#ask the twisted ends crew

[slugterra-twisted-ends]

Hey Do fire slugs eat coal and wood?

All slugs can eat twigs. Only a very few brave (stupid) non-fire slugs will try to eat rocks and coal

#slugterra #ask the twisted ends crew #slugterra ask series #slugterra twisted ends #slugterra fanart #fanart #slugterra art #art #trixie sting #slugterra trixie #burpy #burpy the infurnus #slugterra burpy #enigmo #mo the enigmo #slugterra mo

[visionsofmagic]

❝screaming another man’s name while being fucked by him❞

including: zoro, luffy, sanji, shanks [opla versions]

―❛ nsfw, brat!reader, f!reader, possessive behaviour, chocking (kinda), licking, different positions, daddy kink, swearing, pet names, spanking, angry sex, humiliation, begging, fingering, oral > f receiving, marking, claiming, mentions of voyeurism, hair, ‘is all  I suppose. ✸ wc: 2.3k ✸ posted only zoro’s version but didn’t appear on tags, so, I repost that part with others’ parts too. tried to stay in characters. enjoy!

⭑ ZORO

“oohhh - sanji!”

you moaned, not aware of your own moans until he asked, voice deep, sending radiations of danger.

“what did you just say?”

hands on your waist freezing, the pressure still on there yet it doesn’t continue pulling and pushing your body, stopping fucking you - the sudden silence in the room fills up with heavy breathing.

he holds you by the neck, raising your body up, he makes your back touch his bare chest, back arching - his cock twists inside your walls.

“I asked,” he says, warm breaths hitting your ear as his voice reaches every part of your body as if it's a poison - and he is the only cure for it. “what did you fucking say.”

it wasn’t intentional - you didn’t mean to moan another man’s name in the middle of fucking, but, it came as an instinct.

“z-zoro - I - didn’t mean to - aggh -!”

“didn’t mean to what? moaning another man’s name?” he chuckled, far away from entertaining, just pure annoyance. “moaning sanji’s name while my dick inside you, breakin’ you into half, hm?”

you can’t answer, you can’t even comprehend what to do because you don’t understand why you moaned sanji’s name. however, zoro knows you more than you do, and owns every knowledge about the hidden meanings behind your actions, words, and looks - he isn’t dumb, he knows how you close your thigh around sanji whenever he cooks, watching him from the corner of your eyes as you bite your lips without even noticing it.

it is not that zoro doesn’t get jealous, he does and he will prove it right away yet he wants to satisfy you in every way he can - he can see the truth behind the whole thing; you want the full attention that you try to make him angry with all these acts, and you have no idea that you’re doing all that only for him - for zoro so that he can get possessed around you.

he’s a pleaser though, for you, and he will plan your little game, giving what you want.

“maybe I should call him,” he says, and whimpers when your pussy clenches around his length on its own - pure instinct, pure satisfaction. he smirks, pride runs in his veins, he really knows you - each hit point, each desire, everything. he leaves your body, bending it over again, ass getting higher.

he begins to fuck you so slow that you swear you will lose your mind anytime soon as his cock goes out of your horny clit until his tip touches your folds, only to shove it in again with a hard yet effective thrust.

weren’t his hands holding you by the hips, you would hit the wall in front of your face - moaning louder than before, afraid that the crew will hear you as you get fucked by furious zoro.

“ohh, I definitely should call him. wanna make him watch your pretty face as I fuck your hungry pussy for my cock,” he says, thrusting faster each passing time, making your hands grip the sleeves under you. “would you like that?” he asks, balls hitting every right spot of your ass cheeks, thrust begins to mixture of both pain and pleasure.

“ohhh - zoro - zoro -!”

“that’s right baby. roronoa zoro,” he kneels down, abdomen touching your back, dick reaches the end of your pussy, a hand grips your hair, pulling it harshly, “scream my fucking name louder, wanna hear it, wanna everyone hear it as well.”

“‘m sorry, zoro, ‘m so sorry -“

“oh please,” he mocks you, leaving your hair, only to hold you by the neck this time, pushing you onto the mattress lower, cries rush onto your face. soaking, you moan his name over and over again. “you’re not sorry at all. you’re just a slut, aren’t you?” his fingers play with your ass hole, sending a new sense of satisfaction into your body, “a slut only for my cock though,” he whispers into himself, slapping your ass, earning a scream out of your pretty parted lips.

then, he turns you around, and the cock swifts inside you - standing above you, he puts one of his hands beside your head, and the other one grips your neck completely, making you look up to his face - he finds the pace that he knows that will make you see starts.

eyes sparkling with lust as you look at him, half-closed, blurry already, dry tears on the cheeks, chest raising up and down rapidly while his cock fucks your abused clit harder, and deeper. “yes my slut,” he says, possessiveness can be heard through his voice, “look at who’s fucking you right now. not luffy, not that shitty waiter sanji either. just roronoa zoro. who’s fucking you? whose pussy is this? say it.”

“roro - ohhhh, shit - roronoa z-zoro!”

he nods with such pride that he smirks, still furious, but enjoying this so much that he decides to fuck you in every position he can until the whole crew knows you’re getting fucked by him in his damn room, crying only his name. “that’s it my pretty slut, you will never forget it. from now on, I will dig it into your dizzy head so that your legs will open on their own whenever you see me.”

“please, yes, yes, zoro!” going all mindless, you let him do what he wants - after all, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?

“pretty slut. gotta make you know who you belong to.”

⭑ LUFFY

“fuuuck - usopp!” the words - the moan comes out of you without your control, making his head higher up.

“huh? say somethin’ baby?” he asks, not stopping eating you from the back, fingers joined, brows raised, curiously looking at you.

“‘m so sorry, luffy - I - I wasn’t thinking straight- I - ohhh!” you try to say but your words are cut by his fingers scissoring inside you.

“oh,” he says, sounding not surprised but excited, chuckling even as he adds, “I didn’t hear it wrong then. you really moaned his name - while my tongue is deep inside you, fingering this beautiful pussy that I thought clenching because of how good I am fucking you.”

between your loud whimpers mixing with moans, you begin to say how sorry you are. you weren’t aware of it until the moment usopp’s name left your mouth. you knew it was luffy who was making you week on the knees, who’s have your legs wrapped around his bare shoulders, your pussy wide open, hands on his curly hair as you pull them whenever his tongue and fingers reach your g-spot - only he can fuck you like this, you know it! but why you moaned usopp’s name, why you pictured him in your mind beside luffy are the questions you have no answers to.

“I don’t know what happened to me - ohhh - luffy, ‘m so sorry - fuuck!”

both moaning with pleasure and crying with pure guilt, you try to hide your face from luffy, a hand positioned on your half of the face, not looking at him, afraid that you made him upset and disappointed yet luffy is there to prove you wrong when he leaves your pussy, gets up, holding you by the chin as he lowers down, making both of you hit the bed underneath you.

hovering over you, he makes you see his smiling face, lips shining because of your soaking, eyes sparkling.

“oh, pretty baby, look at me,” he says, caressing your chin, “I am not mad. not at all. if you want to bring another man into the bed -“

“no, no - I don’t - I really don’t!” you protest, so shy at the thought. you only want luffy, you know that, and you want to apologize to him for being such a greedy girl, “you’re my one and only luffy. I only want you.”

he chuckles softly, shaking his head, fingers finally finding your aching pussy again, playing with it as he says, “‘s okay. if I am the only one you want, then, let me fuck you that your whole body remember I am the one and only for it.”

he keeps his promises, fucking you until the only thing you have on your mind is him - nothing more, nothing less.

yet he doesn’t leave you without teasing you, giving you wet kisses, markings, and even slaps from here to there - enjoying seeing you all shy yet greedy for him.

⭑ SANJI

“oh yes, yes, yes, right there - so good so good - please more, zoro, please!”

“hm? what?” he asks in a surprised tone, hands stopping playing with your breasts, tongue staying on the hardened nipple without moving, eyes looking up to your confused face from where he stays on - your exposed chest.

he smirks, a bit of jealousy and entertainment at the same time, realizing you have no clue about what you said a second ago, legs push him closer - wanting his cock deep inside your warm walls to start moving again because you can’t understand why he has stopped fucking you.

“oh my beautiful madam,” he teases, “can’t even realize he moaned another man’s name while having my cock warm inside her pussy!”

your eyes widen after you comprehend the words he’s saying.

you swear lowly, hands touch his well-built chest, heat rushing all over your face, and you begin to feel guilt blooming inside your abdomen which has twisted.

“sanji - I am so sorry, I didn’t- I wasn’t -“ he cuts you off, right hand finds your neck as long fingers caress your face.

his face so close to yours as he chuckles, “oh, did my pretty lady remember who’s fucking her? not zoro, eh?”

he can’t decide whether he should feel humiliated or amused. yet he doesn’t go hard on you, moving his hips, he earns low moans from you - hands trembling on his chest, the dilemma rises up inside the mind, thoughts about zoro shuts down by sanji, he shoves his dick into you slowly and in one go as if he’s trying to remind you that you’re under him - not zoro’s or any other man’s.

“please, sanji - faster, please!” your please now is filled with his name comes as prays into his ears, the pride increases, giving sanji a chance to play with your cute little mind.

“that’s right baby, sanji - say that again.” his movements become faster, harder.

“sanji, sanji, sanji - aggh, so good -“ with the help of the last decent you have, you moan his name louder and louder, wanna make him prove that you’re mind full of him, giving him the apology he deserves in a way he would like to get; being so noisy that everyone will acknowledge what you’re doing behind the doors.

“would make a mess out of you. you will leave this room barely walking because of me,” his possession is perceivable, burning you alive with the desire for more. hands grip your inner thighs, opening them wider, a painful breath leaves your lungs as you shut your eyes, giving sanji what he wants; devouring you to tame you.

“pretty lady needs a lesson, and I am here to give it.”

⭑ SHANKS

he doesn’t say much, chuckling or laughing would suit him better but he knows you should have known that no one can fuck you like he does when another’s man comes from you - moaning with it instead of saying shank’s name.

holding you from the waist, he takes control of you, not letting you ride him no more, sweats flow from your body into his.

the moment you hear his voice, memories of the past seconds rush to your mind, and you find yourself putting your hands on his shoulders, afraid that he will push you.

contrary to what you expect, shanks moves your hips slowly, forth, and back - his balls feel heavy under you, hair on his lower abdomen makes the pleasure double.

you hold your tears; blurry vision, soaking clit, reddened face, agape mouth - pathetic yet beautiful, he thinks. “daddy’s cock isn’t enough for you, hm, is this the case why you moan another man’s name like that even when you’re,” he takes your chin, making you look down, seeing the mess you’re creating, “cumming onto my cock?”

“it’s not it, shanks!” earn a spank on your ass.

“then what is it princess?” he asks, brows raised, fingers traveling on your body, “am I not fucking you good that you fantasize about another man while bouncing on my lap?”

he lets you say countless sorry words, cries inside his arms, explaining how you didn’t mean to do that, how he’s the only one for you yet he doesn’t seem satisfied, taking a deep breath, raising your body then lowering it down - cock thrusting deep and hard.

throwing your head, you begin to beg for him to forgive you, to fuck you.

“in that case,” he says, putting himself a glass of wine from the small table beside you while still sitting on his favorite chair that he fucks you onto. leaning back, he moves his hand in the air, “fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you can beg for my cock, then, I will forgive you and fuck your greedy pussy princess,”

he watches you going blank for a moment before beginning to bounce on him, moaning from the throat, hands traveling around your body to make a show only for his eyes.

he whimpers lowly, a smirk lightening his attractive face, eyes burning in fire, “give daddy a show. and when you’re done, I will call for him and make him watch as I fuck you good.”

❤💙

taglist • tagging: @snowprincesa1 ❦

#one piece #opla #opla x reader #opla x you #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #zoro smut #monkey d. luffy #luff x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy smut #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji smut #shanks x reader #shanks smut #one piece drabbles #red haired shanks #REPOSTING A PART WITH ADDED ONES #hope you enjoyed and hope this will appear on the tags :')

[pucksandpower]

Mesaytara

Charles Leclerc x Sheikha of Abu Dhabi!Reader

Summary: in which an Emirati princess sets off to make her mark on Formula 1 … and maybe falls in love along the way

You press your face against the glass of the private suite, watching with wide eyes as the mechanics scurry about below, tending to the sleek race cars lined up on the grid. The engines growl and rumble, seeming to shake the very foundations of the brand new Yas Marina Circuit.

“Baba, can we go down and watch them up close?” You ask your father, turning your big eyes up at him imploringly.

As the youngest child and only daughter of the ruler of Abu Dhabi, you know you hold a certain power over him. He dotes on you endlessly, his precious princess over a decade younger than your brothers.

Your father, Sheikh Ahmed bin Zayed Al Nahyan, smiles fondly at your eagerness. “Of course, habibti. Anything for you.”

Despite being the most powerful man in the United Arab Emirates, your father takes your small hand lovingly as you practically drag him from the plush suite. Your entourage of guards and attendants follows at a respectful distance as you make your way down to the pit lane, the roar of the engines growing louder with every step.

Gasps and whispers follow as star-struck crew members realize just who has arrived mere feet from their work stations. They snap into nervous bows and stumble over themselves to clear a path for the Sheikh and his daughter.

But you pay them no mind, your attention utterly transfixed by the brilliant colors and aerodynamic curves of the Formula 1 cars. You’ve never seen anything so sleek and powerful up close. A faint scent of racing fuel and hot rubber hangs in the air, sharp and intoxicating.

“They’re so beautiful,” you murmur reverentially, watching as a pair of Red Bull mechanics roll out the tires for Mark Webber’s car.

Your father chuckles indulgently at your awestruck expression. “That they are, habibti. Works of engineering brilliance.”

A shot rings out from the starting lights, signaling the final minutes before the race begins. The air thrums with rising tension as the crews make their last frantic preparations. The loud thrum of the engines spinning up reverberates in your chest like a beating heart.

Leading you back to the shelter of the suite just before the cars roar out on the formation lap, your father settles into the plush sofa and pats the seat beside him. You immediately scramble up next to him, craning your neck to keep the track in view through the wide glass windows.

And then, they’re off — a streak of blinding color and screeching tires as the crimson Ferraris charge into the first turn. You rise up on your knees, hands pressed against the glass and breath fogging up the surface as you watch them disappear into the distance, chasing one another in a frenzy of motion.

For the next hour and a half, you are utterly enthralled, riveted to every twist and turn of the spectacle unfolding before you. You cheer and gasp with the roiling crowd, celebrating each breathtaking pass and lamenting every spin or collision.

When the checkered flag finally waves, signifying the end of the inaugural Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, you turn to your father with eyes still wide with wonder and admiration.

“Baba,” you breathe, newfound determination shining in your gaze. “I want to do that someday. I want to be a race car driver too.”

The rest of the assembled Emiratis in the suite freeze, shooting covert glances at one another uneasily. For a daughter, even a beloved princess, to harbor such ambitions is nearly unheard of in your culture. The thought of a young woman taking up such a masculine, dangerous sport is immediately dismissible.

But your father only smiles down at you warmly, cupping one calloused hand around your small cheek. “If it is Allah’s will for you, my daughter, then who am I to stand in your way?”

Around the suite, brows raise in shock and disapproval at the ease with which the Sheikh entertains your fanciful dream. You are too young to recognize the raised eyebrows and muttered whispers for what they are.

All you know is the pure joy that blossoms in your heart at your father’s blessing. You throw your arms around his broad chest, squeezing him tightly.

“Did you see them, Baba?” You gush excitedly in his ear. “How they danced through those turns? How bravely they raced and fought for every position? I’ve never seen anything like it!”

His chest rumbles with a low chuckle, cradling you against him in a fierce embrace. “I saw indeed, habibti. And perhaps no one else in our family has the same firelight in their spirit to take on such a challenge as you.”

You pull back with a radiant smile, total adoration shining up at him. At eight years old, you are still young enough to see your father as an all-powerful, all-knowing figure put on earth solely to make your dreams a reality.

The thought that he may ever deny you anything, even something as far-fetched as becoming a professional race car driver, is simply unthinkable. This is a man who rules a nation, who commands wealth and resources beyond your comprehension — and he has just promised to make your heart’s desire come true.

Still, your brow furrows slightly as the first traces of dubiousness creep into your shining eyes. “But Baba … I’m a girl. Will they even let me race?”

The Sheikh laughs again, deep and booming, causing the other attendants in the room to jump slightly at the unexpected outburst from their normally stoic monarch.

“And who is to say what any they will allow?” He counters, wagging one finger at you firmly. “If this is what you wish to do, we will move mountains to make it so. Even the most powerful dunes bow to the will of the lords who rule them.”

You giggle at his metaphor, picturing the undulating desert sands moving like ocean waves at his command. Your laugh fades as your expression turns pensive once more.

“But … I’ve never even sat in one of those cars, Baba,” you confess, chewing your lower lip anxiously. “What if I’m not brave enough? Or quick enough? What if I’m … not good enough?”

The very notion that anything or anyone could ever deny his daughter is clearly laughable to the Sheikh. He leans in close until he is staring into your eyes intently.

“Not good enough?” He asks, cradling your face in his hands. “You are the daughter of my heart, habibti. You were born of bravery and fire. There is no challenge in this life you cannot master if you desire it so.”

His words chase away any lingering doubt like the rising sun burning away the morning mist. You nod vigorously, fresh determination shining in your eyes.

“Then I’ll do it, Baba. I’ll work and train and become the quickest, bravest driver who ever lived! You’ll see!”

Your father’s warm chuckle is one of pure paternal pride and adoration. He presses a weathered kiss to your forehead, crinkling his nose at you playfully.

“If it is written, my daughter … then I have no doubt you shall, Inshallah.”

***

The mid-morning sun blazes over the sweeping dunes as the convoy of gleaming white Land Cruisers rolls up to the private family compound in Al Ain. After spending the night at one of the royal residences deep in the desert, you are returning to the main palace to celebrate your 15th birthday with the rest of the family.

As the lead SUV crunches to a stop on the grandiose circular driveway, you can’t help but notice an enormous object taking up a significant portion of the motor court. It is covered with an impeccably smooth red tarp, the color so rich it seems to glow against the bright sand like a magnificent mirage.

“What’s that?” You whisper to your brother Hassan, eyes wide with girlish curiosity as you peer through the tinted windows.

Hassan merely shrugs, already looking bored by whatever grand spectacle your father no doubt has planned this time. As the eldest son and heir apparent, he has long grown accustomed to the lavish trappings and surprises that come with being part of the Emirati ruling family.

You, on the other hand, still thrill at every indulgent display of your father’s affection — and his obvious efforts to make this birthday one you’ll never forget.

The minute your door is opened by a waiting attendant, you are scrambling to get out and get a closer look at the mysterious shape lurking beneath the tarp. Your towering bodyguards swiftly fall into step behind you, eyes sharp for any potential threat as they follow your darting form across the gleaming tile courtyard.

“Baba!” You call out excitedly, slowing your pace only when you draw up to the tarp-covered shape. “What is it? What’s under here?”

As the Sheikh emerges from the inner courtyard doors, chuckling heartily at your youthful enthusiasm, you notice the crowd of grinning spectators gathered behind him. A pride of aunts, uncles, and cousins spill out from within, all waiting with barely contained glee to bear witness to your reaction.

“Patience, habibti,” he chides you playfully, though his own eyes are twinkling with poorly masked mirth. Your father lives for these moments — any opportunity to shower his only daughter with grand gestures and lavish surprises. “The unveiling comes first.”

You practically vibrate with anticipation as your father accepts a simple push remote from one of his attendants. He casts you one more indulgent smile, then thumbs the button dramatically. There is an agonizing beat of total silence before the heavy tarp begins its slow mechanical slide to the ground.

When its contents are finally revealed, your jaw drops open in a shocked ‘O.’ There, squatting low and sleek before you like a panther ready to pounce, is the unmistakable profile of a Formula 1 car. But not just any car ...

“No ...” you breathe, pressing one hand to your mouth as you recognize every curve and angle, every slashing line of the striking Ferrari red livery. “It … it can’t be...”

“The F2002,” your father announces grandly, gazing at the vehicle with obvious pride. “The very same one that Michael Schumacher drove to his fifth World Championship that year. I had heard the team was auctioning it off to make way for their museum refurbishment … so I put in a special request.”

You stumble forward, hands outstretched to reverently trace the contours of the car as if to assure yourself it is real. Your fingertips glide over the sinuous sidepod, feeling the raised ridges of the sponsor’s decals and the rough nubs of leather on the steering wheel. You can scarcely believe you’re running your hands over the very car that dominated the 2002 season.

“Baba ...” you barely have the breath to vocalize your stunned gratitude. Any other girl may have been delighted by clothes or jewelry for a 15th birthday. But this … this is beyond your wildest dreams.

Your father steps up beside you, wrapping one strong arm around your shoulders as you continue gaping at the car in awe. He leans in close, his words meant for your ears alone.

“Do you remember what I told you that first day at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, habibti?” His voice is solemn but warm with parental affection. “That if this was your true desire — to race, to pour your spirit into this challenge — that I would move mountains to allow it?”

You nod numbly, still half-convinced you are dreaming even as the heavy scent of racing fuel and hot metal seems to fill your senses. Your eyes trace hungrily over every aerodynamic seam and vent carved into the car’s bodywork.

“So much has changed in the years since that day,” your father continues, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “The world shifts in ways we can never foresee, carrying us all along in its currents whether we resist or not.”

You tear your gaze away from the car to glance up at him questioningly. His expression has turned peculiarly intense, the solemnity in his face aging him beyond his years.

“But there is one force more powerful than any empire or nation, habibti. More resolute than any passing storms that batter our traditions.” He leans in close, searching your eyes as if to impart something profoundly meaningful. “And that is the immortal strength of a father’s love for his child.”

The simplicity of the statement, the effortless way it encapsulates every indulgence and surprise of your young life, steals what little breath remains in your lungs. You simply gape at him, scarcely daring to blink as he cups your face in his calloused palms.

“So no, my daughter,” he murmurs, holding your gaze firmly with his own. “I will not deny you this. Your desires and dreams are my own. If you wish to race, if you burn to chase this path … you will do so with my eternal pride and blessing at your back.”

You feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his vow. At fifteen you are still young enough for his words to anoint you with purpose and conviction. Your destiny feels as immovable as the highest dunes in that moment, your path clearly illuminated by his will alone.

As if to echo his promise, your father nods over your shoulder towards the gathered crowd. You glance back to find your extended family arrayed in a loose semicircle, hushed and watchful as if awaiting some pronouncement. Among their numbers, you recognize several prominent local racers and federation officials who have clearly been summoned here as witnesses.

“Which is why ...” your father continues, raising his voice to carry across the courtyard. “I have already taken the liberty of entering you in next year’s inaugural Formula 4 UAE Championship.”

A ripple of gasps and muttering races through the crowd at his words. You can see disapproving glances exchanged between the elders and officials, expressions ranging from skeptical to outright incredulous.

But your eyes only widen further, mouth falling open in shock as the implications of what your father has decreed wash over you. He said the words so casually, as if securing your entry to the first-ever national Formula 4 series was as simple as booking a dinner reservation.

“The … the F4?” You manage to croak out, still utterly blindsided by the revelation. “You mean … I’ll be racing in single seaters?”

A fresh murmur of disbelief rises from the crowd at your stunned reaction. Out of the corner of your eye, you see several uncles shaking their heads in disbelief, while your aunts look politely appalled. Even your stone-faced bodyguards shift uncomfortably at your father’s flagrant disregard for propriety.

But the Sheikh only frowns at them all, appearing affronted that they would dare doubt his word. When he speaks again, his tone brooks no argument — this is a decree from the ruler of the nation himself, not a mere family disagreement.

“For too long, many have clung to outdated traditions that would see my daughter’s ambitions rendered invisible,” he declares, seeming to grow in stature as he takes in their skeptical faces one by one. “We have chosen to view her gender as an obstacle to overcome, rather than a divine gift to be nurtured!”

You watch, stunned and a little afraid, as your father’s impassioned words seem to pull the disapproving gazes towards him like a lit torch drawing moths to the flame. You have never seen your normally reserved father so heated, so emboldened to make this public defense of your dreams.

“Which is why I say enough!” He sweeps one hand through the air, brushing aside generations of ingrained patriarchal norms like a tuft of desert sand. “My daughter burns with the spirit of a million wildfire hawks! And if you would deny her the right to chase her own destiny, you deny the winds that stir this very land itself!”

A hush falls over the assembled crowd, none daring to rebut the Sheikh’s sudden impassioned rhetoric. You can only gape at your father, utterly transfixed, drinking in his protective roar.

“From this day forward,” he declares, turning his fiery gaze back down to you. “My daughter will race for more than just herself. She will drive for every daughter in this family — in this nation — who has ever had her dreams dimmed simply for being born female. She carries the weight of a thousand ancestors’ ambitions on her back!”

His words seem to electrify the very air surrounding you. You can feel their power, their reckless conviction washing over you like a sandstorm flaying away all the self-doubt and uncertainty in its path.

When he gathers you into his embrace, you cling to him with everything you have. Tears stream openly down your cheeks, heedless of the audience bearing witness to this seismic shift in the ancient social order.

“You will race, habibti,” your father rumbles fiercely into your hair, squeezing you so tightly. “Not just because I wish it, but because it is your destiny written in the stars themselves. The path may be difficult, the challenges ahead more than you can fathom … but you will never walk it alone.”

You nod wordlessly against his chest, blinking back tears of overwhelming gratitude and purpose. In this moment, he does not merely feel like your indulgent father — he is the very sun burning away the last vestiges of doubt, ensuring your course is forever set towards glory.

When you finally pull back, your eyes shine with fresh determination and unflinching resolve. You turn to face the silent, gaping crowd with your chin raised defiantly, every bit the born warrior princes making her stand.

“I will race,” you declare, pitching your voice to carry to the furthest reaches of the courtyard. “And I will win.”

A shocked beat of silence hangs over the assembly. And then, incredibly, it is your dear brother Hassan who steps forward first, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Of course you will, you spoiled brat,” he proclaims with a snort of laughter. “Knowing our father, you’ll probably end up with one of Lewis Hamilton’s cars next.”

The tension shatters in a wave of startled chuckles from the onlookers. You shoot your brother a watery smile, silently thanking him for being the first to signal his acceptance of the path your father has set out for you.

As the rest of the gathered officials and elders slowly begin to nod and murmur in acknowledgment, you feel a profound sense of peace and conviction settle over your heart. You need no longer dream and wish and hope — everything has been set into glorious, undeniable motion.

When you turn back to the gleaming Ferrari sitting before you, it no longer seems like an impossible fantasy, but a key to a future burning brighter than the desert sun itself. You move towards it without hesitation, climbing up into the body-hugging carbon seat until you are cocooned within its sleek lines.

Wrapping your fingers around the sculpted steering wheel, you can practically feel its power and purpose thrumming through you like an electric current of pure adrenaline. This is where you belong — raw ambition harnessed within a technological marvel. You are a falcon poised for flight, wings outstretched to conquer the horizon, gender be damned.

You glance up through the curved windscreen to find your father watching you with naked pride shining in his eyes. He catches your gaze and offers a single, solemn nod of acknowledgment. His little princess, once an innocent dreamer … now preparing to become a pioneer for a new era.

You nod back, inhaling the rich scent of clinging burnt rubber and drinking in the intoxicating promise of everything to come.

You are chasing more than just some fanciful passion. You will prove to the world that no ambition is too lofty, no dream too bold, for you to conquer.

***

The sleek Aston Martin DBX glides silently through the entrance tunnel and into the team’s gleaming new headquarters in Silverstone. As the muscular crossover comes to a stop in the bright, airy courtyard, a familiar thrill of anticipation sparks to life in your chest.

This gleaming complex of glass, steel and green technology has become more than just the workplace of your racing heroes over the past year. With the news of Aston Martin’s sudden sponsorship woes, it has taken on a tantalizing new significance — the potential launching pad for your own Formula 1 dream.

You shoot your father an excited glance as the driver opens your door, but the Sheikh remains impassive behind his amber-tinted aviators. Now in his late 60s, Ahmed bin Zayed Al Nahyan has grown only more inscrutable and steely with age and power.

To the casual observer, he would appear utterly unruffled, preparing to stride into a meeting that could alter the course of the Formula 1 landscape. You, however, have spent a lifetime studying the nuanced ridge of his jawline, the reserved set of those broad shoulders, and can sense the focused intensity burning behind his courteous facade.

This is far more than just a meeting for the ruler of Abu Dhabi and chairman of International Holding Company, one of the largest conglomerates in not only the Emirates but the world. This is the potential culmination of a promise made to his only daughter nearly 15 years ago — a vow to move heaven and earth to ensure her dreams were realized.

