he handed the cup back to you.

— Y/N?

— Hm? — you murmured, before drinking some more whiskey.

— I would never take Magdalena away from you.

Lowering your glass to rest on your thigh, your eyes met Toto's, which were filled with a sadness that was clearly not part of the drink's effect.

— You wouldn’t? — you asked softly.

— I would never be able to take her away from you, Y/N.

— So — you hesitated for a few seconds, pressing your lips together — Why do you want to take her to England?

Toto let out a long sigh.

— Because I feel like it’s the only way to try and fix some of my mistakes, Y/N — he said, his gaze locked on some middle point in the distance.

— Your mistakes?

— I always promised myself that I wouldn't be like my father, that I would do everything I could do right by my — Toto hesitated before correcting himself — By our children. And when Lena was born, I told myself I would do anything to make sure she had a happy life with us and… I screwed up.

You swallowed hard.

— I screwed up when I got in that car at the Nürburgring and insisted on making that lap record attempt. Niki was right, it was idiotic, and nobody cared about some silly GT car lap record. Honestly, I don't blame you for asking for a divorce after that, I would have done the same if it were me — he continued, running a hand through his hair — But it hurt, Y/N. It hurt to see you leaving with all that pain in your eyes. But, I accepted your decision and did exactly what my father did before he died…

— You mean, you becoming distant?

He nodded.

— I thought it would be best for you and Lena to be away from my sadness, my depression, but in the end, it wasn’t. She needed her dad, too, just like I needed mine.

You took another sip of whiskey, feeling your eyes sting with tears. Asking for a divorce had been the hardest decision you had ever made in your life, but you were convinced that you didn't belong there anymore. However, the truth is that you wanted to insist on Toto, insist on your love.

After all, your love for him was still there, sleeping inside your chest, but alive, begging you to let it out.

— So, your way of fixing your mistakes is by asking Lena to come live in England with you?

He took the glass of whiskey and drank the rest of the liquid.

— Not all of them, but some. I know I'll never be able to fix my mistakes with you.

— Have you tried, Toto? — you asked without hesitation.

— Tried what?

— Tried to fix your mistakes with me.

He set the glass down on the coffee table before looking at you.

— Do you want me to try, Y/N?

Your heart was beating heavily, pounding against the front of your chest.

— It's what I want most — you whispered.

Toto's hand slid towards your face, lightly caressing your cheek. With your eyes fixed on his, you matched the gesture by taking your hand to the back of his neck, while your mind took you to the night of your first kiss. On that occasion, the kiss had been calm, almost hesitant, the taste of wine dancing on your tongue as his scent invited you to dive deeper into him.

Facing him again, 15 years since the last time you had shared a kiss, the impression you had was that nothing had changed. The smell was the same. The man was the same. The invitation was the same.

And you accepted.

The first touch brought back memories of your other kisses. The happy kiss at the altar after being declared man and wife. The emotional kiss after you told him you were pregnant. The kiss that took place, with your daughter in your arms, after long and exhausting hours of childbirth. In all of them, the warmth that filled your chest was comforting and familiar, like approaching a campfire after a long time wandering in the cold.

It felt like coming home.

His fingers slid into your hair, tangling in the strands, while his tongue sought passage through your lips. Scratching the back of Toto's neck with your fingernails, you allowed him to savor you, the taste of him mixed with the resort's particularly bad whiskey. However, that was a minor detail at that moment.

What mattered was that you had finally found each other again.

— Y/N — Toto whispered, pulling away slightly from your face, breathing heavily — I…

Your fingers touched his lips in a silent request for him to not say anything. There was no reason to say anything more or hesitate any longer, not when you’d imagined this for so long.

This was inevitable, after so many times imagining what it would be like to try again every time you went to pick Lena up from the apartment Toto had moved into after the divorce, your gaze meeting the resignation in his expression every time you asked your daughter to say goodbye. It was inevitable to think of the sweet words he would whisper in your ear while watching his interviews on television, as well as the affectionate touch when you saw him gesticulating with his hands, while explaining something to the reporter.

As Toto leaned over your body, you allowed yourself to slide your hands under his linen shirt, feeling the firm muscles he had developed in the years after the divorce. Pulling the fabric up his torso, you quickly tried to undress him, which made him smile against your lips.

— You're still the same anxious little thing you always have been — Toto muttered, before slouching off his shirt and discarding it on the floor.

Then he dove towards your neck, nibbling ravenously at your skin, causing involuntary gasps to leave your lips, your body asking for more than just kisses and a well-positioned knee between your legs. You needed him like you were drowning and he was the surface.

However, when his fingers slid down the sides of your thighs, beneath your light summer dress, Toto pulled back, glancing back before meeting your inquiring gaze.

— What’s wrong? — you whispered.

— I thought I heard a door open — he replied softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes — And I don't know how good it would be for our daughter to see her divorced parents making out on a couch like two teenagers.

You smiled, bringing your hand to his face.

— You’re right. Besides, I think we're a bit too old for making out on the couch.

Toto laughed.

— Do you want to go to your room, then?

— Yes — you whispered.

Toto helped you to your feet and the two of you tiptoed to your suite. As Toto closed the door behind you, you busied yourself with undoing the knot of fabric at the back of your neck and sliding your dress down your body, bringing your panties with it. When Toto turned around and found you completely naked in front of him, he smiled. He walked toward you in slow steps as his eyes roamed over your skin like he was taking in all of the changes of your decade apart.

— It feels like our first time — he murmured, placing his hands on your hips.

You gave a small smile, as your mind transported you to that night in his apartment, where, after a few glasses of wine, you gave yourself to each other for the first time. It had been slow and romantic, with Toto insisting on learning every detail of your body to give you the pleasure you deserved.

However, you knew that statement was not entirely true. Since that night, your body had changed drastically, being pushed to the limit to bring your daughter into the world. You were no longer that young girl, but a mature woman, whose skin bore the marks of motherhood on your breasts, belly and hips.

— Well, the only difference is me.

