#I hope you never know what to expect from me

[puck-luck]

ok spam incoming, first up: quinn hughes with a size kink (i know he is the shortest hughes but i’m picturing this as him with like a REALLY tiny gf so maybe the size kink is like a new experience for him and he quickly realizes that he loves it)

warnings: SIZE KINK, unprotected p in v, fingering, munching (over spandex & panties), oral m!receiving, facials. really hitting all the quinn hughes classics here. panties stay ON during sex (pulled to the side) (they also magically disappear sometime between sex and getting in the shower afterward so like... plot hole, but ignore it because i don't want to fix it) (new panty idea: ones that dissolve in water like that video of the raccoon trying to wash his cotton candy) pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader (5'0") wc: 3,540

once again, i didn't follow the request exactly, but i hope y'all can forgive me. this is where the vision went. title from tate mcrae's song/tour. i think you'll find it's very apt.

“Stop walking so fast!” you call after Quinn. You finish fixing the strap of your heel and hustle to catch up to him. Although the walk sign is on at the crosswalk, he stopped and waited for you. How kind. 

The red glow from the stoplight tints Quinn’s face. He grins at you, almost chuckling. “I can’t help it. It’s not my fault your legs are so short, baby.”

You glare at him, slipping your hand into his and squeezing it. “You’re so mean to me.”

Quinn gasps and squeezes your hand in return. “Never,” he teases.

Together, you continue the walk back from Rogers. You and Quinn attended the Tate McRae concert tonight and you, of course, wanted to dress up. You wore one of Quinn’s jerseys over cotton booty shorts, the sweater practically swallowing you with your size difference. 

The outfit is fire, but your shoes are killing you– high heels with long straps that wrap around your calves and cross over each other, crawling up to your knee before you tie them. They’re cute shoes and you never get to wear them, so you thought ‘Why not?’

There are a couple of pros for these shoes: 1. They’re cute, like you said, and 2. Quinn loves them. 

The singular con outweighs the pros: the heels are not comfortable. You were fine on the walk over and full of energy during the opening set, but once you’d been on your feet for an hour, you grew tired. Your heels and the balls of your feet are killing you, a dull pressure disappearing and reappearing with each step you take. 

Before long, Quinn starts to pull away again. He’s wearing his Air Forces, jeans, and a black t-shirt. He’s the picture of comfort, whereas you’re showing out for this show. His distance represents the sacrifice you made for looking good: your ability to keep up with your boyfriend.

Quinn approaches another crosswalk, the signal flashing numbers: 10… 9… 8…

He tries to hurry you, apparently under the impression that you can make it across four lanes in eight seconds, but you halt and refuse to budge. You lean against the streetlight after hitting the button to cross, unlacing your heels.

Quinn balks at you. “What are you doing?” he asks. “You’re not walking home barefoot.”

“Well, I’m not walking home in these shoes,” you respond, kicking off one shoe and moving to the next. 

Quinn opens his mouth to argue, but he’s interrupted by a fan who wants a picture. You were expecting this. That’s why you hung out in the Aquilini suite until most people had cleared out. Quinn appreciates the fans, but he hates when they interrupt his time with you. You’re unbothered by it, even grateful that this fan bought you some time to get this other shoe off.

You loop the straps around each other in a loose knot and throw the shoes over your shoulder, standing flat on the pavement and nearly sighing from the feel of the cool concrete against your aching appendages. You sidle up next to Quinn, the top of your head coming up only to his neck without your tall shoes, and wait patiently for him to send the fan on their way.

“Much better,” you tell Quinn with a subtle beam, bouncing up on your toes to give him a quick peck.

He frowns, despite returning the kiss, and looks down at your feet. “What if you step on something?”

“It’s only another two blocks,” you reply with a wave of your hand, brushing his concern off. “I’ll be okay.”

Quinn’s disapproval deepens. Now he’s the one refusing to budge, even though the walk sign has turned on again and the crowd of people around you has surged forward. 

“Baby, c’mon, I’m fine. I just want to get home.” You take Quinn’s hand and tug it, stepping off the curb. 

He comes with you, lingering a step behind you until you’re on the other side of the road. He seems to accept your determination to get home, humming one of Tate’s catchy songs as you walk.

The night has grown dark, but the streets of Vancouver are still bustling with people and cars. You have to dip around and dodge people as you walk, holding tightly to Quinn’s hand as he takes the lead and makes space for you to follow.

On a misstep, your foot lands squarely in a dirty puddle. You feel the water splash up as far as the back of your knee, jaw dropping in surprise and disgust as soon as it happens. An indignant whine leaves your mouth, which makes Quinn stop.

You’re less than 300 feet from home, literally so close to the door to the lobby, and your leg is splattered with mucky liquid, a drop rolling down your shin.

Your shoulders sag and you sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The corners of Quinn’s lips lift. You know what he’s thinking (“I told you so”), but you don’t expect him to turn around and squat slightly. “Hop on,” Quinn says, beckoning you towards him in the awkward position. “I’ll give you a ride the rest of the way.”

A smile grows on your face. “Aww, a piggy back ride? You are a good boyfriend.”

Quinn laughs, taking your weight easily. His arms loop beneath your thighs, holding you in place, and you throw your arms over his shoulders. “You thought I wasn’t?”

“You kept leaving me,” you say, an edge of teasing in your voice. You flick the shell of Quinn’s ear and kiss the side of his neck, shifting with each step he takes. Your mouth is right next to his ear as you continue in a low, seductive voice, “I think sometimes you forget how much smaller I am than you.”

Those are the magic words.

Quinn stiffens, falling out of step for only a second.

You act like you didn’t notice, leaving another soft kiss on Quinn’s neck before he pulls open the door to the lobby. You wave at the security guard behind his desk, wishing him a good night. 

Quinn sets you down gently in the elevator after he hit the button to your floor, turning and cornering you against the back wall. 

Your arms snake around his neck again, making Quinn bend a bit further to get on your level. “I like it when you carry me,” you tell him. “It’s so much easier to get my mouth on you.”

Quinn bites down on his bottom lip and releases a quiet chuckle. “You know what I like?” Quinn asks.

