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randomshyperson · 9 months

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Best (Girl)Friends - Wanda Maximoff x Rogers!Reader

Summary: Wanda sympathizes with your willpower. 70 years on ice is a long time to wait for an intimate touch. And being the good friend that she is, Wanda offers you some help.

Warnings: (+18), some vague plot, smut with virginity loss, Rogers!Reader following all Wanda’s wishes, power bottom!Wanda, kissing, friends to lovers, mutual pining, explicit consent but Wanda being a tease and a bit possessive. | Words: 4.893k

A/-N-> I’m pretty sure this was a request, but I couldn’t find it anywhere.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |

-&-

Shield acted as if they won the lottery.

In a way, it felt like that. Two Rogers siblings found on the same day would probably yield some promotions within the teams responsible, and a nice image bonus with the US government.

But while Captain America was found in a negative temperature on the other side of the planet, his sister destroyed an entire building with her sudden appearance inside a blue explosion a few hours later.

In your defense, you had no idea what was about to happen.

One minute, you were inside a Howard Stark-designed marine suit at the bottom of the ocean. But in Shield's defense, you were disobeying the orders of your director, that is, Margaret Carter on the phone, who five minutes earlier insisted that she would not risk losing another Rogers and that reaching the cube was not worth the risk to your safety, but you still put on the prototype underwater suit and dived in search of the item, which, to you, was the key to finding your brother.

You were right, in a way. Touching the cube with the determined idea that you would like to see Steve again really worked. The problem was how it happened.

The explosion was all around you, and you saw nothing but the beam of blue light that forced you to close your eyes. One moment you were deep in the sea, and the next you were in the middle of one of the Shield Secret Bases, a thousand of bricks flying around with the force of the explosion.

Your presence in the secret room of Project PEGASUS caused Shield to be on high alert, and a dozen rifles to be pointed in your face.

But it was all cleared up in no time and ended with your figure handcuffed on the seat of a government Jet on its way to New York.

Unlike Steve, you were awake. And not the least bit in the mood to follow Nick Fury's theatrical demands.

"That's to avoid shock, Miss Rogers-"

"Absolutely not, Nicholas." You cut him off impatiently, your hands-free since Shield had clarified exactly who you were. "The first thing I'm saying to my brother won't be a lie."

Nick sighed. "I understand it's a delicate situation, Miss, but Captain Rogers has been frozen for too long. An innocent fantasy is meant to lessen the shock of the truth."

You skirted Nick without caring about the speech. "There's no way to lighten news like this one. We're both in the future, for Chris’s sake! That it's absurd enough. No more lies, and let me see my brother for once. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that."

Fury didn't have the heart to insist, not only because he had another supersoldier getting him out of the way, but because of the emotion in your voice. He waved in dismissal to any soldier more curious about your determined walk, and no one interfered as you made your way to the room where they placed your brother.

Shield had begun to create a scenario around him that made you chuckle in irony. You dismissed the agent posing as a nurse with a look, and Nick allowed you to be alone in the room, and without wasting any time, you made your way to the bed.

Steve looked the same as he did the day he disappeared, and you felt a sob break in your throat. Maybe the sound woke him up.

He opened confused eyes at you, and unlike him, you had aged a lot since the last time he had seen you when you were still a child.

"Hey, Stevie." Your greeting came hoarsely, laden with emotion. Steve took a moment to recognize you.

"Y/N?" He asked, tense and startled. You could almost see the gears of his brain working, the way he tried to recognize his surroundings as well. "God, how long have I...?"

"Longer than you can imagine, big brother. Much longer." You replied before hugging him tightly.

This must have been the last entirely friendly interaction you had with your brother, a reunion bittersweet for its peculiarities that was unable to conciliate years of differences between the two of you. Nor did the ice erase your hurt over Steve sending you away from the war when your parents passed away, or make you forget the years of training and working for Shield in search of him once you were back in Brooklyn. Nor did it change Steve's view of how he wanted to protect and keep out of trouble - which included superhero work - his younger sister who he had vowed to take care of.

But it was indeed an undeniable amusement to the rest of the team that the personalities of the Rogers siblings were so blatantly different, and it caused some apprehension every time Steve had to witness you leaving the tower in some sports car borrowed from Tony Stark while dressed in leather jackets borrowed from Natasha Romanoff.

The apex that you were entirely corrupted for all that he expected from a proper 1950s girl came in the addition of a certain angry witch to the team a while later.

Of course, the close age - if one ignores the years between the time jump and your arrival - you and Wanda had made your friendship an inevitability. But this doesn't mean that witnessing your clear crush on the new Avenger wasn't giving your older brother a headache.

Natasha thinks he deserved some credit. Considering he was a white man from the 1950s who was frozen before appearing in a new century, Steve was pretty open-minded. She was pretty sure this was due to the closet years of keeping a secret crush on his best friend, but she wouldn't be mean enough to torment Steve with that.

And besides this, you were also getting used to the new century. And with the possibility of being able to have feelings for Wanda in an open and free way, so different from the world you lived in before.

The witch, on the other hand, had the greatest of fun tormenting you as much as she could while she waited for you to be ready.

And these teases came at every opportunity Wanda could take, from summer days at the tower pool where she had an excuse to wear bikinis around you and make a complete mess of you with the "friendly cuddling" which is how she came to justify the fact that your room was hers now and that there was nothing more platonical than sleeping cuddled up to your best friend.

With each passing moment, you grew comfortable and certain in your own feelings, parallel to which you became more confident in your powers and Wanda began to feel that the tables were turning on her every time a tickle war ended with you using your super-strength to pin her to the bed or you could effortlessly carry her away from a training session or conflict.

It didn't take long for the situation to become unbearable - Wanda was sure she would combust in the next cuddling session if she felt your body against hers again without that leading to what she really wanted, so now she had to take drastic action.

Communication was always the key to everything.

"Have you ever had sex?"

Your cell phone fell hard on your face. Wanda giggled at the mirror reflection: she was on her back brushing her hair and stealing glances at your figure lying on the bed, still learning to use the current technology but definitely loving the whole thing.

Snorting in embarrassment, you pushed the electronic device down onto the mattress and massaged your sore face. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy seeing me like this."

"What do you mean?" She asks innocently, turning her attention to the ring drawer.

"Disconcerted."

Wanda chuckles mischievously, running her fingers through the options and trying to decide between the items as you stare at the ceiling. "I know you're like 100 years old, but won’t you tell me that it never happened? Not even when you became a hottie super soldier?"

You grunted in shame, covering your face with your arm. Wanda giggled again, this time putting on one of the silver rings. You were too far away to notice how her fingers were slightly trembling, giving away how she was equally affected by the conversation. But unlike you, Wanda knew how to keep it cool very well.

"Wandaaa." You grumbled, and she almost dropped the subject when you added. "No."

"No, what?"

With a sigh, you removed your arm from in front of your face but didn't risk looking at her. "Back then...I just, I didn't have the courage I guess. You know, girls were supposed to be virgins to marry, in theory. And well, I wasn't going to marry anyone because I was too busy working. And when I got into the army, the vast majority of the guys I knew started looking at me with contempt and indignation, and then came the serum I just...didn't know how to handle the attention."

Wanda spun the stool she was sitting on toward you, listening closely to your words.

You sighed shyly. "I mean I had opportunities, but I just didn't feel comfortable following them. I wanted... to be with someone who liked me. Not the super serum, you know? Most people were only talking to me because of it. They hoped to gain some kind of benefit from meeting the American Soldier. I don't know, maybe it's just me trying not to sound so... cowardly."

Wanda stood up with a sigh, and you swallowed dryly, keeping your gaze on the ceiling until her face appear in your field of vision.

"Detka, you are literally the bravest person I know." Reminded the witch, bringing a small smile to you. "And there's nothing wrong with not being ready, or waiting for the right person. Sex is intimate, it makes sense that you want it to happen with someone you like and who likes you back."

"Thank you for being understanding." You muttered, swallowing dryly when instead of returning to her previous activities, Wanda sat down on the bed next to you. With a sigh and shifting your gaze to the ceiling again, you ventured, "Have you?"

Wanda's teasing giggle brought a deep color to your face. "Have I what?"

Snorting, you retorted, "Come on, you're the one who brought this up."

Wanda pinched you gently on the belly, smiling at your complaint. “A few times, actually.'"

It made no sense at all to feel jealous of a time you didn't even know her, and that you were somehow in the past, but still, a bitter burn filled your stomach. Wanda, the telepath that she was, seemed to know exactly what you were thinking, and without caring whether it would make your heart stop or not, approached you to use your torso as her personal pillow. With two legs on which side of your hips, she stared down at you.

"But it was nothing outstanding." She began, using her fingertips to wander all the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders through your pajamas and having the best time in the world in watching every single hair of you shiver. "I kept making the same mistake in settling down for mediocre sex. No real feelings, no passion, much less love. Always end up frustrated and having to finish the job alone."

You frowned in confusion. "Alone...?" But it only took one look from Wanda for you to understand what she meant and choke, your face pink again. The younger girl giggled, leaning her elbow on you to rest her chin on her own hand and take a closer look.

"Eyes on me, baby." She asked, hoping you would overcome your own shyness to do so. When you follow her request, Wanda was ready to risk everything. "You know I love you, don't you?"

You sighed, nodding. "I love you too, Wanda." Your confession was huskier than hers, and she had to ignore the sincerity of what that really meant in order to stay focused on that afternoon's goal. "Kind of the essential thing on the best friend package, isn't it?"

Wanda chuckled, rolling her eyes.

Of course, you would make a joke to lessen the intensity of the moment, if she was nervous in all her confident glory, she could have sympathy for you, who was literally having to deal with your long-time crush practicing lying over you.

"Friends help each other, don't they? Especially best friends." She retorted, and you frowned in confusion.

"Yeah, I guess… why, did something happen?" Before your confusion could turn to worry entirely and you could finish the movement of getting up, Wanda pressed her hands on your shoulders and pushed you back on the mattress. "Hey." You chuckled puzzledly, but the laughter died into an affected sigh when Wanda simply shifted in your lap completely, in a very non-platonic way. "Right, whatever makes you comfortable." You mutter, very aware of the heat radiating from the girl's body on top of you, who just chuckled mischievously at your shyness.

"Relax, dorogoya." Wanda reasserted in a low, dangerously seductive voice. Her hands were on your shoulders still, rubbing your loose pajamas and somehow pushing them down to the limits, exposing as much skin as Wanda could manage. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to...but I also need you to tell me exactly what you wanna do and how ready for me you are."

Your throat went dry, and Wanda's dilated pupils were not helping the words to form. She bit her lip, seeming to have the best time with your clumsiness.

"I-I... god, Wanda..." You gasped and she leaned in completely until her breath was hitting your cheek.

"How about a kiss? Don't tell me you never got one?" She mocked and you had to chuckle dryly.

"You can be quite an ass, Maximoff." You murmured with your eyes closed, risking moving your hands to her thighs around your hips, the action making you both hold your breaths for a second. "I've kissed before."

"Hmm, I see." She hits back, deviating from the original path and letting her mouth tease your jaw, feeling your hands squeeze her thighs gently with every kiss across your skin. What Wanda wouldn't do to see you lose control...

"I like kissing." You confess hoarsely, mostly because she’s making you so nervous that the words are simply spilling. You kept your eyes closed and your neck stretched to give her more room to don’t stop. Aware of your words, Wanda hums again as she keeps depositing chaste kisses on your collarbone. "I like...kissing girls."