You follow half a step behind your father and his retinue of advisors as they cross the courtyard, resisting the urge to gawk openly at the team motorhomes and formidable industrial build of the main factory. Despite spending your early years mired in the European junior formulae, this exalted world of Formula 1 still manages to set your heart pounding with equal parts reverence and ambition.

A sleek black sedan is idling in the VIP parking section, dispatched to collect the final party in your impending negotiation. As you slow your approach, the driver emerges and moves to hold open the rear door with an obsequious bow.

“Son of a bitch kept us waiting,” comes the droll observation from the tall, lanky figure emerging from the sedan’s depths.

Lawrence Stroll, Canadian billionaire, business magnate, and majority owner of the Aston Martin Formula 1 team, appraises your group through those same inscrutable tinted lenses favored by all men of profound power and means. At his side is the rather more bookish form of team principal Mike Krack, eyes already politely averted as he waits for the Sheikh’s lead.

You can’t resist a tiny, adrenaline-tinged thrill at the sight of them both. These are the men who hold the keys to the kingdom you’ve spent your life battering against — the exalted realm of Formula 1. You’ve spent countless nights watching their team’s racing green cars arc and pivot through Yas Marina’s turns, dreaming of the day you might join their ranks.

Now that tantalizing possibility hovers before you, dangled by the generous purse-strings of your family’s staggeringly deep pockets. For in the wake of Aramco’s high-profile defection as Aston Martin’s title sponsor, a Goliath-sized vacuum has opened — one which your father’s IHC conglomerate is uniquely positioned to fill.

For a price, of course.

“Ahmed,” Lawrence greets your father with a curt nod, making no effort to mask his impatience or indifference to decorum. “I’ll cut right to it — what’s your ask here? 25% share in the team? 35? Just name your number so we can get this whole-”

“Actually, Lawrence,” your father interrupts him, sliding off his sunglasses to reveal that piercing gaze that has cowed entire global cabinets into obedience. “I have no interest in an ownership stake. Not in this particular venture.”

The Canadian billionaire pulls up short, clearly thrown by the unexpected rebuff of his assumption. He glances towards his team principal, who can only offer a minute shrug, before turning back to your father with one arched brow.

“Well then … enlighten me,” he prompts with just a hint of renewed interest flickering in those beady eyes. “If not an ownership play, then what’s your angle here?”

Your heart leaps into your throat as your father responds, his words carefully measured but leaving no shred of ambiguity in their intent.

“My desires are rather more … specific. More personal.” Your father casts a meaningful glance in your direction. “As I’m sure you’ve both realized by now, I have a rather more vested interest in the world of Formula 1 beyond mere business or expense portfolios.”

He turns back to Lawrence and Mike, expression inscrutable once more.

“I want a seat for my daughter. On your team.”

The stunned silence that follows is perhaps the loudest absence of sound you’ve ever experienced. Even the distant whirr of machinery from the factory seems to grind to a halt as the two men process your father’s audacious declaration.

You watch them closely, studying their reactions with rapt fascination. With a single conversational grenade, your father has lobbed your ambitions squarely into their laps in a way that cannot be ignored or dismissed as idle fanciful musings. This is a directive from one of the wealthiest sovereign individuals on earth, stressed through the undeniable weight of his tone and body language.

For a few charged seconds, all you can hear is the thundering of your own pulse in your ears.

Then, surprisingly, it is Mike Krack who finds his voice first. The diminutive Luxembourger clears his throat, exchanging a poorly masked look of disbelief with the still dumbstruck Lawrence Stroll.

“With … all due respect, Your Highness,” he begins carefully, as if testing the tensile strength of rice paper with each word. “While I cannot challenge your ambitions for your daughter, a Formula 1 seat is simply not something that can be … appointed through sponsorship alone.”

He pauses again, seeming to hesitate under the level stare of your father. You realize his reaction stems not from any doubts about your abilities - the team principal doesn’t even know you from any other young hopeful dreaming of the F1 grid. His concern is far more fundamental, stemming from the very nature of your gender in this male-dominated world.

“There hasn’t been a female driver on the grid since the 90s and even that was short lived. For good reason — the physical and mental demands are … immense. No offense intended, but perhaps a personal sponsorship targeted towards the F1 Academy or something similar would be-”

“That won’t be necessary,” your father cuts him off with a curt wave of his hand. “My daughter’s credentials should speak for themselves, if you care to review them. She’s competed in — and won — both the Formula 3 and Formula 2 championships over the past four years. I assure you, she is more than prepared to handle the same mental and physical rigors as her male counterparts.”

Silence falls again as Krack and a visibly skeptical Lawrence clearly reassess their earlier assumptions. You feel their analytical gazes washing over you, weighing and measuring as if they can somehow gauge your skills and fortitude based on outward appearances alone.

When Lawrence speaks again, there is a newfound edge of pragmatism in his tone.

“Sure, that’s all well and good on the junior level,” he allows with a slight nod. “Won’t be the first time a hotshot comes up thinking they’re Senna reincarnated only to completely bottle it on the big stage. Happens all the damn time.”

He holds up one hand as your father’s brow furrows dangerously. “But say we do entertain this … suggestion of yours. That still leaves the rather prominent problem of having an open seat to slot her into. In case you haven’t heard, we already signed our team for next year. Only got two cars, last I checked.”

A thin, vindicated smile curves your father’s lips. For all his bluster, the Canadian team owner has just delivered the perfect entry point to reveal his true bargaining chip.

“About that,” the Sheikh murmurs, casting a sidelong glance towards Krack. “I have it on good authority that Aston Martin will, in fact, have a rather convenient vacancy opening up on their driver roster very soon.”

Mike Krack’s expression shutters instantly at the tung-in-cheek reference, no doubt recognizing the inside information that could only have come from one of his own drivers or personnel leaking like a sieve. His eyes slide momentarily toward Lawrence in wordless apology.

Your father doesn’t miss a beat, pressing his advantage with the casual confidence of a man who has spent a lifetime wielding power and influence as deftly as others use voice tonality.

“Fernando Alonso’s impending retirement may well be the worst kept secret in the paddock, no?” He arches one eloquent brow at the increasingly chagrined team principal. “A Delta Topco investor of mine happened to mention the championship-winning Spaniard has been snapping up quite an impressive Swiss real estate portfolio as of late ...”

The comment hangs engulfed in awkward silence as even Lawrence seems slightly taken aback by your father’s easy name-dropping of proprietary team intel. You realize with a start that this is a glimpse into the upper realms of global power and business dealing you’ve only ever witnessed from the outside — the effortless ability to command knowledge and find out even the most classified information with just a few strategically-placed calls or leanings of influence.

It’s Krack who finally capitulates first, clearing his throat again as he darts a helpless glance towards the team owner. “Clearly … this exit has been, ah, on the team’s radar for some time. We’ve been exploring our options, but-”

“But you haven’t had to make it official yet, yes yes of course,” your father interjects, waving off the rest of his explanation with an airy flick of his wrist. “Which brings us back to the matter at hand.”

He pins them both with a pointed look, any trace of ambiguity evaporating from the scorching intensity of his gaze.

“Gentlemen, I will get straight to the point — Aston Martin requires a new title sponsor to remain financially solvent and competitive on the Formula 1 grid. International Holding Company has the resources and reach to provide that sponsorship, effectively in perpetuity if need be.”

His mouth curves into the barest hint of a smile, though there is no warmth in the expression whatsoever. This is a businessman reveling in checkmate before the final stroke is even delivered.

“All I require in exchange is one of the seats that will be so … conveniently vacated.”

A heavy silence falls over the courtyard once more. You watch Lawrence and Mike exchange another loaded glance, wrestling with the realization that your father seems to hold all the leverage in this particular negotiation. The cool confidence radiating from the Sheikh suggests he is more than comfortable walking away from this deal if they prove … unreasonable.

Finally, Lawrence seems to decide upon the path of least resistance. The corners of the Canadian billionaire’s mouth tug downwards in displeasure, but he offers a curt nod of acceptance.

“You’re twisting one hell of a knife, I’ll give you that, Ahmed,” he mutters, clearly taking no joy in the literal quid pro quo being forced upon Aston Martin’s future solvency. “Okay, fine. We agree to your … terms, shall we say. One seat on the grid for the 2025 season in exchange for IHC’s sponsorship.”

Both men turn their assessing gazes towards you once again. There is no missing the skepticism and doubt burning behind their studied neutrality. They have clearly accepted your presence on the team as nothing more than a necessary evil to be endured in exchange for the monetary incentive.

There will be no welcoming embraces or admiring back-slaps from these two men hardened by decades in the cutthroat world of business and motorsport politics. You are a costly contractual obligation to them at this point, one they have no emotional investment in whatsoever.

There is only one way to change that. Only one path to earn their acknowledgement and respect.

You lock eyes with Stroll and then Krack in turn. When you finally find your voice, it comes out low and thrumming with absolute conviction.

“I will earn my place on that grid. And any doubts you may have now will be extinguished when I take that Aston across the finish line first.”

It’s a bold statement, perhaps even arrogant from an unproven rookie. But it has been woven into the very fabric of who you are over a decade and a half of sacrifice, discipline, and unwavering paternal support. You are a daughter forged from renewed sands by the sheer force of your father’s will into a warrior princess.

Doubt is no longer a luxury you can entertain, now that your dream looms so close at hand.

Your father casts you a faint, proud smile — the only outward sign he will permit of his profound approval and respect for the woman you have become. His eyes glitter with razor-sharp ambition.

“My daughter speaks true,” he declares, turning back to Lawrence and Krack with a challenging arch of his brow. “But of course … I expect you’ll both prefer to judge her for yourselves on the track.”

Lawrence’s perfunctory nod is perhaps a touch more intrigued now, a glimmer of renewed interest flickering behind those impassive eyes. For the first time, he seems to be assessing you as an actual person and athlete rather than some implausible imposition. A sliver of doubt appears to prick at the stony edge of his demeanor.

Mike Krack simply inclines his head in acquiescence, the perfect picture of professional decorum regardless of his personal misgivings. Smart money would place him as one of the individuals funneling inside information about Alonso’s moves to your father’s sources. He is clearly not about to push his luck any further by voicing unnecessary dissent or challenge.

“Very well then,” your father concludes with an air of finality, turning towards Lawrence with an expectant look. “Shall we go ahead and make this official?”

The billionaire businessmen meet in the center of the small gathering, squaring off like two prize fighters preparing for the bell. You watch with bated breath, heart thundering in your chest, as they size one another up for the final moments of the negotiation.

Then, in one smooth motion, they clasp hands and exchange a firm shake — sealing your life’s ambition into ironclad reality. A barely perceptible nod of understanding passes between them, an acknowledgment that despite all the complexities and nuances, there is now a deal on the table that benefits them all.

Your father has successfully leveraged every ounce of his wealth, power, and influence to deliver on his decade’s old promise to you. The seat, the sponsorship … everything has been set into motion.

The only thing left is for you to drive.

***

“Are they seriously going to make us do this?”

Lance Stroll’s voice carries a distinct whine as he hunches lower on the leather couch, pointedly avoiding eye contact with the small crew setting up lights and cameras around the Aston Martin hospitality unit. His lanky frame is dressed down in team-issued sweats, tousled hair lopped into that carefully cultivated ‘I woke up like this’ aesthetic he seems to spend hours perfecting.

You shoot your new teammate a sidelong glance, arching one sculpted brow at his apparent distress. Despite being the owner’s son and growing up immersed in the utmost privilege, Lance still seems to find novel ways to broadcast his discomfort with the fame and exposure that comes with being an F1 driver.

“What, you’ve never had to film some cringey sponsor vid or team propaganda before?” You tease him lightly, unable to resist needling him a bit. There’s a certain giddy thrill at realizing you now share an equal standing with Lance on this global stage — though you still frequently have to remind yourself of that fact.

Lance shifts again, slouching further into the plush cushions with a frown. You watch his finely-boned features scrunch up petulantly, and can’t quite resist rolling your eyes.

“I mean, yeah, of course I have,” he mumbles, suddenly finding great interest in inspecting his nails. “But those were always pre-scripted or completely faked, y’know? This just seems so ...”

“Menial? Frivolous?” You arch a taunting brow at him. “For the son of a billionaire businessman and an actual princess?”

He blinks, thrown briefly off-guard as you remind him of your own lofty status with a wry grin. It’s still a novel concept for him to process, you can tell — the idea of an Arab woman of royal lineage daring to enter the same playing field, to consider herself an equal.

Good. It will make savoring his skepticism all the more satisfying when you blow past him on the circuit.

“Just don’t get too used to all this, alright?” He rallies, regaining some of his trademark swagger as he jerks his chin towards the ever-growing gaggle of team personnel crowding the lounge area. “We’re still teammates and all, but on the track … well, may the best nepo baby win.”

You laugh at his attempt at posturing, gentling nudging his foot with your own in an uncharacteristically playful gesture. “Don’t worry, Lancelot, I’ll go easy on you,” you tease. “Baba always did say to respect one’s elders, after all.”

Lance’s indignant sputter of outrage at your jibe is mercifully cut off by the arrival of one of the producers, a slim woman in stylish athleisure attire adorned with Aston Martin’s iconic green cues. She claps her hands together with a bubbly smile.

“Hiya, names Chelsea, nice to meet you both!” She chirps in a distinctly American accent, utterly unbothered by the two pairs of eyes swiveling to size her up with varying levels of dulled enthusiasm.

“We’re going to keep things pretty simple for this one — just a quick, low-stakes game to help get you guys on camera and build some pre-season hype on the socials, yeah?” Chelsea continues brightly, gesturing for her crew to finish setting up the lighting and cameras.

“Ooo, a game?” You perk up instantly, intrigued. As a lifelong academic overachiever, any type of challenge or opportunity to demonstrate your brain muscle still manages to activate the synapses of childish glee. “I do love a bit of friendly competition ...”

“Not if it’s going to be anything too taxing, I hope,” Lance drawls with an exaggerated yawn. He mimes checking an invisible watch on his bare wrist. “Do we at least get snack breaks? This jet lag is a killer and I need to keep my strength up ...”

You can’t resist rolling your eyes again as Chelsea laughs politely, clearly recognizing his pampered shtick for what it is. She pauses to check her notes on a tablet before continuing.

“Well, good news for you then — your mental fortitude won’t be too strained today. We’re going to keep things pretty light. We’ll just have some common, everyday items for you two to identify and guess the purchase prices. Easy peasy! More variety show games than trigonometry.”

Chelsea grins, unaware of the subtle way the blood seems to drain from your teammate’s face. You blink once, digesting her words, before a bemused smile finds its way across your own lips.

“Wait … they’re actually going to ask us to identify grocery prices and things?” You shake your head in disbelief. “No, this has to just be a wind-up, right? Even in this economy, there’s no way the team can be serious about-”

“Unfortunately, we are painfully earnest on this one, kids,” Another voice pipes up, accompanied by the familiar cadence of an East London accent.

Jack, a senior member of the Aston team’s creative division, slouches against the doorway to the lounge with his customary smirk already in place. Clearly this was his brainchild — a casual hazing ritual for the team’s most privilege-addled members.

“See, the blokes upstairs figure since you two grew up way closer to hedge fund managers than grocery checkout queues … could be a bit of a laugh, yeah?” He jerks his chin towards you both with a conspiratorial wink. “Just a bit of fun for the fans, have a go at seein’ how the young rich kids guess costs of plebeian things like bananas and bread loaves. Been a hit with the other teams, gets good traction on social, all innocent fun and whatnot.”

“Told you it would be taxing ...” Lance grumbles under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as if staving off the first twinges of a migraine.

You, however, find yourself rather intrigued by Jack’s premise. It does seem a fairly innocuous way to let the fans peek behind the curtain at the lives of their favorite drivers, to which you and Lance represent the extreme ends of wealth disparity.

More than that, however, some tiny kernel of competitive ego has taken root in your chest, issuing a silent challenge. What better way to prove you are more well-rounded and less out-of-touch than the reputation that clearly precedes you both?

Let Lance play into the indolent, affluent caricature that paints all of F1’s rising stars in broad strokes. You, however, were raised under a rather different philosophy ...

“You know what, I think this sounds rather amusing,” you announce with a demure shrug of your shoulders, catching Lance’s incredulous stare head-on. “Should be … illuminating.”

From his spot by the door, Jack lets out a dry cackle of amusement. Chelsea, bless her, maintains her gracious professionalism despite sensing the rising undercurrents of upper-crust posturing between the two of you.

“Brilliant, that’s the spirit!” She cuts in brightly, clapping her hands together again. “Everyone just follow my lead, we’ll start off nice and easy ...”

Within a few minutes, the cameras are rolling, framing the two of you seated opposite one another on the couch. A small table sits between you, ready to display the variety of day-to-day items you’ll be asked to examine and appraise.

At Chelsea’s behest, a production assistant brings out a single, slightly bruised banana and places it on the table with an audible thunk. You instantly feel Lance’s gaze swivel in your direction, doubtlessly already anticipating whatever absurd denomination you’re about to slap on the unremarkable piece of fruit.

“Alright, then we’re live starting in 3 … 2 ...” Chelsea narrates before cueing the two of you with a brilliant smile and a wink. “Welcome back everyone, today we’ve got Lance and our newest driver Y/N here to play a little guessing game for us!”

She gestures grandly towards the table, injecting her effervescent delivery with just the right mix of playful condescension.

“First item up — something anyone can find at their local shops or markets. A nice, appealing banana. Question is … what would our two racers be willing to pay for such a humble thing? Off the lot, so to speak. Y/N, love? What do you reckon this banana would cost?”

You swallow back the first, instinctive answer that comes to mind — that it likely doesn’t cost anything, seeing as fresh produce is always plucked from your family’s private orchards and greenhouses at a moment’s notice. Instead, you force yourself to consider the question from the perspective of a supposed commoner, out doing their weekly shopping.

“Well ...” You begin slowly, chin cradled in one hand as you lean forward to examine the fruit. “I suppose bananas don’t seem terribly expensive, do they? Just a bit of potassium and carbs, good for starting the day strong and beating any energy troughs during exercise ...”

Chelsea nods encouragingly, hanging on your every word in that canned, just-over-dramatized manner of most TV personalities. Across from you, Lance is already pinching his nose again, eyes squeezed shut as if preparing himself for the inevitable bomb you’re about to drop.

With a decisive nod, you fix your eyes directly on the camera and proclaim, “Ten euros for a single banana seems perfectly reasonable in this economic climate, no?”

The silence that falls over the lounge is damn near deafening. You watch Chelsea’s overly-rehearsed presenter mask slip for just a moment, features contorting into naked shock. Even Jack the producer lapses into a rare moment of speechlessness, mouth hanging open in slack-jawed disbelief.

At your side, Lance finally breaks, collapsing forward as his frame is wracked with deep, abdominal convulsions of laughter.

“Sweet merciful …" He finally manages to gasp out between ragged gasps. Long, spindly fingers clutch at his stomach as tears of mirth stream down his reddened cheeks. “Ten … fucking … euros! For a banana?”

Any residual thoughts you may have had about defying expectations and proving your economic awareness swiftly crumble to dust amidst the howls of laughter. You gape at your teammate, feeling your cheeks flaming with a mix of confusion and growing embarrassment as the reality of your inflated estimate crashes over you.

“Well … it’s … it’s not THAT outrageous, is it?” You sputter in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation. “I’d just assumed, with the import tariffs and global agricultural strife we’ve seen as of late-”

“Stop, stop! Just … stop ...” Lance wheezes, waving his hands in surrender before you can dig the hole any deeper. “I can’t … I actually can’t breathe right now.”

“For the record, love,” Jack pipes up from his doorway perch. “Stores don’t even charge ten euros for a bunch of bananas, let alone one lousy nanner.”

The production assistant responsible for presenting the fruit chimes in with a faint “20 pence, last I checked,” sending Lance into another spiral of unbridled cackles.

Just like that, any delusion of cultured cosmopolitan grace you may have carried has been utterly incinerated. You are as transparently affluent as the rest of them assumed, your upbringing and lifestyle so sequestered from normalcy that even the simple prices of supermarket produce have become alien concepts.

And the realization that you are still young, still so new to this entire experience, hits you with sobering impact. For so long, you had believed your decade and a half of single-minded pursuit had prepared you for seamlessly joining the elite ranks of your new career.

But one ill-fated guess at a banana’s cost was all it took to remind you that, in many ways, the learning curve you face goes far beyond simply whipping a turbo-hybrid around a few iconic circuits.

As Chelsea scrambles to regain control of the taping and cycle in a new item, Lance leans over with the last dregs of laughter still shuddering his lean frame.

“You’re totally gonna get us roasted online for this, you know?” He murmurs, lips quirked in that devilish smirk you’re already becoming accustomed to. “Maybe we should schedule a field trip to, y’know … go grocery shopping or something? Little crash course before the damage gets too widespread?”

Despite his smarmy delivery, you recognize the extended olive branch for what it is — an acknowledgment that you’re both very much still kids stumbling into a world of intense scrutiny and maturity. A reminder that you’re on the same team, for better or worse.

So you shoot him a wry grin in return, squaring your shoulders as Chelsea presents the next mundane item with a theatrical flourish.

“Oh, I have a feeling the roasting you speak of has only just begun, Lancelot,” you proclaim with an arch of one challenging brow. “But if prices shock me so thoroughly … what’s your excuse going to be?”

His widening smirk is all the response you require. Teammates or not, this is still a competition on and off the track.

An education, regardless of how humbling, is about to be had.

***

The media center in Melbourne’s Albert Park is a churning sea of humanity when you arrive. Journalists from every corner of the globe jostle for position, clutching voice recorders and branded lanyards as they await the start of the season’s first official press conference.

Despite the pandemonium, an anticipatory hush falls over the assembled scribes when you are led to the makeshift stage alongside Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen, George Russell, and Oscar Piastri. The five of you settle into the leather chairs arrayed in a semicircle, blinking furiously under the brilliant TV lights as you ready yourselves for the onslaught of questions.

Your heart pounds in your ears, palms suddenly slick with nervous perspiration as you fight to maintain an aura of calm composure. Though you’ve been groomed practically since birth to carry yourself with regal poise, this is an entirely new arena you find yourself in. One where pedigreed lineage and family legacy afford no protection or leg up.

This is the world where you will either rise or fall based purely on your own deeds behind the wheel and words under fire. No longer will a dismissive wave of your father’s hand send underlings scattering — here, you will have to forge your own path, earn every scrap of credibility and respect.

The thought is at once thrilling and utterly terrifying.

You do your best to focus as the opening preambles and formalities commence, nodding politely when your name is announced along with your Aston Martin team affiliation. A small, fiercely proud smile tugs at your lips as the FIA moderator rattles off your accomplishments in the junior formulae.

Multiple feeder series championships across Europe and Asia, becoming the first Arab woman to compete in the FIA single-seater ladder. A true pioneer transcending societal norms and expectations.

This is your chance to let that very accomplishment shine on its own merits. An opportunity to prove you belong here through your own grit and talent, free from the protective umbrella provided by your family name and wealth.

The first question, mercifully, comes from a fellow Emirati news outlet. The young man politely identifies himself and his publication before addressing you.

“Your Highness, as the first woman from our part of the world to ascend to this level of motorsport, what does this achievement mean for you? How important is it to serve as an inspiration for other young Arab women and girls with big dreams?”

You exhale slowly, offering the man a grateful smile at the respectful phrasing. This is the type of insightful perspective you’d been hoping to discuss — the gravity of overcoming generations of patriarchal norms, the significance of inspiring an entire culture to see women as strong and capable.

“Well, it is an immense honor and privilege to hopefully be paving the way for other young women, both in my region and all around the globe,” you begin, falling easily into the poised cadence you’ve honed since childhood.

“This was a dream I was fortunate enough to have the support system to chase from a very young age, despite the conventions of my culture. I know there are countless other girls out there with the same fire, the same ambitions, who have been discouraged or dismissed simply for being born female. If my example can shine a light on a new way forward, can help uplift even one other person to take up the mantle and fight for their passions … then every obstacle I faced along the way will have been worth it.”

A smattering of polite applause ripples across the room and you incline your head graciously, relieved to have navigated one of these public inquisitions so smoothly on the first go. Perhaps this won’t prove as daunting as you feared, after all.

The next few questions are mercifully innocuous as well — standard inquiries about dealing with the pressures of F1, relationships with teammates and engineers, your personal driving style and technical strengths. Child’s play for someone with your extensively cultivated presence before the media cameras.

You are settling into a contented, borderline cocky rhythm when the tone of the press conference takes an abrupt turn.

“Your Highness,” a gravelly voice suddenly rings out, immediately catching your attention as one of the gruffer correspondents gestures for the mic with poorly disguised impatience. He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably as every head swivels in his direction. “Given your … background, and the societal norms you’ve admittedly had to overcome, does it give you any pause that women’s bodies may simply not be able to handle the extraordinary G-forces and physicality required to pilot one of these beasts around a track for hours at a time?”

The silence that falls across the media room is positively deafening. You can sense the other drivers beside you tensing, no doubt steeling themselves for the oncoming wreckage they can see barreling down the line.

For your part, you simply blink once, twice — allowing the weight of the man’s insinuation to fully descend like an iron shroud and smother you from every side. Any joviality or adrenaline from the earlier back-and-forth evaporates in a searing wave of incredulous rage.

Before you can so much as draw breath to respond, however, the reporter has already pressed on with the ruthless zeal of a jackal going for the kill.

“Furthermore, with all the perceived advantages provided to you by your … esteemed heritage ...” He sneers the words with no small hint of derision. “How can we be certain you aren’t simply some vanity pet project for your father to amuse himself with? That this isn’t merely an attempt by Emirati royalty to assert itself in yet another arena in a flamboyant display of ego and excess?”

Dead silence. Not even the sound of a pen scratching or camera shutter cutting across the vacuum of noise as the entire room seems to be holding its collective breath.

You can feel your heart pounding once more, though this time it thunders in furious sync with the scorching rapids of your own rising temper. How dare this absolute jackass reduce your life’s work and sacrifice to some sexist, patronizing narrative about Daddy writing checks?

“How dare you ...” you begin in a low, menacing tone — only to be smoothly interrupted by the one voice you’d never expect.

“Oh, on the contrary,” Charles Leclerc speaks up from your right, smooth and controlled until now. “How can any of us be so fortunate?”

Every head pivots to regard the Ferrari driver, astounded by his interjection on your behalf. Up until now, Leclerc has maintained his signature cool, borderline impassive demeanor during interviews and pressers.

But now the Monegasque racer leans forward, forearms resting on the table as he fixes the hapless reporter with a look of genuine, cutting disdain.

“Here we have the first woman to race in F1 in decades, shattering years of patriarchal norms to achieve her lifelong ambition on the single most demanding stage of our sport,” he continues in a deliberate, measured tone. “And your very first instinct is to make tired, sexist implications about the frailty of her gender and body? And then to have the audacity to insult her even further by suggesting she couldn’t possibly be here on her own merits?”

Leclerc pauses, allowing his stinging rebuke to hang in the air. You glance around to see the matching expressions of discomfort and secondhand embarrassment painted on the features of your fellow drivers.

“For someone meant to be among the world’s most informed observers of our sport, your remarks are about as offensively misguided and stunted as I could possibly imagine,” Charles finishes with an unmistakable air of finality, folding his arms across his chest. He looks utterly disgusted, but there is an undercurrent of protective ice in his voice that raises the tiny hairs on your arms.

Before the flailing reporter can attempt to concoct some garbled justification for his outrageously inappropriate line of questioning, another voice pipes up — this one bearing the bright, airy lilt of an American accent.

“So, Y/N,” the younger woman interjects, clearly hoping to spare you all any further ugliness, “To pivot away from all that noise for a second … what was your initial reaction when it was announced you had secured the Aston seat? Did you do, like a big celebration or anything?”

You blink a few times, as if rebooting from Leclerc’s unexpected defense. When your mind finally reconnects, you offer the American reporter a grateful smile and a pointed glance towards Charles before speaking.

“You know, we didn’t go too over-the-top or anything,” you reply, welcoming the chance to shift to a fresh topic and get this presser back on track. “I’ll save that for the podium come race day.”

A smattering of relieved laughter ripples through the room, the tension level lowering incrementally as the debacle proceeds. You catch Charles’ subtle nod of acknowledgment across the table, his jaw marginally less taut now that the conversation has regained its footing.

From there, the presser proceeds relatively smoothly — more questions about favorite circuits and tactical approaches for the season, obligatory banter about inter-team rivalries and the usual window dressing. All through it, you feel a profound sense of gratitude for Leclerc’s willingness to essentially co-sign on your abilities and condemn the subversive misogyny lurking in that reporter’s pointed questions.

By the time the closing remarks and thank yous commence, you’ve already made up your mind to seek Charles out on your own to voice your appreciation and admiration.

You are among the first to rise and exit the media bullpen, practically speed-walking around the side of the building in hopes of catching Leclerc before he can retreat into Ferrari’s impenetrable bubble of flunkies and handlers.