He raised an eyebrow.

— You?

— I'm not the same person I was that night — you murmured, taking a hand to your belly. Then, with your finger, you traced the path of one of the faded stretch marks that seemed to glow against your skin, watching as his eyes were fixed on the movement of your hand — I've changed a lot since I had Lena…

Bringing one hand to your chin, he lifted your face so you could meet his warm, gentle gaze.

— And yet you're still beautiful. Do you know why?

— Why?

— Because those are marks of love, Y/N. Marks of our love, which gave us our beautiful daughter. And I love every single one of them — Toto said, before bringing your lips to his. The kiss was delicate, as were the steps he took towards the bed, his hands caressing your skin, as if he wanted to assure you that his words were true and that he, in fact, loved each of one of those marks, even if they made you feel old and inadequate at times.

When you felt your back land on the soft duvet, you opened your eyes again to find Toto still standing on the edge of the bed, quickly taking off his shorts. Seeing him stark naked in front of you made you allow an anxious gasp to escape your lips.

— All good? — he asked as he positioned himself between your legs, one hand busy pumping his own cock.

— Yes — you replied, your eyes fixed on the movement of his hand and the anticipation of feeling him inside you. Following his gaze, Toto seemed to remember something.

— Do you want to use a condom?

— Do you think we need it? — you asked, almost innocently. In a normal context of casual sex, you wouldn't go without some sort of protection. However, that wasn't just a casual fuck, but a reunion.

— Well, I didn’t bring any. Did you?

— No…

— Great — he murmured — I also had a vasectomy a few years ago, so I don't think we’re going to get in any trouble, or anything.

— I wouldn’t mind if we got into some trouble — you said quietly. Something about the idea of having another child with him made your skin tingle. Lena had always asked for a brother and you had always said no, stating that having one copy of Toto at home was enough for you. However, at that moment, you wished that you had a few more of him.

— I wouldn't mind either, Y/N — he whispered, as he positioned himself between your legs, his cock brushing your clit lightly — Not at all.

The pressure that accompanied the low growl that came out of Toto's throat had you rolling your eyes as a strangled groan escaped your lips. A warm wave ran over your skin, your nails digging into his skin as his dick settled inside you.

— Fuck — Toto said through clenched teeth, eyelids fluttering with pleasure.

You wanted to speak, but at the same time, no words came out of your parted lips. Raising your hands to his face, you pulled him against you, your lips against his in a slow, wanting kiss. That moment encouraged Toto to move his hips against yours, savoring the pleasure that coursed through your bodies.

The rhythm built almost instinctively, the strength of your fingers making him accelerate his thrusts against your pussy, the sound of your wetness joining your moans.

— Yes, yes, yes, Toto — you muttered under your breath, encouraging him to continue at that pace, feeling your muscles tense.

— I missed you so much, liebes — he growled, as he took his hand to one of your legs and pulled it higher, slightly changing the angle of your hips — So, so, so much…

— Me too, me too — you replied in a low voice, while pressing your heel against the base of Toto's spine. Your body begged for more, much more than just the pleasure he was giving you. You wanted his anger, his pride, his joy and his love. You wanted to become a part of him, the same way you wanted him to become a part of you.

As you felt his fingertips brush against your clit, you felt your whole body tense, your lips tightening in an attempt to stifle your moans. It was so much that your eyes filled with tears, but something inside you said that they weren't limited to that effort.

It wasn't just lust or lust anymore.

It was love. Pure, simple, and finally awake after so long.

It was with that thought and eyes finally open again, locked on Toto's, that you felt your body finally reach its climax, your lips letting out a groan before he kissed you, muffling the sound. Your legs shook as your nails dug into his shoulders as he took his last thrusts.

— Y/N, fuck — Toto growled before he came, followed by a primal growl, as if this was his way of claiming you for himself. And with the heat of his pleasure inside you, the certainty that you were his only grew. You had always been his.

Pulling his cock out of your pussy, your ex-husband collapsed next to you on the bed, breathing heavily. Staring at the ceiling in silence, something inside you wanted to feel guilt, while your muscles were still shaking with the aftershocks. However, you didn't feel any remorse or regret.

— Are you okay? — Toto asked you. Looking in his direction, you smiled.

— Yeah… You? — you whispered.

— I feel better than I have in a long time — he said, making you laugh — What?

— You sound like you haven't had sex in years.

— Well, it has been years since I've had sex with someone I loved, so…

The phrase made you turn your body towards Toto, resting your head on his shoulder. Something in the way he looked at you filled your chest with something completely different from anything you had felt until then.

Hope.

— Do you love me? — you asked softly.

— I never stopped loving you, liebes. Not even when I wanted to hate you for leaving. I can only love you. I don’t know how to do anything but love you — he replied, before kissing your forehead tenderly. And it was there, nestled in his chest, that you fell into a serene and, in a way, happy sleep.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of knocking on your bedroom door.

— Mom? — Lena's muffled voice asked — Are you there?

Rubbing your eyes, you were about to respond when you realized you hadn't slept alone. The sound of the shower coming from the bathroom indicated that Toto had already woken up and, probably, that was what made your daughter knock.

— Yes, honey, I'm here — you replied, in an uncertain tone.

— Can I come in?

Suddenly your eyes widened, adrenaline rushing through your body as you scrambled to your feet, quickly looking for something to wear.

— No, I'm getting dressed!

— But you never…

— Wait a minute, my love — you shouted towards the entrance of the room, while picking up a robe that was hanging on one of the armchairs. Clutching the terry cloth against your body, you went to the door and opened a small crack — Hi, honey.

Lena was looking at you with a serious expression, her eyes still swollen from the tears she had shed the night before.

— Good morning, mom.

— Are you okay?

— Yeah, I am — she replied — I wanted to talk to you. Actually, I wanted to talk to you and dad, but I don’t know where he is.

You felt a shiver run down your spine. She definitely couldn't even imagine Toto was right next door, washing the remnants of sex and sweat from his skin in your bathroom.