You have a feeling, but you play along. “What?”

Quinn hovers near your lips, his warm gaze trapping you in place. “I like that I could pick you up and fuck you against this wall and barely break a sweat.”

Your stomach drops, pulse quickening at his mere words.

Finally alone, the side of Quinn that only you get to see starts to emerge. “You’re so… delicate,” he murmurs. His fingertips skate along the neckline of his jersey, your chest rising and falling rapidly. A smirk overtakes Quinn’s lips. “Just begging to be manhandled, aren’t you?”

His thumb brushes the hollow of your neck and you let out a small noise, a wanting whimper. 

“Yeah,” Quinn breathes out, a belittling confirmation. “You are.”

The elevator dings and the doors open. 

Quinn sneaks a hand around your back and presses his fingers into the small of your back, guiding you down the hall to your shared apartment. His touch is casual, but you feel the intention behind it.

Your heart races as you enter the dark foyer, beelining for the bedroom as Quinn toes his shoes off. You put your heels away in your closet, ready to remove Quinn’s jersey and take a quick rinse in the shower before bed. 

Quinn catches you as you exit the closet, circling your wrist with his fingers and tugging you close to his body. Your hands automatically end up on his chest.

“Where are you going?” Quinn asks.

“Bathroom,” you reply, trying to turn in his grasp.

Quinn clicks his tongue and lifts you, carrying you to the bed and laying atop you. His fingers slide beneath the jersey you haven’t taken off yet, tickling your sides. “I don’t think so,” he says. “I want to play with you for a minute, baby.” Quinn’s head disappears under the hem of your top, placing gentle kisses over your stomach. His digits travel further up, reaching past the cups of your bra and pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. 

You quiver on the bed, legs spread with one foot planted on the bed, the other dangling off the edge. One hand goes to your hair and the other covers Quinn’s hand on your breast, feeling his knuckles bend with each swipe of his touch and roll of your skin. 

His left hand goes to your bent knee, palming the underside of your thigh and pushing your leg to your chest. 

You fold, his hand keeping you in place as his mouth trails lower. His lips glance over the soft fabric of your shorts, kisses nearing your pulsating and covered hole.

Quinn’s tongue darts out and flicks over the seam of your shorts, wetting the fabric near your entrance. 

You jump at the sensation, surprised by Quinn’s daring.

He smiles and mouths over your heat again, licking a long stripe up your clothed slit and swirling his tongue around your clit. He hums, then blows cool air over the damp fabric. His hooded eyes find your face as his lips circle your clit again, suckling softly until you’re squirming.

“Quinn,” you squeal when his fingers start to rub against your hole, massaging your cunt as his lips tug at your clit. 

He wiggles his tongue against the sensitive bud, eyebrows dancing in time with his movements.

You release a moan by accident, the sound coming strangled from your throat. 

Quinn pulls from your clit with a wet pop, teeth bared in a wide smile. “Can taste you through your shorts, baby.” He kisses your slit and brings his hands to the band of your bottoms, inching them down your legs until he can take them off and throw them to the side. He seals his mouth over your clit again, audibly sucking the bud through your thin lace thong. The sensation is intensified by the thin barrier between your body and his tongue, your back automatically arching off the bed when he gently nibbles the sensitive spot. 

“Quinn, Quinn,” you moan, one of your hands finding his hair and fisting the locks. 

He smiles as you grind against his tongue, his thumb caressing the strip of fabric that covers your hole before dipping beneath it and pressing inside of you.

“Oh,” you mewl. Your hips gyrate faster, the flat of Quinn’s tongue held fast against your clit. 

Quinn pumps his thumb inside of you, drawing his tongue away and replacing it with his fingers. His mouth kisses back up your stomach, free hand pushing your jersey up until you take the hint and help him remove it, leaving you in just your bra and panties. He leaves a wet trail between your breasts, tonguing over your neck before filling your mouth with the muscle.

You whimper, both of your hands tangling in his messy brown curls. 

Quinn pulls his thumb from your entrance and replaces it with his two middle fingers, panties pulled to the side. “So wet, so responsive,” Quinn mutters, pecking your lips before he begins the journey back to your breasts. “You’re just begging to be split open on my cock, aren’t you, baby?”

“Please fuck me,” you implore, tugging Quinn’s hair.

He winces at a particularly harsh tug, but uses his free hand to unclasp your bra and remove it. Quinn sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, laving it with his tongue until it’s pebbled and puckered. “I want to be everywhere all at once,” he says, switching to the other nipple and repeating his ministrations. “Can’t decide if I want to cover this tiny body with marks or if I want to kiss you while I stuff you full.”

“Whatever you want, whatever, I don’t care.” You clench down on his fingers, chasing the feeling that’s building in the pit of your stomach.

Quinn smirks into your sternum, peppering kisses along your smooth skin. “All mine,” he simpers. He fits his mouth over your collarbone and bites down, leaving a red mark behind when he pulls away. “Mine to play with.” He sucks another mark over your pulse point. “Mine to please.”

“You really like that I wore your jersey today, huh?” you question breathlessly.

Quinn pulls back and eyes you, failing to hold back a fond smile. “It looked like a dress on you.”

“Everything of yours is big on me,” you reply. You pull his t-shirt over his head, placing it in a pile on the nightstand. “I love it.”

“I love it,” Quinn repeats, removing his fingers from your heat and quietly shushing you when you open your mouth, ready to complain about the emptiness inside of you. He frees his cock from his boxers, tossing them across the room. He wraps his hand, fingers wet with your slick, around his length and starts to pump it, thumbing over the slit and spreading the precum that blurted from it. He leans over your body, one hand holding himself up beside your head. His lips brush yours. “Love seeing you wrapped up in my clothes, baby.”

His cockhead lines up with your entrance, the slick slide of his thick member entering your tight hole making your eyes roll back. “Fuck, Quinn,” you sigh, placing a hand flat on his chest.

Quinn ducks his head, pressing kisses in the crook of your neck. He guides one of your legs over his shoulder, then the other, until there’s a healthy stretch in your hamstrings and his cock reaches deep inside of you. You cross your ankles behind his head and Quinn places a kiss on your lips before he thrusts inside you completely, his tip hitting your cervix.