“Charles! Hey, Charles — wait up a sec!”

The lean figure pauses and turns as you trot up, tilting his head inquisitively as you draw up short just in front of him.

“Sorry, hope you don’t mind me ambushing you like this,” you begin, barely suppressing the warm flush already creeping into your cheeks under his focused attention. “I just wanted to say … thank you for that. In there, I mean. What you said — how you handled that asshole’s ignorance before I could even begin responding.”

Charles’ expression flits momentarily through surprise before settling into its customary affable warmth. “Oh, that? Don’t mention it, Y/N. God knows we’ve all had to deal with our fair share of insufferable pricks on the media circuit at one point or another.”

He shrugs, as if his public solidarity with a fellow competitor were the most trivial, obvious hill to plant himself on. You feel a sudden swell of respect and admiration for the Ferrari star rise within you.

“Besides,” he continues with a casual, “How could I not defend the up-and-coming driver who gets to experience insane misogyny and ridiculous societal restraints while also knowing what it’s like to eat gold flake sundaes daily?” He shoots you a playful wink, dimples creasing his cheeks. “The duality of a princess is a heavy burden indeed ...”

You let out a peal of laughter, genuinely caught off-guard by the cheeky charm behind the dig at your privileged lineage. Far from offense, you find his irreverent humor utterly refreshing in the face of excessive nobility.

“It is a tragic affliction, I must admit,” you retort, placing one hand over your heart in mock solemnity. “But one I shall bear with dignity and poise. For my people.”

Your laughter fades into a more pensive expression, honeyed eyes finding his in an unspoken exchange of sincere emotions.

“But truly, Charles, thank you. I meant what I said in there — about wanting to inspire other women to fight for their dreams. To have someone like you leap to defend those ambitions right out of the gate … it means more than you can possibly know.”

He regards you with a speculative sort of new interest for a stretched moment before nodding slowly.

“I meant what I said too, Y/N,” he replies, utterly sincere. “If having to dress down a few assholes in public is what it takes to further that inspiration … well, that’s a pretty easy charge for me to take up.”

A fresh surge of resolve and determination irons out your features into that same unmovable resolve you inherited from your father. In that instant, you see the man Charles will hopefully become — a true legend and respected custodian of the sport, unwavering in his principles.

“Regardless, I’d love to find some way to properly thank you once we get back to Monaco,” you venture, wondering how far you can stretch this newfound rapport with the Ferrari star. “Maybe I could take you out for dinner or something next week? My treat, obviously.”

A faint flicker of surprise ghosts across Charles’ expression before that patented dimpled half-smile returns.

“Monaco? Oh, I’d love to, but I’m actually not sure if-”

He trails off, shaking his head in a rueful sort of resignation.

“Ah, merde — what I mean is that I just got word this morning that my flight back has been canceled due to some raised travel advisory or other. Classic airline nonsense.”

Your brows wing upwards as your sharp mind cycles immediately to the obvious solution.

“Well, in that case, why don’t you just come back on my plane?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can properly consider the context of your own casual statement. Leclerc blinks — Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he processes your incredibly nonchalant reference to having your own personal aircraft.

“... your plane?” He echoes, a new glint entering his stare as he studies you with fresh gravity.

You wave one hand in a dismissive little flourish, your practiced regal upbringing suddenly very apparent in the effortless hauteur radiating from you.

“Well of course, Charles — you didn’t think I flew commercial, did you?” Your nose wrinkles in feigned distaste as you grin up at him. “No, no — my family maintains a full fleet. I’m scheduled to return to Monaco via the 747 after the weekend wraps.”

Now it is the Ferrari star’s turn to look utterly gobsmacked, any veneer of media-trained poise utterly dissolving at your casual reference to owning a jumbo jet as if it were something as trivial as a sedan or motorcycle. His eyes bore into you with sudden intensity, as if seeing you in an entirely new light.

You can practically see the mental math exploding across his expression — the private security details, the designer casualwear on your lithe frame, the stunning and no doubt priceless jewelry glittering at your throat and wrists. All the tell-tale signs of absurd, eighth-continent-money levels of wealth.

And here you are, acting as if maintaining your own plane is just another given amenity ...

“Wait ...” he begins slowly, still processing the full scope of what you’ve so dismissively unveiled. “You’re telling me you have an actual, like … a 747 just sitting around that you use to fly wherever the hell you want?”

You blink owlishly up at him, momentarily bewildered by the sheer shock on his face. Surely the finer nuances of just how rich your family is couldn’t have escaped him completely up to now, could it?

So you simply shrug, offering him a playful smirk in a bid to diffuse any perceived arrogance or condescension on your part.

“More or less, yes,” you confirm breezily, pointedly ignoring his incredulity. “So what say you, Monsieur Leclerc? Shall we share a ride back to the riviera? I promise the in-flight movies are decent, at least.”

For a long moment, Charles can only stare at you, astounded at the bottomless depths of absurdity that is your birthright and lineage. Just when you think he may have simply short-circuited into a vegetative state, however, his mouth abruptly curves upwards into a devilish grin of epiphany.

“You know what?” He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelieving amusement. “In that case, you’re on. A nice flight back to Monaco sounds … perfect for a little post-race pick-me-up.”

You can’t help but smirk triumphantly as Charles extends one hand, which you accept in a firm shake.

Some rigid societal expectations among the royalty and aristocracy may be slow to evolve, but others? They’ve prepared you for the political game that is Formula 1.

***

The late afternoon sunlight slants through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your Monaco apartment, casting warm geometric patterns across the plush marble tile. You lie draped over one of the oversized couches, aimlessly scrolling on your phone in a rare moment of quiet downtime.

Or rather, you’re hanging completely upside down on the couch, bare feet kicked up over the back cushions as you flick through a few inane social media feeds. The blood is just starting to rush towards your head in an oddly calming wash when the soft snick of the entryway lock disengaging catches your attention.

“Mon amour?” Charles’ familiar, lightly-accented voice rings out from the foyer. “You home?”

“In here!” You call back, not bothering to right yourself as your boyfriend’s lean silhouette appears in the archway, shrugging out of his leather jacket.

He spots your inverted form sprawled across the sitting area and shakes his head with a bemused chuckle, all tousled chestnut curls and devilish dimples.

“Must you always hang about like an overgrown cat?” He chides playfully, moving to settle onto the adjacent sofa. Even after nearly five months of dating, Charles still seems perpetually amused by your tendency to shirk regal posture and poise whenever afforded the opportunity. “Is gravity simply too much effort for royalty these days … "

“Your mockery wounds my very soul, kind sir,” you drone in a monotone false-lament, never breaking eye contact with the Ferrari star as your arms dangle limply towards the floor. “Should I have the servants fetch you a fainting couch to make up for my uncouth posture?”

Charles snorts, watching you with undisguised affection as he stretches out on the other sofa. “And they say chivalry is dead ...”

One callused hand comes up to gently brush an errant lock of hair away from your face, fingers trailing across your cheek in a simple caress. After so many months of sneaking heated looks across press conference panels and fielding ruthless speculation over your rumored involvement, moments like this still spark a bewildered sort of giddy thrill within you.

Here is Il Predestinato himself, someone blessed with every imaginable advantage — talent, wealth, fame, charisma. Yet it is you, the comparative newcomer raised worlds away, who seems to hold his singular focus even in the quiet stillness.

“Is this some new fitness fad the rest of us ignorant plebeians should be made aware of?” Charles inquires after a pregnant pause, arching one brow at your upended state.

He knows you too well by now, you muse — knows how prone you are to defying expectation or traditional high society conventions whenever the mood strikes. So rather than offer any excuse or justification, you simply shrug airily.

“Just experimenting with different … perspectives for the time being,” you retort, sticking your tongue out at him and reveling in the simple, teasing intimacy of the moment. “The world tends to look rather different when you turn everything on its head.”

“Isn’t that the truth ...” Charles hums, shifting ever-so-slightly closer before changing tacts. “Well, on that note … I’ve found myself with a rather unique perspective to share this evening.”

Your interest is instantly piqued, head lolling to one side as you regard the Ferrari star with renewed focus. One hand leaves its resting place on your abdomen, fingers wiggling inquisitively.

“Oh? Do tell, Monsieur Leclerc ...”

Charles chuckles again, low and genuine, before his emerald gaze turns pointedly opaque. Even now, after sharing countless impromptu evenings watching mind melting reality television and indulgent private vacations, he still retains the ability to utterly captivate your attention.

“Well, this particular news is rather more ...” He pauses for dramatic effect, pursing those perpetually kiss-plumped lips as if savoring the impending reveal. "... interesting.”

You exhale a petulant little huff, fighting the urge to stick your foot in his face or throw one of the decorative cushions at him.

“Charles, if this is meant to build suspense over you finally buying that fancy vacuum you won’t shut up about, I swear by the — mmph!”

Your playful griping is cut off as Charles suddenly lunges across the short distance separating your couches, capturing your lips in a fierce, silencing kiss. You squirm slightly at the abrupt shift in dynamics, the world seeming to spin and right itself as muscular forearms slide beneath you to gather you up into his lap.

By the time he finally pulls back, leaving you both breathless and slightly disheveled, you find yourself settled firmly in Charles’ sturdy embrace. Two sets of lidded eyes glaze over one another, reveling in the familiar intoxicating rush of chemistry.

“Easy there, mon ange,” he murmurs once you’ve both caught your respective breaths, one palm smoothing up and down your spine in an idle caress. “I promise this is a rather more agreeable surprise than debating vacuums.”

You watch, bemused, as his free hand dips into the inner pocket of his hoodie, withdrawing a familiar red envelope sealed with the unmistakable prancing horse emblem of Ferrari. Your heart rate instantly kicks up another notch at the mere sight of it, that infernal curiosity burning hotter than ever.

“The team initially planned to hand this off through proper channels,” Charles continues, expression inscrutable as he toys with the envelope, thumb tracing its embossed crest. “But given the … personal opportunity it presented, I thought it only appropriate to circumvent protocol this once.”

With that, he extends the envelope towards you, a silent offer for you to take up whatever life-altering missive lies within. You swallow hard against the sudden lump of anticipation welling in your throat, looking from the envelope, to Charles, and back again.

“What … what is this?” You croak, hating how fragile and uncertain your voice sounds.

Charles’ smile is soft as warm brandy, suffused with unguarded affection and pride. A pride not for himself, but for the very caliber of opportunity before you.

“For you,” he murmurs simply. “For your boundless determination to achieve in the face of adversity. This is the ultimate reward for outrunning not just your competitors, but the very expectations of an entire sport.”

The breath leaves your body in a dizzying rush as sudden realization crystallizes in your mind. How many nights have the two of you stayed up into the wee hours, idly discussing dream teams and potential openings across the grid? Debating which partnerships could provide the optimal platform for success?

This envelope bears no stamp or mailing address. But its rich, unmistakable crimson design and gleaming logo render such mundane addressing unnecessary. There is only one organization with the status to deliver their most sensitive communications in such an iconic manner.

With trembling hands, you accept the envelope, taking care not to smudge or crinkle its embossed insignia as you turn it over. Slowly, reverentially, you peel open the wax seal and slide out the sheaf of papers tucked within, eyes hungrily scanning the blocky sans-serif text:

SUBJECT: Ferrari Driver Offer, 2026 Season

Your breath catches in your throat, the words seeming to blur in a shimmering haze as hot tears instantly prick the corners of your eyes.

This isn’t merely a summons from Scuderia Ferrari. This isn’t a polite inquiry or negotiation tactic meant to bolster future value or status.

This is a formal contract, stamped with all the hallmarks of managerial approval ...

An invitation to join the most legendary name in all of motorsport as one of its drivers.

You shake your head in stunned disbelief, hardly daring to blink as your scrutinize every word, every assurance and term of agreement laid out in stark black ink.

It’s there, immaculate and absolute — a seat beside Charles for the 2026 season, to be finalized pending your confirmation and the exit of one former world champion.

Lewis Hamilton’s retirement.

The news had broken last month over the Ferrari driver’s surprise announcement that he would be exiting Formula 1 at the conclusion of the 2025 calendar year. Just one championship shy of his stated goal of eclipsing Michael Schumacher’s record for most drivers’ titles, the British superstar shocked the sporting world by revealing he was finally ready to step away from the cockpit and move on to other endeavors.

Speculation had run rampant, of course, over who within the sport’s glittering ranks of young up-and-comers had the talent and mettle to fill such an impossible void. You’d jokingly thrown about a host of names whenever the discussion arose with Charles, more content to fantasize and daydream rather than entertain any serious expectations.

Yet here it lies in your hands, in unblemished print. Proof that you’ve smashed through yet another carbon fiber-coated glass ceiling specifically by shattering every limitation placed upon your ambitions.

You glance up to find Charles gauging your reaction with a tender intensity akin to a besotted schoolboy, as if readying himself to sweep you off your feet all over again should you swoon from the news. Suddenly his every gesture from the moment he walked through your front door this evening makes perfect sense — the dramatics, the playful banter, and maddening evasiveness.

This was his way of showing you he’d listened, absorbed every idle comment or perceived slight you’d ever murmured over the proving grounds of your respective talents. That he saw and cherished every spark of hunger in your honeyed gaze, evident in your determination to continue defying odds not only as a woman — but as a pioneer hoping to be immortalized within motorsport.

The tears spill over at last, streaking unchecked down your cheeks as a tremulous laugh bubbles up unbidden from your chest. You lift one hand to shakily wipe at the dampness, willing yourself not to become an incoherent, hiccuping mess on the precipice of such a monumental achievement.

“I … I don’t even...” You begin, shaking your head slowly. For once, the woman raised to carry herself with poise and dignity in any station finds herself utterly bereft of words.

Charles merely watches and waits, soft sleeve brushing away the fresh tears tracking across your cheeks before cradling your jaw in one warm palm. Those mesmerizing eyes bore into yours with aching sincerity, seeing straight through you down to the deliriously euphoric riot of emotions swirling in your chest.

“Ferrari recognizes your spirit, your passion for this life, because it is the same fire that has forever stoked the heart of the Scuderia,” he murmurs, thumb smoothing an idle arc over the plump swell of your lower lip.

“They chose you not because you are a symbol — a pretty flag for them to rally under and wave as some achievement in name only. They see you as the next tireless warrior to pour their full belief into achieving victory.” A soft, affectionate breath of laughter escapes him, warm and adoring. “Which I know for a fact is the only ambition you’ve ever given a single damn about.”

You release a watery giggle at that, nodding in fervent agreement as you reach up to cradle the back of his neck, anchoring yourself in the tender solidity of his touch. Weeks and months of dogged speculation over prospects and vacancies, endlessly weighing the potential upshots and pitfalls of every career trajectory before you ...

… and here it waits, bold and singular as the sun itself — your chance to immortalize yourself among the hallowed ranks of Formula 1 royalty.

“You were made for this, mon cœur,” Charles continues, fingers trailing down the side of your neck in a gentle graze. “Your spirit, your sheer determination to shatter every obstacle placed in your way — Ferrari sees that fire blazing in you. It’s why they want you.”

He leans in, resting his forehead against your own as his lips curve into a devastatingly handsome smile, dimples peeking through.

“And not because of any family name or billions or royal pedigree you carry … but precisely because of how hard you’ve fought to strip all that away on the track. To make your own name and legacy that matters.”

The words strike you like the sweetest, most poignant arrow straight through your heart. And isn’t that what you’ve craved since the earliest dawning flickers of your obsession with this beautiful, brutal sport — recognition and triumph earned purely on your own merits?

You are no longer a Sheikha first, racing driver second. You are Y/N Y/L/N, Scuderia Ferrari driver in the making.

Before you can even find the words to respond — and what words could ever suffice at a moment like this — you are surging forward to capture Charles’ plush mouth with your own. The contract flutters forgotten to the floor as you pour every ounce of exhilarated gratitude and ardor into the fevered kiss, hands mapping the broad sloping planes of his shoulders and back with trembling urgency.

Charles responds in kind, all velvet heat and insistent possession as his arms sweep you impossibly closer, fingers tangling in the loose curtain of your hair. You allow yourself to succumb fully to the dizzying euphoria of his passion and the all-encompassing ambition now flowering in your breast unfurled, crashing over you in intoxicating waves.

This is no mere contract, no insignificant changing of pitlane scenery. This is the definitive moment where you have eclipsed every last shadow of self-doubt and exceeded even the lofty expectations bequeathed to you since girlhood.

You will become a legend.

Only when the need for air finally parts you does the fervent heat of the moment ebb enough for rational thought to pierce the moonlit haze of emotion. Your lips are swollen and tingling, senses heightened to every whisper and shift of muscle under Charles’ shirt as his chest expands in deep, measured breaths.

When you finally find the strength to lift your gaze and meet his hooded stare, he is the one rendered momentarily speechless by the intensity and elation blazing in your expression. Something he sees reflected back at him now from the woman nestled so securely in his arms.

“Oh, mon amour ...” Charles rasps at last, a sinfully indulgent smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. He shakes his head as if beholding some ascending deity, utterly transfixed.

“This is only the beginning ...”

***

The camera flashes turn the plush Ferrari hospitality suite into a makeshift photo studio. You try not to blink as the bright lights sparkle off the deep red lipstick you’re wearing.

“Okay, bellissima, one more,” the photographer calls out. You tilt your head slightly and smile wide. Charles squeezes your hand. The shutter clicks.

“Perfetto! I think we got it,” the photographer says, lowering his camera with a grin. “Grazie mille, you two.”

“Thank you,” you reply in your lightly accented English. Charles plants a kiss on your cheek, leaving the faintest imprint of his lips in lightly tinted lip balm on your skin. The makeup artist rushes over to touch it up before the next part of the shoot.

This is your first joint promotional event as Ferrari’s new driver pairing for 2026. Well, sort of new — Charles is a proven superstar entering his seventh season with the team. You, on the other hand, are the fresh face and the source of international intrigue.

“Next up, we’re filming a little Q&A section,” the producer explains, adjusting his headset. “Just a fun, casual way for the fans to get to know you both better before the season starts.”

You and Charles take your seats, situating yourselves comfortably on the curved scarlet sofa. An array of cameras surrounds you on robotic arms, remotely controlled to capture every angle.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the producer calls out from behind the lights. An energetic young woman with a microphone appears on camera, greeting you both enthusiastically.

“Bonjour Charles, Salaam Y/N! So great to have Ferrari’s exciting new line-up with us today. Let’s get to know you guys a little better — there are notecards with rapid-fire questions right here and you just banter away, okay?”

Charles leans forward, grabbing a stack of notecards from the table beside him. “Here’s an easy one to start — who is the most famous person in your contacts?”

“Mine is Seb, of course! Sebastian Vettel. Used to be my teammate, now he’s basically a world-famous hermit.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh come on, you can do better than that.”

“Your turn then, Your Highness,” Charles counters with a teasing lilt. “Who’s the biggest celebrity in that royal contacts list of yours?”

You tap a manicured fingernail against your plump lips, pretending to ponder the question. In truth, you know exactly who it is, and Charles is going to be stunned. A sly grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Does my father count?”

Charles barks out a laugh. “I don’t think so, Y/N. Pick someone a bit more … interesting.”

“Oh? You want interesting?” You tease, unable to resist dragging this out. “How about … Taylor Swift?”

Whatever Charles was expecting, it clearly wasn’t that. His eyes go comically wide, jaw dropping slightly. “You … Taylor Swift? As in, the international popstar?”

“The one and only,” you confirm with a serene nod.

“How in the world do you have Taylor Swift’s phone number?” He sputters.

You shrug, admiring the gemstone-encrusted rings glittering on your fingers. “It was my 18th birthday party. Baba knew how much I loved her music, so he got her to perform.”

“He got … your father got Taylor Swift … to perform at your birthday?” Charles is still gaping at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“Well yes, what else would you expect?” You laugh at his dumbfounded expression. “It wasn’t that big a deal, habibi.”

Charles opens his mouth, then closes it, seemingly at a loss for words. You lean over the side of the couch, draping one hand over the armrest as you gaze up at him with false innocence.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

“I …” he finally manages. “Y/N, you never cease to amaze me.”

“Is that so?” You bat your eyelashes coyly. “Good thing you’re stuck with me then.”

Charles shakes his head in disbelief, but his expression melts into a fond one, dimples showing as he grins down at you.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, mon amour.”

You sit up slightly at the pet name, spoken so tenderly. That warm, bubbly feeling fills your chest like always when Charles looks at you like that — like you’re the most precious thing in the world to him.

“Alright, alright,” you murmur, trying to ignore the blush you can feel heating your cheeks. “Ask another question before I get too distracted by that irresistible smile of yours.”

Charles chuckles darkly. “Oh, trust me. I’m very distracting.”

You giggle at his faux arrogance. “Very distracting indeed. Now come on, ask me something good.”

He glances down at the cards again. “Let’s see … what’s the most extravagant gift you’ve ever received?”

You don’t even have to think about that one. “My baby.”

There’s a pause, then- “Did you just refer to me as a gift?”

“Not you,” you laugh. “My gorgeous F2002.”

Recognition dawns on Charles’ face as he remembers your long tangents about the iconic race car. “Ah, of course. Your prized possession.”

“It was a present for my 15th birthday,” you explain, unable to keep the pride from your voice. “From Baba. I nearly fainted when I saw it.”

“I’ll bet,” Charles murmurs. “She’s a beauty, that’s for sure.”

“That she is,” you agree softly. Your eyes linger on Charles, watching the way the harsh factory lights play against the sculpted lines of his face, catching in his dark eyes. Beautiful, just like your car.

You tear your eyes away before you get too carried away, clearing your throat. “Next question?”

Charles blinks, seeming to shake himself from his own reverie before consulting the cards again. His brow furrows slightly as he reads the next one.

“Well this is … certainly a question.” He looks up at you with mild bewilderment. “What’s the most embarrassing thing your family has ever done?”

You grimace slightly at that. Your parents certainly haven’t been immune to embarrassing their only daughter over the years. After a moment’s hesitation, you launch into the story.

“Okay, so when I was sixteen, I had this dreadful crush on one of Baba’s racehorse jockeys …”

Charles listens attentively, dimples showing again as you regale the tale of your young lovesick self hopelessly pining after the older, objectively very attractive jockey. How your parents, in their infinite wisdom and total lack of subtlety, had gotten it into their heads that the best way to cheer you up over your unrequited crush was to invite said jockey over for a family dinner at the palace ...

“... and of course, in front of this painstakingly handsome man, my parents could not resist mercilessly teasing and embarrassing me the entire night!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, but you’re laughing too at the ridiculousness of the memory. “I thought I would simply perish from mortification right there at the table.”

“No, no, no,” Charles shakes his head, grinning widely. “Please, tell me more about how devilishly handsome this jockey was.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snort, reaching out to shove his shoulder lightly. But you oblige him anyway. “Okay, fine, you want details? He was … oh, I don’t know, maybe 6 feet tall, tanned and muscular from all that riding, perfectly tousled dark hair-”

“Tousled dark hair, hmm?” Charles arches an eyebrow at you, smile turning sly. “Should I be jealous?”

“Oh hush, that was years ago,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Though I suppose if we want to talk about petty jealousies and crushes …”

When he seems confused, you smirk up at him mischievously.

“Word on the street is a certain Monegasque driver had quite the thing for Valentino Rossi back in the day.”

It’s Charles’ turn to snort at that, shaking his head ruefully. “You’re one to talk. Everyone knows how obsessed you were with Fernando Alonso for years.”

“I was a child!” You protest with dignity, trying not to laugh. “It was an innocent celebrity crush and nothing more.”

“Uh huh, sure,” he teases. “Which is why you still have that massive lifesize poster of him in your bedroom at the palace-”

“How do you know about that?” You halt him, utterly mortified all over again. Your face flames scarlet as Charles dissolves into helpless laughter beside you.

“I’m only joking, ma belle,” he finally gasps out. “I’ve never seen this supposed poster.” Charles reaches out, looping an arm around your waist to pull you snug against his side. You go easily, butting your forehead lightly against his shoulder with a huff.

“You’re the worst, you know that?”

“And yet, you keep me around,” he murmurs warmly. His fingers trace idle patterns against your hip, making you shiver. “Something about me must be tolerable.”

You tilt your head back to meet his intense gaze, your lips curving despite yourself.

“I suppose you’ll do,” you murmur. Then you lean up on your tiptoes to press your mouth against his.

Charles melts into the soft, lingering kiss, the arm around your waist tightening to bring you even closer against him. This close, you can feel the lean muscle and warmth of his body, your own tingling with awareness. One of his hands slips into your hair, cradling the back of your head and angling your lips for better access.

A quiet noise of pleasure escapes your throat as the kiss deepens, growing more heated. You part your lips eagerly to grant his questing tongue entrance, tasting the hint of coffee and addictive scent that always makes your head spin dizzily. His other hand smoothes down your side, over the dip of your waist and the curve of your hip, burning through the thin fabric of your team polo-

“Ahem … aaaand cut! Fantastic you two, that’s a wrap on this portion,” the director says, his amused tone breaking the trance. “Why don’t we take a short break before setting up for next segment?”

Cheeks flushed, you and Charles reluctantly pull apart, remembering there’s a whole bustle of crew surrounding you at the moment. Tucking a glossy lock of hair behind your ear, you lean in to whisper conspiratorially in his ear.

“Raincheck on that kiss, habibi? I have a few more surprises in store for you later.” You graze his earlobe with your teeth, delighting in the way his breath catches. “If you think we already know everything about each other … you haven’t seen anything yet.”

With a saucy wink, you extract yourself from his embrace and saunter off to refresh your makeup, leaving your dazed boyfriend gaping after your retreating form.

***

Two Years Later

You wake with a start to the sound of your alarm blaring at 4:38 am. Groaning, you reach over to silence it, blinking blearily in the dark. It’s the start of another day of fasting for Ramadan — the first your now husband will be participating in to support you.

A soft snore comes from beside you and you can’t help but smile fondly. There he is, heartthrob of Formula 1 fans everywhere, drool trailing down his chin onto the 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton pillowcase. How attractive.

“Charles,” you whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. “Time to wake up for suhoor.”

He merely grunts and rolls over, pulling the covers up over his head. You sigh in exasperation. For an elite professional athlete, he can be stubborn as a mule when it comes to early mornings.

Giving up for now, you slip out of bed and pad across the plush carpet of your sprawling bedroom quarters in the palace. You flick on the ornate brass lamps, bathing the room in a warm glow that glints off the gold accents everywhere.

A jaw-cracking yawn escapes you as you make your way over to the bathroom, hoping a splash of cool water on your face will help wake you. Your bare feet slap against the intricate tile mosaics as you go.

“What time is it?” A sleepy voice calls out behind you.

“Early,” you call back. “We have forty minutes before the fast begins.”

You emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later, slightly more alert, to find Charles blinking confusedly around the room, mussed hair sticking up every which way. He looks utterly lost without his morning coffee.

“Come along, habibi,” you say, grabbing his hand and tugging him out of bed with a grunt. “Let’s go see what the kitchen staff has prepared.”

Charles just nods obediently, Ferrari red pajama pants hanging low on his hips in a way that makes your cheeks flush. Even barely conscious, he’s unfairly good-looking.

The two of you make your way down the torch-lit hallways of the palace toward the private dining room reserved for the royal family members. You can’t resist threading your fingers through his and giving his hand a squeeze.

“I’m proud of you for doing this,” you murmur. “It means everything to me.”

Charles halts, tugging you into his arms. His embrace is warm and comforting and familiar. You let your eyes drift shut as he brushes his lips across your forehead.

“Of course,” he rumbles in that delicious accent of his. “Anything for you, mon cœur.”

A throat clears behind you and you jump apart, heat flooding your cheeks. Whirling around, you spot your father regarding you sternly, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile.

“Good mor-er, night? Apologies, Charles,” he says gruffly. “I’m still getting used to this schedule.”

Charles gives a awkward little bow. “No need to apologize, Your Highness.”

You roll your eyes fondly at the two most important men in your life. For cultures on opposite sides of the world, sometimes they’re more alike than either would admit.

“Have you two eaten yet?” Your father continues. “The cooks have prepared a feast as usual.”

Shaking your head, you tug Charles’s hand to follow as you make your way into the lavish dining room. It’s deserted at this hour save for the kitchen staff milling about, setting out enormous platters of food.

Arabian coffee in delicate gemmed cups. Chickpea stew and crisp flatbreads fresh from the tandoor oven. Heaping mounds of creamy balaleet vermicelli sweetened with rosewater and cardamom. Succulent medjool dates and purees of every fruit imaginable to kick off the fast as healthfully as possible. It all smells utterly divine and makes your mouth water.

You glance sidelong at Charles to see him staring around with an utterly gobsmacked look. His adorably bewildered expression makes you stifle a giggle — you always forget this is the first time he’s experiencing the elaborate palace rituals.

“Dig in,” your father says gruffly, already loading up his plate.