— He must have gone to the gym or taken a walk on the beach — you tried to dismiss, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

— I don't know, mom, the living room is a mess — she said, looking at the room next door — There's a bottle of whiskey, some empty glasses, dad’s shirt is on the floor...

“Fucking hell, Torger, of all the times to not be so uptight about cleaning”, you thought.

— He must be hungover, like that time in Abu Dhabi — you said, causing Lena to smirk.

— That was terrible — she muttered.

— Indeed.

You stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.

— Well, I'll let you finish your shower and then we'll see what to do. Do you want me to order breakfast?

— Yes, that would be great. Thank you — you replied, before smiling and closing the door, letting out a sigh of relief. Your daughter definitely didn't need to know that you had just slept with her dad, especially after almost 15 years since your divorce.

It was an unnecessary shock for that moment.

Opening the bathroom door, you saw Toto's silhouette through the fogged glass, his fingers buried in his dark hair as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair. You crept toward the shower, opening the door a crack to watch him, savoring the way the water ran down his body with your lower lip between your teeth.

Then, he opened his eyes.

— Good morning, liebes — Toto said, with a smile.

— Good morning.

— Was that Lena at the door?

— Yeah. She wants to talk to us, but she couldn't find you anywhere.

— I can't imagine why — he murmured, making you smile — Want to come in with me? I can wash your hair if you want.

Nodding, you took off your robe and stepped into the shower with Toto, feeling his warm, wet hands wrap around your waist. Smiling, you couldn't resist giving him a kiss, while the drops of hot water fell on your body.

— I love you, liebes — he said softly, his lips brushing yours.

— I love you too, darling.

He washed your hair practically silently, only speaking to ask you to step under the jet of hot water. While you were drying off, Toto asked you if you had any plans to get him out of your room without being seen by Lena. After a few minutes of discussion, you opted to split up, with you distracting her while he went back to his own suite to get dressed and pretend nothing had happened.

It looked perfect.

With your hair still damp, you left your room trying to ignore the tightness in your stomach. Quickly scanning the room, you found your daughter leaning against the glass railing of the balcony, her gaze lost on the horizon. Approaching slowly, you were thinking of asking about her plans for the day when she spoke up.

— I already ordered breakfast — Lena said, not looking at you.

— Oh, good — you replied — Thank you, darling.

More silence. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

— Look, my love, I...

— You're going to apologize for yesterday, aren't you?

— Yeah. I shouldn’t have acted like that, and ruined your night…

— Mom — Lena said, looking at you — It wasn't about ruining my night. The problem there was that you did exactly the opposite of what I asked you to do before we left home.

You pursed your lips.

— I know you hate each other and that you wish the other didn't exist, but you can't change the past, much less the fact that you had a daughter together.

— I know, my love…

�� Then why did you make that whole scene at the restaurant?

— Because I don't want to lose you, Magdalena — you replied, in a low voice — You are my only daughter, the person I love most in the world and...

— Mom, you won't lose me.

— Are you sure? — you asked her, your voice cracking.

— Yes, I am. But, you have to understand that I grew up and that I can make my own choices, without you or dad deciding for me — Lena said, her tone of voice making her sound much older than she really was.

— And what did you decide? — a deep voice asked. Looking back, you found Toto standing at the balcony door, his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

Lena smiled.

— I've decided I'm not going to decide anything here — she said — I'll go over my options when I get home, alone, without either of you two putting pressure on me.

— You know you don't have to…

— Mom — Lena interrupted you — I need to do this alone. I know you want to help me, just like dad does, but I have to decide things for myself, no matter how difficult they are.

Looking at Lena, you finally realized that you were no longer in front of the same little girl that you had put on your lap and taken away from the apartment where you lived with Toto, back in 2009. You were in front of a woman, who, in addition to love, you also deeply admired.

— It's okay, bébé — Toto finally spoke — It's always your decision. But, know that we will always be by your side, supporting you no matter what choice you make. Isn't that right, Y/N?

You hesitated, looking at your daughter with a tight lump in your throat. “Does it have to be that hard?”, you asked yourself.

— Mom?

— You know I'll always support you, Lena — you finally managed to speak — Even though it's terrible to think about being away from you, not being able to hug you, kiss you and tell you how much I love you whenever I want. I'm always by your side, my love.

She smiled, advancing towards the two of you and enveloping you in a tight hug. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to savor that moment, feeling the warmth of your daughter's arms and of Toto, who had run a hand down your back to bring you both closer to him.

Feeling him kiss your hair, you smiled.

You were home. Finally home.

#toto wolff #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #toto wolff x reader #wlffog #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #toto wolff smut #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff angst #oneshotwlff

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reidsbookclub · 2 months

Text

Yours Truly Spencer Reid x fem! reader WC: 2555 fluff pure fluff tw: mentions of Gideon's death

AN: ending is a bit rushed but when I copy & pasted here I accidentally deleted it and couldn’t recall everything I wrote 😩

It’s been three months living with the knowledge that Gideon is no longer there. His conversation with Rossi was haunting him in the middle of the night. “I know I’m not being very rational,” he had told Rossi, “but I think about him all the time. And I knew he was always out there, now it just feels empty.” Rossi’s words still echoed in his mind. “Maybe you’ll find something else to fill the empty space.” He couldn’t even begin to imagine finding anything that would fill the void of now knowing that his mentor would no longer be just a call away. He needed to find a way to feel close to him, so he put pen to paper and did what he knew best: he started writing Gideon letters with the intent of them being addressed to fire. He put pen to paper and tried to connect it to the cloudy thoughts of his brain. After a couple of hours he fell asleep with the warmth of the fireplace enclosing him in a hug.

Not even in his wildest dreams did he ever thing that letter would get read and replied to.