You feel like he’s reaching into your stomach and scrambling your insides as his pace picks up, as the sharp sounds of skin hitting skin and wet pussy swallowing thick cock fills the room. The pillows are soft beneath your head, the mixture of your and Quinn’s breath steaming up the space between your faces. 

“You take it so well,” Quinn compliments with a grunt, looking between your bodies at the place where you meet. 

You follow his line of sight, eyelids fluttering with each thrust into your sweet spot.

“Fucking perfect,” Quinn continues. “Such a tight pussy, feels so good around me.”

You moan and capture Quinn’s mouth, teeth knocking together as he pounds into you, driving you towards orgasm. “Shit, yes, yes, yes,” you whine in a high pitched voice, the sounds escaping you almost pornographic in nature.

Quinn brings his hand to your core, the four fingers of his left hand flying over your clit. Your eyes roll back and spots dance in the darkness, stomach in knots until one final thrust has you contracting around Quinn’s cock. Your body shakes and quivers and trembles beneath him, muscles tight and stiff before they all relax at once and your orgasm travels through you like an electric shock. Quinn continues to rub your clit and fuck you, prolonging your orgasm and murmuring under his breath, “Yeah, baby, just like that, let go for me, keep squeezing my cock, gonna make me fucking come in this pretty pussy, fuck, baby.”

You ride out your climax with Quinn’s fingers toying with your swollen clit, his thrusts slowing until they stop completely. A bubble of precum blurts inside your spent cunt, Quinn’s teeth digging into his lower lip.

“Baby,” you encourage, a slight whine still attached to your tone. You lift your hips and roll them down, wanting Quinn to keep moving until he loses himself in your heat and floods the cavern with his seed. 

Quinn’s dark eyes fix on you, a hunger behind the pupils that sends a spark through you. Your legs fall from his shoulders and his cock leaves you, Quinn’s strong thighs flexing as he walks up your body on his knees. He comes to a stop with his cock in front of your face, one hand gripping his base and the other curled over the headboard. 

He seems ginormous from this angle, torso stretching for picturesque miles. His happy trail is dark and his cock is long and his stare is greedy, determined. 

“Clean me up, baby girl,” Quinn says. “See how good you taste, and if you’re good, I’ll come all over this pretty face.”

All desire to have him come inside you is swept away, his angry red tip looking like the perfect thing to put down your throat.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, eyes wide as you stare up at Quinn. He feeds you each inch of his cock, shallowly working the thickness past your lips until his glans hit the back of your throat. You moan around him, your tastes mixing together in a sweet, sticky, salty liquid that coats your senses.

Quinn smiles down at you mirthfully, drawing an inch from your warm, wet suction and pushing it back in. “You gonna gag on it, baby? I bet your jaw hurts, huh? Gotta keep that mouth open so I can fuck it like I fucked your pussy.”

An involuntary and completely muffled “Oh my God” surrounds Quinn’s cock, the vibrations from your vocal chords stimulating his veiny shaft.

“Oh, I know,” Quinn brags, aborted thrusts hitting the back of your throat each time. “You love having something this big inside you, I know you do.”

You keep your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, your throat constricting when he hits your gag reflex. The soft lining of your throat massages his length, precum leaking down your esophagus into your stomach. 

Quinn’s breaths are shallow. He groans, grunts, and moans as you work over him, his soft stomach tensing when he inhales sharply. You blink up at him and swallow harshly around his cock, milking another spurt of precum from his slit.

“Fuck, baby,” Quinn breathes out, clearly affected by your mouth. He wipes a bead of drool from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, pulling his cock halfway out of your mouth and wrapping his hand around it. 

You keep his tip in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the head of his member. 

Quinn’s jaw drops open with a moan, his hips bucking forward once in an uncontrolled manner. His hand comes to the hair on the top of your head, lifting your head slightly off the pillow as his cock leaves your mouth completely. He keeps his hand in your hair as the other strips his cock, the red, pulsing tip not even an inch from your tongue, which lays flat outside your mouth like a panting dog. 

The first strips of cum land on your tastebuds and lips. You catch Quinn’s hooded eyes and parted lips just before closing your eyes and allowing him to paint your cheeks with white lines, marking your face and ruining your concert makeup with his ownership. 

Your fingers absentmindedly trace the hair on Quinn’s legs, thumb rubbing the soft skin on the inside of his thigh. His slick movements slow and you blink your eyes open carefully, in case any stray cum made contract with your lashes and could drip into your eyes.

Quinn meets your gaze and grins. “Hey, angel,” he says. He shuffles back, moving off of your body but staying by your side. He kisses your cum-coated lips, bringing some residue with him that he clears off with a swipe of his finger. He brings the finger to your mouth, your lips circling the digit and cleaning it. His eyes dance with pride. “You look beautiful like this.”

You laugh, using your own thumb to collect some of his cum from your cheeks. “I feel dirty.”

“You’re a dirty girl,” Quinn confirms in a silly voice, putting his hands on your hips and kneading them. “Aren’t you glad I stopped you before you got in the shower?”

“Oh, God,” you sigh, deflating and sinking into the bed. “I’m exhausted, Q.” You lift your arms toward him. “Carry me?”

Now it’s Quinn’s turn to laugh, although he does so while getting off the bed and gathering you in his arms. He steps in the shower with you, bringing a washcloth with him, and turns on the water. He wipes your face with the wet washcloth, removing his traces from your skin. “Such a princess,” Quinn muses, admiring you openly. He hangs the washcloth on the shower handle and wraps his arms around your shoulders, smushing your face against his chest and kissing the top of your head. 

“Your princess,” you reply, pursing your lips between his pecs and kissing over his heart.