And dig in you do, shoveling food into your mouths as quickly as your etiquette training will allow. All too soon, the muezzin’s call to prayer rings out over the grounds, signaling the official start of the day’s fasting.

You sit back with a contented sigh, hands resting atop your pleasantly full belly. Beside you, Charles looks pleasantly stuffed as well in that gorgeous way where his shirt rides up just a hint. The old you might’ve flushed scarlet and averted your eyes like a proper modest lady. This emboldened you lets your gaze linger ...

“Enjoying the sights?” Your father’s wry voice cuts through your daze.

You startle, snapping your attention back to see his eyes twinkling with amusement. Of course the man misses nothing when it comes to his only daughter. The tips of your ears burn.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he continues, rising to his feet. “I have matters of state to attend to as usual despite the hour. Do try to behave, you two.”

You open your mouth to protest the teasing, indignant, but he silences you with a look and a raised brow. With great restraint, you merely nod instead. Soon as the door swings shut behind him, you blow out an exasperated breath, rolling your eyes heavenward.

“I love him dearly,” you start. “But sometimes-”

Whatever sarcastic rejoinder you were going to make dies on your lips when you catch sight of Charles again. He’s leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out before him, looking utterly at ease amid the heart of Arabian luxury. A tiny, fond smile plays about his lips.

“What?” You ask self-consciously.

“Nothing,” he says at once, shaking his head. “I just … you look beautiful here. Content. Like you were born to it.”

It’s your turn to blink in surprise at the unexpected compliment. Of course you were raised amid affluence and trained in regal bearing from birth. And yet ...

“Flatterer,” you say at last, trying to brush off the warm curl of pleasure blooming in your chest.

Charles sits up straight, expression turning earnest in that intense way of his that never fails to rob you of breath.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “You’re so at home here. The way your face lights up at all the little traditions, how you banter with your father like you rule the place …” His eyes roam over you adoringly. “You’re magnificent.”

Your cheeks heat furiously, but you can’t look away, caught in his smoldering gaze. How is it possible for this man to make you feel so flustered and treasured after all this time? He reaches across to take your hand, calloused fingers stroking over your knuckles.

“Thank you,” you whisper at last. “For doing this with me. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Of course,” Charles echoes his earlier sentiment simply.

There’s a brief, electrically charged moment where you’re both just gazing at each other like nobody else exists. And then … a low rumbling growl shatters the stillness. You blink as Charles flushes bright red.

“I, ah, seem to be hungry again already with the early schedule,” he admits sheepishly.

You throw back your head with a peal of laughter, loud and unbridled and utterly unconcerned with propriety for once. Leave it to your man to break the tension in the most delightfully awkward way. “Easy there, habibi. You’ll need to save room for iftar later tonight.”

Realizing you’ve caught him looking undignified, Charles has the good grace to look a bit sheepish. “You’re right, mon ange. Got a bit carried away with my last chance to eat for awhile.” He licks his lips slowly, watching you with heated eyes. “I’ll be counting the seconds until I can taste you agai-”

“Charles, not during fasting hours!” You cut him off with a scandalized giggle, heat flooding your cheeks at his shameless innuendo. Even after all this time, he can still fluster you with a single heated look.

He just throws back his head with a full-throated laugh, utterly unrepentant.

You shake your head at his antics, trying in vain to suppress your grin. “Incorrigible,” you mutter fondly.

Leaning back in your chair, you settle in to watch him contently. Heat simmers low in your belly, anticipating the moment you can finally break your fast tonight and enjoy some … dessert.

The little eight-year-old girl attending her first race could never have imagined that this would be her life one day. Alhamdulillah for the blessings that Allah saw to bestow upon you. With your husband by your side and the ink drying on a long-term contract with Ferrari, you have everything you could have asked for.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc #cl16 #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc drabble

[bleedingoptimism]

part one -> 📱💞🚙

part two -> 📱💞🚙

It only takes a week for Steve to show up at this door again. He knocks on the door late at night and he’s panting as if he’s run all the way there, “I had to see you” he says and it's overdramatic and kind of romantic, and Eddie barely resists the urge to jump in his arms and kiss him. Or check if there’s a filming crew and it’s raining because of how much this feels like a movie, but it’s a beautiful night outside.

“Come in,” he tells Steve, immediately turning and running around the living room, throwing away empty food containers and tidying up a bit. 

Steve watches him amused, but stands by the door, hands in his pockets, “So…” he says, “Came home today to find Chrissy, Vicky, and Robin all sitting at my dining table with their heads buried in a phone” 

Eddie looks up at that, because what the fuck? He looks at Steve confused and Steve nods, like he agrees with Eddie.

“The three of them lifted their head at the same time, it was kind of freaky honestly,” He keeps going and Eddie chuckles, curious as to where this is going, “They wanted me to see this,” Stevee finishes, lifting his phone up, the first episode of the van series playing, right at the part were Eddie first sees Steve and blushes while looking at him.

Back in reality Eddie is blushing again too, Steve saw the van series, he knows. Steve knows. “Steve…” he starts even though he has no idea what he’s gonna say.

But Steve doesn't let him try, doesn't let him think. He takes two long steps towards Eddie and kisses him, hard but short, pulls away holding Eddie’s face between his hands, and brings their forehead together,

“I didn't know,” he breathes.

Eddie shakes his head, “How could you not, I was so obvious I-”

Steve just kisses him again, once more short and sweet before pulling back, “You never said.”

Eddie wraps his hands over Steve's wrists, just holding them there, moving his thumb over Steve’s pulse slowly. He can feel how hard Steve’s heart is beating, can feel it match the rhythm of his own heart. And he wracks his brain, trying to remember if he ever did ask Steve out, or if he ever stated he liked him out loud.

He ends up laughing at the stupidity of it. Everyone knew Eddie loved Steve, except Steve, “I’m- I don't what to say. I'm sorry I-” he starts but Steve shuts him up with a kiss again, “It’s okay, I know now”

This time when they kiss, Eddie doesn't let Steve keep it short. He keeps him close, kissing him deeper, harder, longer, until he doesn't know where he begins and Steve stops.

The next day a new video gets uploaded. “Goooood morning!” Eddie says, even though it is clearly noon, from the passenger seat of his van, “Guess who is ready for their road trip!” he smiles and pulls the phone away from him, so both he and Steve are in frame. Steve is driving, eyes on the road but a huge smile on his face, Eddie’s hand is clearly visible on Steve’s thigh in the shot before Eddie moves the phone back to his face, “We’ll keep updating you guys, can’t tell you exactly where we are going cause we’d like a little privacy,” he says and wiggles his eyebrows, a soft gasp and a whispered and heated ‘Eddie!’ is heard in the background, “But we will upload videos from where we’ve been in a few weeks!” he films Steve once more, who looks at Eddie with a big sappy enamored smile on his face and then films the road for a few seconds, the world passing by the window. Finally, he twists the phone back to his face and says, “Oh! And don't worry about who’s going to drive… we’ll switch” and he winks and ends the video.

the end

☕🥐💕 coffee? by a roadhouse?

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #modern au #rv au #i wrote something #this was so fun guys i hope yall like the end #yall are so sweet i love it here

[luvt0kki]

𝟎𝟎𝟐 | 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭

The distance and the time between us

It’ll never change my mind, cause’

Baby, I would die for you

🎧 : Die For You - The Weekend

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ s.w.m masterlist ୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ taglist ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧

001 | 002 | next

pairings : ot8 x reader ( mingi x reader )

wc: 6.1k ( sorry for any errors ;-; )

cw: mature, minors do not interact, nsfw, mentions of assassination, hinted violence, slow burn, polyamory, smut , dom!Mingi for this chapter, choking kink, reader is bratty here, seggs, oral, eavesdropping, Mingi’s nickname for reader is baby, masturbation, hinted threesome, we feel bad for Wooyoung, filming/recording kink, some possessiveness on Mingi’s end, voyeurism. SPECIAL APPEARANCE OF SOMEONE IN THE END 👀

REMINDER : my works do not represent the irl members in any way, this is purely a work of FICTION.

a/n: I’m so amazed at how well received the first chapter was and it really gave me the motivation to write the second one. I hope you guys like this one, it’s been awhile since I wrote some smut it’s like I’m losing my skill of seggsual euphemisms. ALSO ONE OF MY FAVOURITE WRITERS HERE IS READING MY FIC?! like omg no way 😭 hope you guys like this one . ( Feel to scream/fangirl in my askbox, I love those kind of interactions. I NEED TO KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS TOO) 💕

The Destiny was a spaceship Hongjoong procured with frightening ease from the Military Space Base he was stationed in long ago.

That was the sugarcoated way of saying he stole it.

If he hadn’t turned his back on the corrupt Military base, this fighter military starship turned into one of the most renowned ships and weaponized fortress, wouldn’t have become your shared space with your home, your home being the boys.

“I’ve kept your room clean,” Seonghwa stood next to you while you leaned into Mingi’s side who refused to not be on you in any way. He was clingy like that.

“You didn’t have too, Hwa.”

“I had some time to kill in the months you’ve been away. As usual, I didn’t snoop around.” He reassured you, hands folded neatly and elegantly behind him. “I left some little surprises for you to find too.”

“It’s not like she’ll be staying there all the time,” Mingi said, hand on the small of your back and guiding you up the ramp and into the ship. “She’ll be with me.”

“Don’t hog her.” San butted in, a small slouch in his usually straight posture.

“Awe, Sannie.” You cooed sweetly, rubbing his arm.

Wooyoung groaned, a couple of paces behind you, Mingi, San and Seonghwa.

“Jeez, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Yunho asked with a lilt of humor in his tone.

“Mingi’s room is next to mine.” Wooyoung huffed, feeling the comfort and safety of the Destiny make him relax with each step they took back into their home.

“And?” Yunho raised a brow.

“Never mind.” I don’t want to hear them fucking.

Even though Wooyoung didn’t say that out loud, Yunho knew what ‘never mind’ entailed. He can tell by the way he threw glances at you but the taller man only smiled and pretended like everything was fine and that he was oblivious.

“Join us in the lounge yeah?” He patted Wooyoung on the back. “We’ll be drinking a bit more and catching up. Plus, you can start to get know her better.”

“O-okay.” He could use a couple of more drinks to relax a bit.

Wooyoung paused a bit in the hall, letting his crew mates walk ahead of him and into the warm lit lounge a couple more steps forward. It’s not that he was anxious about you being here and adjusting to the dynamics with eight of you. He was confused. He felt as if there was something he didn’t know, something kept from him and he just couldn’t quite place his finger on it. It’s like something was staring him right in the face and whatever it was, was just at the tip of his tongue but he really couldn’t conclude what it was.

Other than that, the more he was around you, flashbacks of how you two danced in the club, so close and teasing each other plagued his thoughts. The way you touched him earlier that night left a ghost touch that sent shivers down his spine when he thought about it or like now, when he looked at you leaned into Mingi’s side on the couch with his arm draped over your shoulder laughing at something Jongho said.

Now he could see you properly. The mask was discarded and sat on the low coffee table in the center and without it, he was even more mesmerized. The way your eyes smiled with your lips and how your eyes paid attention to whoever spoke, as if everything they were saying to you was the most wonderful and interesting thing in the world. This was completely different from the woman he had danced with. You looked…sweet?

“Oh? This is the childhood best friend you were talking about.” Your pretty lashes fluttered at the realization while you held conversation with Yeosang sat on the couch across you with San.

Wooyoung perked up in his seat at the mention of him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I hope Hongjoong didn’t give you a hard time when you joined.” You smiled gently.

Hongjoong did take a while to warm up to him…but Wooyoung didn’t want to admit it, well not in front of the said man.

“Did he give you a hard time?” Wooyoung turned the question to you.

“Not at all.” You shrugged your shoulders a bit while Mingi played with the ends of the pink bob wig.

“You mean he couldn’t because you two were at each other’s throats.” Yunho chuckled, recalling the memory. “Literally.”

“What?” Wooyoung’s eyes widened, glancing between you and Hongjoong who shared a knowing look with one other. “Someone care to tell me more?”

“Y/N was actually hired to kill Hongjoong.” San spoke up. “She had snuck into the ship when we had docked in Estrade for supplies and she got to him in his office.”

“How?”

San laughed a little at the memory, glancing your way with a smile that Wooyoung has never seen on him before. It was different to the one when he’s happy, this one was tender and sweet.

He tilted his head up a little, hand gesturing to ceiling. “Through the vents.”

“It was almost too good to be true. The Destiny’s vents were perfect for anyone to infiltrate which was why after the incident, I advised him to tighten the security of the ship.” You added, unclasping your heels and slipping them off before folding them beneath you, snuggling closer to Mingi.

“I still don’t know how you found the entryway of the vents or even pried it open.” Hongjoong shook his head at the memory.

“What? Like it’s hard?” You stared down at him with a playful smirk and eyes twinkling challengingly.

“Careful, baby.” Mingi warned lightly, knowing what could transpire if you and Hongjoong went head to head again.

“So what stopped you from killing him?” Wooyoung asked. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.

“My devilishly good looks.” Hongjoong uttered while you said a different answer.

“San.”

A silence fell amongst the group, it was comfortable for the most part but Wooyoung found the silence to be fuel to the bonfire of curiosity that sparked in the private dance room.

Noticing Wooyoung’s inquisitiveness, you decided to give him just enough to quiet his mind.

“San and I had worked together in the past. I trust him with my life. He asked me not to kill Hongjoong so…I didn’t.”

The answer was enough for now and a part of Wooyoung told him to stop prying and that he shouldn’t , not when he’s around all the other members. What irked him as well was how you had said that with such a pretty smile and a soft look in your eyes. Were you really dangerous?

“It’s not like you could, sweetheart.” Hongjoong smirked and you rolled your eyes, quickly deciding to end the growing tension with all the questions. There were things that needed to be discussed with the others. Which was what exactly about you and about your past could be shared with the new crew member.

“No, I couldn’t.”

Your voice was soft, gazing at the Captain in a way Wooyoung felt envious. Could he earn the same gaze from you? Would you look at him one day with the same fondness you had for all of them?

“You’re unfortunately too handsome to kill. It’d be a shame for such a pretty face to be smothered by a pillow.”

Your words made Hongjoong laugh while the rest smiled at how you two interacted. Wooyoung didn’t know if he was reading into it too much but they all looked at you in a way that hinted a closeness that was more than camaraderie, and a bond and trust that grew between a crew.

“As much as I’d love to stay up and catch up with you all, I’m going to retire for the evening.” You bade them good night, hooking the straps of your heels by your finger before getting off the couch and your other hand in Mingi’s.

“Goodnight, fellas.” Mingi clicked his tongue with a smirk, most of them rolling their eyes at him as the two of you made your way to the crews deck.

Once the two of you were out of ear shot, Seonghwa spoke.

“San, you’re pouting.”

“Mingi hogs her.” He murmured almost child like and crossed his arms over his chest.

“We’ll all get a chance to catch up and spend time with her. But you know…Mingi.”

“He’s way too clingy. She was my friend first.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know.” Yunho placed his hands on San’s shoulders briefly before excusing himself to his room.

Wooyoung was next to call it a night, unaware of how Yeosang, Jongho, Seonghwa and Hongjoong watched him leave. They were concerned…but they knew they needed to discuss something. Well, someone.

Wooyoung.

“So? Did you enjoy my little show?”

Mingi was watching you look around his room as if it was the first time you were ever let in here. He was sat on the foot of his bed, hands on the mattress as you removed your earrings and placed it on his desk.

“I did,” he replied, eyes completely on you and taking you in. “But when I realized that you had been dancing for other men I got jealous.” There was that hint of agitation in his voice.

“You don’t need to be jealous.” You reassured him, removing Yunho’s blazer and draping it over neatly on the back rest of Ming’s desk chair. “They never touched me.”

Mingi’s eyes darkened at the sight of your almost naked form. It has been too long since he was last with you.

You watched Mingi’s eyes rake your form through the mirror. He scanned you from your heels to your head. His eyes lingered on the plumpness of your ass accentuated by the lace purple underwear a bit longer before he met your eyes in the mirror.

“Keep the wig on, baby.”

“Oh, you like it?” You grinned, turning around to slowly walk towards him, letting the beaded strings of your bralette sway and shimmer.

“I like the whole get up. It’s sexy.” His hand reached for your waist once you stood between his parted thighs, the tall big man gazing up at you with desire.

“You like that I’m dressed like a stripper?” You raised a brow questioningly while you ran your fingers through his short pink hair that matched your wig.

“I like you in anything.” He slid his hands up higher til his thumbs rest just below the band of your bra. “You look so pretty.”

“I love the new hair,” you giggled, caressing his handsome face. “Yunho colored it for you?”

“Yeah,” he hummed, leaning his head into your abdomen.

“I’m sorry I was away for so long.”

“Take me with you next time…or San or Yeosang.” He murmured, voice soft as you held him to you. “I’ll rest easier knowing one of us is with you.”

“I can handle myself. You know that.”

Mingi groaned a little before guiding you to sit on his lap, your pretty legs straddling his waist while his hands supported and cradled your back.

“I know…” he sighed.

The two of you were now face to face. Mingi looked into your eyes, searching them. For what, you didn’t know but you let him. “But you’ll let me take care of you…” he cupped your face gently, his thumb caressing your cheekbone and like a cat, you leaned into his touch, eyes closing as you relished his warmth. “Right?” His thumb swiped over your lower lip, your eyes fluttering open as he parted them just a little.

Despite his reputation, he was your gentle and loving Mingi. Sure, he was rough around the edges and appeared domineering. No one flies a fighter jet like he does and as the gunner and the best marksman among the crew, he was intimidating. But he gave himself to you and you did the same.

“Always.”

This was what he missed. The intimacy that he shared with you. That sweet loving gaze—

Mingi felt a sudden shock of heat pass through him. In less than two seconds your loving gaze intensified to desire and your lips were wrapped around his thumb, enveloping his digit in your mouth. The cherry on top for him was how you swirled your hot tongue and sucked lightly. You pulled back with a cute little quiet pop and looked at him with eyes that were far too innocent after what you just did. Licking his lips, he gripped your face, gently but strong enough the way you liked and to establish dominance.

This was also something he missed.

“If my pretty girl wants to be naughty…” he leaned in closer, the cute challenging look in your eyes unwavering. “I’m going to have to remind her how to behave.”

“But I am a good girl.” You shrugged him off of you so that you could press your lips on his defined jaw. “I told you, I never let anyone touch me.”

“You let Wooyoung touch you.” His hands rested on your hips now as you left gentle kisses along the skin of his neck, appeasing to him.

“So? It’s not like I’ll let him fuck me.” You nipped at his neck, tone sweet and unfortunately too bratty.

Next thing you knew, his ringed hand wrapped around your throat. It wasn’t in anyway to hurt you, Mingi would never. No. It’s how you two played sometimes. His hold on you made heat stir in your lower abdomen and his intense gaze was getting you excited.

“Of course you won’t.” He spoke, voice deep and low, and with his other hand on your hip, he guided you to drag your clothed cunt over the bulge of his trousers. Seeing your determined gaze crack with the friction, he grinned. “You won’t let him fuck you. You know why?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to hold back your whimpers, a little embarrassed that your resolve was so quick to crumble because of him but you knew that turned him on.

“Use your words, baby.” He squeezed your neck gently while his other hand stilled your hips, making you huff at the pause.

“I-I don’t know.” You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your hips yourself, mouth watering at the thought of his member hidden beneath his pants.

Mingi tapped your hip in warning. You stilled and you did your best to glare at him. “Why?”

“He hasn’t earned it, baby.” His hand left your neck, trailing down to briefly brush the dip between your collarbones and he leaned to kiss your chest. “He hasn’t earned it like we had.”

“Is that why you were gatekeeping me?”

“Maybe.” You felt him grin on your skin as he kissed what was exposed of your breasts in your bralette. “Get up.”

You almost whined, not wanting to leave his lap or his kisses to stop but you did so anyway.

It’s like you were back to square one, standing between his legs while he gazed at you except you couldn’t stop glancing at the bulge in his trousers.

He clicked his tongue. “Is that what you want, baby?”

Instead of answering him, which could get you into some fun trouble, you slowly got on your knees without breaking his gaze. You slid your hands up his muscular thick thighs, knowing to not touch where you wanted to touch him the most.

Mingi noticed this and smiled. “Good girl.” He cooed, tucking the strands of your pink wig behind your ear. “You remember. Go on then.”

Getting his permission, your fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper, prying the fabric apart to reveal his erection in the confines of his briefs. You skimmed your fingers along the waistband, admiring his toned abdomen before tugging it low enough til his cock sprung free.

Without wasting another moment, you wrapped your hand around his length, feeling your walls pulse around nothing at how hot and heavy he was in your hand. His tip was pink and growing slick with precum. You licked your lips at the sight and you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

Mingi groaned lowly when you slowly pumped his length, kissing the hot and pink tip before enveloping the head of his cock in your mouth.

“Fuck.” He hissed. The sight of your glossed lips wrapped around him and the sensation of your wet tongue swirling his tip was sinfully perfect. “You look so pretty right now, baby.”

Oh how you loved how deep his voice was when he talked dirty. “God, I’m so lucky I get to fuck you first.”

He threw his head back as you took him deeper in your mouth, your struggle to take more of him something he always found so cute.

As much as you loved to blow your boyfriend, he was always a challenge to take. He was thicker than and longer than your other lovers. Well, Yunho was also a challenge but you were focused on Mingi right now and he was another story.

Your brows were knitted and your eyes were looking at him pleadingly as you did your best to bob your head along his length, sucking and swirling your tongue the way he liked while using your hand to pump what you couldn’t take of him. His taste and his low moans were making you ache even more, god you couldn’t wait for him to touch you.

“Shit, baby. You’re doing so well taking me in that pretty little mouth.” He praised, petting the top of your head lovingly. “C’mon baby. The quicker you make me cum the sooner I’ll be touching you. You’re getting wet aren’t you?”

Batting your lashes at him, you did your best to tell him yes while hollowing your cheeks and taking him a little more deeper, lost in his taste and his heat and fighting against your gag reflex. Your body was buzzing with need and when his tip reached the back of your throat, Mingi let out the prettiest moan.

The curse of silence that fell upon his room for months since you left was finally broken. Within the four walls, the not so quiet sound of your muffled moans and the obscene wet slurping of you sucking his cock bounced off them. You were taking your time, enjoying each glide of him against your flattened tongue and pumping the rest of his length in tandem with your movement.

Mingi through heavy lidded eyes searched for your gaze and he didn’t know if he regretted doing so because seeing your pretty eyes look up at him as you bobbed your head and suckled at his sensitive tip, he could’ve cum right then and there.

Lost in the sinfully indulgent pleasure, Mingi hadn’t noticed that his door was open just a crack, not fully closed. Even if he did notice, he wouldn’t care since it wouldn’t be the first time. Plus the rest of the crew weren’t strangers to being caught in the act with you. Most of the time they ignore it or tease each other about it after. And sometimes, it led to some…extra fun. But the man who recently settled into the room beside Mingi didn’t know that.

He was just on his way back from the showers since only two rooms had their own bathroom which was Hongjoong’s and Seonghwa’s.

He didn’t mean to look. He was just supposed to take his cold shower and then head to bed.

The sounds lured him in. And with his pent up sexual frustration he had only wanted to shut the stupid door fully and scold Mingi tomorrow about it…but when he saw the shade of pink that was haunting him, he just couldn’t function. Not when your head was bobbing up and down between Mingi’s spread thighs and how your back and ass looked so sexy while you were at it.

Wooyoung gulped, his own cock stirring at the lewd sight. He really should go.

And yet he continued to gawk at you, taking in the curve of your waist and the aesthetically pleasing view of your back. As if it couldn’t get any worse for Wooyoung, he noticed your free hand was between your thighs. Somehow in that dimly lit room he could see how you were working your fingers below you.

You moaned around Mingi’s length, the vibrations earning you a deep groan.

‘Fuck.’ Wooyoung swore over and over in his head, eyes unable to break from the way you were touching yourself. He wondered how wet you were. If your arousal soaked through the cotton of your underwear and if your fingers were easily gliding over your swollen clit.

Mingi, despite the dizziness of pleasure muddling his brain, finally noticed your hand between your thighs. “You getting wet by just sucking my cock, baby?”

Your lips released him with a pop and you were softly panting, trying to catch your breath. You nodded in response going at it again and this time, you were only using your mouth now and taking him deeper. Your hand other hand left your aching cunt only to rest atop his left thigh like your other hand on his right to keep you steady.

“Shit!” Mingi cursed, his hand coming to the back of your head to guide you down further, feeling the pressure on the base of his spine as he watched you take whatever you could fit of him in your little mouth.

Wooyoung bit his lip to keep himself from making any noise but he could still feel his throat dry at the obscene sight. The sound of your muffled whines and moans was driving him crazy.

Mingi’s fingers tangled themselves in your pink wig, his hips bucking until he stilled, cock twitching in your mouth. Hot spurts of his release spilled down your throat, your eyes not breaking away from his face that was contorted in pure bliss.

“Oh, fuck, baby.” He whined.

Only his tip in your mouth, he felt you swallow his release. “Good fucking girl.” His grip on your wig loosened to pet you. You hummed at his words, batting your lashes up at him in the way that made his heart flutter before you released him from your mouth. “Open up, let me see.”

Mingi was down bad. Really bad.

He reached into his pocket to whip out his phone, swiping the screen to the camera app. With pink lip gloss smudged at the corners of your mouth, your wig a little messy and his perspective with you on your knees, gave the camera the perfect view of your cute face, your tits in your purple bralette and his inner thighs that framed you.

You parted your lips and stuck out your tongue a little, and Mingi bit his lip when he saw a little bit of his cum remained on your tongue.

“Fuck, you look so hot, baby.” He captured a couple of shots while you decided to extend his high and to also give him a couple more pics to take.

Giving him a cute smile, you kissed the head of his sensitive cock and heard the little digital tone of the record button in his cell. He hissed at the stimulation and yet he let you continue to ride out his orgasm, his thighs tensing then relaxing a bit as you licked along his length.

Mingi was going to use this for the next time you’re away which won’t be anytime soon but you know, just in case and also for bragging rights for getting to fuck you in your stripper costume.

“Will you return the favor, Min?” You asked him, your voice husky from taking his cock deep in your throat. “I showed you how good I am for you.”

He couldn’t help but grin at your cute tone. You knew he was going to show this to the others to make them jealous so you were putting on a show exclusively for Mingi that the others won’t be able to have.

“Tell me exactly what favor I have to return to my good girl. Hm?” He knew how shy you actually were when speaking about what you wanted in a little more detail and it was something that all of them found endearing. Even though you could be bold, when it came down to things in the bedroom, you were submissive. You were bratty which was in your nature most of the time and Mingi like three other members of the crew loved to tame and fuck the brat out of you.

With your head muddled with lust, you softly uttered out your response, unaware of how needy you sounded.

“I want you to taste me too.”

Wooyoung palmed himself through his sweats. He wanted to taste you. He’s been wanting to and thinking about it since he danced with you.

“Yeah? And then I’ll fuck your pretty little pussy. You want that?”

You nodded, suckling at his length.

“Take off your top, baby. Show them what they’re missing out on right now.”

Without anymore direction, you knew what to do. You slowly got up, his hand holding his phone following your movement and he captured the complete look one last time.

Your fingers pinched at the front clasps of your bra, Mingi’s eyes glued on you, watching you intently.

You unhooked it and without rushing, unveiled to him and the camera your bare breasts. From where Wooyoung stood, he couldn’t see the teasing reveal. It was frustrating. Especially when you slowly let the pretty bralette drop into a pile at your feet and he could only see your naked back.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Not wanting to get caught, he quietly retreated back into his room, shut the door and locked it. With his back against the cool surface, he freed his cock from his sweats and wrapped a hand around his length, cursing Mingi in his head for being so lucky. With each stroke, the man was forgotten and his head was filled with thoughts of you. He tightened his grip when he began to imagine himself in Mingi’s place.

Was he going to feel guilty about it later? Yes but fuck did he needed to jack off. He’ll regret it later.

…

You gripped the pillow beneath your head while the other was over your hand trying to muffle your voice as moans left you so embarrassingly easy. Mingi had one hand holding his phone your way while the other was splayed on your belly as his thumb massaged your clit and he thrusted into your tight heat.

Your panties were just pushed to the side while he stuffed you full with his thick length. He had slipped in so easily with how wet you were and you were creaming around his cock, the mess of it all and the obscene wet squelching making him fuck you harder.

“Mingi,” you panted, your core hot with pleasure and mind spinning from the delicious drag of his cock against your pulsing walls. “B-big. You’re so big.” You whined out, the pleasure close to making you cry.

“Yeah? But you can take me right? Look at you taking me so well. Fuck.”

You nodded at his words, unable to form anything coherent and not caring about the fact he was filming the mess you were making on his cock.