It had been three months since her godfather Jason had passed away, three months of losing the only father figure she had had. If she didn’t know any better she could’ve sworn that he was still around, his presence felt throughout the small cabin she was inherited. Stephen, Jason’s son, had delivered a letter stating such. The simple letter in the testament read, “Y/N, just know that a very good friend of mine holds a key to this cabin, he might drop by if he feels the need to feel close to me, or just an escape from the darkness of this world. Be kind to him, Dr. Reid needs some warmth, kindness and love in his life.”

Days later she found a piece of paper on the floor of the cabin. She really needed to seal the mail slot on the door and install a mailbox. But she couldn’t help but let out a gasp on who sent it, the Dr. Reid in her godfather's letter.

Dear Gideon, It’s been three months since you’ve passed and I can’t help but ask why I never reached out to you when you left the BAU.

Oh. So he’s a coworker. She wondered if he helped found the BAU alongside Rossi and her godfather, suddenly wondering if Dr. Reid had many stories about her godfather’s younger days. Silencing her thoughts, she continued reading.

You know how I’m a specialist at overthinking everything and I just can’t help but wonder if I still have a place in the BAU now that you’ve gone.

Who is this Dr. Reid?

Gideon I’m becoming a mastermind at vanishing into the deep thoughts of my brain in the middle of the night. Midnights have now become my afternoons. I miss the talks we used to have. If I’m being honest I’m finding it so hard to find my place with the team now that I can’t just hide in your office. Can you believe Morgan invited me out to the club? Me.

Club? Was Dr. Reid not an old guy like her godfather or was Morgan just being nice and inviting a mentor out to drinks? Curiosity getting the best of her, she continued reading the letter, hoping to get more answers on who Dr. Reid really is.

You always used to say my first degree was running away into the deep thoughts of my mind but I think I have added a fourth Ph.D to my resume and that’s being my own worst enemy.

Multiple Phds? She couldn’t even finish school. Who was this guy?

You know how hard it is to admit it to myself but I miss you Gideon. Sometimes I still talk to you when I feel like screaming at the sky, angry that you left me with nothing but a letter, just like everyone else that had ever left me did, but I can't be angry at you. -SSA Agent Reid…. Yes I know, Gideon. I need to make people respect me. So I guess I’m signing off as, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid.

He wouldn’t need to make people respect him if he wasn’t young? Would he? Not being able to get her mind off the mysterious Dr. Reid, she decided to write him a letter.

Coming back from a demanding case always felt like a relief and the worst thing in the world at the same time. Relief for finally being home and the worst thing because once you’re home, warm in bed, your mind starts reliving every little thing you could’ve done differently. This night would be different. Spencer was greeted at the door by his Russian Blue cat named Atticus and a tea-stained letter on his mailbox.

Dr. Spencer Reid, I must admit that receiving a letter addressed to my godfather was surprising, I fully apologize for opening and reading your letter, I assumed you meant for no one to read it. Have you ever been to my godfather Jason’s cabin? If you have, then you must know that there is a small town that is 15 miles away. I went there earlier today and down the block from the main road there is a small antique shop. I stopped and entered, always curious about the stories that old items have, who owned them? Were they special to them or just small trinkets, why did the owner sell them? All these questions. No answers. Anyways, there was a box filled with old drawings and photographs. 25 cents each and I couldn't help but buy some because they all reminded me of you. You must think I'm insane for saying that something reminded me of you when we have never met, so please don’t profile that too much, anyways, these photographs had me imagining things. It's crazy. Heck, I don’t even know anything about you. Yes, I could look it up but where's the fun in that? Is it crazy that I can’t help myself and imagine who you are? That I cannot help but think of all of these little scenarios making a film about your life. I’ve been rambling too much about nonsense so take care Dr. Reid. - Hope you stay safe Y/N

Reid read and re-read the surprise letter. Atticus on his lap sleeping. Goddaughter, why couldn't he recall Gideon ever mentioning a goddaughter. Who was she? Based on the letter she rambled…a lot and got excited about the most random things. Reid let out a soft giggle startling Atticus. “I think…I think I want to write another letter, Atticus. She seems fun to talk to, don't you think?”

Silence. That is all she heard for three long weeks cursing herself for responding to his letter the way that she did. He must’ve thought she was nothing but a foolish petulant child with her dreaming and fantasizing about different worlds and what ifs. Just as she was wondering if she should write another letter apologizing she heard the unmistakable sound of papers being thrown into the mail slot. “Thank you!” she shouted through the door to the mailman. One coffee-stained envelope standing out over the spam ads she got.

Dear Y/N, I must admit writing a letter to you seems a bit strange so please bear with me if I seem awkward, I promise I am working on it. Shit I spilled some coffee on the paper, hopefully its not that noticeable. Who am I kidding of course it will be noticeable. Well I am hoping you like coffee smells. Ms. Y/N I hope that the letter I sent you did not cause you any more grief, and please feel free to…how did you put it? “ramble much about nonsense” to me at any time. I thought it was cute. Well now I am thankful you cannot see the blush I have because Derek is sure making fun of me at the moment. I’m sorry that it seems like forever since you last replied to me but the case we had was taking a toll on me and I couldn’t seem to taint your sunshineness with the darkness of the case. I just wanted to let you know that the way you make time disappear everytime i re-read your letter brings me calmness, and brings me hope that maybe someday we could become friends. Please always continue telling me about the little what if scenarios that help you make my life seem more interesting than it is. I find it adorably cute that you do these things. Now I can’t help but wonder if you will think I am just a boring old man that sits in the corner of a dark room– I promise I am not. Anyways, a little about myself I have a cat named Atticus, I enjoy stimulating my brain by learning new things which is how I got three Phds. You can always find me with coffee and a good book and—fucking hell I sound boring as fuck and you give off the impression of being this magnetic carefree beautiful person. Great, now I am overthinking everything I have said so far – everyone knows that afterall i am a specialist at doing so. Thats all for now Sincerely, Spencer Reid.