It should be a heartfelt confession, one that Wanda theoretically knew about but that you've never put into words before. But suddenly, Wanda bit down on you, hard enough for you to grunt in pain, opening your eyes. She grabs your cheeks with one hand, a hot fury in her eyes that makes you shudder.

"Rule number one, don't talk about other girls when you have one on top of you."

You open your mouth like a fish, babbling nonsense for enough time for Wanda to make a motion of leaving. But that makes you react. "I didn't mean to upset you!" You try quickly, hands moving on an instinct to hold her by the waist on top of you. Wanda has to bite her lips hard to keep from letting out a much more submissive sound than she would like when you just squeeze her firmly to keep her there. "Wanda, please forgive me! I-you caught me off guard, alright? I’m nervous… We’re friends and suddenly… you’re so close and I’m talking nonsense! Please, just… tell me what you want to hear.”

She huffs impatiently, crossing her arms and turning her face away as you sigh in defeat. Wanda wants to be annoyed, but you're so lovely when you lean your face into her, trying to ease her anger with chaste kisses on her cheeks and neck until you manage to get from her a stubborn smile. She has no choice but to uncross her arms to slide her hands up your shoulders, wrapping herself around your body again.

She feels you smile and relax completely, the kisses getting firmer on her neck until they tickle and elicit a husky giggle from her. Still, Wanda settles a hand in your hair, and the slight tug to bring your faces close together again draws a deep sigh from you.

"I don't want to hear about other girls, detka. This is your last warning." She says seriously with eyes glowing red for a moment. Wanda had hoped to have a direct effect, but to her surprise, a teasing smirk began to form on your lips.

"Wow, you're totally jealous." You accused and she grimaced, trying to pull away once more. But that only made you burst out into a teasing giggle, while your strong arms wrapped around her torso, bringing her back to you effortlessly while keeping her locked into you. Wanda was clearly aware of how shaky her legs were with the motion, and trying to walk away again would only result in her falling to the ground. "Wanda, darling, the girls I kissed must be a hundred years old by now."

Reluctantly and with a rosy tinge in her cheeks, she mutters, "Honestly, I was hoping to be your first." Her confession makes you rise your eyebrows in surprise, only to smile fondly next. Your hands moved again, caressing her back in an attempt to relax her as well.

"Hey, look at me." You call out gently, waiting for the girl's stubbornness to subside with the help of your caresses. Wanda has a stronger color on her face when she finally raises her eyes to you again. "I didn't imagine this was anything of relevance to you. But I haven't lied before, I've never been with someone intimately. If you still want to, you can be my first... everything else."

She twitches her nose softly. "You’re making it sound like it’s a favor for me. I only want to... if you do too." She retorts with a certain determination in her gaze, and though you feel your cheeks burn with the ultimatum, you nod foolishly before breaking the distance.

It catches Wanda by surprise, the sudden kiss, and you're despairing when she doesn't respond immediately, pulling away at the same speed you approached. "Sorry." You say mortified and breathless, your lips tingling. "I like you, Wan. I really do. I just thought you should know before..."

She places a finger over yours, shushing your nervous anticipation. Her free hand goes to your cheek and Wanda pulls you close again, her eyes darkening in a way that makes you shiver entirely.

"Like I said before, just relax, baby. Stop overthinking." She whispers before she firms her mouth over yours. It's a sensual, intense kiss unlike any you've ever received. Wanda seems determined to drive you to complete insanity. She kisses you unhurried, waiting for permission to slide her tongue into yours, and giving you no room to breathe properly, head spinning with those new yet so familiar needy feelings. She kisses and kisses you until you're restless beneath her, your body burning and your hands curious testing limits that she doesn’t impose, only encourages you to break. Her taste and smell intoxicate your every sense, the feel of her body molded to yours, teasing your reactions and almost making you lose control of your strength. The tight squeeze you give her when she sucks your tongue earns a whimper from her that sticks and echoes in your mind, making you dizzy with lust. When she finally breaks the kiss to breathe, her lips are swollen like yours, and her pupils are so dilated that there is no green left in them. Your face burns for the matching fire you find in her gaze.

You are unable to find any words to describe this moment, so you only stare at her, blushing over the smirk that starts to form on her lips once she catches the adoring look you’re giving her.

Licking your lips to try to gain some focus, you dare to ask: “Was it…good?” You would have added “Did you like” or “Was I enough” if Wanda didn't break into a giggle that shut you entirely, your cheeks burning. Before the shame could surface, she grabbed your cheeks again. “You’re too cute, darling.” She says, kissing you again more quickly than before. Her hands move to yours then, intertwining your fingers together to drag them on her thighs, down, and then back up, this time under her skirt. Your heart stopped, and Wanda turned her dark eyes back to yours, her voice so low you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so close. “Don’t be shy, see for yourself how much I like kissing you.” She whispers darkly.

When she kisses you again, her hands guide you under her skirt until you're in her front. The mere contact of your fingers with the wet spot on her panties makes you groan and break the kiss, needing a moment to just take a breath and calm your nerves. Wanda doesn't wait long, releasing your hands to move hers to your shoulders, needing firm support now that you're so close to where she needs it so badly. She gasps in surprise when your hand gives a quick tug that rips her panties off at once, a wave of new wetness running down her thighs in the same second.

You don't say anything about it, just turns your face to kiss her again, the same way she did before, and somehow even dirtier and more sexual, drawing gasps with every flick of your tongue against hers.

Because Wanda's your best friend, she wants to taunt you - tease you about being better at this than you let on, but all the words fall away at once when your fingers fill her in one go. All Wanda can do is moan, choking on the kiss as she feels you slide into her with such ease.

"Fuck, detka." She moans with her eyes tightly closed, just as she pulls away to breathe. Your response is to just continue your movements, in and out of her without haste, feeling every mention of her warm walls squeezing your fingers. Wanda is burning on top of you and the sound of her drenched pleasure echoes low. You hum contentedly, nipping at her neck as she can no longer match the kiss, so close to her own climax. Your hand adjusts, increasing its reach, and when your thumb gives her clit the attention it needs, Wanda lets out an affected squeal. "W-wanna cum, baby. Please!"

You bite back a smile, surprised and impressed by the question hidden in the statement. You adjust to face her and wait for Wanda to feel the change to look at you too. The dark, lust-filled pupils leave you breathless.

"You can cum, sweetheart, you don't even have to ask." You assure her softly, never stopping your movements inside her. "I'm here to please you." You whisper, and it's enough for Wanda to break into an affected moan, hips thrusting helplessly against your hand until she arches her back and lets out the longest, dirtiest moan you've ever heard.

Her eyes flutter shut as she rides her high on your soaked hand, until she finally opens scarlet pupils for you, a long groan leaving her lips as the last sensations of the best orgasm she ever had fade away.

Wanda turns her full attention to you in the next second, stealing quick but intense kisses until a husky giggle leaves her lips and tickles yours.

"You're too good at this for your own good." She prompts, and the compliment takes a heartfelt giggle from you. You try to relax under her gaze but Wanda's dilated eyes have a different twinkle as she holds your cheeks more firmly. "I think I want to keep you all to myself. Without sharing with anybody else. What do you say, baby?"

You swallow dry, suddenly quite vulnerable "H-hm, like... dating?" You retort in a weak tone of voice because you need to confirm and well the idea that someone as unbelievably awesome as Wanda Maximoff is actually asking for exclusivity with you seems too freaking surreal not to confirm. As many times as necessary.

Wanda giggles mischievously, settling herself on top of your fingers that never left her and sighing as she feels you even deeper than before. "Yeah, just like that." She moans, and you're not sure if she's answering your question or guiding you through the motions, but you get the impression that the answer goes both ways.

It's not like you will contradict your new girlfriend any further.

Before Wanda could indulge in the sensation again, however, she stopped you with a gentle grip on your wrist. Raising curious eyes to the breathless flushed girl on top of you, your first reaction was to check if you had done something wrong, and by god, hurt her. But Wanda bit back a smile, her other hand going down to your belt.

"We're overdressed, honey." She whispered against your lips, red sparkles playing with the edge of your shirts, teasing them upward. " Strip."

Moaning low against her mouth, Wanda almost didn't let you pull away. In record time, your clothes were off and so were hers, between stolen panting kisses you fell to the mattress again, curious hands urging together.

Wanda pinned you beneath her with no effort despite your super strength, and feeling her naked against your skin drove you to the brink of insanity. She swallowed each moan with her mouth, appreciating the increasingly needy sounds as she fit against your hips, and began to move hers.

Soon, the friction became unbearably arousing and you had to clutch at the sheet, and the headboard. A hot, tight knot at the tip of your stomach left you breathless, every movement of Wanda's hips into yours, the perfect fit between your cunts was enough to make you choke.

You practically meowed when she got the rhythm right. "O-oh god Wanda! T-there's something... fuck, I can't-"

"I know baby, just let go for me." She panted, her hands clenching the sheet on either side of your head, her hips frantic against yours. "Fuck, you feel amazing" She moans a confession, smiling satisfied at your expression of pure bliss beneath her.

Suddenly the knot bursts, and you're blinded by the pleasure of your first orgasm for a full moment. The headboard snaps in your left hand and Wanda cums in a loud, animalistic moan, spilling herself down on you before collapsing heavily onto your torso, your panting breaths mingling like your juices.

You try to recover together from the intensity of the climax, your hand finding her back on instinct to stroke her as Wanda nestles closer against you, an exhausted, satisfied smile on her lips.

She barely had a chance to lift her face to kiss you when the bedroom door suddenly opened.

"Kid, is everything all right in here I heard something breaking-'"

You nearly knocked Wanda off the bed in an attempt to cover the two of you with the comforter - and the mattress lost a few springs in the process.

The two Avengers who'd entered the room covered their faces with their hands, but unlike your brother, Natasha was holding back her laughter.

"I'm sorry. We... I... you-"

"Come on Captain, we're leaving." Natasha cut Steve off with a pat on the shoulder, leading the way backward. "Sorry girls, lock the door next time. And well, use protection!" She burst out laughing, ignoring the embarrassed grumbles from you and Wanda, and closing the door.

With the safety of a locked door, you hid your face in your pillow.

"Great, the best day of my life might be ruined because my brother is going to have a stroke." You grumbled, getting a hearty laugh from the other.

Wanda adjusted herself, stroking your hair until you looked at her again. "Best day of your life, huh? I'm flattered." She teases, smiling at the red that appears on your cheeks.

"As if you weren't cocky enough." You retort in the same tone, adjusting to hold her by the waist and pull her to you, getting on top now. Wanda sighs softly, even warmer with the addition of the blanket now, she finds it kind of hard to concentrate, much more talk. "Thank you, Wands."

Your line surprises her. "For what?"

"For being my first time." You clarify with a shrug, though your gaze was intense. "I've always wanted it to be with someone special, someone I like and trust. And there's no one I love more than you."

Wanda kisses you because she doesn't want to be the type to cry during sex, and she's pretty sure she would. You don't mind, she transmits the feeling through action and well, there are other things you're dying to do other than talk.

There will be time for confessions later.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff oneshots #marvel oneshots #elizabeth olsen x reader

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vanderilnde · 3 months

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a more fleshed-out version from the third prompt of this post of mine.

cw for emotional manipulation, breaking in, stalking, smut, babytrapping, and dubcon to be safe

simon riley/reader

Something is wrong.