His praises only made your head spin further and when he tossed his phone to the side and was focused on fucking you, the tension in your lower belly grew tighter.

Mingi admired the way you looked before him, tits bouncing with each snap of his hips and your legs around him while the garter where money bills had been clipped to earlier remained on your thigh and the gorgeous, perfect sight of your pussy lips parted to accommodate his cock that stretched you out. All of that was consuming him. He missed how you felt, how smooth and warm your skin was, and how his name left your lips in moans and sweet sighs.

The wet smacking of his hips against yours and both of yours and his moans filled the room, and unfortunately for Wooyoung, he could hear you both despite it being muffled. Well he could hear because he had opened his door a little and the two of you were too preoccupied to take note of how Mingi’s door wasn’t shut fully. He was fucking his cock into his fist to the sound of you both.

Your arms reached out for Mingi and his heart melted at the sight. He leaned forward letting them wrap around him and your legs did the same with his hips. He crashed his plump lips against yours, swallowing your moans and cries, feeling your walls tighten further around him telling him you were close. He was close too.

He felt your nails dig into the muscles of his back and he groaned at the sweet pain, his hand between the two of you applying more pressure to your clit which pushed you to the edge. Walls tightening around him which hindered his fast thrusts, he let you feel your orgasm and god, did he love it when you came around him. Your velvety walls spasmed around his cock and he could feel it, and your thighs shook from the sudden wave of release.

“That’s my good girl. That’s it. Cum around my cock. Good girl.” He rasped against your ear before kissing your neck and slowly beginning to move his hips again.

“M-Min— wait,” you whimpered, sensitive and body electric.

“I’m close baby. You’ll let me finish too right? Inside?”

The idea made you moan softly and cave. “O-okay.” You managed to get out, the overstimulation so good and too much at the same time.

You gasped when he sped up, chasing his release. He was groaning and panting against your neck like a dog in heat. Your fingers threaded through his hair, gripping the short strands as you felt your second orgasm building up again.

“I love you.” He murmured against your neck, rutting into you. You held him closer. “I love you. I love you. I love you…”He chanted over and over, completely loss in you. You missed those words from him and you weren’t sure if you were tearing up from the pleasure or how much you loved him too. Maybe both.

“I love you too Mingi.” You managed to say as your body bounced with each thrust and you gripped his hair tighter, the heels of your feet digging into lower back.

“Fuck!” Mingi snapped his hips one last time before completely stilling, shooting his hot cum into your womb. The sensation of him filling you up made you cum again so quickly and Mingi hissed at the sinful feeling of your walls fluttering around him again, milking his cock for all he’s worth, and what couldn’t fit in your womb began to leak out of you.

“I love you,” he sighed again, lifting his head from your neck to press his lips on yours messily and you kiss him back, both of you coming down from your highs. “Never leave me again, please.”

That tugged at your heart strongly.

Many believed it was San who was the clingiest among all them but in truth, it was Mingi. It didn’t look like it with his tough, bad boy coded exterior and how brutal he could be when he was armed but it was him who you trusted and opened up to first when you joined them.

“Even if you can’t, just say you will.”

And then your heart was ripped out your chest and in his hands.

“I won’t leave,” you told him, kissing his lips and cupping his face in your hands. “I promise.”

“This was the longest you were away.”

“I know…I’m sorry but I’m here now. I won’t be going anywhere. Okay?”

He nodded, sliding his hands under you, cradling your back so he could move the both of you to a comfortable position. Without untangling from each other’s embrace, he lied on his back with you on top him, your chest pressed against his and his arms wrapped around you.

In the room next to Mingi’s, Wooyoung’s head was thrown back as he came down from his own high. His release dripped down his hand and stained the fabric of his shirt.

While the two lovers on the other side laid in each others loving embrace, he was all alone on the floor with his back against the foot of his bed after having imagined fucking you and wishing his cum was on your body instead.

“Shit…” he cursed to himself , realizing what he had just done.

The guilt was gonna eat him up after and he may not be able to look you or Mingi in the eyes tomorrow after what he did.

Did he still want to fuck you? Yes. But he’ll keep that fact to himself and only himself. No one needed to know. It’ll pass anyways. Maybe a couple more times jerking off to you will make him get over it.

Yunho stretched his back on the way back to the crews deck, Seonghwa and Hongjoong were looking over the data you had gotten for them and he had just finished some touches to his and Wooyoung’s weapon reparations for Mingi.

Before heading to his room, he decided to check on the said man who had always come back with his, Jongho’s and Wooyoung’s weapons damaged every single time he was sent on the field.

“Fuck,” he heard Mingi’s faint voice at the start of the corridor.

He sighed as he removed his gloves, heading to Mingi’s room, his brow rising as he saw the door slightly open. He glanced at Wooyoung’s closed door and shook his head a little before stepping inside Mingi’s room and finally closing the door behind him.

He leaned against metal, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Mingi naked in all his glory fuck into you from behind. Your moans and whimpers were muffled as you bit at the pillow. Mingi’s hands were on your hips and his hold on you was the only reason your ass was still up. Your thighs were shaking and trembling with each thrust as the new angle made you feel him deeper inside of you.

Yunho bit his lip watching the two of you and glanced over at Mingi’s desk where his blazer was then at the mirror where he could see you face down and ass up with a your back beautifully curved as Mingi fucked you.

He began to unbutton his shirt.

“Next time, make sure you close the door properly. I could hear you from the corridor.” Yunho finally spoke but his presence didn’t stop Mingi’s rhythmic thrusts.

“It wasn’t closed?” He grunted, a hand pressing against your upper back to keep you down.

“It wasn’t wide open but if I was Wooyoung, I would be suffering.” Yunho threw his gloves onto the desk. “Hi, sweetheart.” He went to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed and speaking as if you weren’t being railed from behind.

He caressed the crown of your head, noticing the mascara smudged around your eyes in a pretty way. Yunho also noticed Mingi’s cell nearby on the bed and rolled his eyes, knowing exactly why it was there.

He’ll ask Mingi for a copy later.

“How many times has he made you cum?” He asked you, thumb wiping away the smudged makeup.

“Ah—f-fo—,” you gasped, clutching the pillow tigther . “Four.” It was cute how you couldn’t really speak properly.

“Four times ?” Yunho was impressed, you nodded quickly. “How many times has he said I love you?”

“Shut up, man.” Mingi huffed, knowing he was going to get teased for that.

Yunho raised his hands in surrender, he wasn’t here for that anyways.

He looked at Mingi. The marksman’s brows were knitted together and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and below where you two were connected was a darkened spot on the sheets. A mess caused by both yours and Mingi’s release, well mostly Mingi’s as your pussy was leaking white from being filled to the brim.

“I know you wanted her for yourself tonight but…” Yunho slipped his hand into yours, and you held his hand tight as you moaned into the pillow.

“Got room for one more?”

All Rights Reserved ©luvt0kki

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR OTHERWISE REPURPOSE ANY OF MY WORK HERE. I DO NOT NOR WILL ALLOW IT.

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[that-student-that-has-homework]

Matching - Portgas D. Ace

Find more of my work here: Tumblr MasterList

This is a little idea I had for a larger Ace fanfic I'm working on. I might revise this! Please let me know if he's in character or not...I'm starting to have my doubts.

It had been the better part of a week. No, maybe a whole week at this point. While before you’d spend most of your free time around him, now you were constantly “busy.” Heck sometimes he even finds it difficult to find you on the Moby Dick! Was this the end of the honeymoon phase everyone warned him about?

Were you starting to get tired of him?

You kept sneaking around...without him! Before you used to sneak around together! Worse still is…every time he pops up to see you, you always seem like you're hiding something. It's like quickly stashed papers, and tightly clenched fists. It’s the way you spin on your heel, and tense up, when you used to not do that at all.

What was maddening was how when the evenings would hit, or even at random parts of the day, you’d run and crash into him with a huge hug. You’d beam at him bright and genuine just upon seeing him, heck you’d be practically vibrating with joy as you’d squeeze the life out of him. He’d almost turned to fire once.

Maybe you weren’t tired of him?

When you did cuddle with him, your eyes seemed to linger on the tattoo on his arm. He’d even woken up to you tracing it with your finger once before. You’d looked sheepish that he’d caught you admiring it…actually you looked a little…panicked too…

You’d squirmed in his grasp when he asked you about it. Saying things like how it’s pretty, and how it’s a tattoo unique to him, so you were admiring it. You're pretty good at dodging his line of questioning whenever he voices his suspicions about your behavior. You were also incredibly sneaky about distracting him with your affections, and by the time he’s regained his original line of thought, you’d already be gone. 

There's something fishy in the air and it's not the sea king he caught the other day.

He only finds out what it is you'd been scheming behind his back when he gets back from a mission. He was so distracted for most of it. He couldn’t figure out why you were so clearly avoiding him sometimes…were you having second thoughts? What was going on? Was this an elaborate prank?

He was still in a daze as he made his way back to the Moby Dick. You used to bring peace, yet right now you’d thrown him into turmoil. He hated the way he was doubting you. He hated not knowing what was wrong.

“Hey look Ace’s back!”

“How’d it go champ?”

“Aaaaaaacee!” It was your voice that pulled him back completely.

He’d barely had a moment to look up than you’d thrown yourself on him with a hug. The force of it all almost send him toppling backwards. His hat had been knocked off his head, and he could feel the press of its medallion on his throat. He's relieved at how genuinely happy you are to see him, yet still an unease twists up his stomach in knots.

You pull away much too quickly, pulling his arms and rotating them, checking for any damage. The way you're checking up on him to make sure he's not hurt and that he's okay floods his entire system with warmth. Yet he can't help the constriction in his chest and the nagging as to what it was that had you sneaking around before he left if you missed him this badly?

He can hear the crew laughing at the obvious display of affection.

“Being bold there little missy,” they taunt you.

You shrink in on yourself a bit, embarrassment catching up to you. However when you take his hand in yours, and whistles and cheers break out, “I was doing it for Ace,” the timidity in the lines of your shoulders and face brings the heat to his own face, “I thought he might like it.”

He squeezes your hand in his. Yet his brain screams at him, then what was all that sneaking around about?

Unsure how to deal with things, he just studies you closely as you ask him about how things went and how the mission was. You're not up to anything really, or at least it doesn't seem like it. You're as attentive and engaged as ever, things are just as they used to be before.

You drag him to the kitchen, knowing he must be hungry as he usually is after a mission. You even sit with him in your little corner of the mess hall while he eats, something you hadn’t done much prior to his departure. He's talking to you about the guy with the interesting abilities that he'd fought with his mouth full, and you're indulging him.

Yet even as he tries to fall into your old pattern, the confusion only festers further. What had been going on with you?

He feels absolutely awful, doubting you with the way you’re listening to him like he's the most interesting guy in the world. To be fair, to you, he really is. He keeps talking and chewing and answering your questions, yet the thing he really wants to talk about is bubbling just below the surface. Somehow all the tension and excitement peaks and he goes head first into his plate of food.

When he finally comes back to, there’s no food on his face, and he’s resting on his arms on the dinner table, his plate off to his side. You’re still next to him, gently brushing your fingers through his hair, patiently de-tangling any clumps you come across. He groans while sitting up and blinking the sleep away.

“You’re up,” you observe aloud, “here let me clear these out of the way for you.”

You get up from beside him, unthinkingly pulling your sleeves up your forearms, and reach for the plates around him. He notices something odd about one of your hands as you walk away with the stack of plates in your hands, but before he can say much you're already on your way to the kitchen counter. He watches you, lethargically shoving food in his mouth as you hand the dishes over to Thatch, who looks at your hands, then looks his way for a moment with an amused grin.

He could actually hear the next thing as the cook raised his voice, “nah leave those dishes to me, go hang out with your loverboy.”

Had the pirate not shoved you away with a plate of food in hand, Ace got the feeling you would have pointedly ignored Thatch’s teasing to do the dishes. You walked back, your brow and lips pursed in a kind of indignation. He couldn’t help the little huff of amusement. You’d gotten much better at handling their teasing over time, but he wouldn’t deny it was cute how it would get to you sometimes.

You took a seat beside him again, sliding the plate the cook had given you towards him. Your…well he could only hope he was still really your beloved, just stared at you in silence as he chewed. For some reason it made you squirm.

That’s it. He’d had enough. He has to figure this out. You’d said it yourself, it’s really important to communicate things! That’s how relationships last!

“You’ve been real weird lately,” was what came out as he grabbed the new plate of food, “you been avoiding me?”

His brow furrowed at the way your gaze immediately fell, taking your expression with it, and how you began to fidget with your fingers - a nervous - wait. Ace’s hand extended to grab your left one, bringing it up to his face.

There on your left wrist, right where your pulse sat, in black ink sat the letters ASCE, arranged horizontally and smaller, but a perfect replica of his own otherwise. Instinctively he rubbed his thumb across it, almost as though he was checking to make sure this wasn’t an illusion and that wasn’t just normal ink from a pen.

You were looking back at him, he could see it in the way your shoulders bunched near your ears, and the wobble of your lips, and how you couldn’t keep eye contact for too long, but kept glancing back at him…you were nervous. He absentmindedly began drawing circles on your wrist, just staring at you.

“I was avoiding you, I guess,” you admitted, “I was hoping to surprise you with that,” your free hand moved to play with the hem of your shirt, as you shrunk even more, “was it presumptuous of me? Should I have asked first?”

“For a second I thought I’d managed to chase you away,” he admitted quietly, looking back down at the mark of permanence you’d etched into your skin, “that you’d gotten sick of me.”

You snatched your hand away before he could think, moving in to embrace him, “get sick, of you? Then I’d be a tasteless heathen or…whatever, unworthy of you- totally - completely - absolutely unworthy of you!”

Your arms tighten around him, “I’m so sorry I put you through that love.”

“All that sneaking around was for this tattoo?” He couldn’t help the involuntary little crack in his voice. “You really did surprise me darlin’.”

He pulls away from you first and his hands find your wrists, and his eyes again fall onto the symbol, the symbol of him, lovingly tattooed into your skin. A mark to let people know just who put the ring on your finger. 

He didn’t look up from it, even when you spoke up again, “Ace,” he just traced circles over the mark that sat proudly in bold black letters, “I’m really sorry that I made you feel that way - wait does that sound? It’s not-no wait. It’s my fault!” He glanced up at you for a moment as you struggled to put what you wanted to say into words, working strenuously to apologize sincerely.

His lips wobbled upwards.

He couldn’t help it.

You’d gone out of your way, to tattoo his mark onto your body. He couldn’t help but stare at it as he continued to rub circles with his thumb. Not only that, you were straining yourself so much all because he voiced that damned insecurity of his.

“I didn’t mean to put you through that?” You tried again. “I wanted it to be a surprise, but I didn’t want to hurt you.” You paused, and he felt you move closer. “I’m sorry if what I did hurt you-no-I’m sorry that I did hurt you.”

There was a pricking at the corners of eyes, as he finally took his eyes off your little gift to him to look at you. There was a kind of relief, or maybe it was appreciation? Maybe even a tinge of surprise? He was touched, that was one thing he knew for sure-if the fire that burned in his chest was any indication. He was a sick bastard for appreciating this, wasn’t he? Seeing you so genuinely apologetic - it was alarming really, did he really deserve this apology when he was doubting you? How could he ever hope to compete with this?

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, doll,” his voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he continued to rub circles into your wrists.

“No I do,” you insisted, “Ace, I’m happy you’re communicating how you felt to me,” you responded quietly, but firmly, “so don’t downplay how it felt when I was the one being sneaky.”

“You didn’t mean any harm though,” his lips pull into a gentle smile as he slowly brings your tattooed pulse up to brush his lips against it before flicking his gaze to meet yours, “you were here prepping this lovely gift for me and I was only thinking of myself.”

A smirk tugs at his lips at the way you have to shake yourself out of whatever spell he’d placed you under, “just because I didn’t mean any harm, doesn’t mean I didn’t do any harm,” you press on, shuddering a bit when he brushes another kiss to your pulse, “if you did the same, I’d probably have felt the same way too, you have nothing to feel bad about.”

“Forgive me for doubting you, cariña?”

He almost laughs at the affronted look you give him, firing back a, “forgive me for hurting you, love?”

“Nothing to forgive,” he’s smiling more now, “I’m glad you were being so sneaky, made this surprise all the better.”

“Don’t downplay your feelings Portgas D. Ace,” he could hear your frown, “your feelings are important to me, you’re important to me.”

“My full name cariña?” He couldn’t help but tease.

“Yes,” you answered immediately and he looked up to see how upset you looked - it was almost annoying - he’d rather not dwell, “I want you to get just how upset you were off your chest.”

That got a chuckle out of him, despite the irritation that was rising.

“I don’t want to think about it too much,” his smile fell for a moment, “I don’t want to ruin this happy moment with stupid emotions in the past.”

“But I don’t want them to fester-” 

“Mi amor,” he looked at you, almost pleading, “it’s true I felt like you were ignoring me, but seeing your little surprise makes me the happiest man on the five seas.”

Seems that was enough to quiet you. Though… “six, if you include the All Blue.”

When you chuckled at him, he felt his smile returning. He honestly couldn’t care less about the past. He’d said his piece, you’d talked it out, he didn’t care anymore.

“So, you know I love you right?” The timid way in which you asked was enough to knock the wind out of him.

Yet, he grinned, and brought your marked pulse up to lips again, “I love you too.”

“Oi get a room!” The two of you startled at the sudden shout coming from the other end of the mess hall. “Sure we can barely see you in your little corner, but the lovey-dovey energy in here is off the charts!”  

“Shut up Thatch!” Ace fired back. “You’re just mad you can’t gossip to Marco about it!”

“You’re the one blocking the show!”

“Good!”

“It’s real funny though,” there was a pause, “who’d have thought the wild Fire Fist was actually a huge pile of mush!”

With the newfound yelling, people started to file into the mess hall. Which was when he noticed it was mostly empty prior to that. Of course among the people who filed in was the aforementioned first division commander.

“You like your little surprise Ace?” He asked the younger man.

“Wait you knew?”

“Who else would she ask yoi?” The medic gave him a lazy grin before turning to you. “So, did you get to say what you wanted to say yoi?”

Ace studied you as you shook your head looking both disappointed and sheepish.

“What did you want to say?” He couldn’t help but ask.

You huffed, a sheepish smile wobbling your lips, as you moved to his left side, your right hand pushing his upper arm to show more of his tattoo.

"See,” you held up your own tattooed wrist next to his arm, “now we match."

Extra:

Ace later: “I’m gonna marry her.”

Marco (who is next to him): “aren’t you already married?”

#portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace fluff #portgas d ace #portgas d ace fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece #ace one piece

[turtletaubwrites]

We've All Got Needs ~ Part 1

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,133

This is part 1 of the Series 'We've All Got Needs,' linked below:

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Ao3 Series Link

Summary: The crew's out for the day so you decide to take advantage of unlimited shower time. Too bad a certain swordsman finished his workout early. Guess you should have locked the door.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Reader Insert, Fem!Reader, 18+ Only, MDNI, Smut, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Casual Sex, Accidental Voyeurism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Condoms, Penis In Vagina Sex, Cunnilingus, Biting, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Hair-pulling, Aftercare, Swearing, No Foreplay, Zoro's a straight to the point kinda guy and we love that, Shameless Smut, Friends With Benefits, crewmates with benefits

A/N: This is my first smut with absolutely zero plot! I want to practice writing shorter pieces while I'm working on my next bigger story. I hope you like it!

Docked at a new town, you decided to take advantage of the privacy on the ship while the rest of the crew went shopping, and scoped things out. It seemed like a boring place, but knowing Luffy, you would all end up fighting a dragon or something. 

So you might as well enjoy the bathing room uninterrupted for once while you had the chance. 

Groaning, you massaged your neck and shoulders under the almost scalding water. Normally there would be someone banging on the door to get in by now, and you sighed as you rinsed the last of the soap away. Steam tickled up around you as you shut off the water. 

“Damn.”

You let out an embarrassing high pitched noise, and grabbed your towel before turning toward the owner of that deep voice. 

Zoro stood inside the stupidly unlocked door, already pulling out of his shirt. He was dripping with sweat, green hair clinging to his forehead. His chest was fucking glistening. You realized you’d been staring while you stood there dripping in your towel. 

“Sorry, Y/N.”

He didn’t look sorry as he walked toward you. 

Zoro had dropped his shirt on the floor and was reaching for his pants. You tried to excuse yourself, but couldn’t stop watching him. 

He tilted his head with a smirk, and you felt trapped.

“We should fuck.”

Your brain stopped working.

“Wha-what?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. But we’ve all got needs. I’ve seen how you look at me.”

Zoro had stopped before removing his pants, but he walked toward you. You almost felt the look in his eyes on your skin. 

“Uhh, I..”

“I like what I see too,” he said, in a raspy voice you’d never heard him use before. 

He reached out to hold your jaw, tilting your face to his. His thumb smoothed along your skin until it rubbed over your lips. 

A shiver of pleasure prickled your skin. Your lips parted in a soft gasp, and you had to close your eyes for a second. 

When they opened, Zoro was so close to you, looking almost smug, but reserved.

“Is that a yes, Y/N?”

You were not expecting this at all. Zoro is fucking gorgeous, but you didn’t think he saw you that way. This way. Now he’s got his thumb on your mouth, asking if you’d like more. 

You felt your smile curve under his thumb,

“We’ve all got needs.”

You dropped your towel as you let those words out, and Zoro looked so fucking pleased with himself. You almost wanted to punish him for it. You watched his eyes darken, his pupils dilated, and you had a feeling that you might be the one about to get punished. 

Breathless, you stood naked, waiting for him.

His eyes burned into you. Zoro shifted the hand on your jaw to twist into the hair at the back of your neck. He didn’t pull, but your blood sped through you as you felt how much control he had just taken with that expert grip. 

“What kind of needs could you have, Y/N?”

Zoro had completely floored you, all of this coming at you out of nowhere. You couldn’t believe how speechless he was making you, how flustered. You couldn’t get a sentence out.

“Mm, mind if I take a look?”

You gave a soft moan of consent as he traced the fingers of his other hand along your hip, back and forth as it got closer and closer. 

His eyes were intense, almost territorial as he stared into yours. He kept his gaze on your face as his fingers slipped into your folds. You writhed and cried out, but Zoro pulled that grip in your hair firm. Just firm enough to make you moan and look at him again. 

“You’ve been carrying all this need around, hm?”

Your mouth fell open at the sight of his fingers, thick strands of slick dripping between them. Zoro had hardly done a thing to you, but your body was aching for him now. 

“I should've taken care of you sooner,” he said with a chuckle, removing the grip from your hair. 

He looked around the room, the same way he does when scoping out a place for a fight. He locked the door, then began rummaging through the cubbies. You caught him digging through Sanji’s, mumbling to himself. You started to feel a bit awkward standing there naked, but then he smiled and pulled a condom out of Sanji’s things. Of course Sanji would have condoms. 

You wet your lips with your tongue as Zoro stripped, tossing his pants across the room. You stood there staring at each other, and your breath caught when you saw his long, heavy cock twitch for you. He held the condom up by his face before ripping it open. 

“I’ll go pick some up in town if you end up liking what my cock can do to you.”

You nodded as you stared, mouth watering as he placed the condom on the tip, fisting it down his length. He smirked before charging toward you.

He placed his hand on your shoulder with his thumb along your throat, and shoved you back against the wall. 

Zoro kissed you then, his lips and tongue surprisingly gentle. At first.

You moaned into his mouth as he rubbed his length along your entrance, making you twitch under his hold while he circled it on your clit.

His kisses became more intense, and then he licked and bit along your lips, jaw, and down to your neck.

You traced your hands along his beautiful chest, still covered in sweat. He twitched slightly when you ran your thumbs over his nipples. You went to lick and bite at his ear, but Zoro took that moment to lift one of your legs, holding it up over his arm, then plunged into you.

You screamed. The abrupt entrance was overwhelming, but Zoro kept pumping into you, pushing and pushing to fill you completely.

You grasped for something to keep you steady, and a very useful stability bar for the shower worked perfectly. 

You hung onto it for dear life as Zoro pulled back from your neck to watch your face.

“You haven’t even had it all yet, Y/N. Is my cock giving you what you needed? Can you take it?”

“Fuck yes, Zoro. Please. I can take it!”

You didn’t recognize your desperate voice. You’d had no build up, just straight to him fucking you with so much strength. But it was so fucking good. You could feel yourself close already, and the thought of more of him filling you made your eyes roll back.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, Y/N. Fuuuck. You’re gonna take my cock so well, aren’t you?”

“Yes, please. I need it, please.”

Zoro groaned as you begged. He adjusted your leg, then tilted himself slightly.

He leaned over you to growl against your ear. 

“You’d better hold on, Y/N. Be a good girl and take my cock, and I’ll give you what you need whenever you want it.”

You cried out for him, grasping onto the shower bar as your eyes started watering from the brutal thrusts he was already hitting into you. 

Zoro groaned loudly as he shoved into you, so fucking deep, until you held all of him. He’d taken the hand off your shoulder to circle its thumb over your clit. You came on his cock, screaming.

“So fucking good Y/N, your pussy’s so perfect. Keep coming for me, baby.”

You couldn’t form words, the twist of pleasure and pain riding you hard. 

Zoro kept fucking into you until you were begging him.

“Please, Zoro.”

“You want me to keep giving you what you need after tonight?”

You whimpered your yes for him, twitching, your body starting to go limp.

“Come on, you’ve been so good. Let me give you a break.”

Gasping, you clung to Zoro’s shoulders as he picked you up from the wall, and laid you out on the shower floor. He’d left your cunt, dripping and aching as he set you down gently.

You looked in his eyes, and you knew he wasn’t done with you yet. You braced your hands on the wall, and arched your back at the pleased rumble of laughter that he gave at the sight. He leaned over, and spread your thighs wide, trailing his fingers along your twitching skin.

“Look at this pretty pussy. Mm, just what I needed.”

Zoro laid between your legs, and you screamed as he attacked your clit with kisses, licks, and sucks, pulling it softly between his teeth.

“Fuck, Zoro, i-it’s too much!”

He leaned away, face dripping.

“Already? Well, let’s see if you can earn my cock then.”

Zoro wrapped his fingers around his length, and you writhed at the sight. He brought himself closer to you, and you whimpered with need. He played with your clit with his tip again, and you arched your back. 

“Perfect,” he growled as he snaked one of his arms under your lower back. 

Then he lined himself up with your entrance, and you screamed. He filled you up so much, and the angle was intense, but exactly right. 

Zoro grunted as his thrusts tore you apart. He held your lower back in position, using that arm to help fuck into your body harder. He stayed steady with the other arm, his hand planted by your face. He brought his eyes to yours, and your body clenched around him as you watched his mouth hanging wide with his tongue loose. He looked so fucking feral, it made you come on his cock again. 

His thrusts became even more frenzied as your voice got hoarse from screaming. 

“Fuck yeah, Y/N. You’re so fucking needy for my cock, aren’t you.”

“Fuck yes, Zoro.”

You barely managed to form those words as you felt him hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over, so fucking deep. 

“That’s right, your hot little pussy can have this every day if you can take it like this.”

You moaned, hands scrambling along the wall as he fucked you further across the floor.

Zoro shifted, lifting himself onto his knees now. He lifted your hips further with him, leaving your upper back on the floor while he shoved himself into you from a punishing, phenomenal angle. 

You lost your fucking mind, screaming, scratching at yourself, scratching at him. He played with your clit with his thumb, and you almost slammed your head into the tile floor from how hard you came for him. 

“Fuuuck yes, Y/N, fuck. Just. Like.That.”

You’d never come that hard in your life. Your aching cunt was milking him so hard, and your orgasm kept fucking coming when you felt his cock pulsing inside you. Zoro groaned, his thrusts losing rhythm as he bit into your neck. You were spasming underneath him as you felt his release. 

You didn’t know how long had passed as you lay twitching on the floor. Zoro released your neck from his teeth, only to lick and kiss along your shoulder until you whimpered, your pussy still clenching around him. 

He leaned back from you, holding your chin to face him. He gave you a dangerous smile before pulling away from your body, leaving you empty and gasping. 

You couldn’t even lift your head to watch him. You winced as the shower turned on, the water splashing up your legs. 

Zoro knelt over you, pulling you onto his lap while the water washed over your lower body. 

You didn’t know if you could talk, let alone what to say, as Zoro started to clean your body along with his. You gasped when his hand reached your center, still dripping and slick with all he’d done. 

He was gentle, just cleaning, but you twitched in his arms. He chuckled and kissed your temple. 

“So, Y/N, should I head down to the town, and pick up some more condoms?”

You choked, sputtering as he laughed at you. He continued to wash up your body, and you shivered and gasped under his hands. 

“Go buy me some new legs while you’re at it.”

His surprised laugh at your words made you laugh too, which made all your parts ache, in such a good, but still painful way. 