[kitten4sannie]

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧

pairing: dilf knight! san x princess! reader

genre: medieval fantasy au, angst, romance, smut

summary: at long last, san comes home from a never-ending war, and he wants nothing more than to be held by you.

w.c: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of war and bloodshed, scars, san cries, soft dom! san, sub! reader, kissing, cunnilingus, fingering, tiny mention of spit, overstim, unprotected sex (they make love ☝🏼), crying during sex, creampie, this is very romantic and soft okiii uwu

a/n: hihiii i’m back :3 ik it’s been a few months but i have something special for you!! it’s a lot different from my usual feral fics hehe this has more of a shakespearean vibe~ ykk i really wanted to write something from my heart this time… as someone who struggles deeply with self hatred and regret, it was therapeutic to write about true love and acceptance 🥹 and it’s safe to say that i’m in love with knight san TT i hope you enjoy lovelies xx

song recs: who are you? - svrcina, middle of the night - elley duhe

With steps unburdened by thought, San traces each rugged crease and weathered line of the garden walls with fingers roughened by toil. He knows every edge and crack, for time and sorrow has made them kin. The walls are clad in mossy green and wispy vines— frail to the naked eye, yet firm in his hold— clasped tight, like lovers never meant to part, waxing strong with each passing year. Through countless winters and wars most cruel, through endless fields of blood and battle cries, he returns here once more, to this hidden sanctuary, seeking to cast off the shadows that haunt his soul. None knew of this place, but one, the fair princess, whose heart beat in quiet harmony with his. The tired knight can hear her soft hums over the sound of howling winds as he passes the willow’s weeping veil; their gentle boughs caress San’s weary frame, their billowy leaves brushing over his scarred jaw like the softest kiss of welcome. 

The moon, in scattered fragments strewn between trembling leaves, grace your visage, his dearest princess, with argent glow, decorating your tender smile, turned heavenward in peace. A sudden gust of wind breathes through your braided tresses; you lift a hand, though it’s in vain. The knight, with quiet care, tucks your unruly hair behind your ear, as if to still the wind itself, in your favor. 

“My dearest knight,” you breathe, the words trembling as they leave your lips, and it is all the knight can do to remain standing. He has heard men cry out for their mothers, for lovers, for quiet salvation as they lay dying beneath his blade. But nothing has ever struck San so deep as the sound of your voice calling him back to life. “I have spent countless nights dreaming of your return.” 

You stand before San like a dream half-remembered…familiar, beloved, and yet distant as the stars he once gazed upon in youth. Time has not changed you, not truly. The years may have brushed your face with a touch more sorrow, lined your eyes with shadows, but you are still his beloved princess. Still the light San carried into every battle, every hell.

He lifts a hand—gloved, bloodstained, shaking—and lays it gently against your cheek. San half expects you to recoil. Instead, your hands rise to meet his, warm and trembling, pressing against the cold metal as if to coax the man from his armor.

How many nights did he dream of this? How many times did he curse the gods for keeping him from you? And now that San stands before you, he feels more phantom than flesh.

Your touch anchors San. Your eyes, glistening with tears you try so hard to hold back, search the shadows behind his visor. The knight knows what you see: a ghost wearing the skin of the man she once knew. He is no longer that man. The war took him, piece by piece, and left behind this hollow shell.

You speak again, a whisper torn from the heart. “Do my eyes deceive me? Are you truly here, or have you returned only to haunt me?”

San wants to answer. To take you in his arms and swear he’s come back for good. But how can he? How can he promise life, when death clings to him like a second skin?

The knight lowers his hand slowly, not for lack of love, but for fear that he will break you with what he’s become.

“I am here,” San says at last, though the words feel like a lie. His voice is hoarse, foreign even to his own ears. “But I’m not sure if I am the man you remember…or merely what remains.”

You step closer then, your forehead resting against the cold steel of his helmet, as if to say: Even if you are broken, I choose you still. 

And for one stolen breath, San lets himself believe it is enough. That this moment might bind together all the shattered time.

But in the silence between you, San feels the weight of all he cannot undo.

The orchard had bloomed late that year, and you danced beneath the branches like the wind itself—barefoot, laughing, skirts trailing through the tall grass. San remembers the sun catching in your hair, the way you looked back at him over your shoulder and said, “Promise me you’ll come back, even if the world forgets your name.”

San had smiled then. Young. Whole. Unscarred. “Even if I am but ash and dust, I’ll find my way to you.”

And you believed him. Fool that he was—San believed himself.

“I never stopped waiting,” you say, cutting through the fog of San’s fractured memory. Your voice isn’t a whisper anymore—it’s solid. Real. “Not for a day.”

He stands there silently as the wind stirs the brittle leaves at your feet. His gaze won’t meet yours. Not yet.

“You’re thinner,” you murmur, half to yourself. “Your shoulders… your gait. The war has—” You hesitate, then draw a breath and meet his eyes. “You’ve changed.”

“I died,” San says softly. “Not all at once. Bit by bit. Every time I buried a brother. Every time I killed a boy too young to hold a blade. Every time I looked at my hands and didn’t know if the blood was mine.”

You don’t flinch. You step closer.

“Then let me know the man who came back.”

He shakes his head slowly. “You don’t want to see what’s left.”

“I do,” you say. “I need to.”

Your hands lift carefully, almost trembling, and touch the edges of his helmet.

“Let me see you.”

He doesn’t move at first. You can feel the weight of that silence between you—the metal, the grief, the years. The helmet has been more than armor. It’s been his mask, his hiding place. His guilt.

But you are still there. Still reaching.

So San lifts it. The metal groans as he pulls it off. When it hits the ground, the clang echoes like thunder through the still garden.

You inhale sharply. A deep scar traces his cheek, curving up beneath the medical patch that shields one eye—a pale reminder of where death nearly kissed him. Just above his temple, a stark white patch cuts through the black of his hair, striking in its contrast. Slowly, your hand lifts, and with the barest hesitation, you peel back the patch. His eye beneath is cloudy, milky white, unfocused—blind. His lashes tremble, but he doesn’t stop you. His eyes flutter shut, and he turns slightly, as if afraid to find pity in yours.

But what he feels in your hands isn’t pity.

It’s reverence. Grief. Love, burning hot after all this time.

“I failed you,” he says, barely audible. “I promised to return whole. I didn’t.”

You cradle his face in your palms. “You returned. That’s all I ever needed.”

And in that moment, San crumbles. The tears fall fast and silent, cutting through the dirt and ash that clings to him like a second skin. His armor suddenly feels unbearable.