Your suitcase is halfway past the threshold of your front door, halfway past your new grave, when you notice the hum of salt and tobacco in the air. Discomfort licks your insides and binds to your skin so heavily that you begin to sweat. A tinny sound peals out as you rearrange your keys between your knuckles, clenching it, and step inside your flat.

Your heels are at the foot of your shoe rack. Your coat isn’t where it’s supposed to be, crimped in a pool on the floor. Your framed photographs are all inched to the left—you know this because you committed their placement to your memory—because you feared this would happen.

Something is seriously, gravely wrong.

You feel like you’re lost at sea. Dull-headed and impaired under the alluring melody of a blood-thirsty siren. Walking towards their call, your legs moving before your mind can, spit in the presentiment of fear the same way insects get caught in spiderwebs. Stuck, and about to be eaten.

You trek further into your flat, following the telltale signs that someone has been here—is here. A general shift in air. The stench of stale herbs and metal. A trail of silt on your hardwood floors, that of which could only be caused by certain mud-clogged boots tracking into your flat.

Here, you pause. On the threshold of your kitchen. Your stomach turns inside out and if it weren’t for your ribs, your heart would have burst out of your chest.

It’s like you’re walking on glass. Every thin sliver that pokes your skin, invading you, is a splinter of fear. And it also makes it so that you can’t walk away—you’re frozen in place, watching him above your stove, setting a kettle to boil.

He hears your squeak. Simon turns around, cotton-plated in his civvies, and hums.

“Welcome home, Love.”

The moisture leaves your mouth and rushes to your eyes. A film of dew materialises on top of your waterline. It’s thick and pearlescent and clouds your vision, turns Simon into an incorporeal blob in your vision, turning him into a trick of your eyes that you hope will go away after you blink.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Simon rests himself against your kitchen counter. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head, and bends his lips into an unseemly smile.

“How was your friend’s place?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?” You try getting your anger across, but your voice betrays your emotions. It’s heavily distorted by fear, waning, so much so that it makes him blandly chuckle. Like he can smell the terror roiling off of you. Like he feeds from it.

“How did you get in?”

Simon shrugs. “I’ve got a copy of the key.”

“I changed the damn locks.”

“I got new ones,” he says.

“We broke up.”

“You broke up with me,” Simon snarls. “When I was at my fuckin’ lowest. You broke up with me and I didn’t agree to tha’ shit.”

“Simon–” a gust of disbelief cuts your sentence short. You grip your hair at its roots, tugging it, twisting it, coiling your face in frustration. “Simon, you need to leave.”

“You’re talkin’ like that ‘cause you’re mad at me. Give it a few minutes, and you won’t be.”

“Are you fucking insane!?” You yell. You draw towards him and slam the kettle off the stove. “You broke into my flat!”

“I had a key,” Simon says. He steps towards you, bullying you backwards until the hind of your spine catches on the cold granite of your countertop. Until your back bends over it, Simon, looming over you. “I’ve always told you to use the deadbolt.”

You bite your lip. The blood sticking to the roof of your mouth isn’t as bitter as Simon’s eyes. His are cold, depthless.

“Fuck off.”

Then, Simon flips. His expression shifts in a whirlwind of seconds. Now, his brunette eyebrows are pursed and his lips are pointed down. His head is ensconced on your neck, his shoulder suddenly laden with an invisible weight as he kittens into you.

“Just came ‘cause I wanted to talk…” he mumbles. “One a’ my men died on me yesterday. Got early R&R for it. Thought you’d be happy to see me...”

You’re motionless as Simon clemently begins kissing your neck. You split your hands on his chest and try shoving him away, but he doesn’t move. He’s as solid as rock. Pushing himself into you, grovelling into your sleek skin.

A phantom chain is tightening around your throat. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say. You feel that with any words that poise themselves on your tongue, Simon won’t take kindly to.

“Simon… I’m sorry for you. I really am,” you slip out from under him and step back. “But this isn’t the way to go about it. We’re adults. And I’m asking you to leave.”

Simon raises his head, lukewarm. He stares at you through his half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily, clenching his fist around the lip of your countertop. Thickly, you swallow. You fidget with your cardigan and hope it will offset the discomfort hanging in the air. Simon takes a deep breath, sucking it all up—the discomfort, the presentiment—and you expect his huffing to precede an explosive reaction, but it doesn’t come. He just slips himself off the island and turns around, quiet when he speaks.

“Yeah,” he hums. “My old man didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so why should you?”

Your eyes widen. Though you’ve spent so much time trying to bury it, trying to familiarise yourself with Simon’s sick gambits, a pang of guilt hits you hard.

“Don’t say things like that,” you point an accusing finger to his chest, “it isn’t fair.”

“No, no,” he grumbles. “Makes sense, does’n’it? My old man walked out on me, so I should handle you walking out on me, too.”

Simon shudders with a long breath. He slaps his face into his hands, and it’s at this point, does your knee-jerk impulse to comfort him take hold of you. The last of your even-tempered brain screams at you—he’s trying to ply you with a humanised side of him, but that side died a long time ago—but you press forward and awkwardly bring him into your arms, patting him on the back.

“Simon, I’m… sorry, okay?” He buries his head in your neck, nips at your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you jus’ yell at me tomorrow?” He asks. Simon slips his hands into the depression of your waist, pulling you against his chest. Against the ever-rising tent of his jeans.

Your mind protests, but Simon keeps you close. He stinks of sweat, impairing you with it, spinning you around and pushing you against the counter.

“Simon–”

“Shhh,” he hums, catching his fingers on the hem of your leggings. “Y’said we can talk later. ’m tired, Love. Just need you right now.”

Any protests rot on your tongue because the wind is knocked out of you as you’re folded over the counter. Simon’s hands travel, gripping every part of you, rekindling old bruises left behind and making space for new ones.

He ruts into you, cock fattening in his boxers and stressing against his jeans. He slides a hand over the divots of your spine and bends it around your neck, hoisting your head back, huffing into your ear.

“You’ve no idea how much I missed y’Love,” Simon’s humping you now. Rutting himself against your ass with unrestrained vigour. He bites the husk of your ear, flattens you against the counter, and sinks a hand below your waistband. He spreads your pussy open like the shell of a fruit, pushing his thick fingers into its flesh, knuckle-deep and kneading you.

“How’s here?” He grumbles. You whine, and he twists himself deeper. “What about there?”

Your mind and body wrestle between pushing him away and yielding under his touch. Simon fucks his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner, into you, and chuckles when you squeal.

He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you see a sliver of bared teeth as his lips hitch up into a gnarled smile. “Ah, so that’s the spot, innit?”

You’re dew-skinned and fuzzy when Simon throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom. Your tongue is heavy and numb and bootless against any objections as he throws you on the mattress, standing balefully at the foot of the bed.

If you were a child, you’d hide under your sheets until he disappeared. But you’re not a child, and Simon doesn’t disappear. He sinks his knees into your bed and swipes his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt in one slick motion.

He unzips his jeans and doesn’t even pull his balls out, just cups the gauze of his boxers beneath it and leans onto his hands.

A pearlescent bead of precum slips down the slit of Simon’s dick and drools onto your comforter. He wraps his hand around it, slips his palm up and down, tugging down your pants.

Your legs kick into a paltry complaint, but Simon pins your legs down.

“No reason in fighting,” he says, rubbing his cockhead against your clit, “You’re so wet, Love.”

Simon nudges your panties to the side and thumbs your clit. Leans in for a biting kiss and swallows your moans, slapping his fat cock against your puffy, wet cunt.

“Missed me just as bad, eh?” He huffs, setting his dick against your winking hole, pushing past your first ring of muscle and rolling at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open.

“Simon–” you hic, latching onto his forearms. Trying to offset his bruising grip on your hips as he falls into a steady, deep rhythm. “At least wear a condom.”

He’s so thick, so heavy between your legs. Hoisting you onto his thighs and leaning over you, snapping his cock into you. He screws his face tight, pellets of sweat running down his marred collarbone. Congealing into the spindly, blonde threads of hair on his chest. Down to the wire of steel wool that thickens on his pelvis, pinching your clit each time he slams into you.

“You’re stayin’ with me, Pup,” he pants, kissing a stripe up your neck, suckling on your pebbled nipple. “Gonna gimme a litter, ain’t you? Just like we talked about?”

A little, lone tear slips down your hot cheek. Simon leans in and licks it off. He stuffs himself to the hilt, shuddering with abrupt pleasure as he skips to his feet and folds you in half, pounding into you, biting down on your shoulder.

It hits you like whiplash when Simon pushes himself so deep that you feel him swelling under your skin. He gives you no warning before emptying his balls inside you, flooding you with a white-hot come, clutching your jaw into a wet, messy kiss.

You’re blinded and eclipsed by pain as your orgasm shoots through you. The pleasure is numbing and makes you quiver, tremble, until you’re gushing around Simon’s cock and swivelling your hips to get away.

You’re shaking when he pulls back, giving your pussy no time to soften. Simon gives it a swat and flays himself off of you, heading to the bathroom. You hear the cellophane of your birth control peeling open, and the successive thunk as Simon tosses it into the bin.

You try getting up but Simon flattens you back as he crawls in bed next to you. There’s a hand of his on your waist, seemingly benign, but tightens itself each time you try slipping away. Your sniffles are piercing and Simon pulls you close. Brushes your tears away, kisses your eyelids.

“You’re not gonna leave me now, eh? You can’t,” he whispers, “you’re all I’ve got. You and our baby. You can’t leave me now.”

A pitiful cry escapes you. Simon takes that as agreement.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost smut #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost/reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #writing #simon riley/reader #simon riley smut #simon writing

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delirious-donna · 1 month

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The Duality of Men [Part Five]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: Being cooped up all day with Kento isn't as easy as it sounds. Time to tempt the stick in the mud out for a drink. What could go wrong?

pairings: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: suggestive, mentions of previous masturbation, humour, two idiots pining, mentions of alcohol, toxic male behaviour (not Kento), misunderstandings, white knight Kento, also very oblivious Kento

Part Four | Series Masterlist | Part Six

The morning dawned–bright and fresh. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the events of the previous evening almost felt like some lucid dream rather than reality. Only the dull ache that remained between your thighs served as a reminder of your toying fingers. Whilst you might have found release, it was temporary at best, and the encounter with Kento in the kitchen had only served to rekindle your desire for the man who was quickly becoming less of a stranger to you.

In an attempt to occupy your mind, turning it onto more pressing matters other than the slew of questions about the stoic male—his interests, occupation, and preferences in a far more intimate manner—you decided that focusing on schoolwork would be for the best.

That was how you came to find yourself seated in one of the two tall chairs that lined one side of the kitchen island, your coursework spread out in a sea of paper and textbooks. It was an organised mess, or so you would say, others might disagree, but it worked for you and that was all that mattered. Or it might have been had it not been for the appearance of your host.

Kento shuffled into the kitchen, his hair dishevelled from sleep and yawning widely. A glance at the clock told you it was an early start to the day for someone who was meant to be on vacation. He reached his arms overhead into a delicious looking stretch, and paused when his eyes blinked open to spy you fully dressed with a pen between your teeth.

“Morning,” he offered once he too glanced at the clock with a slight squint. It made you wonder if he needed glasses and if so, why didn’t he wear them? His voice was gruff, laden with sleep, and you did your best not to squirm at the effect it caused in your stomach. “You’re awake early, no?”

“I could say the same to you. Didn’t you say you were on mandated vacation? Oh, and good morning. There is coffee in the pot if you’d like some?” You added, leaning your cheek onto your fist whilst you admired him, emboldened by the knowledge he wasn’t awake enough to notice.