Zoro had fucking wrecked you, but you’d never felt so much pleasure. Even that thought made your back arch against his chest, and he stopped laughing long enough to stroke his hand along your chest while he hummed against your ear. 

“So you’re good with this? With helping each other out.”

His whisper sent chills through you, and you smiled.

“We’ve all got needs”

Thank you for reading! 💜

TurtleTaub Fanfic Masterlist

Part 2: Don't Get Lost

Buy me a coffee ☕🙏🏼

#zoro smut #zoro x reader #Reader Insert #Fem!Reader #Smut #mine #One Piece smut #Opla smut #opla zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro fanfic #zoro fanfiction #x reader #turtletaub fics

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Listen, i have way more Peter Quill ideas if you’ll allow me-

Can we get one where the reader is super horny for Peter but she doesn’t really want to say anything because they keep getting interrupted by the other guardians (like Mantis, Rocket or Groot needing something) and it happens multiple times until the reader just pushes Peter aside and they start making out. 😂

It can be full smut or just end wherever you want it I’m not picky…but i wouldn’t turn down smut👀 it can also be gender neutral i don’t care, thanks Love! 💖

~Bear🐻

hii again sweetheart!! of course, send them in at anytime:) love love it, I was nice I wrote smut🤭 thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

storage room rendezvous

Peter Quill x f reader

wc || 1.3k

warnings || 18+ only sexually explicit content minors dni

masterlist + rules

taglist

Being confined to the Bowie during long-haul missions often meant there wasn't much space or privacy, never having the luxury of a moment's silence without getting interrupted by one of the other guardians. You and Peter had recently started dating, so the amount of need you had for him was unbearable. You wanted him all the time.    

Rocket had to do an emergency landing on some random planet, twenty-something jump points away from Knowhere so he could tinker. So that left you and the rest of the crew stranded on the ship until the issue resolved. 

Waltzing your way over to the front of the ship, hands cutely laced together as you joined Quill in the captain seat, sitting across his lap. "Whatcha doing?" you question, making yourself comfortable. 

"Taking my seat before Rocket gets back," he chuckles, placing his hand on your thigh, adjusting you as he pulls you closer. "He ain't gonna like it," grinning at the thought. "What's up?" he asks, kissing your shoulder.

"Bored," you say slowly, your tone speckled with suggestion. 

"Bored, huh?" he repeats, his tone matching yours. "What'd ya wanna do?" he asks, already knowing what you're thinking, waiting for you to admit it.

"I did have one idea..." you hint, lightly trailing down his chest. "Oh, god!" you jump, lowering your face to the nape of Peter's neck. "Don't do that."

"What?" Quill questions, his eyes concerned as he follows your initial gaze. "God, Drax. How long you been there?" 

"Since we landed," Drax responds matter-of-factly, pulling a rustly bag from his pocket.

"That was an hour ago." You chime in, poking your head up to look at him. 

Shrugging simply. "Yeah... Zarg-Nut?" He offers, shaking the bag between you both.

Quill extends his hand over the back of the seat, cupping his palm towards Drax. "What?" he chuckles at your displeased expression, shoving a handful of the dried snack into his mouth. "I'm hungry."

"You are unbelievable," you playfully scoff, avoiding his green eyes. 

"Hi, guys." The soft voice of Mantis appears next to Drax. "Oh, can I have one?" She asks, nodding to the bag in his hand.

"They're all gone," Drax replies before pouring the contents into his mouth.

"I am Groot."

"Okay!" you say finally, clapping your hands together once. You loosen from Peter's grip as you stand up, lacing your hand into his as you lead him away from the group. "Come with me."

"Where we going?" Quill questions, following after you, his hand gripped into yours.

"Shut up," you whisper, leading him through the corridors as you search for a suitable storage room.

"You want me, don't ya?" he smugly asks, briskly walking to catch up with your long strides.

Poking your head through door gaps. "Yeah, now shut-up,"

He playfully chuckles, his tone full of assurance. "Knew it," snickering.

"Here's one," you mouth, dragging Peter into the empty room, forcefully shutting the door behind him.

You immediately attach your lips to his, ravenous and starved, desperately tugging at his t-shirt. He separates, his head hung low as he assesses your eyes. "Whoa, whoa, whoa... ain't even locked the door." He smirks, reaching behind to twist the lock. 

Quill loved when you needed him, loved seeing you desperate. He loved when you were verbal, telling him what you wanted, but not right now. He wanted the control and leadership he craved. 

He lightly trails his hand up your throat, grazing higher before cupping around your jaw, grasping the side of your face to bring you in. He instantly clashes his hungry mouth with yours, rolling and licking over your soft lips while his other hand travels behind your head to pull you closer. The need grows more urgent as his hands roam you, loosening the grip on your jaw to travel down to your throat. He holds it as he controls and deepens the kiss, pushing you back up and against the wall.

"What do you want?" he breathlessly asks against your lips, a wry grin looming. 

"You," you shakily reply, snaking your hands around his back, gripping the hem of his tee. 

"Yeah?" he softy whispers, entertaining you.

He slips his hand under your ass, cupping over the cheeks as he manhandles you, eagerly kneading the doughy flesh between his fingers. 

Sliding his palms up, they rest and clasp around your waist, kissing you in desperation as he squeezes you, grinding his clothed groin into yours.

He picks you up, holding you under your thighs as he walks you over to the stacked storage containers in the corner, placing you down atop them. His fingers snake into your waistband, immediately palming over your wet pussy, teasing your clit as his spare hand slides into his waistband. Lightly gripping his hardened cock and pulling himself out of his pants, firmly stroking up the length. 

You eagerly squirm out of your pants, letting them slide down your thighs and hang around your boots, draping from your ankles as you wrap your knees around his hips, bringing him closer. He yanks down his pants and boxers before sliding his tip through your folds, collecting your arousal around his shaft. "Fuck," he mutters at the contact, momentarily throwing his neck back.

He spits in his palm, rubbing the saliva over his veins to lube himself up as he adjusts you, bringing your hips forward. He pushes his head through your folds, slipping through the slick flesh as you both watch in anticipation. Needy whimpers fill the dingy room.

Gripping at his base, he eases into you. Slowly sliding his tip in as he attaches his mouth to yours, catching and muffling your initial moan. His hands graze up your back, holding you close as he sinks further into you, melting around his every inch. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, whining and mumbling against his warm skin as you adjust to his girth, clutching at his biceps. "Oh, God," muttering, his eyes screwing shut.

He kisses the side of your neck, lightly nibbling and suckling the skin as he slides in and out of you, moulding around him as he fucks into you. Completely filling you with every hasty wind of his hips, rolling into you as he chases after the high.

He grows desperate and demanding as he pushes into you. Massaging inside you, rubbing over your g-spot with the upper side of his cock, fucking into the areas you needed. He finally attaches his lips to yours, swallowing your open moans and whimpers as he groans into your mouth. Slipping in his tongue every once in a while.

You felt the overwhelming build of the high consume you, aimlessly whining against his lips as you felt yourself get closer. You convulse around him, sucking him in further in with every jolt. 

"Can I come in you?" he shakily asks, resting his forehead against yours. "Please- fuck," he mutters, closing his eyes like he's holding himself off. 

You eagerly nod, wrapping your legs tighter around him, crossing your ankles as you keep him glued to you. Desperately clawing at his back as you let go. Quill pulsates for the final time before spilling his load deep into you, senselessly whimpering in one another's mouth as you both reach your long-awaited release. The room full of hot shaky moans.

He gingerly drags himself from you, watching the connecting strings of his cum as he pulls out. He bends to the floor, pulling up his pants before doing the same with yours, holding your hand as he helps you down from the containers. Keeping you balanced, chuckling at your stumbly footing. 

"I'll uh... I'll, um," you stutter, momentarily closing your eyes as you think of the words. "I'll join you out there in a few minutes... don't make it obvious," you grin, reaching up to kiss him tenderly, playfully slapping his ass as he turns away.

Turning around with a faux displeased expression, head cocking. "I'll tell 'em," he warns with a raised brow and boyish smirk. "Don't think I won't..." teasing you. 

Grinning with raised hands as if to symbolise your innocence. "I'll see you in two minutes... Quial."

#peter quill #peter quill x female reader #peter quill x reader #peter quill x you #peter quill x fem!reader #star lord #star lord x reader #starlord x you #starlord x reader #guardians of the galaxy #gotg fanfiction #gotg #peter quill fanfiction #peter quill fanfic #peter quill imagines #peter quill smut

[girlygguk]

denial ; jjk | part two (18+)

➵ summary; your brother, taehyung, doesn't know how to properly handle yours & jungkook's.. agreement. you go over to his place to fix your relationship with him and eat a lot of chinese food. you end up getting a little more than that from his roommate during your visit.

this is part two to denial - part one and i highly recommend reading it first as u won’t understand most of the storyline!! xx

➵ pairing ; idol!jk x (f)actress!reader

➵ word count ; 7.1k

➵ rating ; 18+ minors dni

➵ content ; a bit of fluff, a bit of angst & a whole lotta smut. jk & reader are dumb sluts that will do anything besides admit their feelings for each other, tae is an amazing lil brother, jk & reader fight, jelly & whipped kook as always, stupid reader (sorry)

➵ warnings ; teasing, swearing, grinding, kissing, fingering, spitting, dom!jk, oral sex (f rec.), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (wrap it UP! xx), aftercare, cream pie, sexy stuff starts quite late so pwp.

a/n ; holy SHIT. i did not expect the love & reactions on part one of this... thank you so so much. as a token of my gratitude, here is a part 2!!!

"Cut! Well done, guys, that's a wrap!" Your director's voice booms through the studio as the crew applauds. You join in, clapping and returning the bows of everybody you see as you make your way off-set. A teary thirty minutes follow as you say your thankyous and goodbyes to your co-stars and staff, promising to stay in touch during the season break. 

You're locking your trailer door when suddenly, your phone buzzes in your pocket. Pulling it out of your jacket eagerly, you tap the screen, hoping to see your brother's name at the top of the notification. You can't help the small wave of disappointment that washes over you as you read the text from your co-star Hee-Jin, saying she's almost at your trailer.

It's been a little over two months since the night that you discovered Taehyung knew about you and Jungkook. 

71 DAYS EARLIER...

Your hands run over your face, Jungkook's facewash foamy on your fingers as you rub the cleanser harshly into your skin, almost as if the last 10 minutes of your life will rinse down the drain of the shower along with the overpriced skincare product. You didn't want to wash away the Jungkook part, because as you stood in his shower with jelly legs and a shy soreness between your thighs, you knew that no matter how fucked up it was that your younger brother potentially heard everything, you wouldn't take it back. 

So Jungkook was forced to sit patiently on his bed while you took over his bathroom. He wanted to go into the lounge and talk to his best mate, and he really wanted a slice of pizza because sex always makes him hungry, but he knew to let you speak to Taehyung first. 

Sure, slamming the door of Jungkook's bedroom shut after seeing your brother in the living room acting as normal as could be probably wasn't the best idea. And then ignoring Jungkook's soft tone as he asked if you were alright, shrugging him off you gently before walking into his ensuite and locking the door... Also not one of your best moments.

You and Jungkook were close friends before your relationship developed sexually. He knew what you wanted to eat before you even did. You knew the punchlines to all of his stupid jokes before he got to it, adding a twist to the end and making him double over in laughter, swearing you tell the joke better than he ever could. You were thankful for that bond right now because Jungkook knew from the moment you walked away that you just needed a minute to collect yourself. He watched silently when you disappeared into his bathroom to shower, not even making a cheeky offer to join you, which is very out of character for him.

He listened as the sound of running water came to a halt and looked up as you emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, the towel he had prepared for himself wrapped around your body. He bit back a smile as he remained on the edge of his bed, watching as you crept towards him, your eyes trailing down to the pile of clothes folded next to him. He had one of his hoodies that you always complimented whenever he wore and a pair of sweatpants perched next to him. His eyes followed your train of sight before flicking back up to your face, "for you," he confirmed your suspicions, his eyes tracing every inch of your doleful expression. 

Patting the pile of clothes, he pushed off his knees and stood up before walking to meet you in the middle of his room. You shake your head in awe, standing on the tips of your toes when he reaches you before connecting your lips with his. The kiss is soft and slow, much more wholesome than your usual messy kisses. Jungkook breaks away slightly, his hands running over your towel-covered back before resting on your butt and patting it gently.

"Go talk to him, baby," he says softly, lips lifting slightly to press against your forehead. You nod with a heavy sigh as he makes his way into the bathroom, his turn to shower now.

You can't leave your mind as you pull Jungkook's clothes onto your body. Your brother wasn't even fazed when he saw you in Jungkook's room. And you know for a fact you weren't exactly quiet, so he definitely heard something. God, the thought makes your feel nauseated as you grab one of the hair ties you leave on Jungkook's dresser to throw your hair up into a low bun, ignoring your wet hair hitting the back of your neck as you head for his door.

TODAY...

"So what did he say?" Hee-Jin's voice pulled you from your inner thoughts, causing you to let out a dazed hum in response before she continued. "Taehyung, how did he react?"

You look over at the girl on your left as you walk through the parking lot, two bouquets of flowers clutched in your hands as you both reach your car. "He already knew. I can't believe he already knew," your voice was strained as you shook your head in embarrassment. Hee-Jin's lips pulled into her mouth, and her eyes squinted slightly; you knew she was conflicted on whether to laugh or cry with you.

"You're such a bitch. It's not funny." You pouted before your body betrayed you, an airy laugh blowing through your lips and swatting at the girl with occupied arms as best as you could.

She giggled at your attempt, leaning against your car with you, her own flowers resting in her arms as well. "So he's okay with it?"

Your eyes lift from the ground, turning slightly to face her, "I can't tell," you say honestly, "he barely even reacted even when I tried to talk to him. I think he doesn't even want to think about it."

Hee-Jin nodded with a sorry look after seeing your sullen expression. "I mean, how would you react if you found out your sister was getting fucked by your best friend? I wouldn't want to think about it either."

Her brutally honest remark caught you off guard, pulling a low snort out of you before you fished your keys out of your jacket pocket to unlock your car. "Get off my car. I've had enough of you." Hee-Jin pokes her tongue at you before pushing off the side of your vehicle and heading to her own.

"Love you! You know I'm right!" She smiles as she waddles away, ignoring the eye roll you throw her as you shove the bouquets onto your passenger seat.

"Love you," is the last thing you grumble back before jumping into your car and slamming the door.

Your phone vibrates from your jacket pocket as you're halfway through buckling your seatbelt. Pulling it out, you bite your lip and send a quick response before shoving the key into your car's ignition. Then, ignoring the bubbles brewing in the pit of your stomach, you pull out of the parking lot and head for the destination your friend awaits.

Jungkook is hot. It's the boys' day off today, and he just finished up in the gym, his arms throbbing a little more than usual. He went a little harder during this session because he's planning on skipping a couple of upcoming days to chill. It has nothing to do with the fact that he knows you've wrapped up filming for the season and are heading home today. Not at all.

Twisting the cap onto the water bottle he just devoured in seconds, he throws it in the trash can before leaving the kitchen. He's almost at his bedroom before his eyes roll to the back of his head, retreating sluggishly to the garbage can before fishing the bottle back out. A low scoff leaves him as he tosses the bottle into the recycling bin instead, your sarcastic little comment plaguing his inner thoughts. You're not even here, and he's doing what you say. He's fucking whipped, and he knows it.

Reaching his bedroom successfully this time, he grabs a set of clean clothes from his drawers and throws them on his bed for when he's out of the shower. Then, heading towards his ensuite, he catches his phone on top of his dresser and stares at it for a second.

"Hi, Koo." You answer after two rings, and he sits on the foot of his bed when he hears your voice.

"Hi," he replies after a beat, fighting the side of his mouth as it tries to lift when he hears his nickname flow effortlessly from your mouth. "Watcha doin'?"

He hears you shuffle a little.

Closing the magazine you were browsing before you got the call, you smile at Jungkook's voice, your eyes scanning the room to ensure you didn't miss getting called up. "I'm actually at Modify."

His eyebrows furrow, "my tattoo place?"

"Yeah, but I'm not getting a tattoo—just a piercing with a friend. I asked for Riki, just like you said to. He's really nice."

"Yeah, he's the best. Did you chuck it on my account?" He nods, pulling at the thread of his towel absentmindedly.

"No," you chuckle, "but thank you. You're cute for offering." 

He feels his eyes roll back again, a habit he picked up from you, "you should. I have some account credit I have to use before it expires," he lies, and you bite back a smile knowing that he's full of shit.

"You're back earlier than I thought." Jungkook changes the subject, and you lean back into the couch's cushion before answering.

"Yeah, I just got back into Seoul like an hour ago. Decided to get it done here rather than Gwacheon so I can go home and rest afterwards."

You're thankful for Jungkook's random call to be honest. His voice calmed down your nerves exponentially; you forgot how jittery you were. "What are you getting pierced?" He asks, pulling you back to reality.

You feel your face getting hotter, and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it for a moment too long because his hum into your phone speaker breaks the extended silence. "Um," your lips are pursed now, wondering if you should be telling him over the phone.

Jungkook's eyebrows raise, and he shuffles back a little more on the edge of his bed before continuing, "Are you getting a piercing down there?"

Your laugh flows through the phone, returning that feeling to his stomach. "No, perv." You sigh through a smile, "My nipples."

You hear him blow out a low breath before he chuckles, "Jesus. Happy birthday to me."

You're quick to roll your eyes and fail to wipe the smile off your face before giggling at his reaction. You see Riki pop his head out the door of his booth before he waves at you, indicating it's your turn to go up. Nodding back at him, you signal that you're just wrapping up your phone call, and he gives you a thumbs-up before ducking away.

"It's my turn. I have to go, Kook." You say into your phone, standing from the couch and fixing the cushions that fell as you stood.

Jungkook nods on the other end of the line before clearing his throat slightly and running a hand through his sweaty hair. "Hey, _____?"

"Yeah?" You respond as you walk towards Riki's room, watching as he finishes up with his previous customer.

"What friend are you with?"

A moment passes as Jungkook's question lingers in the air, stopping you in your tracks. You're standing just before the entrance of Riki's suite, and you glance down at your shoes for a second before sighing. "Kook—"

Jae's confused look causes you to stop talking as he climbs off the studio chair-bed, approaching you. "You okay?"

Jungkook heard Jae's voice through the phone. You know he did because when he abruptly ends the call, muttering something about "I have to go shower," you're pulling your phone back and seeing the disconnected symbol flashback at you from the device's screen.

The chime of your door accepting the access code fills your ears as you push down on the handle with your elbow, a little shove from your hip pushing the door open enough to slide inside. After locking the door, you drop the wilting flowers on the kitchen island and head to the sink to grab some water, hoping to try and cling to the little life they look to have left.

Your phone dings while you're filling up a random dish with water, as you don't actually own a vase. A cringed laugh leaves your lips when you pull the flowers out of the paper encasing and dump them into the sad container of water. "I should've just let you die. This is just sad." You mumble, walking to the chair where you chucked your jacket and phone.

Tae

Miss you. Heard you're home. Dinner tn?

You blink away the tears stinging in your waterline, sending back an of course and snorting when he spams you with a bunch of random excited emojis. You haven't talked much since the night at his a few months ago, and it's been eating away at you ever since. You have always been close with your siblings. Taehyung, especially since you both left home to pursue your careers in similar industries. You were quick to leave his apartment when it was clear he didn't exactly want to talk, and you didn't blame him.

You

just gonna shower then i'll pop over

The shower was quick; you only cut yourself slightly at the bottom of your knee when shaving your legs. That's what you call success. As you pull on your shirt, you're trying not to catch your new piercings on the fabric when your eyes flutter to the bulletin board of Polaroids of you and your friends. Your eyes automatically go to the stupid one smack bang in the middle. 

You're both sitting on the floor of your living room in the picture, a big cheesy grin covering Jungkook's face while you lean next to him with your tongue poking out. Jungkook turned to you as soon as you finished taking the photo, poking his tongue at you before letting his impulsive thoughts take over and licking a fat stripe over your cheek. You remember screeching and trying to push him away in a fit of giggles before conceding and allowing him to continue his attack.

Such a dork, you think as you're pulling your jeans over your legs. But, as much as you like to try and convince yourself you're not helplessly infatuated with him, you can't help but hope he's at dinner tonight.

Your brother is warm as he engulfs you in a bear hug when you enter the apartment. Smiling as you break away, you hit his shoulder playfully and laugh as he holds the injured area with a dramatic whine. "I should hit you harder than that for ignoring my texts."

"I'm sorry. I was just in a mood," Taehyung responds with a regretful smile.

"I know. I'm sorry too." You nod understandingly, pulling your jacket off and hanging it over one of the stools near the kitchen bar.

His low chuckle follows you as you both head to the living room. You roll your eyes at the spread of Chinese takeaway covering the large coffee table in front of the TV. "You guys have a huge kitchen and dining area, but I've never seen you actually eat in there."

"Food tastes better in front of the TV." He says simply, jumping onto the couch and patting the spot next to him.

You make your way to the couch and flop next to your brother, the smell of the spread in front of you making you hum in delight. You're both about to tuck in when he curses under his breath, climbing off the sofa with a promise to return with chopsticks. You lean forward and grab a dumpling with your fingers before dipping it in one of the sauces Taehyung laid out. It's almost in your mouth when the door to Jungkook's bedroom creaks slightly, causing you to put the dumpling back down and stare as he enters the lounge. He's dressed in a plain black shirt and sweats, and you drink in his figure shamelessly when he comes into view.

He spots you instantly as he walks further into the room, and you notice his eyes drop slightly to your chest, a short laugh blowing through your lips when you realise he's trying to see the imprint of the nipple piercings you said you were getting done today. "Hi, Koo—"

Your brother's voice cuts you off when he enters the living room again, "Kook! You hungry? There's heaps."

You take a pair of chopsticks when Tae hands you them, returning to your earlier action and grabbing the dumpling but successfully shoving it in your mouth this time. Your gaze lifts back to Jungkook as you chew, watching curiously as he looks at the food, looks at you, and then looks back to your brother. "Nah, bro, not hungry." He replies lowly before turning around and heading back into his room.

"Why did he come out then?" Taehyung snickers, leaning forward and slurping up a mouthful of noodles. You cough out a laugh, grabbing another dumpling and stuffing it into your mouth to avoid having to say anything. You knew why Jungkook was in a grump, and you also knew that he was definitely hungry. He's always hungry. You continue eating and internally decide that you will fix both of those problems before leaving the apartment tonight.

You and Taehyung talked for an hour and a half after you finished your dinner. It started on the topic of work—how your drama was going and how his shows were going. Then it got to the huge fucking Jungkook-shaped elephant in the room. You cried and apologised non-stop, and he kept telling you to cut it out, hugging you into his chest and telling you he wasn't mad. That life happens, and you can't help it." I'm supposed to be your big sister." You remember crying as he chuckled while patting your back like one would a newborn.

"How l-long did you know?" You hiccupped after breaking away from the embrace, reaching for your cup of water on the coffee table.

"Well, a few times, I caught him smiling at his phone and saw your name on the screen as I walked past. Or when he would shamelessly check you out whenever you'd come over. I thought he was just a horny douche," Tae laughed as you rolled your teary eyes, "but one night really caught me off guard. We were watching the first episode of your new drama when it dropped, and when the flashback kissing scene came on, he went dead quiet. Wouldn't talk for the rest of the episode and then went to his room when it finished."

"Jungkook," you say as you knock on his bedroom door, "I made you a plate. Can I come in?"

On the other side, Jungkook is lying on his bed, arm resting against the headboard behind his head, and tongue poking the inside of his cheek when he hears you call him by his actual name instead of a nickname like you usually do. He stays quiet and continues to scroll through a random social media app on his phone; he can't even tell you which one at this point. He's just trying not to give in. Call you in and shower your dumb face in kisses like he wants to. Pull your shirt up and see your newly pierced nipples because it's all he's been thinking about since you told him.

"I'm coming in, okay? Cover up!" You warn snarkily and smile in satisfaction when you hear him snort as you push the door open and step inside.

Jungkook's eyes flutter to you as you shut the door with your foot and shuffle over to his bed. His phone locks from inactivity, and he lets it slip from his hand as he watches you sit on the side of his bed, a plate of Chinese held in your hands as you poke his thigh with the chopsticks. "Eat."

He stares at your face for a second when you speak, his gaze lifting to your puffy eyes, making him sit up a little against the headboard. "Have you been crying?"

"Nothing gets past you, Sherlock." You mutter jokingly, leaning forward and placing the plate of food on his lap. "I know you're hungry. Hurry up and eat before I start feeding you."

He takes hold of the chopsticks when you wriggle them into his hand. Then, before you can pull your hand back, he grabs ahold of your palm, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on the top of your hand. "Thank you." He mumbles softly, grabbing some of the rice with the chopsticks before shoving it in his mouth.

"What are your plans tomorrow? I've got an interview on Thursday, but I don't have anything on tomorrow and was wondering if—"

"Why don't you go and do something with Jae?" He says after swallowing his mouthful, causing the words to cut off in your throat. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at him in shock.

"Really?" You spit with a laugh, watching as he swirls the food around on his plate, his appetite suddenly vanishing.

"Yeah," he replies with a shrug, "we both agreed that we don't have the time to date. But you sure do go out on a lot of dates with him."

"This is about the piercings, right?" You can't help the tone of your voice rising, but you're slowly getting more pissed off by the second.

"The piercings, the concert, the ice cream. I'm sure there's a fuck tonne I don't know about too." He chuckles sorely, leaning over to his bedside table and setting down the barely touched plate of food.

"He's my co-worker. We are the leads in a show together; it's good for viewership for us to be seen together!" You stand from the bed, your voice getting even louder now, and you have to remind yourself to calm down so you don't bother your brother a few doors down.

"For viewership," he nods sarcastically, "getting your nipples pierced with your co-worker is good for viewership?" He can't help but laugh, his throat getting that familiar scratchy feeling as he imagines that fucker being in the room with you while you got them done.

"I've been planning them for a long time. You knew I wanted to get them done." 

"Why with him, ___?" Your nickname slipped venomously through his lips, "Why'd you go with him?" Jungkook's tone is low, almost defeated, as he refuses to make eye contact with you.

"He overheard me saying to Hee-Jin that I was going to do it today. He said he was planning on getting his nose pierced and offered to go with me," Jungkook is shaking his head now, his tongue rolling against the inside of his cheek as he tries not to think about it.

"Yeah, alright, _____. I'm tired, so—"

"Don't do that." You spit, cutting him off, and he raises his head to meet your eyes finally.

"Do what?"

"Don't shut me out. I hate it when you do that." You sigh, a hand lifting to run through your hair in frustration. Jungkook is quiet as he watches your chest heave while you calm down from yelling. He can't help his eyes falling to your tits, and you watch his eyebrows crease when he tries to find the imprint of the piercings.

"I didn't do it." You jab, and Jungkook's eyes lift to your face in pure confusion. At that moment, his stare drifts to your left ear and then your right, noticing the second addition to your lobes that he didn't see before. "Some lunatic called me before I got them done. He sounded pretty pissed, so I just got my ears done again." You snark, your eyes rolling back when you notice Jungkook's cheeky fucking smirk reappear on his lips.

You're close enough to the bed for him to gently lean forward and grab your arm. Before you have the chance to shrug him off, he's pulling you towards him, and you don't fight it as you fall onto the bed. Before you know it, he's ushering you onto his lap, his lip caught slightly between his teeth, and you have to stop yourself from leaning forward and kissing him. He's so pretty. 

"I like when you do things for me." He mumbles, his thumbs rubbing a soothing pattern on your hips as your shirt rises up slightly with your movement.

A soft hum escapes you as you allow more of your weight to press into him. The fabric of your jeans is rough against his crotch, and you can feel your lower body getting warmer by the second. "I know," you whisper, giving in and moving forward to press your mouth against his.

Jungkook's hands slide from your hips to your lower back when you lean forward, and he cheekily drops them to your ass, grabbing a greedy handful as you deepen the kiss. Your jaw slacks slightly when you feel him squeeze your ass, and he takes the opportunity to delve his tongue through your lips. His tongue brushes with your own, and he swallows the breathy moan that escapes as you allow him deeper into your mouth. Your hips move on their own accord, grinding harder into his lap, and he groans when you press down harshly, the denim of your jeans brushing him roughly through his pants.

"Shit." He moans as he breaks away from your lips. His hands don't leave your ass; if anything, he grips tighter before pressing you harder against him. You can feel him getting stiffer beneath you, making you whine at the feeling of him going from soft to hard between your legs.

"You're not hungry anymore?" You breathe as he flips you over so he's on top of you, his hands hastily working on the buttons of your jeans.

"No, I am." His voice is low as he makes his way down your body, pressing a soft kiss to the skin of your belly that reveals as your shirt rides up. Jungkook's lips move to your hipbone as he drags your zipper down, your jeans loose enough the slip off, and he drags them down, chucking them onto his floor without another thought.