He unclasps the pauldrons. Lets them fall. The chestplate next. His hands tremble as he strips it away, until only the padded tunic remains. You help with the rest, your fingers tender, precise. As if unburdening a wounded creature too long in pain.

And when he’s finally bare—no longer knight, no longer ghost, just San—you step into his arms.

He buries his face against your hair, breath shaking.

“You’re the only battle I ever hoped to lose.”

You don’t flinch when he weeps.

You only hold him tighter, like you could gather the shattered parts of him with your hands, not to repair what was lost, but to cherish what remains.

The moon is high now, pale and solemn. The garden is quiet, as if the world itself is listening.

“I thought I’d never touch you again,” you whisper, lips brushing his temple. “And now you’re here, and I don’t know where to begin.”

San tilts his head, pressing his brow to yours.

“Then don’t begin. Just… be.”

There’s no rush. No need for frenzy. Only reverence, the kind that turns every touch into prayer. Your fingers work the laces of his tunic, slow and careful. His breath catches when the fabric slips away, revealing skin both familiar and newly sacred.

You let your robe fall from your shoulders in return, exposing yourself with quiet grace.

His gaze trails over you like a man seeing color after years in the dark. He traces your collarbone with the backs of his fingers—tender, aching. You tremble, not from cold, but from the unbearable gentleness of it.  You both sink together into the flattened grass, crushed petals blooming around you in scent and silence. San holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, and you draw him down like a missing part of yourself.

Then he kisses you.

Not like someone reclaiming what was lost, but as someone rediscovering it, revering it. His lips find yours with patience, with hunger restrained only by awe. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone, as if he’s relearning the shape of you. You taste earth and memory in his mouth, smoke and sorrow and something still sweet.

Your fingers thread into his dark hair, tugging lightly. He groans softly into the kiss, like the sound’s been buried inside him for years.

He pulls back, just far enough to look at you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I remembered, but…God. Memory did you no justice.”

You blush, but you don’t look away. Your hands rise to touch him in return: his stubbled jaw, the furrow between his brows, the new lines at the corners of his eyes. Time has carved him into something sharper. Something deeper.

Your fingertips trail slowly down the scar along his cheek.

“You’re older,” you whisper, your voice full of reverence.

“I know,” he says with a dry little laugh, embarrassed.

“I like it,” you breathe. “I like all of it.”

His breath catches.

Your touch drifts lower, down the column of his neck, over the curve of his shoulder and the broad, solid plane of his chest. There are more scars—some small, some cruel. You kiss one, then another. His hands twitch where they rest on your waist.

“I thought I’d be too ruined for you,” he confesses. “Too much blood. Too much history.”

“You’re not ruined,” you say, kissing just above his heart. “You’re still mine.”

Something in him breaks again, this time quieter, deeper. He leans down, brushing his lips along your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast. Each kiss is soft, reverent, as though he’s making an offering.

He shifts lower, slow and steady, kissing a trail down your body. Your breath quickens as his lips part over your ribs, your navel, your hip. One hand steadies your thigh while the other glides up, spreading your legs with deliberate care.

“I want to worship you,” he murmurs, voice husky with devotion. “Let me.”

You nod, breath caught in your throat.

The night air brushes your bare skin. The crushed grass is cool beneath you, grounding. San kneels between your thighs, his eyes dark and locked on yours. He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then lower—your inner thigh, the crease of your hip—until you’re trembling with anticipation. You feel his breath against your folds before his mouth even touches you, and the anticipation has your whole body straining. Then finally—finally—his lips part over your center, and he groans like he’s starved.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So soft… so wet for me.”

He licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, tasting every bit of you. His tongue is wide, warm, patient. He doesn’t rush—he explores. He lets your slick coat his mouth as he moves with steady, devoted attention.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently. He moans at the pressure, diving back in with more intent. His mouth seals over your clit, sucking softly, then harder. You gasp, hips twitching, thighs trying to close around his head, but he doesn’t let you. His arms slide under your thighs, holding you open, locked in place with that quiet strength only he has.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, licking slowly around your entrance, teasing, then dragging the flat of his tongue back to your clit again.

“San—oh—San, please,” you gasp, thighs trembling.

He groans into you. “You taste like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

He keeps working you, using the point of his tongue now—tight, deliberate strokes over your clit, circling and flicking just right. He pulls back only to spit on your pussy, letting it drip messily down before he spreads it with his tongue again, slower, deeper. Your back arches, the friction making you keen.

He slides a finger inside you—just one at first, thick and slow—and curls it, searching. When he finds that perfect spot, you cry out. He smiles against your skin, tongue relentless as he fucks you with his finger, then adds a second.

Your walls clamp down greedily. He doesn’t stop.

He eats you like a man with nowhere else to be, like the world ended somewhere behind him and this—you—is all that’s left. He moves with rhythm and care, matching the curl of his fingers with the swirl of his tongue. You’re soaked, dripping down his wrist, and he’s taking you all in, devouring every drop, moaning shamelessly into you.

You lose track of your breath, of time, of anything outside the feel of his mouth and the fire curling tighter and tighter in your core.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your clit. “I want to feel it. I want to taste everything you’ve been holding back.”

That’s all it takes.

Your body snaps tight. Your thighs quiver. You cry out his name as you come, hot and shuddering around his fingers, his mouth locked to your pussy, drinking you down like he can’t get enough. He moans with you, holding you through every wave.

Your orgasm hasn’t even fully faded when San dives back in, lips wrapping around your clit again, slower this time, but just as deliberate. Your thighs jerk, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. He moans low into your skin, savoring the way your body trembles, how sensitive you’ve become.

“San, wait,” you gasp, hips twitching under the heat of his mouth. “I—too much—”

But your hands never leave his head. Even as your voice trembles, your fingers curl tighter into his hair.

He groans, the sound sending vibration through your core. He flattens his tongue and licks you again, long and smooth, letting his nose nudge against your clit as he presses his mouth deeper. One arm remains tucked under your thigh, keeping you open, but the other moves—up, slow—until his hand finds yours.

Your fingers fumble, searching. And then he takes them.