He grunted in response. Deliberately not looking whilst you smacked your pen against your pursed lips, and instead made a beeline to the source of caffeine that had roused him from his slumber in the first place. He admired your dedication at being awake to study so early. The question of what you were studying tickled the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. The more he knew, the harder it would be to keep his distance as he had vowed to himself.

Lazing in bed wasn’t on his agenda, it would be a waste of time when he could be reading or getting in a morning run on the treadmill. Perhaps in another life, he would have savoured the idea of remaining nestled within warm sheets, the morning sun streaming across the rumpled bed from the gap in the curtains, and… He paused, knowing that his mind was conjuring another body beside him, one that was across the room from him.

A distraction was what he needed.

“You study like… this?” Kento asked, nose wrinkled in distaste.

The pen in your hand was no longer gently patting at your lips, it was smacking hard against the marble counter edge and his eyebrow quirked at your clear irritation. He fought the smile that tried to rise, wisely hiding it behind his mug whilst he took another long sip.

“It… makes sense to me.” Your eyes narrowed, shifting your hips forward on the chair to lean over the counter, pen wagging in admonishment.

Kento held up his unoccupied hand in surrender, not wishing to cause you any further annoyance and longing for a slice of solitude that he wasn’t going to find in here. “Let me get out of your hair, I wouldn’t wish to distract you from your studies.”

You scowled after him, annoyed at yourself for finding that you were fixated on the dips at his lower back and the way his muscles shifted and bunched as he moved away and out of sight. It was far worse in the clear morning light; you could no longer fool yourself into believing that the broad expanse of his shoulders and the strength of his torso was simply a trick of the low lighting. It was simply him, and you rested your head on your folded arms while you processed that nugget of information.

The rest of the morning was spent in some semblance of peaceful cohabitation. Kento contented himself with running in his home gym, earbuds in place and you wondered what kind of music he enjoyed on your trip to the bathroom, peeking inside only for a moment before darting away, scared to be caught.

It wasn’t until lunchtime approached that he reemerged into the living room, fully dressed in a cream sweater and navy trousers.

By this point, you were curled up into the far corner of the couch with a book in hand. Whilst peeking over the top, you watched as he manoeuvred around the kitchen to make lunch. You must have read the same passage at least a dozen times and still, the words wouldn’t sink in. It wasn’t until he turned to eat, that he froze–plate in hand.

Of course, your coursework was still splayed out and possibly looking even more disorderly than before if that was at all possible. You waited, counting internally for the snarky comment, but as you reached fifteen… you glanced at him again.

“Are you really standing over the sink to eat?”

“I’m sure you have a suggestion as to what I should do instead,” he sighed in resignation with the plate balanced on his palm and half his sandwich clutched in his other hand.

“You could, y’know, sit on the couch like a normal person,” you chided with a roll of your eyes. “Or are you that afraid of crumbs that you’d rather stand over there?”

If truth be told, he did despise crumbs and unnecessary dirt. However, he wasn’t about to get into it with you about something you’d find trivial and likely tease him over. As if accepting your challenge, he marched stiffly to the other end of the couch from you and rested his plate precariously on his knees to finish his sandwich. His forehead wrinkled into a scowl, and you fought the urge to tell him to ease up or he’d prematurely wrinkle his face. Something told you he wouldn’t take too kindly to such an accusation.

Unfortunately, the calm of the morning didn’t last into the afternoon. For such a spacious apartment it felt awfully cramped when the two of you tried to focus on your individual interests. It was like walking on eggshells and your nerves were on a razor's edge for no good reason. More often than not you found yourself studying the uptight man rather than reviewing your seminar notes.

Nanami prowled from room to room like a caged predator, one that was not accustomed to enforced captivity and was losing its sanity with each continued tick of the kitchen clock. You were certain he had sat on every part of the couch, first seemingly engrossed in the newspaper delivered to his door but it didn’t last. Before you knew it he was back on his feet and standing at the panoramic window with both hands clasped behind his back.

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, ignoring the beautiful sight of the late afternoon sun turning dark and fiery across the city. It would have been what you studied in his position but no, Kento watched the hundreds of commuters down on the streets. Was he… envious?

It appeared that way and he only strengthened the idea when he huffed, leaving a cloud of breath against the clean glass and turned on his heel to retrieve his discarded newspaper. The crisp pages snapped apart harshly under his grip and you nearly laughed at what you could only describe as rage reading.

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time and threw down your pen in defeat. After stretching your arms overhead and rotating your stiff wrists, you gathered your courage and rounded on the man who couldn’t settle into anything remotely relaxing.

“Wanna go grab a drink?”

Kento paused on the sentence he had already read ten times over. Was he hearing you correctly? “Pardon?”

Hopping down from the stool you’d sat at for most of the day, you approached slowly and shrugged. “It’s been a long day and I think we could both use a drink to relax us a bit.”

Why would you need to relax? He was the one wound tighter than a spring-loaded toy but he couldn’t even blame you, not rationally anyway. You’d spent the day studying diligently, only breaking to stretch your limbs, refill your water bottle or read your book. A book he was unfamiliar with, squirrelling away the title and author to look up later.

After his morning run and shower, the day had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. No matter how tightly he tried to cling to them, the minuscule grains escaped through the cracks until the hours were lost and he felt a sick sensation in his stomach. He tried not to consider the accounts he could have handled had he been in the office, or the clients he could have snared if he’d been permitted to admit the conference as planned. It wasn’t worth the turmoil it caused.

“I have a well-stocked liquor cabinet and there is wine in the fridge if it’s a drink you’d like,” he offered, moving closer to you and ignoring the desire to splay his hand at the small of your back to guide you towards his prized collection.

You shuffled your feet looking decidedly more nervous. His head cocked in curiosity, noting your habit to chew on your lips. He bet they tasted sweet.

“Kento… can we get out of the apartment? I bet there are a few nice bars around here, and well… c’mon, I don’t want to go alone.”

He may as well have sighed at the sound of his name on your lips for the second time. You might not know it, but he would have agreed to just about anything at that moment. For that reason alone, he found himself perched on a bar stool in a noisy but thankfully well-lit bar a few streets away from the apartment complex.

Your face was a picture of excitement, and he laughed discreetly whilst you leant on the bar waiting for the bartender to notice and take your order. Kento did his best not to appreciate how your light blue jeans hugged your backside, averting his eyes to admire the décor instead. He scolded his rapidly diminishing restraint, feeling more like a hormonal young man than he did when he was a hormonal young man.

“Vodka cranberry please, light on the ice. What would you like, Kento? It’s my treat.”

Oh hell no. He wasn’t about to let a student pay for his drink, no matter the circumstances. Meeting the eye of the young man behind the counter, he bristled at the amusement that was evident in his expression.

“Laphroaig, neat. Make it a double, please,” he rattled off whilst fishing his card from the wallet in his back pocket. At his side, you were beginning to protest, tugging on his sleeve and damn near bouncing on your stool. The bartender nodded and wisely chose to remain silent as he accepted the card and hurried away to fulfil the order.

“Nanami, I said I was going to pay!”

Kento huffed. “So, I’m Nanami again… where did Kento go?”

Two glasses were set down on folded paper napkins and it was enough to distract you, your fingers slipping free from his sweater. The amused bartender returned Nanami’s card with a receipt and discreetly moved away. Another wise decision.

“You’re a student and I am not. End of discussion,” he said with enough finality in his voice that you nearly acquiesced–nearly.

You couldn’t help but gawk at him in incredulity. Was he so unaccustomed to such gestures that he didn’t realise this was your attempt to say thank you for letting you stay in his apartment? He swallowed a long sip of his whisky that you had already forgotten the name of, but you were sure was extremely expensive. His Adam’s apple bobbed and your mouth ran dry.

“It was meant to be a thank you, dummy,” you groused, pouting as you raised your straw to your lips and sipped the crimson concoction you’d ordered. “Y’know, for letting me stay at your place?”

“Did you know that you say y’know rather a lot?”

Blinking, you met his hazel eyes and nearly whimpered at the warm glow that shone from their depths. It was like standing before a roaring fire, logs popping merrily from the leaping flames and they had a way of making you feel… special. His face softened when he teased you like this, with no scowls wrinkling his face. For a man who was definitely manly–all sharp jaw and angular cheekbones–those mischievous eyes cast a boyish charm over him and you found yourself leaning closer, your elbow resting on the bar until he cleared his throat and looked away.

Thankfully, you were able to navigate the rough seas of casual conversation without incident. Kento spoke about his work with a passion that didn’t seem likely for what sounded like a rather mundane office job. You teased him for his dedication and the long hours he spent behind a desk with limited social interaction. He took it well, or perhaps it was the alcohol that loosened him up.

His cheeks were warming nicely whilst the bar picked up around you. The steady stream of corporate slaves traipsed in and out with colleagues in tow looking to warm their bellies with a drink or two before the final trek home. Kento spoke fondly of his sister and told you enough embarrassing stories from their childhood that the simmering hurt from not even knowing Karin had a brother, melted away.

The atmosphere was a pleasant one and Kento was a pleasure to converse with when he wasn’t acting like he had a stick up his butt. In fact, it was surprisingly fun to goad him into huffing and puffing at whatever nonsense took your fancy, simply to see him stiffen and frown, his chest barrelling in indignation until he realised you were baiting him and easily so.

Kento couldn’t recall a time he enjoyed more than this one right now. He was never one for taking up the invites from colleagues to go bar hopping on a Friday night, often staying late in the office and catching up on emails rather than drinking himself into a stupor. Only now did he wonder if he was missing out on something better than what he thought would be no more than a nasty headache and clouded memories. Perhaps, if the right people—or person—it could be enjoyable.

You were funny, animated and scathing but not in a cruel way, or at least that was his interpretation. He appreciated your wit and your unique take on the world caused more than one or two belly laughs, which were worth it just to see how your face lit up in reaction. You were clever too, always quick off the mark when he deliberately tried to trip you up and honestly… he was falling.

Love was far too soon to even consider but mild infatuation? Maybe.

With your drinks now empty, he asked if you would like another and after giving an enthusiastic nod, he ordered two more before standing to find the restroom. The solitude gave you a moment to collect your thoughts, staring into the depths of the polished bar edge as you wondered how to proceed. You liked him, that couldn’t be denied now but it still felt too soon, not to mention the guilt you felt over lusting after your best friend’s brother.

Your reverie was interrupted when fresh drinks were set in front of you and a presence settled by your side. Glancing sideways you expected to find Kento but it wasn’t him. A young man in his early twenties smirked at you, swiping a hand through his slicked-back black hair. He was suited and booted like the majority of the patrons but you stiffened instinctively with how closely he leaned into you.

“Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?” He offered, clearly ignoring the fresh set of drinks under your nose whilst his arm draped over the back of your chair. The tips of his fingers brushed your shoulder, making you shudder and twist your torso away so he could no longer reach.

“No thanks. I have a drink and that seat is taken.” You pointed to the one he was occupying after lifting both drinks in what you hoped was an obvious show of disinterest.

The man laughed; a dirty smoker’s laugh that raised the hairs on your arms and roiled the contents of your stomach. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t lie. Liars aren’t as cute as you. I bet you bought both drinks so no one bothered you, right? I’m too smart to fall for that, all the girls are doing that these days.”