He pats the side of your left thigh with his hand, and your knees come up instantly, understanding his wordless demand. "Really hungry," he mumbles, leaning down and attaching his mouth to your pussy through your panties. A whine leaves your lips instantly, hips involuntarily bucking into his face as he licks at your clit through the fabric. Your hands reach down to grab onto him, but you come up a little short. Jungkook notices and shuffles up a bit, letting you tangle your fingers through his hair, a satisfied hum leaving him when you tug at the strands harshly. He hooks a finger in the waistband of your underwear before sliding them down your legs, grunting at the sight of your glistening cunt. "So pretty."

"My pussy is pretty?" You choke through a moan as he lets a line of spit drip from his mouth onto you.

"Really pretty," he confirms before leaning down and burying his mouth into your cunt. Your eyes roll back as his lips wrap around your clit, his tongue peaking through to flick the nub as he sucks.

"F-Fuck," You groan as his right-hand grips your thigh, reassuringly squeezing as if coaxing you through it. Your eyes are squeezed shut; the wet, messy sounds of him devouring you are all you can hear. All you can feel.

Your eyes open as Jungkook pulls away, and you watch through hooded lids as he leans back a little before taking his middle and ring finger into his mouth. He coats them in as much saliva as possible before leaning down and placing a quick, sweet kiss on your clit. You let a giggle slip at the action before a high-pitched moan blows through your lips. He pushes both of his fingers fully into you, not stopping until he hits knuckle. "Holy shiiiiiiiit," you seethe, fingers untangling from his hair to rest at the back of his head.

Once his fingers are buried in you, he returns to your cunt, tongue lapping at your clit with vigour. He pulls the throbbing bud into his mouth, groaning when you push the back of his head further into you. He's nodding into your pussy, telling you to push harder without saying a word. "Kook." You whine, your fingers shakily entangling into his hair again and pulling him into you like he wants. His fingers haven't left you at all, and he curls them up, toying with that rigid spongey part. The tips of his fingers push at it teasingly, and it causes you to clench tightly around him, wanting to keep his hand trapped there forever.

He feels you start to shake, and his mouth moves with you, lips refusing to let go of your clit. "Fuck my tongue," he says as he pulls away slightly for air, "right now. Fuck my face."

"Oh my fucking god," you moan at his words, head falling back into his pillow as he goes back down again. His nose is buried in you now; the sloppy sounds of him slurping on your cunt spread goosebumps over your body. His fingers finally leave your hole before he leans a little lower, shoving his tongue into you. "Babyyyy, shit!" Your words come out as a mixture between a cry and a moan as he pistons his tongue into your hole, his fingers coated in your slick sliding up to circle your clit. 

"Fuck. My tongue." You can barely make out his demand as he doesn't relent his torture on your cunt, his words coming out muffled. Finally, you heave out a strangled moan before letting go and grinding your hips into his face. He moans in satisfaction, vibrating straight through your core, and you feel your legs begin to tremble.

"Come on, baby," Jungkook's words come out almost unintelligible again as his tongue continues to fuck into you, pulling a pornographic whine from your lips. "Good girl," he hums. His fingers are swirling against your swollen clit, maintaining a steady but ferocious pace, and it's blurring your vision. You can't stop yourself from bucking up into his face, earning a low groan when his tongue curves just right in your hole, and you push him into you so hard he can't breathe. Your right-hand slips out of his hair, slamming down onto his bed, your first unclenching to pull at his sheets with a trembling hand. His fingers lift off your clit for a second, and it's like you almost don't even notice it because his tongue takes its place, slurping your bud into his mouth. You hear shuffling and look up to see him pull his cock out of his sweats. You can't see it properly because he's kneeling at the edge of the bed, but you've witnessed the action enough to know when it's happening.

Once his cock is free, he stands from his knee, his hand wasting no time before reattaching to your clit. You can't take it anymore, your head turning to bury itself into his pillow to muffle your scream. The smell of his shampoo is embedded into the pillowcase, making your heart beat even faster, which you thought was simply impossible right now. Your toes curl as his thumb massages your clit, your hand lifting to grip the pillowcase tightly in your fist. "Gguk, I'm gonna—"

"I know, baby," he nods, his unoccupied hand reaching down to grasp his shaft in his hand before leaning forward and pushing into you. That's it. You're done for. 

"Oh! Oh, my fuck!" You scream as Jungkook shoves every inch of his cock into you, his balls flush against your entrance when he hits the base. He doesn't move. His thumb continues the torture on your clit, and he feels your walls tighten sorely around him as your back arches slightly off the bed. Your ears are ringing; eyes rolled to the back of your head as your chin points to the ceiling. 

"That's it, baby. Cream my fucking cockkkkk." He praises as you shake around him, your orgasm hitting you in a sudden wave. You think you're crying; you can't actually tell. Jungkook's eyebrows are furrowed as he stares in awe at your pussy convulse around him, watching your puffed clit pulse as you cum. "Shit," he whispers as he slowly slides his dick out of you for the first time since he entered you.

He doesn't let it fully slip out, instead pulling back until your lips are swallowing just the tip. He almost fucking growls when he sees his cock emerge sticky and wet, listening to you whine when he inches it gently back inside. "Are you trying to fucking kill me?" you groan, your hand coming up to rest against his chest. The side of his mouth pulls upwards as you let your hand slide under his shirt, nails tracing softly against his toned stomach. Your touch doesn't do anything to stop him, though, his gentle thrusts continuing as he watches your face for any sign of serious pain.

"God, you are," your words come out strangled, followed by a few shallow breaths as your pussy lets out a loud squelch every time he sinks back in.

"You can take it, right, baby?" Jungkook's tone is low and sinful. His gaze drops back to where you two are connected, his hips speeding up a little on each thrust. He watches as your eyes squeeze shut again, your hand that's under his shirt balling into a fist as you slam it against his chest. The shaky sensitivity in your pussy is strong, choked breaths slip from your mouth like a second language as you fight the overstimulation. "You always. Take it. So. Well." He's praising you between thrusts, and they're becoming more brutal with each one. Jungkook's head falls back a little as you squeeze around him slightly, listening to the sloppy noise of your cunt mixed with your moans. It's euphoric.

Suddenly, it's like a switch flicked in your brain because the pain turns to absolute pleasure, and your jaw slacks in pure ecstasy. Jungkook notices the transition and kneels on the bed, hooking his arms under the backs of your knees and pulling you down so you're flush against him. Your hand falls from his chest and next to you limply. You don't even have the power to move it as Jungkook slides his cock out of you before slamming it back in harder, then harder, then harder. He doesn't pull out until he's filled you to the brim, waiting to feel his balls hit your ass before pulling back and repeating the motion. You go to moan, though nothing comes out but an airy screech, your throat feeling raw and abused, just like your poor vagina right now.

"Slut," he mumbles sweetly, leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. You giggle against his mouth, using all the energy you have left to lift your hands and run them through his dishevelled hair before pulling him down to lay on you.

You feel Jungkook start to shake slightly, his usual giveaway that he's close. Breaking away from the kiss, your legs wrap around his butt and pull him into you as deeply as you can. "Mhm," you moan with a fucked out look on your face, hair sprawled out on his pillow, and he swears it's the prettiest he's ever seen you.

"There?" He grunts, the tip of his cock hitting that rigid spongey bit as he plows into you. 

"Mhm!" Your moan sounds distressed and crazed, but you can't even bring yourself to care. Your hands rack through Jungkook's hair, trailing down his back, and your nails dig into his skin as he slams his hips back, mercilessly fucking you into the bed. "There. There. Fucking thereeeeee!" You scream as his cock hits a part inside you that you didn't even know existed.

"Shit," he groans as your walls tighten around him, "I'm gonna fucking cum. Clench again, baby. Please. Please fuckk," He's begging, and your eyes roll to the back of your head at his whiny tone. His face falls to the crook of your neck as you give him what he needs, clenching your walls around him, and you hear him choke out a pained moan before he pushes into you with a final trembled thrust. He spills himself inside of you, painting the walls of your cunt, and you relish in the feeling. 

You're so close; the feeling of his cum inside of you only makes you even more aroused. "Keep going," your voice is hurried and hoarse, "Baby, please. Keep going. Keep goinggg. I'm close." You cry, your hand patting against his back in a pleading motion.

Jungkook can't do anything but growl into your neck as he pulls his hips back; the loud noise of his cum stuffed into you, squelching around his cock as he draws back, is fucking sinful. He ignores the burning feeling of sensitivity. He ignores the fact that his cock is softening by the second. Instead, he focuses on your moans of pleasure, pulling his face from your neck to watch your face contort in bliss. You can't take it anymore when his hand falls between you, thumb finding your clit without even fucking looking. "I'm. Gonna. Cum." You're shaking as he pounds into you, his thumb relentless on your clit. 

"Yeah?" He leans down, spitting harshly onto your cunt. "Fucking cum then," he taunts, his thumb sliding against your clit furiously. 

You can't speak. You can't open your eyes. You can't even breathe. You're surprised a strangled whimper finds its way from your throat, a blinding white flashing as your orgasm hits you. It washes over you like a tidal wave, and your back arches off the bed as you cum. Jungkook curses at the feeling of you pulsating around him and works you through your orgasm with a pained shudder.

As soon as you cower away from his touch, your pussy not able to handle the pressure on your clit any longer, he retracts his hand and heaves out a shaky breath. His hand pulls at the neckline of his shirt, slipping it off him and exposing his gorgeous abs. You can't even enjoy the sight properly, slumped against his pillow, harsh breaths blowing from your lips as you try to grasp back on reality. Jungkook lays the shirt under your butt, a low groan escaping him when he slips out of you, his cum drooling out of you and pooling onto his shirt. You look at him through squinted eyes as he stares at his seed dripping out of your hole, admiring it like a priceless piece of art. You watch as he bites his lip before tilting his head towards you with a cheeky smile.

Your eyes widen at his silent question, mouth opening in shock as you lift a shaky leg to swat at him with your foot. "If you try putting your dick anywhere near me right now, I'll fucking castrate you," you threaten as he chuckles at your reaction, letting his shirt capture the excess leakage before hobbling off to the bathroom to get a cloth.

You've managed to calm your breathing while listening to the bathroom tap squeak as Jungkook runs a washcloth under the water. He returns a few moments later, leaning down to press a quick kiss against your belly before he cleans you up. He's pulled his sweatpants back up now, but he's still shirtless, and you admire the way the muscles in his back tense as he goes to throw the dirty laundry in his hamper. He also grabs the plate of food that he abandoned on his bedside table before jogging it out to the kitchen. A comfortable silence washes over you both as he returns, and you just enjoy staring at his figure as he makes his way back to bed. Jungkook hands you back your panties before sitting on the side of the bed. He watches you tiredly sit up to wriggle them on before sliding back down and slamming your head onto the pillow.

"You're staying the night?" He asks in shock. You're always so quick to leave his place after sex; he does the same when it's at your place.

"We've had sleepovers before," you mumble into his pillow, snuggling deeper into his blanket.

He hums, slipping into the bed himself, and your warm arm moves under the blanket to drape over his chest. "Not after sex."

"Do you want me to go?" You reply quietly after a beat, your finger tracing light patterns on his upper chest.

Jungkook looks down at your hand, then your face. Your eyes meet his, and he just shakes his head, making you give him a soft smile in return. Your eyes flutter shut as he shuffles closer to you before he grabs your leg and drapes it over his waist. Jungkook follows suit, eyes closing as his breathing evens out. He's almost asleep, feeling your warm skin pressed against him, acting as the best sleeping pill money could buy. That is, until your voice breaks the silence.

"You would look so good with a lip ring."

His heavy eyelids peel open as he glances down at you. Your matted hair frames your face; eyes still shut. Your cheek is pressed against his chest; he could feel your lips move against him as you spoke.

"You're so random," Jungkook mumbles with a chuckle before closing his eyes again. He feels your lips pucker slightly, pressing a feathery, light kiss against his nipple as you let sleep take over you. The feeling is soothing, and all he can think about as the darkness engulfs him is getting a fucking lip ring.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bangtan #jungkook angst #jk x reader #jk x you #jk x y/n #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts au #idol au #jungkook idol au #jk smut

[iitskahoko]

🌹Hungry Eyes - Luffy x Reader

[NSFW + NO MINORS]

🌹Charater featured: Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Nami, Chopper (for now) 🌹Summary: Its crazy that's your sick buts its ok ur with luffy

The door creaks open and you whip your head to face it, eyes wide and alert.

Luffy’s head pokes around the door, his big brown eyes meeting yours. “Are you hungry?” he hisses through the darkness.

You blink at him. “It’s past midnight,” you whisper.

Luffy blinks back. “Sanji said you didn’t eat dinner.”

“Didn't want any.” Truth be told, even the thought of eating made you sick. Chopper said it might be an offshoot of the concussion you had when they brought you aboard the ship, but for the few weeks you’ve been on board you haven’t been able to keep much more than a single sandwich down.

“Chopper says you have to eat. Sanji too.”

“You’re not my captain, you know,” you say bitterly.

Luffy just looks at you. “You’re on my ship. And you’re my friend.”

You frown. You were starting to understand Luffy’s nature, the delicate balance between his selfishness and loyalty to the people he cares about.

As soon as you were taken aboard, barely conscious and only half alive, Luffy had taken a liking to you. He had a knack for that, you’d heard, for picking up people based on very limited interactions and whisking them away to be part of his crew.

You weren’t interested in the crew part, and Luffy understood that. But because he had decided to become your friend he couldn’t just drop you off at any island: he needed to take you someplace you’d be safe.

Chopper has barely let you out of the medical room, only allowing a short daily walk if the weather permits. Otherwise, you’re stuck in the small cabin, the other crew members too busy to bother with your company. You aren't a mean person by any means, but your silence around others was usually seen as arrogance. The lonely nights you’ve spent in the room have only been broken up by thoughts of this pirate captain; and his strong, thick, slender fingers in places you wouldn’t mention aloud.

“I was having a snack,” he continues, creeping into the room. The only light filters through the small window, lighting his body with cool moonshine. “I thought you might want some. Only a little, though, because I ate the rest.” He offers you a few cubes of meat on a plate. You sit up and accept it wordlessly, placing it at the end of the bed.

Something in the moonlight catches your eye, and you turn to face him before your lips part slightly in surprise. Oh my god, you think, cheeks starting to burn. He’s shirtless.

The glow of the light catches on his burn scar, crossing across his muscular chest. He folds his thick arms over it, and your gaze drops to his shorts, hanging low on his hips. You shut your eyes.

Luffy squats down in front of you. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks softly. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I just need some sleep,” you say through gritted teeth, “but I’m fine.”

“Not until you eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat. That’s an order.”

“You’re not my captain.”

“So? I’m still your friend, and friends feed each other.”

Your mouth twists. It was hard to argue with him because of his natural bluntness. “Don’t you have something else to worry about?”

Luffy shakes his head.

“Like marines? Or Kaido?”

“Not right now.”

He sits down next to you and his forearm brushes against yours. You peek at his fingers, calloused and thick, in his lap.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he mutters.

You blink at him. He's moving a little fast, and you're straining to keep up. But you suppose that's just how he is.

“When you’re hurt. I really…” He takes a deep breath. “I really don’t like it. It makes me feel bad.” He turns to face you, his eyes big and brown and full of something that borders on desperate. “Will you please eat?” He says softly, taking one of your hands in his.

You go rigid, eyes widening. The feel of his skin on yours makes your entire body tingle. His hands grip yours tightly, and you find it hard to meet his eyes.

“I…” you start. You try to unravel your hands from his, but he doesn’t let go, searching for your eyes. You finally let them meet, and it’s then when you realize that he doesn’t see you as a regular crewmate, or even a friend: Luffy wears his heart on his sleeve, and his eyes speak volumes about how he feels about you.

Little things start to click into place. He’s here, late at night, when he loves to sleep. He brought you meat even though he wouldn’t let most of his crew touch it. He peeks his head in when he thinks you’re sleeping. Chopper had mentioned, once, completely offhand, that Luffy asks about you almost daily.

What you don’t know, however, is that the entire crew has picked up on his crush on you and that you weren’t being avoided because you come across as arrogant: you were being avoided so that Luffy could have some space with you. It’s necessary, actually, because although the crew is oftentimes more than willing to get to know a new person on board, Luffy is anything but subtle: the most obvious example being when Zoro found him with his ear pressed against the crack of the door, fisting his cock in his hand, hanging onto every tinny mewl and moan of yours as you whispered his name, your fingers breaching your entrance and rapidly circling your engorged clit.

Zoro knows better than to interrupt Luffy, even when it’s this desperate of a case. He just let the rest of the crew know, in hushed whispers, that you were kind of off-limits, and that the next island would be approaching soon. Nami had sighed because she thought you were cute. Robin had sighed because she thought you seemed smart. Sanji had sighed because you’re a girl, but they all swallowed their annoyances because it’s their captain: and how can they trust him to lead them when you’re the only thing on his mind?

They noticed that this was a real crush and that he was thinking with his heart and not just with his cock. It was usually the latter, and he’d come back to the Sunny only a little before sunrise, after a full night of partying on an unknown island, exhausted. It was clear he always made the most of his time anywhere.

You try again. “I…”

Luffy takes this moment to get a little closer and your breath catches in your throat. His lips are so close to yours you can feel him breathe, and he gets closer and closer and to your horror, you realize that you’re not pulling away. That you don’t want to pull away.

The kiss isn’t what you expect—it’s not clumsy or sloppy. It’s gentle but firm and surprisingly practiced. His lips are so warm against yours, slightly chapped and a little salty. When he parts your lips with his, you let him, and his tongue isn’t hungry or invasive. It’s the best kiss you’ve ever had, and when he cups the back of your neck you gingerly touch his bicep. The muscle moves when he does, and you feel a rush of wetness down below.

It actually doesn’t really surprise you, the more you think about it. Luffy is always stopping at different islands, some more exciting than others, and people naturally flock to him. You assume that this also means women, and his high bounty and cheerful demeanor as well as his broad shoulders and muscular frame were enough to light a fire in some of the young women they came across. Besides, you thought absentmindedly, he has to get his energy from somewhere.

The kiss gets a little hungrier before it stops, and you realize that he’s left you breathless. Your hand fists the sheets involuntarily, already thinking about what you’re going to do the moment you’re alone.

“I like you,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against yours.

Your mouth snaps shut. “Why?”

Luffy shrugs. “I don’t really know. I’m just kind of…” he laces his fingers with yours, and you drop your eyes down to look. “Drawn to you, I guess.” He scratches the back of his head with his free hand, pulling away slightly. “I like girls. I know people sometimes think I don’t, but I do.”

You chuckle a little.

“Maybe it’s because I’m short,” he muses.

“You’re not that short,” you tease. “You’re at least two inches taller than me.”

A glint appears in his eyes as he peers at you. “How do you know?”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve never been this close. How do you know I’m taller?”

You fidget uncomfortably, caught between a rock and a hard place. On your brief walks around the ship, you often glance over in Luffy’s direction; and a few times you even got close enough to see the many repairs that had been made to his treasured straw hat.

“I just…you’re a guy, right?” you say, at a complete loss for words. You can’t believe that’s the best you can come up with.

Luffy laughs then, leaning forward for another kiss. It’s more gentle this time, but his hands start to roam over your body. Nothing too explicit, just your lower back as he fingers the hem of your thin t-shirt, but even that has your cunt clenching around nothing.

Wordlessly, you break the kiss to grip the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up and off of your frame in one sure movement.

You hunch over a little, your blushed face slightly embarrassed that even you were taking things quickly in such a direction, but these weeks on the ship have left you needy for any sort of contact. Plus, he had just admitted that he likes you, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't have his wanted poster in your room back home. The thrill of finding out that he had rescued you was tempered by Chopper's strict instructions and the crew's indifference. But every time you saw him on the ship, whether it was fishing or bringing you a cup of soup, made you grip into the pillow and cry out his name as softly as you could.

He leans in to kiss you again, this time gently running his knuckles over the side of your breast. You let out a soft whine, your hand falling from his hair into his lap, directly on top of his hard length that is throbbing painfully in his shorts.

He hisses at the contact, catching your lip in his teeth and biting lightly. His hands leave your body to remove his shorts, his cock hot in your hand as you give it a few tentative strokes.

He dips his fingers into the side of your panties, and you do your best to shimmy out of them.

“You’re wet,” he whispers, his fingers softly rubbing your soaked folds. Luffy presses against you until you’re laying down on the mattress with his body keeping you there. “I like it when you’re really wet,” he mumbles.

He pulls back, sucking on his fingers with eye contact so heavy you feel pinned to the bed. Slowly, he makes his way towards you again, nipping at your jaw.

He presses his face into the crook of your neck. “I’m gonna pick you up, okay?” he breathes into your ear, and you nod. You wrap your legs around his waist, pressing his cock into his contracting abdomen as he places one hand under your bottom and the other around your waist. He stands, and you lift off the bed, his strength making you drip with arousal. Luffy’s steps stammer as he tries to keep kissing you while walking towards the wall, the cold surface making your nipples perk up as he presses you against it.

His lips leave yours and you chase his mouth with a whine, but gasp when you feel his leaking tip prod against your wet entrance.

“I really, really want to,” he gasps against your neck, pressing his face into your warm skin. “I-I’ll try to be gentle, I just really want you…”

Your hands grip his back, trying to pull his body closer to yours. A soft moan escapes your lips when he hits your clit. “I really want you, too,” you murmur.

His cock is long and stiff, and your eyes roll back just from thinking about it inside you.

Slowly, he starts to breach your entrance, hissing as the fat head is swallowed by your desperate cunt. You gasp at the pressure, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Jeez,” he mutters through grit teeth, sweat starting to glisten on his face. “You’re tight.”

You clench around his length as he continues to push inside, his hands gripping your body with bruising force. The concentration on his face is endearing, and your heart melts a little. He wants you to feel good, too, and he’s trying his hardest to keep from fucking you as hard as he can.

His cock bumps something inside you and you let out a lustful moan.

Luffy twitches inside you. “Th-that noise, make that noise again,” he groans, starting to move. He starts out gently, but it isn’t long before he’s bottoming out with each thrust. You moan louder, tears pricking at your eyes as his cock hits deeper. His thrusts become harder and rougher and more impulsive and you can tell he’s getting close. You moan again, the noise escaping from your lips involuntary despite his begging.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says through gritted teeth. “Is-is it okay if I…?”

You grip his shoulders tightly. “Please cum inside me,” you whimper.

It’s music to Luffy’s ears, and he wastes no time in pushing his cock up to the hilt inside you. You tighten around him as his orgasm starts, his hips stuttering and eyes fluttering closed.

The shots of his hot cum painting your tight pussy walls make you groan aloud, your head falling back to rest on the wall. Your thighs are burning from being held up, but nothing could distract you from his labored moans and stuttering breaths.

He rests his head next to yours as he comes down from his high, his heart rate slowing to normal. He places his hands under your thighs, still holding you up, his strength obvious and unwavering.

“Sorry…” he mumbles, still breathing hard.

You shake your head. “It’s okay,” you whisper. You have to admit you’re a little surprised, you had assumed his stamina matched the rest of him.

His cock twitches inside you, and you realize with a start that he didn’t get soft. “Let me try again,” he murmurs against your neck, walking back to the bed.

He drops you down and you giggle for the first time in weeks, earning a warm smile from him. It feels like the sun, even though it’s the middle of the night. He climbs on top of you, slotting his body between your legs, pressing a hot kiss to your lips. One of your hands pulls his head down closer, the other grips the defined muscle on his arms. He hums, then pulls away, looking down at you with hungry eyes. His gaze flits from your eyes to your lips, shifting his weight so he can run his big hand over your breast. You whine, and he gets bolder, pinching your nipple almost to the point of pain.

“Ah-“ you grunt out, body jerking. With you caged in under him he decides to chart your body with his hands, finding the spots you like to be touched the most. He's already used you for his pleasure, embarrassing as it may sound, and now it’s your turn.

He places a wet kiss under your jaw, taking note of the noises you make. He remembers listening to you from behind the door, the squelch of your wet cunt being rubbed by your own fingers, his name falling from your lips in soft pants. He continues to pepper you with kisses, running his hand down your stomach to settle in between your lips. He spreads them gently, earning a small moan from you, and seeks out your sweet little bud of pleasure. He figures that you like how strong he is, judging from how much you dripped when he picked you up. He flexes his chest and abdomen a little bit, and you hungrily run your hands over him. He smirks at you, and you know you’ve been caught. You smile sheepishly.

He presses his hand against yours, stopping you right over his heart. It thumps under your hand, and the gesture is so intimate, so mature, that you fight to urge to burst into tears.

The aching in your core is unbearable now, and Luffy’s inexperience becomes known as he clumsily rubs your clit. You assume that most women are content to be used as his own little cocksleeve, bouncing away to orgasm on his lap as he settles his face between their breasts. Or, more likely, he pins them against a bed and ruts endlessly until he spills.

You’re different, he can tell, and you’re not blinded by his notoriety.

Luffy bites his lip. He knows this isn’t his strong suit, but he’s determined nonetheless. You replace his hands with yours, rubbing practiced circles on your clit as he explores your folds. He dips a finger inside, sighing at your wetness. His fingers feel nice, but nothing compared to his fat cock, and you use your eyes to beg for it.

Your fingers stay at your clit while he presses his cock into your tight heat.

You whimper as he continues to push, stretching you open at an angle that has tears in your eyes. It's so much deeper than when he was fucking you against the wall, and when he finally bottoms out, you let out a delicious moan.

Luffy grits his teeth, his hips repeatedly pressing against yours, forcing the metal headboard to smack against the wall. "Th-that sound..."

He reaches down to feel your hand, and the closeness of it as well as Luffy's eagerness squeezes another hot moan from your mouth.

"I want to feel what you're doing," he pants into your open mouth before sealing it with a kiss. You continue to rub faster, his hand on yours adding a luscious pressure.

Your voice starts to come through in more than moans and whines, little squeaks of praise about how good his cock feels inside you. He desperately wants you to reach that high you're chasing, but your pussy is starting to clench around him and the thought of you cumming around his cock has him holding in his orgasm like his life depends on it.

"I'm close again," he gasps. "Can you cum for me? Please?"

That does it. The tight coil in your belly snaps, and you toss your head from side to side, crying out as you shake under him. "Luffy--" you shout, your voice strangled.

He continues to thrust into you, babbling praise. "I've never done it like this," he gasps, tripping over his words. "I really liked seeing you cum, and I like how wet you are. I like that you're so tight and I like the noises you make and I--" He whines your name as he cums again; his cum dripping out from between your red, swollen lips.

He looks down at you, panting, the lids of his eyes heavy.

"That was..." you start, "unexpected."

Luffy chuckles. "But good?" he asks hopefully.

You look away. "It was perfect," you whisper. "I...kinda want to tell you something."

He rolls off of you and you scoot over, barely making any room on the tiny medical bed. He opens his arms and you climb in between them, grateful for the time to rest. You lay your head on his chest as he strokes your hair tenderly. "What is it?"

You take a deep breath. "I have your wanted poster up in my room at home."

Luffy pauses, the gears turning in his head, then laughs.

You giggle. "I know, I know..."

He rests his arm on your shoulder, the other stroking your forearm. "It's cute," he says finally, "I like that."

You smile against his chest. Maybe joining a pirate crew isn't such a bad idea.

#luffy x reader #luffy smut #monkey d. luffy #one piece smut #luffy x reader smut #opla smut #opla spoilers #opla luffy #one piece x reader #luffy x you #one piece live action

[slugterra-twisted-ends]

Burpy, what’s your opinion on Lapis, Katrina’s slug? And second, have you ever met one of my Dendropillar slugs? They’re pretty cuuuuute~ :D

Burpy and Lapis are good friends! They hang out quite a bit!

As for Burpy's opinion on the Dendropillar, he's more curious as to how the eyeless slug can see (Fun fact! They use their sonar according to Starr!)

Lapis and Dendropillar (c) @bluestarrcreations

#slugterra #slugterra twisted ends #slugeterra fanart #fanart #slugterra art #art #slugterra ask series #ask the twisted ends crew #bajoterra #burpy #burpy the infurnus #slugterra burpy #lapis #slugterra oc #beautoxin #dendropillar

[jester089]

Locked away

TADC crew x abstracted reader. But with a twist, you'll have to read to find out what the twist is. Or you can just go to the end I'll write it there for those who want context.