She couldn’t help but giggle. All throughout the letter Spencer sounded just like the type of person that she would love to get to know further. Someone that in another life would be considered a tortured poet, living amongst the rest of them in the peacefulness of the lakes, someone that would be rubbing elbows with Wordsworth and Austen. As she re-read the letter she was trying to ignore the blush that spread across her cheeks at Spencer using the word cute in reference to her. One thing was certain that she would be holding on to her pen-pal because for some reason he made her feel a way no other person was able to do.

It had been two months since the initial letter that started this newfound friendship Spencer found himself in. The only thing that has kept him going were the weekly letters that Y/N has been sending him. They’re weekly letters always bringing a smile to his face and giving him the necessary “push” in between cases. This new letter brought an even bigger smile to his face and the sudden urge to finally drive up to that cabin and meet the person that has been holding his mind captive all day.

Dear Spencer, How is Atticus doing? I know you were planning on adopting a kitten to keep Atticus company while you are away. May I suggest a cute little white cat? Or a ginger cat? Maybe one named Arlo or Agatha or something old literature sounding. How have you been? Are the headaches gone? Today I went down to the small village that is close by and there is this new coffee place and I couldn’t help but think about how much you would like it. Would you be interested in ever meeting me there? Keeping this one short and sweet because i did kinda sorta just ask you out and anxiety is at an all time high - Y/N

There was one thing that Spencer learned that night and that was that for the first time in years he allowed himself to hope that maybe just maybe the person he was falling for was falling right alongside him.

Girls night. Oh how she missed her friends ever since moving into the cabin. It had taken a lot of convincing but she had finally managed to get her friends up for the weekend. In the middle of drinks she started gushing about Spencer and their friendship. She was telling her friends about the cute pen-pal she had and how she had taken the leap to ask him out. “Ha. What a loser do you really think that and FBI agent will take the time to come and meet someone as boring as you?” Her so-called best friend Lindsey had said, her words ringing in her ear drink after drink. How could she be so foolish thinking that a guy as smart as Spencer would ever confess his love to her. It had been a cold reminder that she was not the exception, that after years of this happening she had not learned her lesson that fairy tale endings did not happen to girls like her. So, for the first time in the two months they had been communicating instead of answering his letter she burned it, eventually leaving him at the coffee house waiting, glued to his chair instead of meeting her for the first time. The following week the first of many daily letters arrived in which he kept asking her why.

Dear Y/N, Did I do something wrong? Did you move on? Help me because in my mind I'm still at that coffee shop collecting dust wondering where you are, wondering why you didn’t show up. If you ever think you may have got it wrong and want to meet, I will be at that coffee shop every Friday at 7 waiting for my sunshine to show up. Yours truly, Spencer

Three weeks. It had been three long weeks since he had heard from her, so he decided to take the initiative and for the first time since Gideon’s death he used the key he had left him. The drive to the cabin was filled with anxious thoughts. Would she be happy to see him? Did she meet someone while they were writing letters?

Walking into the cabin he could smell something baking and the unmistaken sound of laughter coming from the small kitchen, making his way around the cabin he caught a glimpse of her dancing around the kitchen, “wow you are even more beautiful than I ever thought.” he said catching her off guard. “Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here?” she yelled “Oh–i–right yeah i – Spen–Rei–Doctor” he let out a puff of air, “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid. Gideon actually gave me a key to this place.” he smiled softly as crimson crept across her face. “Oh, hi wh–a–what are you doing here?” “I was worried about you” he mumbled

“Oh” In any other situation awkward silence would have followed but not between them, instead fits of laughter happened. “I’m sorry I blew you off Spencer” taking a deep breath she continued, “its just… a friend reminded me that girls like me don’t get the cute guys” Taking a step close to her spencer began rubbing circles in her wrist with his thumb “Y/N whoever said that is not a friend. I fell for the personality that shined through the letters we exchanged, I couldn’t care less about what you looked like you were already perfect in my mind and now that I am seeing you I can confirm that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met” They spend that whole weekend together, the days consisting of baking, stargazing and teaching Y/N how to play chess and nights filled with cuddles, kissing and watching movies together.

Read my master list here Join my taglist here Constructive criticism always welcomed on my ask box!

#spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fandom

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russellsppttemplates · 19 days

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Hi inês! how are you? can you write something for a driver of your choice with a reader that is really focused on her studies and may be doing a masters or a phd and the driver is just super proud of her? thank you <3

Note: Hi dear, I'm good and you? I've mentioned a PhD in the first George piece I ever wrote, so I'm continuing with it!

"I have some food for you and some water - you've had enough caffeine today", George said as he set the tray on the dining room table. The desk on your home office quickly became too small for you to have everything you needed to, so you moved to the dining room, notebooks, books, your iPad and some notes spread around as you typed on your computer.

"Thank you, my love", you said, taking your glasses off your face and rubbing your temples, grabbing the fork and eating the nutritious meal he prepared for you, "do you want some?", you offered him, "no, I made it for you, I need to make sure you're getting healthy nutrients to keep all of this up", he said, kissing your temple.

"I need to send this to my supervisor, and I think I'm going to finish it tonight", you smiled, "after I send this, I'll just have to do the corrections that come back, then make sure the pages are lined up correctly and then it will be it - until my defense anyway", you allowed yourself to smile, pulling your knees up to your chest as you looked at the screen, "it feels like I've been doing this for my whole life and at the same time, it feels like it was yesterday that I was suggesting this research", feeling George rub your back softly.

"We were also planning to have the team dinner here", Toto pointed to the spot on his calendar, "is that alright with everyone?".

"I won't be able to be there - Y/N is defending her thesis and I'm going to be there, and I'll take her out to celebrate and have the weekend all to ourselves as a mini holiday", George smiled.

"Already? I'll send her my congratulations in due time", Suzie smiled.

"Yes, it's finally happening, and she's ready for it. We've been practising a little bit every day, she knows all of it front to back and back to front and her supervisor also thinks she has a really good shot for the best grade", he smiled, never hiding how proud he was of you.

"George! I'm glad I found you here!", Naomi said as she walked with him, "I know you don't usually talk a lot about your personal life, but we saw that Y/N is finally in the paddock after taking a bit of time out and we also saw your post about her PhD! Congratulations for her!", she praised.