Every warning sign and alarm blared obnoxiously loud inside your head. If your instincts hadn’t tipped you off, his words certainly did. You were not the first woman to be subjected to his unwanted presence and you prayed that no one had fallen victim to his overbearing advances.

Undeterred by your previous movement to escape his touch, the man turned his body into you and this time, instead of trying to put his arm around your shoulder, he landed a heavy palm on your thigh. You openly grimaced at the unsolicited move, brushing his hand away and crossing your legs. Any sensible man would understand this as a sign to quit but of course, he seemed to only take it as some kind of sick challenge.

“Someone’s a little frigid. Let me warm you up a bit, I promise to be gentle,” he sneered, showing teeth stained from years of cigarettes and lacklustre oral hygiene.

You caught the eye of the bartender, he was watching closely and you were grateful that he was attentive.

Your mouth snapped open to retort sarcastically about his lack of perception skills, but at that moment the bartender, who you considered your safety net, moved away to the other end of the bar to serve a new customer.

What you didn’t know was that the man behind the bar knew that you were completely safe, he had seen what you had not. Nanami Kento was striding across the room and he was pissed.

At first, he had waited to see how you reacted to the man and his clear advances, unsure if you were into this kind of thing or not, but the second he could see your grimace and how your entire body leaned away from the man in his seat, fire filled his veins. The very second he touched you without invitation and continued to advance when it was obvious you weren’t interested, he saw red.

He would never understand the self-righteousness of some men, and their seeming belief that all women were fair game if they tried hard enough. It was not foreign to him, and this wasn’t the first time he stepped in to ensure the safety of a woman, often women he didn’t even know. This time was different and he was consumed with both rage and confusion at his reaction.

You weren’t his, he reminded himself as he stopped behind the man still leering at you.

A dark shadow fell over your harasser and your head snapped up at the same moment the man glanced around when someone tapped his shoulder. Nanami’s face was twisted with barely restrained fury, a thick vein popped on his temple and you gasped as the heavy waves of anger crashed outward from his stance. It was potent stuff, enough to tighten your chest when the edges licked at you just for being so close to the source.

Kento appeared broader, taller, and more angular. It must have been a trick of the light, but your heart pounded all the same. You weren’t even watching the man suddenly swallow dryly in the wake of Kento’s fury, no, you couldn’t rip your eyes away from him. The second heartbeat from the previous night was returning with vigour and you crossed your legs to draw your thighs tighter together.

“Leave.”

One single word imbued with enough power and natural dominance the man turned tail and ran for the door without even a backward glance.

“Are you alright?” Kento asked, retaking his seat and throwing back half his drink in one swallow. You watched as he sucked his teeth, his fingers digging into his eyes as if he were suddenly weary of the entire world. Not until he turned to you in question, gaze searching your face with uncertainty did you realise you hadn’t answered.

It was your turn to swallow the runny saliva in your mouth. “Yes… yes, don’t worry. He was a jerk but it could have been worse. I mean, it doesn’t happen often—”

“It shouldn’t happen at all,” he interjected.

“I know, but it’s okay.”

He grimaced but said no more. His anger was still palpable, but once where the flames had licked at you for daring to be too close, they now seemed to cocoon around the pair of you and it was a comfort. A comfort you fought against leaning into, failing when your frame swayed closer and your eyelids sagged.

The thought of how you might act if he were your man rose like oil on water, swirling images of clutching the front of his expensive cream sweater to pull him into a kiss that demonstrated a sliver of your gratitude. The kaleidoscope of colours shifted to the interior of his apartment, kicking hastily out of shoes whilst your tongues tangled and your hands roamed with abandon. Decadent heat caressed your chest, prickling your skin and causing you to squirm in your seat, all to the carefully guarded gaze of Kento.

He didn’t know what to make of your sudden shift in demeanour. You were jittery where you once had been perfectly comfortable, he wondered if perhaps you were experiencing a delayed reaction to what had transpired but what he didn’t expect was for you to reach out and run a finger along his forearm.

It was a bold move and one that you didn’t fully think through before you were in full flow. To hell with being Karin’s brother, you wanted to take the chance of seeing if you were compatible. He was ticking more and more boxes the longer you remained in his company and honestly, you wanted to know if he’d loosen up for you if given the right incentive.

“Do you make a habit of coming to the rescue of damsels in distress?”

His nostrils flared and immediately you knew that these were not the right words to use. “Don’t… I’m not interested in pity.”

All you could do was stare, slack-jawed at the absolute stupidity of this man. Did he honestly think you were the type to come on to any guy that came to your rescue? The anger that leaked from Kento seeped into you, fuelling your own and you puffed your chest in response. The man was dense, that much was clear but it was the slight against your assumed reasoning that bothered you the most.

“Are you for real? You think I would do this to just anyone that came along and helped me out of a bad situation?” You hissed through clenched teeth, letting your anger surround you like armour.

Nanami blinked, once and then again. He loathed to be seen as some heroic white knight figure, especially when he didn’t feel like one. Doing the bare minimum should not be praised, not when it is the very least all decent humans should be doing. It wasn’t the first time a woman had tried to proposition him after he chased some creep off, but it was the first time when he actually knew the woman in question.

Perhaps he misread the situation, yet that couldn’t be true either because that would mean that you were interested in him and most likely from before he had returned from the restroom. His head was pounding and it had nothing to do with the music in the bar or the alcohol that filled his stomach.

“I don’t–”

The legs of your chair scraped across the floor as you pushed up and out, halfway towards the door before he could even react to your hasty exit. It was your turn to be pissed and boy did you let it show. A couple leapt apart as they blocked your exit, and Kento was quick to down the final swallow of his whisky and threw down some cash on the bar before jogging after you.

You heard your name being called and knew that he was right on your heels. The feeling of foolishness made you want to cry and that only intensified how furious you were. How dare he make assumptions like that without warrant. A hand caught beneath your elbow and you whirled around only to be met with those uncertain eyes once more. Exhaling deeply through your nose, you reined in your temper and waited.

“I’m sorry?” Kento said, dropping his hand away from your elbow and rubbing at his neck sheepishly.

“Are you? Sorry, that is, because that sounded like a question to me. If you don’t mean it, don’t say it.” You tapped your foot against the pavement, holding his stare with unwavering determination not to be the first to look away.

“I made an assumption and that was wrong of me. This isn’t… it's not the first time I’ve been spoken to like that and I reacted out of instinct.”

“Yeah, well, I bet they hadn’t…” You clapped a hand across your mouth, startled by what you very nearly admitted and so casually too.

As quickly as your anger arrived, it dissipated just as fast. Instead, you were overcome with the memory of bedsheets twisted around your knees and your fingers busy between your thighs. You throbbed, remembering how you imagined Kento’s handsome face between your thighs, his chin and mouth swollen and sticky from the mess he’d made, and your fingers tangled in his hair to encourage him.

The image of your fantasy Kento blurred with the man standing in front of you looking perplexed. How on earth could you have nearly admitted stuffing yourself with your fingers whilst thinking of him and what it might be like if you invited him into your bed? It was comical, really it was.

“Hadn’t what?” Kento asked in confusion, if not at the sentence you left hanging then the way you seemed to double over as if you were in pain. You waved away his attempts to step closer, and he wasn’t certain if what he heard was a delirious giggle or a noise of anguish. What hadn’t those other women done that you had? There were a hundred possibilities surely, and yet, what popped into his head was the sticky mess he had made last night whilst thinking of you.

No, it couldn’t be that… it would be stupid to even think that you might have both sought relief whilst so close yet so far, only a wall keeping you apart. It was wishful thinking on his part, or so he thought. The way you burst into spontaneous laughter gave him further pause. He was grateful when you straightened and bumped your shoulder into his arm, and walked with him back to the apartment. Your anger forgotten and the atmosphere between you clearer than it had been moments ago.

But what if..?

#delirious writes #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #tw toxic behavior #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

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highladyandromeda · 1 month

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Shadows of the Heart

Part 2

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions.

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: mentions of blood, but nothing particularly graphic

[Prologue], [Part 1]

Another four days passed, a week having finished as Y/n continued to sleep. Madja checked in multiple times a day, but she didn’t find any other problems.

“Apart from her loss of blood, her body’s naturally healing itself. And it even seems as though once Mor recovered, her magic was able to repair her wounds.”

Azriel observed how the deep cuts on her arm and leg closed to form thin raised scars, marveling at the process, and pushing back the discomfort of seeing her skin marred.

“So why isn’t she awakening?” Rhys broached, having left his place by her bedside, only to convert the room next door into a temporary office, checking in every hour according to his shadows.

“It’s most likely exhaustion.” Madja contemplated before continuing, “We’re still not sure of the magic she used to teleport herself and Morrigan here, but it was enough to take a toll on her body. Time is most likely what she required the most.”

Azriel nodded along, the images of the blood circle ingrained in his mind. The crimson runes were still left on the balcony, no one had the heart to ask the house or the stomach really, to wash them off. Rhys hadn’t said a word about it either, perhaps afraid that touching it could somehow affect Y/n’s recovery.

On the dawn of the fifteenth day, as the first rays of sunlight spilled into the room, bathing it in a warm, golden hue, something shifted. Azriel, who had taken to keeping watch that morning, noticed the change first. The steady rhythm of Y/n's breathing altered and became deeper, more purposeful. Her fingers twitched and as Azriel crept closer, he could see her eyelashes flutter.

Then, in a moment that seemed to suspend time itself, Y/n's eyes opened. The vividness of her gaze, a striking contrast to the pallor that had claimed her features for days, searched the room, disoriented yet aware.

As if sensing the shift in the air, Rhys appeared at the doorway, his presence commanding yet wreathed in silent anticipation. Feyre was close behind him, with Madja appearing along her side. Y/n’s gaze, clear yet clouded with confusion, swept across the room before settling on Rhys with a dawning recognition.

Rhys stepped forward, his voice a gentle anchor in the sea of confusion that likely swirled within her. "Y/n, you're safe. You're in the House of Wind, in Velaris."

"Rhys..." her voice was a whisper, fragile as the morning light, but it carried the weight of countless unspoken words. Azriel felt his shadows quiver at the sound of her voice, agitated that she said only that.

Madja approached with a gentle smile, her presence a reassuring beacon. "You've had us all holding our breath," she chided softly, a twinkle of relief in her eyes. "How do you feel?"

Struggling to sit up, Y/n's arms trembled with the effort, unable to support her weight. Quickly, Madja and Rhys were at her side, gently guiding her back against a fortress of pillows arranged for her comfort.

"I—how long—" she began, her voice barely a whisper. Gesturing towards her mouth, she mimed the action of drinking. Rhys, understanding immediately, handed her a glass of water, which she accepted with a nod of thanks.

"Fifteen days," came the response, surprising even Azriel, who hadn't expected his voice to fill the silence.

Y/n's gaze snapped to Azriel, her crimson eyes locking with his in confusion. Then, turning back to Rhys, she sought confirmation, her eyes laden with unspoken questions.

"Yes," Rhys affirmed, his tone carrying a blend of seriousness and warmth. "As Azriel, my spymaster, mentioned, you've been asleep for fifteen days, Y/n."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, prompting Rhys to add with a light-hearted chuckle, "You've never been one to enjoy your sleep, so, I must say, this time you've outdone yourself."

The room filled with soft laughter, which quickly turned into a series of coughs from Y/n.

With a firm command, Madja ushered everyone out, emphasizing the need for Y/n to rest and recuperate in solitude. Rhys, with a promise of returning bearing books and introductions, and Feyre, with an offer of her gentle company, reluctantly departed.