Caine

When you abstracted it was sad but Caine honestly wasn't surprised. You were showing signs for a while after all. He did his best to make fun adventures and distractions but in the end you were lost. He moved on rather quickly I'm sad to say. You aren't the first person he enjoyed the company of to lose their mind. He moved on like always, no real differences showing themselves. That is until the next person that abstracted. He opened up the cellar to get them out of the way only for a non abstracted you to crawl out. You were shivering and had a thousand yard stare. But you were alive! He quickly swoops down and starts making sure your ok. He asks so many questions only to not get any answers. Or even a reaction out of you. It took some time and the others mentioning things for him to realize that you weren't there anymore. You were physically, you were sitting right in front of him as he speaks. But you weren't there mentally, you were gone. With a heavy heart and regret he puts you back in the cellar. It feels wrong to do but he can't just keep your emotionless reactionless body up where everyone can see it. Chance of abstraction 0.5/10

Gangle

Don't do this to the poor sweetheart Watching your glitchy form get put into the cellar like all the others broke her. Just you abstracting was enough to completely change Gangle. She went from not doing ok. To severely depressed and on the verge of giving up. She would mope around and never really interact. Her comedy mask long forgoten and collecting dust in your old room, sitting on your old bed. She visits your room every now and again but can never get past looking at the door. To many memories, to much hurt. When she heard you were ok and not abstracted from Pomni and Ragatha she didn't believe it, she couldn't believe it. But after enough convincing she went to go see you. And they weren't lying. There you were. Sitting on the ground staring at nothing. Second she catches a glimpse of you she sprint and you full speed and glomps you. She wraps around you tight enough to suffocate you, and peppers your face with kisses. She doesn't notice through the tears of joy or lovely feeling of holding you again that you aren't reacting to anything. But once the high of seeing you again wears off she'll realize. Just give her some time to be happy. She just got you back and your already gone again. Caine said you were broken beyond his help. Watching you get forced into the cellar again broke Gangle. Don't worry about the cellar being lonely and cold anymore, she's going to be joining you soon. Chance of abstraction 10/10

Zooble

You were the only one in this colorful hell that she felt close too. That she trusted. And your gone, just like so many before you. But you aren't like all those others. You were special. You mattered to her. She rarely showed up to adventures and rarely talked before. Now you would be lucky to see her outside of her room. Or yours. You just made her feel so complete. Like she isn't a random mess of parts. When she hears that you back she doesn't believe it. She doesn't even go to check because she truly believes the others are just trying to get her out of her room. She doesn't know that you were actually back. But that also means she doesn't have to go through loosing you again. She finds out a week or two later and you did actually come back and feels horrible. You were there, and she didn't even show up. Chance of abstraction 7.5/10

Ragatha

I feel like despite her go lucky and up beat personality she's one of the if not the closest to abstraction. She just doesn't show it cause she is supposed to be the well held together one, the anchor for the others. You were her little ray of sunshine. And not that digital sun outside, just your presence made her feel like she wasn't trapped in a computer. But your not here anymore. You haven't been for a long time. But shhh don't tell her that. When you abstracted Ragatha fell into her delusions. She lives in her memories of the real world, and of you two. When your brought back she doesn't even really react cause in her mind you've been there the whole time. She knows that isn't true. But it's her last chance to not lose herself. She wants to stay strong for you, and for the others. But seeing you in front of her, but it not actually be you. Just a husk of what you once were. Seeing YOU. Actual you being shoved into the cellar breaks her. It can go one of two ways. Either she goes fully delusional, or she abstracts right then and there. Chance of abstraction 8.5/10

Jax

Now Jax is an interesting one as I can see it going one of three ways. 1. He gets 5x more bully like and starts acting like he actually wants the others dead and isn't just doing it cause he finds it funny. 2. Losing you completely changes him. After enough time he is actually able to get over you and improves as a person to honor you. 3. Acts like it doesn't even happen and is the same as before. But if anyone brings you up he either gets violent, depressed, or both. For the sake of this I'm going to go with two as it's the most f#*&$@% up. Jax missed you. He missed you a lot. But he's a tough rabbit and isn't just going to give up cause your gone. That's Gangle's job, The little push over. He mourns losing you for a while but is surprisingly able to get over it. Once he is ready to join the others again he acts differently. He doesn't bully or prank. And any jokes he says are incredibly light hearted. Like he's scared, of what? The others don't know. Ragatha appreciates the change but knows that it only happened because he's been put though a lot of pain. He starts helping on adventures and doing his best to cheer everyone up. But then he sees you again. Sees you in the flesh not in a dream, or a nightmare. He wants so badly to run up to you and give you a big ol hug and take you back to his room for cuddles. But he can see in your eyes and the way your breathing. While that is your body. That isn't you. As he watches Caine put you back in the cellar he starts glitching and holding on to his head like it'll split if he doesn't. But before anyone can comfort him or ask if he's ok he's back up and just as cheerful as ever. From that day on he didn't allow himself to feel anything. Good, bad, neutral. None of it. He loved you. And look where that got him. Chance of abstraction 3/10

Pomni

Yeah this'll end well. Totally. 100% So for Pomni it does kind of depend on how long she's been there. If she's still new it wont affect her as much as she didn't know you that well. If she's been there a while then she's going down with the ship. Her ship. You. Pomni was still pretty new to the circus and the digital world. But with you and Ragatha's constant reassurance and help she got used to it rather quickly. You and Pomni got close enough to start dating getting far enough into it to ask Caine for date nights Be warned, He can and will watch you two go out. But just as she was starting to feel comfortable with this place and happy to be with you, she lost you. She spends most of her time going over every single memory you two had together. And the more she nit picks the more she feels like it's her fault. You had been here so long, you had done so well. Then she showed up. And now your gone and trapped in a dank cellar. But she's still here. If it wasn't for Ragatha she would have joined you in that cellar really soon but she trudged on. She was there. When you got pulled out of that hole. She was there watching you shiver on the floor mumbling about something. She was there when you got put back in. That was it, the final nail in the coffin. Well at least she wont have to suffer so much every day. Chance of abstraction 9.5/10 (The base for this is "your another person trapped in the digital world. And you were dating the character. But then you abstracted. Some how while trapped in that cellar you un-abstracted but you couldn't get out. So being trapped in a pitch black, cold, and wet place broke you mind. Only for you to be pulled out by Caine and break your S/O's mind. At least you two can live in hell together.") (Hope you enjoyed. I wrote this while high off my ass on coffee and sugar. So that's why it's so long.)

xoxo, Jester

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #caine x reader #gangle x reader #zooble x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #pomni x reader #heavy angst #not beta'd #noob author

[bitchimasnake-sss]

i love reading your fics, they always give me 🦋🦋🦋 i love them so much, so, i want to make a request a angst-comfort where zoro and reader are dating but they got into a fight (*cough* zoro got jealous and starts to question reader's loyalty *cough*) but it ends happily because I don't want cry. n e way, continue writing stories, you write them so well... 😚

im so glad you like my work!! and thankyouu so much for sending in the request, let's get to itt <3

moss and towel ft. roronoa zoro!

set-up: in which, you and zoro have been dating for six months. but after one fight night and growing distances, he finds himself questioning everything you've built together.

warnings: (poor attempts at writing) angst, zoro acts like an idiot, profanities. yeah, that's about it.

the winds were cruel tonight and even crueler were you. atleast there was some comfort in the cold gusts, some reason in the way they played against the swordsman's skin and left behind selfish goosebumps. atleast, he could attempt to understand it with nami's weather charts or whatnot.

but you. how could he attempt to understand you?

his eyebrows bunched as he stared up, fixing his gaze against the twinkling points. groaning, he put his hand over his eyes. maybe in a way, sure, it was his fault. he was never good with words or those fancy poems or haikus. he was never the one to resort to affection. but how was he supposed to fix this?

the first mate of the ship rested a fraction of his bodyweight against the wooden railing of the crow's nest. the wind tousled his unkempt hair and running a hand through his moss-green locks, he vaguely tried to remember how long it had been since nami dragged him into the bathroom and gave him a haircut again.

probably too long. he concluded with a sigh as the soft tresses caressed the mid-point of the back of his neck.

he was supposed to meet his girlfriend here. that's what had been decided. just you, him and the infinitely infinite night sky. the swordsman had even decided to talk about his feelings 'neath the dark abyss of the sky (even if he hated the mere idea of that).

but it had been 30 minutes and there were no signs of you anywhere.

life had been hectic for the both of you lately, whether it was because of the constant run-ins with the marines, zoro having to accompany luffy to side-quests or some other shit the sea sprouted every once in a while. either ways, it meant that you and him saw less and less of each-other as each day passed him by.

resigning himself to a tired sigh, zoro decided to climb downwards. you were not gonna come, that much was sure.

as his heavy feet planted against the wooden floor, he took a second to collect his thoughts. he started walking the stairs to go under the deck, to the common space where most of the crew lounged at the end of the day. descending, he thought of all possible explainations. maybe you had been caught by someone else and forced to listen to one of their anecdotes, maybe nami had asked you to help with the log pose calculations of the last island, or maybe chopper wanted you to help him grind some fresh medicine.

maybe-

he stepped inside the common place with heavy footsteps and a heavier heart and immediately saw you. you, ever so beautiful with you soft smiles and your lame jokes. you with your flowing hair and unruly habits. you, that was currently laughing along to something that shit-cook was talking about.

he must have caught your gaze cause you immediately looked away from sanji and to your boyfriend, giving him a soft smile. but he left the room without returning that gesture and you found yourself on your feet, walking after him and confused.

you trailed after him, calling his name out sweetly till you reached his room and he shut the door before you could get in.

"hey!" you laughed playfully, twisting the handle with ease and stepping inside. you closed the door behind you and tucked your arms around your chest, sporting a lively pout.

but he seemed to have to reaction to your antics, instead, deciding to carefully lay his three swords on the bed behind him as if he was courting the swords and not you.

"what's up with you?" you raised an eyebrow at him, amused by the way the man sat at the edge of the bed with an annoyed huff. when he said nothing, you pressed again, this time a bit more direct, "why are you grumbling now?"

he's been like this for the past few days and now that he refused to elaborate, you found your patience slipping off of you like a thin overcoat, leaving you behind in your ugly, impatient skin.

today had been hard, like any other day. and for some reason or the other, instead of inviting you into his arms, this man had swore to make your life even more difficult.

"zorooo," groaning, you asked again, "can you stop being so dramatic?"

his head snapped up, eyes finding yours with wicked ease. his jaw was clenched tight, face red as if he was burning up, "i am being dramatic? me?"

"yeah? you're being so fucking weird." you sighed, "why?"

"i dunno, go ask that fucking cook maybe?" he grumbled.

if the exasperation on your face wasn't obvious until now, after that comment, it was surely on full display.

"what?" you hissed, "what is up with you and all these weird accusations?"

"as i said, i dunno. ask that fuckin' waiter instead, why don't you? i'm sure he'd have some answers lined up."

"why are you dragging sanji into this?"

"why are you defending him?" he stood up, his face mirroring your exasperation tenfold. he crossed his arms similarly to yours and the muscles shifted impatiently under his shirt.

you threw you hands upwards, "im not defending him! i am aski—"

"—yes you are defending him, don't even."

you were tired.

god knew you every inch of your muscles were alight with exhaustion, your head was pounding and if he wanted to fight you, you wouldn't even have it in you to fight back. these past few days had been enough on their own. so, you sighed, taking on a resigned tone, "i am so tired, zoro. can't we do it another day?"

"yeah, right." he grumbled again, his eyebrows bunching together in a characteristic manner, "everything needs to be pushed back with you, right?"

"what is that supposed to mean?" you were sure smoke was rising from the top of your head and your pupils were comically blown out, "i was tired and wanted to take some time off, so, i had sat down. and sanji found me to make some ideal chit-chat. god forbid i be tired for once-"

"i was waiting at the crow's nest for the past 30 minutes, where were you?"

"huh—" fuck. your eyes widened as the terrible realization set in. almost on instinct, your fingers reached out to touch him so as to makeup for the terrible deed you had committed. but your boyfriend pulled himself back, dodging your careful grasp before rasping out, "don't."

"zoro, i'm sorry! really, i genuinely cannot believe i forgot—"

"so, you forgot me over that fucking cook?"

"no!" you repeated, slower, "no, of course not. i was just tired and—"

"—and you decided to go off with him instead?" he scoffed, "i thought we were dating and yet, i think we've barely had any time to just spend together. every time it's someone or the other you have to rely on, not me."

"zoro..." you started carefully but he cut off you off, "don't zoro me. it's either nami or sanji or luffy or someone or the other. i wouldn't be surprised if you're fucking blondie behind my back too."

you stared at him, shocked. the wretched feeling gnawed at your insides till you looked at him in pure, utter disgust. the corners of your eyes burned up and you spat out, "don't fucking talk to me."

and you left the room, slamming the door shut behind you.

zoro stared at the place you were standing at and then slowly dragged his eyes at the door that you had slammed shut.

fuck.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆🪐⋆⭒˚｡⋆

well into the night, when he finally had swallowed his pride and mentally beat himself enough, he walked out of his room.

his steps were slow, stride careful so to not panic the mostly sleeping crew. searching through the washroom and the kitchen, the supply closet and chopper's tiny, stashed-away office, he failed to find you. then, he stepped out onto the deck and in a clean sweep, found you at the port side. the wind blew ideally though your hair and you stood with your arms on the railing.

the swordsman silently walked up to you, choosing to stand beside you without saying much. and if he had hoped for you to start the conversation, he was in for a long, long night.

"hey" he finally started off.

"i think i told you to not talk to me."

your feet shifted and you balanced your bodyweight away from him and he pursed his lips. standing in silence, the sounds of waves crashing against the ship painted you both in a uncomfortable hues.

he tried again, "i- i am sorry, really."

"don't care, didn't ask."

roronoa zoro bit the inside of his cheek, savoring the taste of foul rejection in his mouth over and over. but he had never been the one to go out without a fight. hell, he was the king of hell.

"but i am sorry." he repeated and his calloused fingers inched closer to yours, a poor attempt to ghost his skimming touches over your hand. but you were quicker and you pulled your hands back to yourself and wrapped them around yourself.

he slowly withdrew his hand and his head hung low, "how long are you gonna be mad at me?"

"i don't know? probably till i want to."

"babe—"

"—don't babe me."

"i am sorry—"

"—to fuCKING HELL WITH YOUR SORRY!" your cool demeanor washed off and you bore daggers into his paper-like skin as you stared him down. your breath was laboured and you were sure your yells must have woken someone, if not the entire crew.

he stayed silent, ready to face the consequences of his actions. and although venom was a resident on your tongue, looking at his guilt-struck face, you were reduced to nothing but a dumbfounded, little girl.

whatever you had planned, whatever you had thought you'd call him, whatever accusations you had thrown you'd throw at him dissolved at the tip of your tongue. and instead, an ugly feeling stirred under your skin. the feeling sunk heavy in your chest and your stomach and your head and heart and every other crevice of you. bile crawled up your scratchy throat and the same waterworks made home on your lash line.

when you spoke, you were sure your voice sounded more like a desperate plea than a demand for apology.

"why? why did you say that? that was low."

he looked down at his feet, his fingers twiddling against the sword hilt of his wado ichimonji in an attempt to self-soothe, "i know it was wrong. i was just so angry."

"and that makes it okay for you to question my loyalty?" you sniffed, feeling the watery weight cascade down your cheeks.

"no!" he looked up, alarmed, "no! ofcourse it doesn't. i never was— i was just—" he paused, wincing, "—i was jealous of him."

"sanji?!"

he continued, agonized, "yes, the damn cook. and everyone else, i guess. you seemed to have time for everyone but me."

"zoro, why didn't you just say it out loud to me?" you whispered softly. inching closer to him, you rested your palm against his warm cheek. his growing stubble lightly tickled your skin. you hummed softly when he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, pressing an easy kiss to your fingers. "because i- i just couldn't bring myself to. i'm sorry, i should have talked to you rather than being a prick, really."

"i am sorry too. i know we haven't spent any time for the past two weeks or so. i was so busy within myself that i didn't reach out to you." your fingers played gently against the scars on his face from years of training, "these past few days have been hard—"

"—they've been hell."

you laughed despite yourself, "yeah, i guess they've been hell."

his eyes swayed against yours in a guilt-ridden dance, "forgive me?"

you paused a beat, "do you trust me?"

his answer came more easily than breathing did, "more than i trust myself."

you hummed, "sure?"

and he just nodded. as moments passed you both by, he finally quipped up, "so, am i forgiven?"

"well..." you pondered for a second, "technically, i did fuck up too. so, yeah, you're forgiven." you glared at him, "just never say that kinda shit again."

he smiled and when he spoke, he offered a kind explaination, "i didn't actually mean you were fucking the cook. i just- just kinda said it."

"eh," you waved off his comment, "i don't wanna fuck blondes, anyways. to be honest, not really my type."

"huh?!" his eyes widened in play-pretend, "so his hair colour is holding you back?"

"i mean i'm more into idiots who grow slowly on me. like moss does on a wet towel."

roronoa zoro— bounty hunter, pirate, first mate to a terrifying crew, kind of hell, demon, whatever— looked appalled. "are you comparing me to moss?"

"i am comparing how you grew on me to the lowest form of moss that even grows on the stupidest surfaces."

"don't call yourself stupid, now."

you huffed and turned around, walking towards the stairways that led to the rooms, "i am gonna stop talking to you again!"

he laughed, taking in easy strides to walk after you, "just kidding. i promise. your moss, ever and forever more."

he met your pace, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. you gave him a wayward grin, "good."

he gave you one right back, "great."

"i'm tired."

"me too."

as you both disappeared back into your room, hand in hand, you made a comment about how much his hair grew and he responded with "like moss grows on a wet towel?". next morning you found yourself waking up to the swordsman's heavy snores and heavier body against you.

stupid moss-head.

a/n: i think i like how this turned out lol. hope it's okay @rkiveinmarvel and as always, thank you to anyone else who reads this <3

#one piece #opla #op #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro fluff #one piece fluff #zoro fanfic #zoro imagine

[tadc-ragatha]

Them Receiving a Drawing of Themselves

TW: breakdowns/shutdowns, gender dysphoria, crying

Type: Headcanons

A/N: "Reader discusses what they and the members used to look like, and decides to draw an artist's interpretation of that description with startling accuracy." As of posting, requests are open. Includes only the main six (who I shall now call the digital six/circus crew). Spoilers. Body-sickness = homesickness for body.

Pomni

I'm going to make this interesting for myself and go with the theory that when she saw herself in the mirror she got a bunch of gender euphoria because she's trans. So, for this, she probably wouldn't even bring up her old appearance on her own unless heavily prompted to. Even then, she's really awkward about it, and everyone probably gets the memo that she's at least insecure about her old looks.

Not you, though. You decided to take it upon yourself to draw her. You paid attention to every detail she said, and compiled it all together to create a drawing/painting of the real-world Pomni. She was...Less than enthusiastic. At first, she's angry, even. But once she realises you didn't know, she just turns to going down a crisis of reality and homesickness instead.

If we don't go with that theory, then she still has a crisis. She'd finally started to push her thoughts of home to the edge of her mind, and now it's brought up to the front again. It's best to just not make art of her.

Ragatha

You probably found out about Ragatha through a breakdown of hers. She'd been holding up the happy-go-lucky, optimistic, cheery persona for so long that it was bound to snap. And so, one day the dam had a leak that turned into a full-on collapse. She was crying and talking about how she missed home and her real body. She was starting to forget what she looked like, and it was driving her to the edge.

In an effort to not have her abstracted, you took it upon yourself to give her something to hold on to. You took mental notes of each thing she said about herself and once everything was safe, you went to your room. Taking out your art equipment, you got to work on trying your best to recreate what she looked like.

In the end, you made a bunch of different ones. Presenting them to her, she was surprised and sad. It fueled her homesickness even more. But she covered it up and accepted it; she knew it was out of love, after all. And after she calmed down she did get to looking at them properly and it did give her some comfort to recognise herself and know that she wouldn't forget herself just yet.

Jax

I feel like Jax cared a lot about his appearance. Really, this is just based on that moment where he checks his non-existent nails, but I digress. Either way, he was probably just complaining like normal when it happened. He didn't really care about what he was saying (on the outside, at least); he was just bored and wanting to talk. But you made it your mission to make him feel better about his "body-sickness".

When he received the gift, he would've tried to play it off real quick. Truth be told, depending on how long you had been in the DC he probably would've made fun of your art. But you could see his initial reaction being one of surprise. Still, he would've tried to twist it and tease you about supposedly having a crush on him or trying to be his friend (a "useless attempt" is what he would say).

He probably tried to just chuck it under his bed when he got to his room. But after a little while the temptation was too much and he grabbed it. Looking it over, it was creepy how on point it was. To be honest, he was half-convinced you had known him outside of the digital world. Either way, he was secretly pretty grateful for it and glad you had had that otherwise useless conversation. But he would never tell you that.

Kinger

Kinger would've just asked what you looked like and that would've led to talking about him. I feel like he's got a sort of dad vibe in the way that he'd make up grand stories about himself. Like, he was a world-famous Broadway star or something. But he'd drop the act and tell you he was just joking. Either way, he ended up telling you about his looks.

When drawing him, you realised just how old he was. Not in a bad way, but you did still feel bad for him. He had lived half a life already before being trapped in the DC, and then he had been there the longest. Who knew what had happened to him; what he had lived through, who he had cared about before all this happened. It made you sad.

Giving him the present, though, he was very grateful and told you such. It had been so long since he had seen anything that looked like him, and to have something so accurate seemed nothing short of a miracle. He was sure to show it off to everyone and soon the whole circus crew was wanting their own.

Gangle

Gangle is an artist herself, and you were likely drawing together when the conversation of drawing each other came up. At first, you just made art of each other's current bodies, but soon you were discussing what you looked like before being trapped in the DC. Thankfully for Gangle, her comedy mask hadn't yet been broken by Jax, so she wasn't too depressed when talking about it.

I bet she put a lot of effort into drawing you. Though, her style isn't realistic, so it looked very anime-ified. Still, the hair and eye colour matched. You put a lot of effort into making art of Gangle, too. Though, you were almost photo-realistic (when you had the time and resources) in your art, so yours turned out much more accurate.

When Gangle saw what she looked like, her comedy mask came right off and she started bawling. She hadn't seen herself in forever, and just couldn't handle it. She was so, so grateful, though, to have the opportunity to see herself again. But she didn't dare tell anyone; she wasn't sure that you'd want everyone bugging you for a picture.

Zooble

Zooble doesn't strike me as someone who'd want to talk about their past. She seems to me like someone who's very in-the-present (well, as in the present as someone who's been thrown into a digital world can be). You'd have to really be friends with her and encourage him to talk about what they looked like.

Still, when he does, she goes into some detail. You listen like a bat to every word they say. And once you leave, you rush straight to your room to start on the project. It's a bit weird imagining Zooble as a living, breathing person in the past instead of an abstract collection of living shapes, but it's also humbling to be reminded you weren't the only person to really lose your body.

Receiving the completed project, Zooble is pretty calm about it. Something along the lines of "oh, wow, you didn't have to do that" is what they'd say. But she takes it from you anyway and is sure to keep it in a safe and secure spot where Jax won't be able to ruin it. And oh boy, if he does, they will be after him.

#amy's writing #not requested #the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc x reader #tadc spoilers #the amazing digital circus spoilers #x reader #tadc headcanon #tadc pomni #tadc ragatha #tadc jax #tadc kinger #tadc gangle #tadc zooble #breakdown tw #dysphoria tw #crying tw

[dontcallmemiki]

Both Steve and Eddie are famous. Steve is an actor and Eddie a musician. They are married, but no one except their friends knows because their circles don't overlap at all. But the world changed, so they decide its time to let the world know about their happiness.

It was a long discussion between Steve, Eddie and their managers. They've been together for so long, married for almost one year.

The most important question was how to let it out into the world.

In the end they decided to take it slow. Start to wear their wedding rings, stop dodging questions about relationships, let the world know that there is someone in their lifes.

The first one to tell the world he wasn't a single man was Steve.

It was in one of his interviews for a new movie he was starring in. It started with the boring questions

'How do you feel about the movie?'

'Are there some characteristics that you share with your role?'

'Is there something you would change about the script?'

And then it came. The personal questions.

'So... you are turning 37 this year..' The interviewer says

'Don't even mention it.' Steve laughs.

'...And all your fans are wondering if there is anyone special in your life?'

'Oh yeah' Steve says casually, as if this wouldn't be in the headlines in a few hours.

'Oh really?!' The interviewer exclaims, suprised.

Steve smiles sheepishly, raising his left hand. 'We've been actually married for almost a year. '

Everyone in the studio gasps.

'Really? And who is the lucky person?'

Steve smiles, looking at his ring fondly. 'I would like to keep that a secret for now.'

The news is all over the magazines, everyone trying to find who's Stve Harringtons spouse.

It starts to be Steves and Eddies evening ritual. Going through the magazines and Internet forums, reading out the most bizarre theories.

No one is getting even close.

Eddies time comes two months later. He's in an interview with his band after a new album release. They discuss the songs, which they like the most, which took them the longest to finish....

Then the interviewer starts to talk about their image. How it changed through the years.

'Well.. but there is one thing that hasn't changed much in years. Ed Munsons rings.'

Eddie wiggles his fingers to show them of.

'The fans are curious about them. Could you tell us where you got each of them and what they mean to you?'

So Eddie does, leaving the most important for the end.

'And this one..' He twists his wedding ring. His bandmates give him encouraging pats on the back.

'This one is my wedding ring.'

The room is silent for a few beats, everyone in the production looking surprised.

'Oh wow...' The interviewer says evidently taken back. 'And who is the lucky woman?'

Eddie grins 'Oh no no no. I'm married to a man.'

The interview then continues, Eddie brushing off every question about his spouse.

The news are everywhere after that. The theories are even more crazyer than Steves - Eddie being very touchy person doesn't help.

It takes another few months until Steve and Eddie have opportunity to continue with their 'coming out'.

Steve has taken a main role in a movie for which Eddie makes soundtrack.

It all comes to an end at a premiere screening. They sit two seats from each other, barely interacting.

The audience gives the crew plenty of questions about the movie until one person asks:

'Both Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington recently got married and both of their spouses are unknown to the public. Could I ask you, are your spouses here for the screening?'

Both Eddie and Steve try to not laugh while answering that, yes their spouses are, in fact here.

And it's only after the screening that they stand next to each other to take a photo, hands around each others waist in a way their rings are visible.

Eddie whispers into Steves ear close enough for his lips to touch his skin 'I bet they still won't figure it out.'

And he's kind of right because no-one at the festival notices. It's the fans that see it on the photos and are like 'wait a second....they are wearing the same rings? And they both got married around the same time? Hold up...? We actually saw them hang out few times?'

Steve and Eddie officially announce their relationship after the movie is officially out - still enjoying their evenings of reading the speculations (they like to share with public their favourite ones)

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie au #there is no upside-down #both are famous

[writingmeraki]

eyes don't lie masterlist

a roronoa zoro series !

summary : In a twisted series of events that rendered you useless and completely hopeless, you would laugh at yourself if you knew that a cheery ball of sunshine and his crew of crooked pirates would end up saving your life and apparently also changing the whole trajectory of what you'd always thought was your future.

( or in which you learn what it's like to live as you embark on a journey with the supposed king of pirates and his crew where one particular mold green headed dumbass always irked you in ways you couldn't really describe. )

genre : fluff, angst, romance, humor ( as always, attempts of it ) pairing : live-action!roronoa zoro x gn!reader, s2e2l, strangers!2enemies!2lovers!,reader is a martial artist and a knifeman. warnings : death, cussing, kissing, suggestive content in the future, violence, mentions of weapons, warnings will be added for each chapter.

also ft : the rest of the cast of the live-action one piece series.

start date : 18/02/2024

TAGLIST : open ! ( just send an ask or reply on here )

CHAPTERS !

i. bravery or stupidity ?

ii. welcome aboard !

iii. to be annouced.

author's note : ahh here we gooo, this man has inspired me soo good to write something and actually has removed me from this rough writer's block! so here we have my first official written series on here 💀 I honestly don't know how long it'll be but it might be long/medium length! hope you guys enjoy this as much as I do and together we shall simp for this beautiful human being <3 also changing up my style and adding the author's note at the end cause I realised if I add it in the beginning, it looks so long sjshsksk but also guys I promise I haven't forgotten any of the requests even the very old ones, I'll literally trt to finish those too during this time, just yk when inspo hits, it hits. have a good day <3 !

!!! also based only of knowledge from live action ( yes ik some might get offended if I don't include stuff from the manga/anime so imma be honest and say idk anything other than the live-action!)

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri.do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest. I don't own any of the characters from the movie, rightfully belonging to One Piece creators and the Netflix franchise and also this is a fictional work, not relating to any of the cast in real life.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2023-24

#[ pri works ] #one piece #roronoa zoro #zoro #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa #zoro x you #luffy x reader #nami x reader #sanji x reader #ussop x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece live action #one piece ff #zoro fanfiction #zoro ff #one piece zoro #luffy #nami #sanji #ussop #x female reader #x male reader #x gn reader