"She did, yes! She got the highest grade possible and she's publishing a few articles soon - she's been incredible over the past few months, despite not being here, she was always there for me as well, and she deserves all the recognition she's getting, she's the best", George smiled.

"We have a new doctor in the paddock, so I'll be sure to say hello to her and congratulate her later on", Naomi winked.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#george russell blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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evilscientist3 · 1 month

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so do you actually support ai "art" or is that part of the evil bit :| because um. yikes.

Let me preface this by saying: I think the cutting edge of AI as we know it sucks shit. ChatGPT spews worthless, insipid garbage as a rule, and frequently provides enticingly fluent and thoroughly wrong outputs whenever any objective fact comes into play. Image generators produce over-rendered, uncanny slop that often falls to pieces under the lightest scrutiny. There is little that could convince me to use any AI tool currently on the market, and I am notably more hostile to AI than many people I know in real life in this respect.

That being said, these problems are not inherent to AI. In two years, or a decade, perhaps they will be our equals in producing writing and images. I know a philosopher who is of the belief that one day, AI will simply be better than us - smarter, funnier, more likeable in conversation - I am far from convinced of this myself, but let us hope, if such a case arises, they don't get better at ratfucking and warmongering too.

Many of the inherent problems posed by AI are philosophical in nature. Would a sufficiently advanced AI be appreciably different to a conscious entity? Can their outputs be described as art? These are questions whose mere axioms could themselves be argued over in PhD theses ad infinitum. I am not particularly interested in these, for to be so on top of the myriad demands of my work would either drive me mad or kill me outright. Fortunately, their fractally debatable nature means that no watertight argument could be given to them by you, either, so we may declare ourselves in happy, clueless agreement on these topics so long as you are willing to confront their unconfrontability.

Thus, I would prefer to turn to the current material issues encountered in the creation and use of AI. These, too, are not inherent to their use, but I will provide a more careful treatment of them than a simple supposition that they will evaporate in coming years.

I would consider the principal material issues surrounding AI to lie in the replacement of human labourers and wanton generation of garbage content it facilitates, and the ethics of training it on datasets collected without contributors' consent. In the first case, it is prudent to recall the understanding of Luddites held by Marx - he says, in Ch. 15 of Das Kapital: "It took both time and experience before workers learnt to distinguish between machinery and its employment by capital, and therefore to transfer their attacks from the material instruments of production to the form of society which utilises those instruments." The Industrial Revolution's novel forms of production and subsequent societal consequences has mirrored the majority of advances in production since. As then, the commercial application of the new technology must be understood to be a product of capital. To resist the technology itself on these grounds is to melt an iceberg's tip, treating the vestigial symptom of a vast syndrome. The replacement of labourers is with certainty a pressing issue that warrants action, but such action must be considered and strategic, rather than a reflexive reaction to something new. As is clear in hindsight for the technology of two centuries ago, mere impedance of technological progression is not for the better.

The second case is one I find deeply alarming - the degradation of written content's reliability threatens all knowledge, extending to my field. Already, several scientific papers have drawn outrage in being seen to pass peer review despite blatant inclusion of AI outputs. I would be tempted to, as a joke to myself more than others, begin this response with "Certainly. Here is how you could respond to this question:" so as to mirror these charlatans, would it not without a doubt enrage a great many who don't know better than to fall for such a trick. This issue, however, is one I believe to be ephemeral - so pressing is it, that a response must be formulated by those who value understanding. And so are responses being formulated - major online information sources, such as Wikipedia and its sister projects, have written or are writing rules on their use. The journals will, in time, scramble to save their reputations and dignities, and do so thoroughly - academics have professional standings to lose, so keeping them from using LLMs is as simple as threatening those. Perhaps nothing will be done for your average Google search result - though this is far from certain - but it has always been the conventional wisdom that more than one site ought to be consulted in a search for information.

The third is one I am torn on. My first instinct is to condemn the training of AI on material gathered without consent. However, this becomes more and more problematic with scrutiny. Arguments against this focusing on plagiarism or direct theft are pretty much bunk - statistical models don't really work like that. Personal control of one's data, meanwhile, is a commendable right, but is difficult to ensure without merely extending the argument made by the proponents of copyright, which is widely understood to be a disastrous construct that for the most part harms small artists. In this respect, then, it falls into the larger camp of problems primarily caused by the capital wielding the technology.

Let me finish this by posing a hypothetical. Suppose AI does, as my philosopher friend believes, become smarter and more creative than us in a few years or decades; suppose in addition it may be said through whatever means to be entirely unobjectionable, ethically or otherwise. Under these circumstances, would I then go to a robot to commission art of my fursona? The answer from me is a resounding no. My reasoning is simple - it wouldn't feel right. So long as the robot remains capable of effortlessly and passionlessly producing pictures, it would feel like cheating. Rationally explaining this deserves no effort - my reasoning would be motivated by the conclusion, rather than vice versa. It is simply my personal taste not to get art I don't feel is real. It is vitally important, however, that I not mistake this feeling as evidence of any true inferiority - to suppose that effortlessness or pasionlessness invalidate art is to stray back into the field of messy philosophical questions. I am allowed, as are you, to possess personal tastes separate from the quality of things.

Summary: I don't like AI. However, most of the problems with AI which aren't "it's bad" (likely to be fixed over time) or abstract philosophical questions (too debatable to be used to make a judgement) are material issues caused by capitalism, just as communists have been saying about every similarly disruptive new technology for over a century. Other issues can likely be fixed over time, as with quality. From a non-rational standpoint, I dislike the idea of using AI even separated from current issues, but I recognise, and encourage you to recognise, that this is not evidence of an actual inherent inferiority of AI in the abstract. You are allowed to have preferences that aren't hastily rationalised over.