Azriel, ever the silent observer, melded back into the comforting embrace of the shadows. He lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Y/n as she settled back, her magic, a soft luminescence against her skin, began to weave its way up her arms once more. And as he retreated into his room. It was the vivid scarlet of her eyes that imprinted itself on his mind, a beacon that refused to be extinguished even in the depth of shadows.

------------------------------------- x --------------------------------------

Y/n paused at the top of the grand staircase, her hand resting lightly on the polished banister. Each step below seemed to stretch further away, a challenge laid out before her. She drew in a deep breath, bracing herself against the lingering weakness that clung to her limbs like the remnants of a bad dream. Halfway down, her breath came in shallow drafts and she leaned against the banister for a moment, closing her eyes. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the state of her body, she couldn’t remember the last time such small movements pained her.

Finally reaching the bottom, Y/n paused, gathering herself. The familiar scents of breakfast—a medley of sweetness and warmth—wafted through the air, grounding her. She stepped forward, each movement measured, as she refused to collapse here. Her pride could only take so much more of a beating, after sleeping for 16 days now.

As her presence filled the doorway, a hush fell over the room, every eye turning towards her. It was Rhys and Mor who reacted first, their chairs scraping back against the polished floor as they sprang to their feet, propelled by a mix of concern and elation. Mor, having sat closer to the doorway on purpose, reached Y/n first, her arms enveloping Y/n in a hug that was nothing short of bone-crushing.

"Y/n!" Mor exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion, as she finally allowed her grip to loosen slightly, mindful of Y/n's recent ordeal. “What were you thinking?!” she yelled. Her eyes, bright with unshed tears, scanned Y/n's face as if to reassure herself that she was truly okay, that she was really there.

Rhys, following closely behind, wore an expression of deep relief mingled with a hint of his usual charm. He extended his hand, but then, deciding against it, pulled Y/n into a gentle embrace, mindful of her recovery.

"You've been missed, Y/n. More than you know," Rhys murmured, before stepping back to give her some space, before ushering her into a seat.

Y/n hesitated, her gaze sweeping across the familiar faces now turned towards her with varying expressions of curiosity and concern. "Actually," she began, a trace of her old confidence threading through her voice, "could I speak with you—just you and Mor...in private?" She added at their shared look of surprise, "It's urgent."

Before they could respond, Cassian tried to lighten the mood. "Sure, but not before you try some of this breakfast. We've all been waiting for you." His attempt to guide her towards the table was met with a small, knowing smile from Y/n.

"You must be Cassian," she remarked, “You’re just as I remember”, amusement lacing her tone, sparking a ripple of surprised laughter around the room. Deciding that she wouldn’t win this argument, Y/n gracefully conceded, taking the seat next to Azriel. As she settled into the chair, Azriel's shadow drifted towards her. They moved with an almost sentient awareness, coiling gently around her arms and weaving through her hair with the softness of a whispered secret.

Azriel caught between concern and embarrassment, hastily retracted them. "Sorry," he muttered, cheeks tinged with a rare blush.

Y/n shook her head, hiding her surprise with a gentle smile playing on her lips. "I don't mind. Really."

She turned straight to Rhys and tapped on his mental shields, watching his eyes unfocus as his talons gave way to the spirals of her crimson magic.

How much do they know? She asked.

Just the basics. Rhys responded. I wanted you to decide on the rest.

And you still trust them?

With my life. Y/n, why don’t you stay–

Before Rhys could finish, Y/n closed their link, looking around the room before revealing, “As you know, my name is Y/n. I was raised alongside Rhys and his sister in Moonstone Palace.”

She took a deep breath before continuing, “I left after her…after her death.” A pained glance shared between her and Rhys, with Mor resting her hand on her shoulder.

"I’ve seen and heard of Cassian and Azriel during visits to the Illyrian mountains, but it was so long ago. I'm not surprised no one remembers."

Azriel felt his heart stutter, wanting to know more about this enchanting faerie. How could she remember him, but he didn’t recall her? Before he could muster the courage to turn to her, to ask her what she thought, no, what she remembered of him, Y/n didn’t let the revelation sink in.

With the weight of her next words pressing down upon her, she continued "I can't stay for long. I have to return to Vallahan."

She raised her hand in a stopping motion, insisting on continuing before Rhys grabbed her hand and pulled her up and into the house’s study. The slammed door echoed the shocked faces around the table.

Finally, when it seemed as though they would continue past lunchtime, Y/n and Rhys emerged, both looking surprisingly frazzled as Y/n huffed up the stairs. Rhys announced to the room, now with the addition of Amren and Elain, that they would have renewed introductions during dinner.

Azriel tried to focus on the joy of seeing Y/n again for dinner, trying to swallow down the bit of jealousy he felt at her acknowledgment of Rhy and Cassian, and her subsequent engagement with the others. It wasn’t a new sensation, this feeling of being overshadowed by the more charismatic presence of his brothers. Historically, he had resigned himself to the background, comfortable in his silence, a watcher amidst the revelry. Yet, with Y/n, it felt different; though he had just met her, he wanted to be seen, to be the one she sought out, the one whose company she desired.

A/N: Hi everyone!! Thank you so much for the support -- I wasn't expecting so much interest and joy when I first posted! I hope that I can write something that makes you all feel as entertained and encaptured as fanfic authors have made me feel!

I just created a tag list, I tagged everyone who asked and those who commented on the previous parts. If you'd like to be included, please just let me know. 💕

TAGLIST: @strangelygreat @enfppuff @trip-n-sal @inloveallthetime @annamariereads16 @mybestfriendmademe @mariahoedt @annblvd @ania-swissweet @yearninglustfully @sleepylunarwolf @quiettuba @gorlillaglue25 @lilah-asteria

#azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar series #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel x oc #rhysand #morrigan #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar

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nalyra-dreaming · 1 year

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To those reading Laden as the sea:

I know I‘m keeping a good rhythm with the fic but… I mean we are far from the events of episode 5 and the events that follow still. But… I wonder if I should actually touch it before they throw it all up in the air in season 2 (as there are more and more hints that they indeed will do so).

I mean, I have said in the notes of chapter 7 already that I‘ll go and pry it apart and… I have my theories of course… but… I probably won’t be able to hit it 100%.

So to those reading:

(I do think that there is enough to the family years Louis skipped to keep going for a while yet - that is what I mean with slow down… But do you want to read that?! 😅)

#personal #writing #iwtv #laden as the sea #to those of you reading #interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #claudia de lioncourt #loustat #antoinette brown

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legends-of-apex · 1 year

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Heaven is Here | Namor x Reader

Rating: M (implied smut, implied nudity, intimacy)

Word Count: 1,150

Summary: Just a short little slice of life fic in which Namor finally has the time to pay the reader, a surface dweller, a visit for the first time in months. Some fluff and implied smut. No spoilers for Wakanda Forever. Reader is gender neutral.

You could never tire of seeing him emerge from beneath the rolling waves. The ocean clung to him as an old friend, sticking his dark, water-laden hair to his scalp. He raised a hand, his golden bracers glinting off the sun at his back, and ran his fingers back through his hair. As his hair parted between his fingers, saltwater streamed down his neck to pool in the dips of his collarbones and make a riverbed of his torso.

The water lapped at his waist now, twinkling off his golden waistband as his spear sank into the sand with each firm step. When his chin tilted, eyes adjusting to the scorching light of the sun instead of the darkness of his home, you began walking toward him with barely contained restraint.

He strode with strong steps as he always did. He had the walk of a king, a man with the weight of an entire people on his broad shoulders. By some miracle, he was strong enough to bear that weight. As the sweet sound of you calling his name reached his ears and your blurred figure became clear he started walking more quickly, forcefully towards you. The water parted with each forceful stride of his thighs, sending sea spray along his warm skin.

He reached you just as the pads of your feet began to slap against the shallow water and he gathered you into his arms before you had a chance to say anything. He hooked your knees over his hips to anchor you to him, so he could bury his face in your shoulder and hold you against him as firmly as he dared. His green and golden spear lay abandoned in the shallow water, forgotten in his eagerness to hold you in his arms.

It was so long since you’d last seen him. He told you if not this waxing crescent then the next and you’d watched the moon more than you’d ever care to admit every day since he left.

“I have missed you, my love.” He spoke into your neck between feverous kisses.

“I’ve missed you too.” You replied with a shaky breath, his hair glided through your fingers at the back of his head, too slippy to grip from saltwater.

You wrung your arms around his neck for balance and clung to him like a vine upon an ageing tree. You pulled back from him for a moment to look him in his beautiful brown eyes but he barely let you for pressing his warm lips to yours. You felt the cold jade of his septum piercing against your cheek, its perfectly polished surface contrasting with the soft prickle of his facial hair upon your skin.

Oh, how you had missed the sweet sound of his voice and the slight taste of salt upon his lingering lips.

He carried you a few feet until he could shake the water from his wings and lay you back against the soft golden sands. As the waves kept rolling in, he knelt between your legs and kissed you again so passionately you could barely breathe. You were both so needy, so hungry for one another that the setting almost escaped you.

“Not here,” You whispered, as his lips trailed down your neck so cherishingly. “Once you start I won’t want you to stop.”

"As you wish." He replied with a smile as he lifted you back into his arms again and began walking in the direction of your quaint seaside home.

He’d have had you on that beach for the blue skies and the sun to see if you’d asked. He’d have pushed back the tide, let it swallow all but the altar of dry sands you lay upon and the grains that filled your grasping fists. You’d have laid there for hours uncaring even as the sun began to scorch your skin. It wouldn't have mattered so long as you were together.

When you reached home he made love to you as sweetly and as gently as he had the first time. He always did when he’d been away for so long. Despite his need for you, all he ever wanted to do was cherish you having not had the pleasure of feeling your flesh on his for so long. When his head wasn’t buried between your legs his forehead barely left your own, only to kiss your lips or your neck.

When you were finished, laying there basking in one another, he tugged you into his lap and enveloped you in his big arms. Those arms that wrenched sunken ships from their watery graves and tamed orcas now held you so delicately. These were the moments he craved the most when he was away from you. There was something otherworldly about the peace that washed over him as he heard your breath return to normal, your heartbeat evening out.

"I've really missed this with you." You told him as he trailed his lips along your bare shoulder, treasuring every inch of your skin.

"I can’t apologise enough for leaving you so long.” His voice grew quiet so he barely spoke. His mind weighed heavily with guilt.

“There’s no need to be. Your people need their king. I know that.” You settled back against him even more in an effort to console him, a hand on his upper arm, his broad chest at your cheek. He held your face and encouraged you to look up at him, to gaze at his watering eyes. You covered his hand with your own out of habit and he hummed a sound so deep it sent a shiver through you.

“And their king needs you, my love.” He brought your knuckles to his lips before pressing your palm flat against his chest, right over his heart, so you knew he meant it, “I’ll always come back to you.”

His warm hand moulded your hand to his chest, his heart beating slow and steady. You may not have been one of his people but he loved you and wanted to be there to protect you just as much. The tides would have to carry him home again soon, back to his duties and his people who he loved so much. He’d leave just before morning light and be back before anyone would even notice he was gone. But for now, he was happy just laying with you and holding you in his arms, free of the oceans weighing heavy on his shoulders.