He interlaces your fingers with his, palm to palm, grounding you. Holding you there while he keeps his mouth on you, his tongue working gentle circles over your already throbbing clit.

“Breathe,” he murmurs against you, the words muffled but steady. “You can take it. Let me love you like this.”

Your chest rises and falls with frantic rhythm. But the moment your fingers lace through his, something inside you steadies. The pressure of his grip anchors you, even as your body shakes.

His fingers squeeze yours once.

Then he sucks.

Hard.

You cry out, hips lifting from the grass as your second orgasm rips through you. He doesn't pull back; he keeps going, devouring you through it, licking and suckling, letting you ride his mouth while you break all over again. Your cries turn to gasps, then whimpers, every nerve ending lit and burning.

Your hand squeezes his so tight it aches. He squeezes back harder.

Even when your thighs twitch and you try to squirm away, he holds you open, tongue dragging slowly now—teasing, loving, tracing the shape of you until you're whimpering from the pleasure and the pressure and the sheer emotion of being touched like this.

Finally, when your body goes limp, legs falling open and trembling, your breathing ragged, he lifts his mouth from you. His face is slick, lips wet and swollen, eyes dark.

He leans up, hand still holding yours.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “You’re mine.”

Then he kisses the back of your hand, slow and grateful, before crawling up your body to press his forehead to yours.

“Tell me you’re alright.”

You nod weakly, smiling through the haze. “You… you ruined me.”

He smiles too, breathless. “Good. I simply couldn't help myself…you taste like salvation.”

You taste yourself on his lips when he kisses you again, and it makes your whole body shiver. Something inside you gives way…not just to pleasure, but to the overwhelming realness of him. The heat of his chest, the scrape of his stubble, the weight of his body between your legs.

San kisses you harder, slower, with purpose. His tongue slides against yours, coaxing, savoring. His hand finds your waist, then your breast, palm wide and warm. He cups it gently at first, brushing his thumb over your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch. Then he squeezes, firm and possessive, and you moan into his mouth.

You feel his cock, thick and heavy, dragging slowly along your thigh. He grinds into you with a groan that sounds like it’s been locked in his chest for years. You reach between your bodies, fingers curling around him, stroking him once—just to feel him twitch, just to watch him gasp.

He leans over you, bracing on one forearm, and nudges your legs open. He doesn’t rush. His cock drags through your folds, catching on your clit and slick entrance. You feel how wet you are, how ready, and when he starts to push in, your breath stutters.

San sinks into you slowly. Inch by aching inch. Stretching you, filling you, making you feel every part of him.

“God,” he breathes, voice shaking. “You feel… You feel perfect.”

Your back arches. Your body opens for him. He bottoms out with a quiet groan, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven.

You’re already clenching around him, just from the fullness. He doesn’t move right away. He’s just there, inside you, holding your gaze like he can’t believe it’s real.

Then he starts to move.

Each thrust is deep, slow, deliberate. He grinds into you at the end of every stroke, like he wants to feel you take all of him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders. The sounds between you are soft and wet, your breaths getting louder with every movement.

His pace builds. Not fast, but more urgent. The tension in his body tightens with each thrust. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips, whispering your name like it’s a confession.

“You’re so tight,” he groans. “So warm. I could stay here forever.”

You whimper, clenching around him. “Then stay. Please, stay.”

His thrusts grow harder. Not rough, but driven. His hips meet yours with quiet force, sending heat blooming through your core. You feel him everywhere—his chest brushing your nipples, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, his hands gripping your hips like he needs to anchor himself.

You’re close, already. The coil winding tighter in your belly, your legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. But then San gasps, and his rhythm falters.

You blink up at him. “San?”

He’s trembling.

His forehead rests against yours again. His hands shake where they hold you.

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispers. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Hey.” You cup his face. “Look at me.”

He tries. His eyes are wet.

“I thought I lost you,” he chokes. “And now I’m inside you and it feels like…like I’m whole again. And I don’t know if I can hold it.”

His voice cracks. His hips move again, a shaky thrust, like he’s caught between falling apart and holding on.

“Let go,” you whisper. “Let it happen. I’m not leaving.”

That’s what breaks him.

His pace stutters as he buries himself deep again. His breathing shatters into soft sobs, and you kiss the tears from his cheeks as he thrusts into you, desperate and raw. You hold him close, wrapping your arms and legs around him, guiding him with soft touches and whispered promises.

“I love you,” he says. “I love you, I love you—”

You cry into his shoulder, overwhelmed. “I love you too.”

And then it crashes over both of you. His hips jerk, and you feel him pulse inside you, hot and deep. You tighten around him as your own climax breaks, body arching into his, crying out against his neck. Your nails scrape down his back as you both shake with the force of it.

Afterward, he collapses against you, still inside, still trembling. You stroke his hair, his back, murmuring softly.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He exhales shakily and clings to you like a man who’s finally touched land after years at sea.

When he finally slips out of you, you pull him close again. His face presses to your chest. Your fingers brush over the scars on his shoulders, the new ones you hadn’t seen until now. He doesn’t flinch.

“You came back to me,” you say.

“I don’t know what I am,” he whispers. “But I want to be yours. If you’ll have me.”

“I’ve always had you.”

And this time, when he cries, it’s soft. Clean. A release. Everything suddenly makes sense. The war may have taken many things. But not this.

Not him.

Not you.

Not this love that endured the ruin.

And for the first time in years, San does not feel lost.

He feels held. 

He feels home. 

© kitten4sannie, 2025.