#ask

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extremelyblackandwhite · 7 months

Text

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: i got given a vinyl of go your own way/silver springs last week by my mum that she bought when she was younger, so i've been playing it time and time again and it bled onto this chapter.

masterlist

i know i could've loved you but you would not let me.

Bucky knew Y/N was upset. That's all he knew. He knew she'd come from her date and ever since she'd been quiet as a mouse and that was something considering Y/N gave her opinion anytime the opportunity presented itself. He'd even change the order her mugs in, to see if she would say something, instead she just grabbed a mug and went upstairs to her room whenever he was home to watch Sadie. If he was looking after Sadie, then Y/N would not be found for long stretches of time, instead looked into her bedroom with note and after note typing aggressively - a routine which made Bucky thankful he'd never pursued a PhD or anything other than a bachelors. He'd started to leave little snacks around her room whenever she went out, a pack of Oreos stashed in her nightstand, dehydrated mango slices from the brand she liked on top of her computer, little pots of coconut yoghurt. He knew she was always in that bedroom and he also knew she wouldn't come out no matter if it was breakfast, lunch or dinner.

He was sure there was only one person to blame - Christopher. Sure, Y/N and Bucky fought about it before she went on her date, they always did, but it never resulted in her becoming a hermit, locked in her room. As such, Chris was now enemy number one and Bucky was sure if HR discovered, he would get in trouble. He wasn't making the kid's life too hard, he was just making him work nights and overtimes and weekends. He'd also sent Chris on a coffee run. Yet Y/N continued in her little cocoon of sadness and tonight was no difference. Bucky had ordered Italian in and ended up the evening watching Beauty and the Beast with Sadie. The redhead had fallen asleep at the midpoint and as Bucky was ready to call it a night, he heard the soft steps of Y/N's coming down the stairs, holding a stack of plates and mugs. She was in her little white vintage chenille robe embroidered with blue and pink flowers, her hair up with a way too big claw clip and white fuzzy socks. If Bucky wasn't worried about her, he'd be wondering about what was under her robe.

- You want some Italian? - Bucky got up to follow her from the kitchen. - I got some of that weird spinach pasta you like. Extra mozzarella balls just as you like.

- No. - she placed the plates in the sink, starting to wash them with the cranberry dish soap that she always bought the moment the first autumn leaf fell.

- You didn't come up of your little cocoon today. You know, the cleaning maid is wondering if I'm cutting your pay since you're keeping one bedroom and one bathroom hostage.

- I can move to the guest bedroom. - she moved to grab a plate but the slippery porcelain slipped, crashing into a thousand bits to the ground. She sighed, her lip quivering and almost as if by seconds, she started crying.

Y/N went down to her knees, grabbing at the pieces of porcelain and shards, as if pushing them together would bring it back.

- Y/N, shit, darling ... - he went back to his knees to put his hands on her arms to pull her up. - It's ok, don't pick them up, you'll get hurt.

- I'm sorry. - she sniffled, her hands attempting to go and rub her eyes but Bucky stopped them in case she had little shards of porcelain stuck to her palms. - I'll clean it up, I promise.

- It's fine. - Bucky kicked the big shards away. - What's wrong, Y/N? Is it Chris? Did he hurt you?

- I'm gonna fail my viva. - she sniffled once more. - And I'm gonna have to go back to Ohio and I'm not made to live in Ohio.

- Why would you go back to Ohio?

- My parents bought a farm there after retiring. I am not Ohio farm material, Bucky. I'm afraid of horses.

- Why would you even fail your viva? You're a smart woman, you're at a good university, you are okay. - Bucky wrapped his arms around her. - Probably not for long if you keep not eating. Go seat and I'll get you your disgusting pasta.

- It is not disgusting. - Y/N rolled her eyes before making her way to the table. - Buck? Can I become your secretary if I fail my viva?

- No. Your skirts aren't as short as I'd like. - he joked, bringing her pasta in a plate and pushing it towards her. - You're too fucking smart to be my secretary, if you were in my company you'd be CEO or something.

- I worked my entire life for this. - she toyed around with her food, looking up with eyes still wet. - You know? I didn't come from legacy families or families who could actually afford to send me to college, I worked my ass off because I thought if I did I'd get somewhere. I'd be someone, I wouldn't have to count my pennies, I would be respected. Instead, everyone thinks I'm a joke on track to become your unfuckable housewife.

- Now c'mon, if you do become my housewife, I would fuck you at least once a night. - he joked trying to lighten the mood but Y/N merely deadpanned at him. - Twice actually. You have a nice ass.

- Not helping.

- Because you're being ridiculous. You wanna know the reason I hired you? You had zero experience but you were smart and you were fiery and independent and I wanted my daughter to be like that.

- You're just saying that because you're tired of bathing, Sadie.

- I'm saying that because you're a great student and you're a smart woman. Besides, if they fail you, we'll just have to bribe the university. We'll donate a building for you.

- You're not funny. - she swallowed in a giggle before taking the first forkful of pasta.

- No, really, we'll get you a building. - he moved to seat next to her. - Maybe an astronomy one.

- How swell.

- I mean, maybe an astronomy building will be too much. Maybe a farming one.

- God, I'm never telling you anything ever again. - she took another forkful of food. Bucky was glad he'd distracted her enough where she was eating, genuinely eating. - How's Sadie?

- Sadie is doing well. She's supposed to go back to kindie next week but I was taking of taking her to the office for a bit. You know? I don't trust the roudy kids.

- It's a private kindergarten. The senator's grandchild goes there, Bucky. I doubt they have their own fight club.

- Have you ever seen a bunch of 2 year olds? They're terrifying and Sadie is a sensitive baby.

- So you'll take her to a corporate office?

- It's gonna be her company one day. Start them young. - he joked once more. - You want some ice cream? I tried to look for one that would be suitable for 2 year olds but then I came home and goggle it and they said I should blend frozen bananas instead.

Truth was, he'd bought a bunch of flavours thinking one would be Y/N's favourite and would entice her to eat something. That had ended up with him holding over 10 flavours of ice cream in his freezer. He came back with a selection of flavours he thought he wanted in a nice little dish. Y/N always liked nice little dishes.