#Namor x reader #Namor #Namor imagine #marvel #namor mckenzie #reader insert #fic #my fic #mywritng

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elia-the-bibliophile · 7 days

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Sad, Beautiful, Tragic [Part 2] (Max Verstappen x Female Reader)

Genre: Angst to Fluff Word count: 4,8k

Part 1

Taglist: @dr4g0ngirl @openthenyoor01 @iambored24601 @bakutos-babyowl @lovelylunas-world @xoscar03 @runs-with-sciss0rs @leah-preller @amberpanda99

The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as reporters, armed with cameras and notepads, crowded into the media briefing room. Christian Horner, stood at a podium, flanked by members of his team. Behind him, a large screen displayed images of Max Verstappen in action, a reminder of the racer's nonappearance.

Christian Horner's voice cut through the murmurs, commanding attention. "Good morning, everyone. Thank you for gathering at such short notice. As you're aware, there has been an unforeseen development during the Qatar Grand Prix involving our driver, Max Verstappen. We will be taking questions now.”

The room erupted with a cacophony of raised hands and shouted questions, each journalist vying for a chance to glean insight into the mysterious disappearance.

A reporter near the front row seized the opportunity. "Mr. Horner, can you offer any clarity on Max Verstappen's abrupt departure from the Grand Prix?"

Christian Horner's gaze remained steady as he replied, "Max is currently tending to a personal matter that demands his immediate attention. As a team, we stand united in support of him and ask for your understanding during this challenging time."

Another reporter, leaning forward eagerly, interjected, "Is there an estimate on when we can expect Max to return to the track?"

"We are closely monitoring the situation," Christian Horner responded, his tone measured. "Once Max has resolved his personal affairs, we anticipate his swift return. However, I'm unable to provide a definitive timeline at this juncture."

A third reporter, his brow furrowed with concern, pressed, "How is the team coping in Max's absence?"

"Our team is nothing short of exceptional," Christian Horner affirmed, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "While Max is an integral part of our success, we possess the resilience and talent to persevere. Each member of Red Bull Racing is committed to supporting Max during this period and ensuring his seamless return to the track."

With the last question lingering in the air, Christian Horner nodded, signaling the conclusion of the briefing. The reporters, though laden with unanswered queries, began to disperse, their pens scribbling furiously as they mulled over the scant details provided.

__________________________________________

Outside, the asphalt shimmered under the Qatari sun as reporters swarmed around Checo. His Red Bull Racing cap shaded his eyes, but his grin was unmistakable, radiating warmth despite the probing questions.

Surrounded by a sea of eager journalists, Checo leaned casually against a nearby railing, his demeanor relaxed and approachable.

“Checo, can you provide any insight into Max Verstappen's sudden departure from the Grand Prix?” A reporter inquired, raising her mic in his direction.

Checo's chuckle was infectious as he adjusted his cap, "Ah, you know Max, always one for the dramatic exits. Probably off chasing down some kebabs while we were still on the track!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Checo's playful remark broke the tension.

“Checo if I may, How is the team coping with Max's absence?” Another reporter voiced.

Checo's expression turned more earnest as he replied, "Of course, we miss having Max on the track with us, but we're all behind him, whatever he's dealing with. As for me, well, I'm just trying to keep up with his disappearing acts!"

His jovial tone resonated with the reporters, eliciting chuckles and nods of agreement.

“Just one more question, Checo. Do you have a message for Max?”

Checo's grin softened, a touch of sincerity underlying his humor. "Just a simple message: hurry back, Max. We've got some racing to do!"

With a final wave to the reporters, Checo strolled leisurely back towards the Red Bull Racing garage, leaving behind a trail of laughter and goodwill amidst the uncertainty.

__________________________________________

Checo was finally looking forward to some peace and quiet after dealing with all the heat and bad press, but instead his gaze settled on Kelly Piquet, who stood with arms crossed, her expression tight with frustration.

Kelly's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Checo approaching, her defensive stance unmistakable. “Why did no one bother to keep me on the loop about Max's disappearance? I had to find out from the media like everyone else!”

Checo's jaw clenched momentarily, but he maintained his composed demeanor as he stopped a few paces away from her. “Look, Kelly, I'm not here to argue. But maybe it's time to consider giving Max some space.”

Kelly's frustration bubbled over, her voice rising in agitation. “Space? Please. If anyone knows what Max needs, it's me. I've been there for him more times than I can count.”

Checo sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You've been relentless in your pursuit of creating gossip about Max. Always trailing him, staging paparazzi shots—what do you expect him to do? You’re trying to insert yourself where you don't belong.”

His words seem to trigger Kelly even more. Making her stance stiffened, her defenses rising. “And what's wrong with that? I care about Max. I know him better than anyone, certainly better than that... that nobody.”

Checo can feel his patience wore thin, his tone edged with exasperation. “Look Kelly, this isn't about who knows Max better. It's about respecting his boundaries and his decisions. Right now, he's trying to salvage his relationship with Y/N, and the last thing he needs is you intervening.”

Kelly's lips curled into a scornful smirk, her confidence unshakeable, a defiant tilt to her chin. “Please. Y/N is nothing compared to me. If Max can't see that, then maybe he doesn't deserve someone like me.”

Checo sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are fucking delusional.”

With another frustrated exhale, Checo turned away, leaving Kelly to stew in her unwavering conviction, her belief in her own superiority.

He can clearly sees that for Kelly it’s about the optics. Not because she genuinely cares for Max. She just wants to have the World’s Champion as her arm candy.

__________________________________________

The streets of Jamestown buzzed with life as Y/N navigated her way through the charming neighborhood. As she rounded the corner, the scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, drawing her towards a cozy bakery nestled amidst a row of charming storefronts. The sign above the door read "Village Hearth Bakery” and a warm glow emanated from within.

Stepping inside, Y/N was greeted by the comforting aroma of butter and sugar, mingling with the soft hum of conversation. Behind the counter stood a friendly face, adorned in a flour-dusted apron, busy attending to a tray of delectable pastries. The baker looked up from her work, her eyes crinkling in a smile. “Well, good morning to you, dear! What can I get for you today?

Y/N's gaze swept over the array of treats on display, her mouth watering at the sight. “Hmm, I think I'll have one of those danish pastry, please. They smell absolutely divine.

The baker's laughter rang out melodiously as she selected a freshly baked ones from the display case. “Excellent choice! Coming right up.”

As the baker wrapped up her order, she looks back up at her. “You're new around here, aren't you?”

Y/N nodded, a hint of hesitation in her voice. “Yes.. I just moved here recently. Still getting adjusted to everything.”

The baker's smile softened with understanding. “Well, you've come to the right place. This place is like a second home to many in this town. My name's Hilda, by the way.”

Y/N returned the smile, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging wash over her. “It's nice to meet you, Hilda. I'm Y/N.”

As Hilda handed over the pastries, a sense of gratitude filled Y/N's heart. In this bustling little bakery, amidst the aroma of freshly baked goods and the friendly chatter of the locals, she felt a glimmer of hope for the future.

As she stepped back out into the sunlight, Y/N couldn't help but feel grateful for the newfound sense of peace and anonymity that Rhode Island offered her. Here, she could embrace a simpler life, free from the scrutiny and drama that had plagued her in Monaco.

Maybe that life really isn’t for her.

__________________________________________

Max Verstappen stepped off the plane, the weight of the world seemingly lifted from his shoulders as he breathed in the crisp air. The airport faded into the background as he took in the serene surroundings, the tranquil beauty of the coastal town unfolding before him.

The gentle breeze carried the faint scent of saltwater, a soothing reminder of the nearby ocean. Max couldn't help but feel a sense of calm wash over him, a stark contrast to the frantic pace of life on the racing circuit.

As he made his way, Max's thoughts drifted to Y/N, the woman he had traveled halfway across the world to find. He couldn't shake the feeling of regret that gnawed at him, knowing that he had let her slip through his fingers.

But as he took in the picturesque scenery, Max began to understand why Y/N had chosen this place. The quiet beauty of the town, the sense of peace that permeated the air—it was the perfect escape from the chaos of their former lives.

His steps faltered as a wave of doubt washed over him, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. Was he being selfish? Was he imposing his own desires onto Y/N without considering the pressure she had endured? He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that by pursuing Y/N, he might be dragging her back into a world of peer pressure and stress, a world she had sought refuge from.

But Max couldn't deny the undeniable connection they had shared, the bond that had transcended the chaos of their respective lives. Was it selfish to want that back? To want Y/N by his side, despite the challenges they might face? Or was it simply the desperate yearning of a heart unwilling to let go of what it held most dear?

With a heavy sigh, Max continued on his path, the weight of his decisions bearing down on him with each passing moment. He knew that he had to tread carefully, to approach Y/N with humility, to respect her right to choose.

All he is sure of right now is that he will regret it forever if he didn’t try to win her back.

__________________________________________

The soft glow of the hotel room's lamp cast a warm hue across the elegant furnishings as Max settled into his seat, his mind swirling with thoughts of Y/N. He glanced at his phone, the screen illuminating his determined expression as he scrolled through his contacts, landing on Lando Norris's name.

With a deep breath, he pressed the call button, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for Lando to pick up. After a few rings, Lando's voice crackled through the line, sounding surprised.

"Max? What's up, mate? I didn't expect to hear from you."

Max's voice was urgent, a hint of frustration seeping through. "Lando, I need your help. I... I need to find Y/N."

There was a moment of silence on the other end, broken only by the distant sounds of the city outside. "Y/N? What happened?" Lando's tone was laced with concern.

Max ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. "We... we had a fight, and she left. I don't know where she is, and I need to find her."

Lando let out a whistle. "Damn, mate. I had no idea. Horner doesn't exactly share details about your whereabouts with us during the press conferences."

Max's eye twitched. "I don't care about that right now, Lando. I just need to find her. Please, do you have any idea where she might be? I know that she often talks to you.”

Lando's voice softened. "I'm sorry, Max. I wish I could help. Have you tried reaching out to her friends?"

“Yeah I did, but no one would say anything. Not that I blame them." He said.

Lando's voice was reassuring. "Okay, don't worry. We'll figure this out. I'll make some calls, see if I can track down any leads. Just hang in there, mate."

Max let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, grateful for Lando's support. "Thanks, Lando. I appreciate it. I owe you one.”

As the call with Lando ended, Max's heart sank further. He stared at his phone, the screen lighting up with a cascade of notifications.

Among them, a message from Kelly stood out like a sore thumb, her words dripping with annoyance and impatience. With a sigh, Max reluctantly opened the message, his anger mounting as he read Kelly's demanding inquiry about his recent behavior.

"Why are you ghosting everyone, Max? This isn't like you at all. You need to explain yourself ASAP."

Max's jaw clenched at the tone of entitlement in Kelly's message, her words grating on his nerves like sandpaper. He resisted the urge to fire back a scathing reply, knowing it would only escalate the situation further.

Instead, with a resigned shake of his head, Max deleted the message without a second thought. He didn't have the time or patience to entertain Kelly's demands, not when he had more pressing matters at hand.

Max continued to scroll through his notifications, ignoring the flurry of messages and calls from well-meaning friends and curious acquaintances alike.

With fists balled at his sides, Max stormed over to the balcony, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the night. He swung open the glass door with a forceful shove, the cool air hitting him like a slap in the face.

Max reached into his pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes, the box a comforting presence in his palm. Flicking open the lighter, Max brought the flame to the tip of the cigarette and took a long, deep drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and momentarily soothe the storm raging within him. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, the tendrils of smoke swirling around him like a protective cloak.

In that moment of solitude, Max found a fleeting sense of peace. The anger and frustration still simmered beneath the surface, but for now, he allowed himself a brief respite from the relentless demands of the world outside.