[imhalfplastic]

minghao as your brutally honest best friend

⊹ overview - pairing: minghao x f!reader

genre: best friends to lovers · humor · fake texts · witty banter themes: casual chaos, sharp wit, playful teasing, reluctant affection, unexpected sweetness, love disguised as sarcasm. cw: suggestive tone

ps: there’s a little something under the cut. make sure to check it out so you don’t miss the story’s context lol

from kai: hi friends 🫶 just a quick note: i've been super low energy these days bc a toothache decided to turn into a whole dental abscess (love that for me). i've got quite a few things ready to post (fics, requests, all of it) but i haven't had the headspace to revise anything or answer comments properly :(

so instead of leaving things too quiet im dropping this smau for now 💌 hope it keeps you company while i rest a bit. i'll be back soon (hopefully not with another plot twist from my teeth)

you weren’t exactly expecting minghao to suggest the aquarium for a date. it wasn’t like him to pick something like that or at least that’s what you thought until he hit you with the classic “i want good lighting for the inevitable photos where you pretend you’re not staring at me.” you almost rolled your eyes, but okay, that was fair.

he met you outside the building, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair still damp from the rain. he was smiling before you even reached him. one of those lazy, sideways smiles that looked like he knew something you didn’t. he didn’t say anything at first. just looked you up and down and nodded like okay. cool. she showed up. you rolled your eyes. he laughed.

inside, the light turned everything blue. it reflected off the glass tanks and rippled across his face when he leaned in to read the little signs, pretending to be more interested in the fish than he actually was.

"you think they’re on a date too?" he said at one point, pointing to two jellyfish drifting suspiciously close to each other. "you think they’re in a situationship" you corrected. "true..." he nodded, dead serious. "classic avoidant behavior."

you didn’t know what was weirder: the fact that minghao had picked the most romantic possible location and still managed to make it sarcastic or the way he kept hovering close. his shoulder brushing yours. the warmth of his arm when he let you loop your hand through it without a word. he never did that before, not like this. not without an offhand "ugh, you’re clingy" to deflect the fact that he was always the one standing too close.

but today, he didn’t pull away. he didn’t even try to be funny about it.

you caught him looking at you once, near the tank with the sea otters. you were squatting down to get a better view, probably saying something dumb like “why do they hold hands, that’s so cute”, and when you turned to look at him, he didn’t even flinch. just kept looking, like this was something he’d been doing for a while and only now got caught.

he smiled. not the usual teasing one. a quieter one. a little softer.

“what?” you asked.

he shrugged. “nothing. you just look really into this otter romance.”

you didn’t have a comeback for that, so you stood up and walked away, heart doing things it definitely should not be doing on a date that may or may not have been real.

you ended up in the gift shop because of course you did. and of course he bought you a stupid plush keychain of a stingray that he claimed “looks like your resting face.” you told him he was annoying and he just said “i know” and paid anyway.

the sun was going down when you left. the sky was pink and the pavement still wet and you didn’t even notice that you were still holding onto his arm until he stopped walking.

“you know this means we’re dating now, right?” he said casually.

you blinked at him. “what?”

“this. today. me choosing the most coupley location possible. buying you a gift. not roasting you the entire time, even though you wore socks with holes in them...”

you smacked his arm. “you weren’t supposed to notice that.”

he laughed. “i notice everything. i’ve been screening all your crushes for years, you just never asked.”

you stared at him. he stared back. no smile now, just something very real in his eyes.

“look” he said, voice dropping just enough. “i meant what i said. i’m the best option. and i like you. so unless you’re planning on fighting me about it…”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to. your fingers found his, and he squeezed your hand like he’d been waiting for that confirmation all day.

“yeah” he said. “thought so.”

he walked you home after that. didn’t even let go.

[airybcby]

જ⁀✦ Bad Person

( sae itoshi x fem! reader )

✩ a/n — i just wanted to write this :3

✩ word count — 1.2k

✩ content — sae itoshi x fem! reader, did i make stuff up abt his parents? uh yeah, fluff, domesticity, established relationship (2 years), secret relationship, not proofread

✩ synopsis — Sae Itoshi is either hated or loved by the public. He left his brother like a wet mutt in the snow. He doesn't talk to his parents. But none of this makes him think he's a bad person, no...you do.

── .✦ with heaven above you, there's hell over me

Sae Itoshi thinks he’s a bad person.

Not in the way the internet accuses him of being. 

Not because he doesn’t wave at fans, or because he skips press interviews when he’s in a bad mood. 

The words "disrespectful,” “bad attitude,” “arrogant,” float around his name like gnats—insistent, irritating, but harmless.

They call him the “soccer sweetheart” in one headline, just because he nodded once at a crying kid with a poster.

They wanted him fined the week after for not smiling during a win. How stupid.

He doesn’t care either way. He’s hardly online. 

Hardly anywhere, really, outside the field and the walls of his apartment. That’s by design.

Is he a bad person for leaving Japan when he did?

For choosing his path at sixteen with sharp, clean cuts?

For leaving Rin kneeling in the snow, fists clenched, eyes red, that day outside the station?

No. Not to him. That was necessary.

This was his life. His career.

And Rin? He needed to understand.

This world isn’t about bonds or brothers. It’s about brilliance.

About being better. And Rin would never be better than him.

That was the truth Sae had given him that day, wrapped in silence.

Is he a bad person for only speaking to his parents when they need something from him?

They used to call weekly—at first, out of love, maybe. Or habit.

Then, only when they needed passes to a match because some coworker or old friend wanted to brag they “knew someone on the team.”

His mother texts him twice a year now: his birthday, and New Year’s.

He doesn’t answer either.

No.

He doesn’t think those things make him a bad person.

That’s just how it is.

None of this is why Sae Itoshi thinks he’s a bad person.

It’s because of you.

You, who he’s loved in silence for nearly two years.

You, who walk beside him without ever stepping on his shadow.

Who sleeps in his bed and eats his food, but never once leaves a trace loud enough for the world to find.

You, who never asks why he’s never posted you.

Who never pouts when he says "Don't come to the stadium this weekend—press might be there."

Who never cries when the hotel rooms are separate, when he greets you in a hallway like a stranger before brushing your fingers for a second too long.

You, who should’ve left long ago.

You do good things without expecting anything in return. 

You tip waiters extra. 

You speak gently to kids and dogs and people who don’t deserve your kindness in Sae’s eyes. 

You remember strangers’ birthdays after hearing them once in passing.

You hum while you cook. You laugh when he stares too long. 

You cut his bangs at the kitchen sink—straight across in that awkward, ugly way he likes. Everyone else calls it stupid. You call it "so you."

You fold his laundry. You leave sticky notes on his fridge when you're gone for work, things like eat real food today or the sky was nice this morning, I hope you saw it. 

You hold his face like he’s soft. Like he’s good.