- Maybe I just don't belong, you know? - Y/N sighed. - In academic research. Most people come from well off families or are really smart, I'm just ...

- You're just you. - Bucky said, leaning his chin on his hand to stare at her.

- Yeah. I'm just me. Plain, old, me. Daughter of working class parents, me. Mediocre grade at masters, me. - she sighed once more, looking at the melting ice cream. - I can't even keep a relationship from falling apart.

- Chris broke up with you?

- I am not dating Chris so he can't technically break up with me. Besides, it wasn't like it would actually work.

- I'm sorry.

- No, you're not. - she looked at him, cocking her head to the side. - You'll probably be dancing in the grave of my situationship.

- I don't dance, Y/N. I'm a respectable man. - he once again tried to make light of the situation. - What happened?

- Guess I'm not suitable or good enough or don't do enough. One of the three. Whatever. - she chuckled dryly. - It was nice to have someone like me even if the me they liked was someone I'm not.

- You act as if other people don't like you.

- It's not that they don't like me but they also don't like me. You know what I mean? They put up with me, they are alright with me, they are cordial but they don't like me. They don't tolerate me.

- I like you. - those words flew out of his lips like it was the most natural thing for him to say. As if he were stating an irrefutable fact like the sky looks blue or the Earth is round. - I like you. Just the way you are.

Y/N's lips parted as she waited for something to compliment the sentence. I like you just the way you are but less difficult, I like you just the way you are but prettier, I like you just the way you are but less argumentative, I like you just the way you are but as a friend. Yet those words never came and she found herself instead staring at the man in front of her, staring into those blue eyes like some sailor drawn to the sea.

- Daddy? - Bucky recognised his daughter's voice. Bad timing, bad, bad timing.

- Hey bug. - Y/N got up from her chair and walked up to the 2 year old, kneeling down to her level. - Are you alright?

- Nightmare.

- Aw that's awful, bug. I'll go and tuck you in and stay there while you fall asleep. Sounds good?

(...)

- I'm telling you, Steve. I fucked up.

- When you said we needed to have an urgent meeting, I didn't think this would be it.

Bucky had called Steve in London, the meeting screen showing Steve in his office. Yet, instead of one of their regular meetings to check with the state of the London office, it was Bucky talking to Steve. He'd fucked up, he'd fucked up badly and he'd only realise he'd fucked up once he woke up this morning and Y/N had left, leaving a note merely saying she had gone down to Ohio to be with her parents for a bit.

- You just said you liked her, so what? At least you didn't tell her you loved her. It could have been interpreted differently.

- You don't understand, Steve. I told her I liked her just the way she is.

- Alright, Mark Darcy, pipe down. Have you considered that maybe, just maybe, Y/N wants to go see her parents because she hasn't seen them in ages? Maybe because she's upset and wants to be with her mum and dad?

- I'm telling you, she's gonna quit.

- She's not gonna quit, Barnes. She likes Sadie too much, besides, isn't she with Chris Davis anyway? - Steve leaned against his chair, staring at Bucky through his screen. - Just relax.

(...)

A week had gone by and Y/N woke up with the sun shinning on her face. Being here was different than being in New York, it was quieter, calmer and all the sounds she could hear were the wind and the animals allowed close enough to the main house. This wasn't her childhood home, her parents had bought it yet it was comfortable. The furniture was the same and the feeling of her home was still available, it made her calm. Things were ... too much right now and she needed to be away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

She moved herself to the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of tea and seating on the wooden chair with her feet on top of the seat. Her mother walked into the kitchen a few moments later, kissing the top of her head before sitting down next to her daughter.

- Do you want me to make you some eggs, shortcake?

- I'm okay, mum. - she smiled at her mother. - Where's dad?

- I sent him out to get some groceries. I wanted to talk to you alone.

- That's never good.

- Shortcake, I love having you here. You're my only daughter and I love it when you come to visit but it feels like you're running away.

- I'm not running away, mum. I just came to visit.

- When you're 3 days away from defending your thesis? In the middle of the night? I've known you for 27 years, shortcake. You're not visiting, you're running.

- I'm failing. - she sighed, with a scared laugh. - I've looked through my papers time and time again and in 3 days I'll make a fool of myself.

- Y/N, c'mon. - her mother put her hand on her shoulder. - You said that about your undergraduate and your masters. You've never actually came to me and told me something is going well academically.

- This is different. I've invested almost four years of my life into this and I'm just so tired. The thought of failing is just ... terrifying.

- You've always doubted yourself, always put so much weight onto your own shoulders. You don't need to be the best, Y/N. You don't need to impress us or make us proud, we've been proud and impressed by you since the moment you were born. Running away here is not gonna solve how you feel and you, Y/N, have never been a quitter. - her mother caressed her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. - You gave it your best, that's all you can do.

- There's more. - since she was airing out things, maybe she should talk about this. It wasn't like she could talk to her friends, she didn't have many and she couldn't talk to her colleagues about it either. - There's this guy.

- Christopher?

- Not Christopher. Another guy ... He told me he liked me and it just ... it freaked me out.

- Do you like him?

- I ... I don't actually know. I, I never really allowed myself to think of him like that. He's different.

- How different?

- I never considered ending up with someone like him, you know? He's not what I'd envision ever but he feels, he feels like the only person who seems me. He seems me not postdoctoral student Y/N, not who I may be if I succeed or if I fail. Just me.

- Then what is the problem?

- I think he also doesn't consider himself ending up with someone like me. I think .... I think I could love him but he would never let me because I'm not the ending that he pictured. I'm just not the one.

taglist: @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82 @winters1917 @vladsgirlxx @stinkerbelle007 @maybefoxysouls @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @chipilerendi @kandis-mom @belennasif @abitofblues @buckybarnessimpp

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan/y/n #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky/reader #bucky x you #bucky/you #bucky x y/n #bucky/Y/n

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