Leaning against the balcony railing, Max stared out into the sea. Never before he ever thought of how beautiful it is. He took another drag.

__________________________________________

As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, Max stirred from a fitful sleep, his head pounding with the remnants of a restless night. The faint smell of cigarettes hung in the air, mingling with the stale aroma of cheap beer that clung to his clothes and skin.

Groaning softly, Max dragged himself out of bed, his limbs heavy with exhaustion as he stumbled towards the bathroom. The harsh glare of the morning sun seeped through the cracks in the blinds, stabbing at his bleary eyes like shards of glass.

Turning on the faucet, Max splashed cold water onto his face, the icy shock jolting him awake as he scrubbed away the remnants of last night's despair. But no amount of water could wash away the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at his insides.

With a sigh, Max dragged himself back into the bedroom. He had never felt this awful before, both physically and emotionally drained from the turmoil of his own making.

Max's heart pace with anticipation as he checked his phone, hoping for a glimmer of hope in the form of a message from Lando.

Max opened the message, his eyes scanning the screen for any sign of a breakthrough. And there it was—an address. Lando had come through for him, managing to wrangle the information out of Alex Albon, who had heard it from his girlfriend Lily.

“Alex was pretty adamant about not messing this up again. He says he’ll slash your tires if you do.”

He couldn't afford to screw this up anyway, not when he had been given a lifeline. He sent him a quick text back.

“Got it, he can definitely do that. Say my thanks.”

__________________________________________

Y/N flowed through her morning yoga, as she faced the expanse of the sea stretching out before her. The warmth of the sun kissed her skin, infusing her with a sense of tranquility that enveloped her like a comforting embrace.

As she moved through her Sun Salutations, a stray kitten caught her eye as it wandered along the sandy shore below. A pang of longing tugged at her heartstrings, reminding her yet again of Jimmy and Sassy.

Lost in reverie, Y/N was just about to complete her final pose when the unexpected sound of the doorbell ringing shattered the moment. Frowning slightly, she paused mid-stretch, her brow raising in confusion.

It was an odd occurrence; she hadn't been expecting any visitors. Though she had befriended her neighbors, it hadn't extended to impromptu visits, at least not yet.

Resigned, Y/N rose to her feet, the wooden planks of her patio cool beneath her bare feet as she made her way towards the front door.

With a deep breath, Y/N steadied herself and pulled open the door, her gaze falling upon the unexpected visitor who stood before her, shrouded in the morning light.

Max stood on the threshold, a bouquet of peonies clutched tightly in his trembling hands. His eyes were still puffy and the faint scent of cigarettes lingered on his fingertips, a stark contrast to the fragrant blooms he held.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Y/N stood frozen in the doorway, her heart pounding in her chest as she processed the sight before her. The air crackled with tension, hanging heavy between them like a thick fog.

As their eyes met, Max's mouth fell open, his attempts to find words lost in the sea of emotions that roiled within him. He had rehearsed countless apologies in his mind, but now, faced with the reality of the moment, his tongue felt heavy and sluggish, incapable of forming coherent sentences.

Y/N's gaze bore into him, a mixture of surprise, confusion, and perhaps a hint of longing flickering in the depths of her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged, the awkward silence stretching between them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Max found his voice, though it emerged as little more than a hoarse whisper. "Y/N," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "I... I'm so sorry. I know I messed up, and I don't expect you to forgive me right away. But please, just hear me out."

His words hung in the air. As he stood, vulnerable and exposed, Max prayed silently to whoever’s listening for this to go right.

Y/N shifted on her feet, her body tensing as she balanced an invisible weight of emotions. A sarcastic chuckle escaped her lips as she took in Max's disheveled appearance, the sight of him clutching the bouquet of peonies contrasting sharply with the tiredness etched into his features.

"You look awful," she remarked dryly, unable to suppress the hint of amusement in her voice. But beneath the sarcasm, there was a flicker of concern as she noticed him shivering, dressed only in a thin cotton t-shirt despite the chill in the air.

Without another word, Y/N stepped aside, her heart softening at the sight of Max. She welcomed him into the warmth of her home, a pang of fear gripping her as she worried he might catch a flu from his inadequate attire.

As Max hesitantly crossed the threshold, Y/N couldn't help but notice the faint scent of cigarettes still clinging to him. With a furrowed brow, she couldn't resist asking, "Have you been smoking?"

Max's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he nodded sheepishly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Yeah," he admitted quietly, the weight of his confession heavy on his shoulders. "It... it helps with the stress, I guess."

Y/N's expression softened at his admission, her heart aching with empathy. With a gentle hand on his arm, she offered a small smile, her voice soft with understanding. "Well, you're here now. Might as well come in.”

"Would you like some coffee or tea? I saw you shivering out there so don’t bother saying no.” she asked gently, her eyes soft with concern.

Max's lips quirked into a grateful smile at the offer. "A cup of black coffee would be nice, if it isn't too much trouble," he replied.

As Y/N busied herself in the kitchen, Max took in the surroundings of her home. His gaze swept over the framed pictures adorning the walls, his heart swelling at the sight of familiar faces and cherished memories.

Among them, he spotted several photos of them together. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of their intertwined hands and shared smiles. But it was the pictures of Jimmy and Sassy, their beloved cats, that truly touched his heart. Their playful antics captured perfectly.

As Y/N returned with a steaming mug of black coffee, Max's gaze lingered on the pictures, his heart heavy with longing. But amidst the pain, there was a glimmer of hope, a silent promise to do whatever it took to rebuild what they had lost.

Taking the coffee with a grateful nod, Max settled into a chair, the warmth of the mug seeping into his cold hands.

Max took a tentative sip of the coffee, steeling himself for the onslaught of anger and resentment he had anticipated from Y/N.

He glanced up, his brow furrowing in confusion, as Y/N just gazed softly at him. "I was half expecting you to start screaming and cursing me out the moment we stepped inside," he admitted, his voice filled with disbelief.

Y/N's laughter filled the air, a sound that washed over him like a soothing balm. "Well, that's certainly what would have happened if you had shown up a week earlier," she confessed, her tone light despite the weight of their situation. "But I've had some time to settle, to process my own emotions."

Max's eyes widened in surprise at her unexpected response, a sense of relief flooding through him. He had braced himself for the worst, prepared to face the full force of her wrath. But her calm demeanor and genuine laughter caught him off guard, melting away the tension that had gripped him since their reunion.

“You on the other hand certainly know how to cause a scene," she remarked, referring to his sudden departure from the Qatar Grand Prix.

Max's smile faltered at her words, a bitter edge creeping into his tone as he responded. "Yeah, I guess I do," he admitted bitterly, his gaze darkening with frustration. "But you know what's ironic? Only a few people genuinely care about my wellbeing. The rest are just worried about the money they would lose."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, the truth of his statement casting a shadow over their conversation. Max knew all too well the cutthroat nature of the racing world, where loyalty and friendship often took a backseat to financial interests and hidden agendas.

Y/N's expression softened with empathy as she reached out to squeeze his hand in silent support. She may not have fully understood the intricacies of Max's world, but she could sense the burden he carried, the weight of expectations and obligations pressing down on him from all sides.

With a sigh, Max shook his head, the frustration and disillusionment evident in his weary expression. "But none of that matters now," he continued. "All I want is to make things right with you."

Max felt the dam holding back his tears finally begin to crack. A lone tear escaped his eye, tracing a silent path down his cheek. With a choked sob, Max's resolve crumbled, his shoulders shaking with the force of his pent-up anger and desperation. He buried his face in his hands, the weight of his regrets and self-recrimination bearing down on him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm so, so sorry for everything. For all the words that have ever come out of my mouth, for not controlling my anger better, for expecting you to make all the sacrifices for me."

Stripped bare of the bravado and arrogance that had once defined him. Max's heart felt like it was being torn apart, his chest constricted with the weight of his remorse.

Y/N's heart ached, her own eyes brimming with tears as she reached out to comfort him. She enveloped him in a warm embrace, holding him close as he trembled with the force of his emotions.

"It's okay, Max," she whispered soothingly, her hand stroking his back. "I am sorry too, we both made mistakes. We were both unfair to each other." She planted a soft kiss to his head. “I am sorry for not trying harder to be at your races.”

As Max clung to her, his words tumbling out in a torrent of desperation and pleading, he begged repeatedly for Y/N to come back to him, to come home.

"I'll do anything, Y/N," he pleaded, his voice almost unrecognizable. "I'll stop racing if that's what it takes. I'll give it all up. Just please, don’t leave again."

Y/N's eyes widened in shock at his declaration. She gently cupped his face in her hands. "Darling, no," she whispered. "I would never ask that of you. Racing is your passion, your purpose—it's like taking away half of you."

"I want you to be happy, Max," she continued softly. "And if that means racing, then I'll support you every step of the way. But we need to find a way to make this work together."

Max buried his face in her shoulder again, clinging to her as if she’s going to run away if he doesn’t.

"Thank you, schatje," he voice slightly muffled. "I don't know what I would do without you. I promise I won’t act like an idiot again.”

As Y/N's lips met his, Max's initial surprise gave way to a rush of warmth and longing. It wasn't just a kiss; it was as if someone gave him oxygen after he breathed in smoke. He clung to her, his hands trembling as they sought her warmth, her touch, anything to erase the distance that had grown between them.

Feeling her this close to him, Max couldn't help but respond, his own hands moving to trace the curves of her body, memorizing every contour as if afraid she might disappear again. With each caress, he could feel the tension of their troubles melting away, replaced by a sense of longing and connection that he had sorely missed. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent as if trying to imprint it on his soul. "Y/N," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion. "Gods, I missed you so much."

His words were more than a confession; they were a plea, a desperate cry for forgiveness and understanding. Max knew he had made mistakes, said things he regretted in the heat of the moment. It wasn't just the physical presence of Y/N that he had missed, but the feeling of being truly understood, of having someone by his side who knew him in a way that no one else did.

__________________________________________

Max dialed Lando’s number the next day. After a few rings, he picked up. "Hey, Max, how's the search for Y/N going?" he inquired, the sounds of activity audible in the background. "As per requested, I’m in your apartment right now, checking on your kids."

Max let out a sigh of relief before replying, "Thanks, Lan. Everything's under control now. Y/N and I are going to head back to Monaco in a few days."

Y/N, who was standing beside Max, motioned for him to put the phone on speaker. "I want to talk to the cats," she insisted.

As Max activated the speaker, Y/N's voice filled the room, echoing off the walls. "Hey, Jimmy! Hey, Sassy!" she cooed, her tone gentle yet eager.

The cats, as if recognizing her voice, perked up and began meowing excitedly, their tails swishing back and forth in anticipation. They pawed at Lando’s phone, their curiosity piqued by the familiar sound.

Lando's voice crackled with panic through the phone. "Uh, Max, the cats are going feral!" he exclaimed, the urgency in his tone evident.

Max chuckled softly, reassured by the commotion in the background. "Don't worry, Lando. They're just excited to hear their mum’s voice again," he explained, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Max watched Y/N's animated expression as she continues talking to the cats. "Why do you look like you missed them more than me?" he quipped, his tone teasing yet there is a hint of accusation.

Y/N paused, her gaze meeting Max's, before shrugging nonchalantly. "Maybe I do," she admitted with a mischievous smile, her voice laced with playful defiance.

Max couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Fair enough," he conceded, a grin spreading across his face.

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