And the worst part is?

You’re never bitter about what it means to be his.

Not when he comes home late without calling. 

Not when he lies awake beside you and doesn’t say a word about what’s bothering him. 

Not when he loves you in silence and gives you scraps when you deserve the whole world.

And that’s the problem.

You’re a good person.

Too good.

And Sae Itoshi—he doesn’t know what he is when he's with you. 

He knows you should hate him. 

For all the birthdays spent alone. For the silent treatment when he’s upset about a loss. 

For the nights he stares at the ceiling while you're curled into his side, wondering how long someone like you could really stay.

But you always come back. Always kiss the scar near his eyebrow like it's sacred.

Always brush his fingers gently, like he's someone you’re not afraid to love.

He thinks he’s a bad person because you love him anyway.

Because you shouldn't.

And yet, you do.

The ring has been sitting in the inside pocket of his jacket for four months.

Bought it after a forgettable match in Valencia, the day he passed by a jewelry store by accident.

He was supposed to be in a car headed back to the training facility. Instead, he walked three blocks with no destination, hands in his coat, headphones in, until he stood in front of the display window and stared at a single band. 

Simple. Clean. A cut diamond, nothing flashy. Elegant. Quiet.

It reminded him of you.

He bought it. Didn't ask for a box.

He kept it in his pocket ever since.

The idea of proposing terrified him. Not because of rejection—you’d never leave him like that, not with how deep you've dug yourself into his bones.

But because he doesn’t think he deserves yes.

Not from someone like you.

Tonight is quiet.

You're seated on the floor in one of his shirts and a pair of old cotton shorts, flipping through a worn photo album one of your old friends mailed over. 

The cover is bent, fraying at the edges, and your fingertips brush the plastic sleeves with a kind of gentleness he doesn't know how to understand.

You’re laughing at a photo of yourself in middle school—your hair uneven, braces glittering, face round and unbothered by the world. 

You say that you were “like a gremlin” and Sae feels his chest twist when you look up at him, eyes bright with amusement.

He’s on the couch, a blanket half over his knees, watching you like he’s memorizing something important. Like if he blinks too long, you'll disappear.

And he doesn't know what happens next—only that his body moves before his mind catches up.

He stands.

Walks over.

And kneels.

Not on impulse. Not exactly.

It’s just that… he looks at you, smiling like that, and he wants you forever.

Even if he doesn’t deserve it.

“Are you serious?” you whisper, hand trembling as you lower the album to your lap.

Sae’s heart is beating in his throat.

“Yeah,” he says, the word falling out like a breath. “I am.”

You don’t ask why now. You don’t ask why like this. You don’t even reach for the ring.

You reach for him.

Hands in his hair, thumbs brushing his cheeks like you’re trying to wipe away guilt he doesn’t speak aloud. 

He can feel the tears already filling your lashes, the tiny, trembling hiccup that escapes your throat when you nod—once, twice, like your whole body is agreeing.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Then louder: “Yes.”

He slides the ring onto your finger. Your fingers wrap around his, and your forehead leans against his. 

You smell like shampoo and home and safety. 

You smell like everything he’s tried to keep distant. Like warmth.

Love

And in this moment, with you crying into his shoulder and laughing like you can't believe him.

For once…

Sae Itoshi doesn’t feel like a bad person.

Not entirely.

Maybe it’s you.

Maybe you’re rubbing off on him.

જ⁀✦ ©airybcby ✩ masterlists

✩ likes ✩ comments ✩ and reblogs are appreciated

[luvs4haechan]

oscar piastri with one of his sister’s best friends!

always there

✮ - genre: fluff, slow burn kinda

✮ - pairing: oscar piastri x sister's bff!reader

✮ - warnings: none!

✮ - word count: 2,6k+

f1 masterlist. main masterlist.

✮ - hanna yaps!

we are so back gng 🌹❤️‍🩹 this was written with a part 2 in mind, but plssss lmk if i should do one. first f1 fic!!! kinda nervous 😬 i finally got all the design thingies to my liking and i'm so so happy. anyway send requests, asks, opinions anything i love hearing from you 💋💋💋 also big apologies to anon who had to wait AGES for this im so so sorry hope the story compensated the wait you cooked with this one 🙏🏻

it was august when he told you he was moving away. well, not you.

that night stretched endlessly, the way summer nights do when you’re thirteen and everything feels infinite. you and hattie gossiped under a mountain of blankets, watched movies, whispered secrets you promised not to repeat. by morning, you padded downstairs together, half-asleep and hungry, to find her family already gathered around the kitchen table. her siblings. her parents. and him - her older brother. god, her brother.

he was there - leaning against the counter, already looking like he belonged elsewhere. always off in his head, even when he was right there with you. and then it came. oscar casually announced that he was leaving.

"i got an offer from a boarding school in england," he said, his voice a little flat, like he'd already said it a thousand times. "full scholarship. they want me to focus on racing, possibly formula renault next year."

for a moment the whole kitchen was silent. hattie didn't say anything. no one did. it wasn't the kind of thing your thirteen year old minds could easily digest. you could see it in your best friend, the way her smile faltered and she straightened up a little. but you couldn't see it in oscar. he was already somewhere else, thinking about the future - about racing, maybe.

you wanted to say something, anything, to stop him. to ask him if this was a joke. but instead, you sat there, trying not to look at him too much, hoping no one would notice how much you were affected. while oscar hoped you hadn't noticed longing glances of his own.

for as long as you could remember, you had been friends with hattie. preschool, you were probably 4 years old. ever since then, you and hattie were attached at the hip. along with that, came her family. hattie introduced you to her brother the day you first came over to the piastri house. simple 'hello's were exchanged, and you and hattie went to play in her room. however, as your friendship with her blossomed, oscar always seemed to be around. numerous family holidays, trips, dinners, you name it. and somewhere along that line, you began to see oscar as more than just your best friend's brother.

the rest of your winter break was spent with hattie, doing everything you've always done. watching movies. sneaking into each other's rooms to gossip about boys you'd never have the courage to talk to. sharing secrets you'd swear you'd never tell anyone else.

but there was something different about it. something under the surface. every time you looked up, oscar was there. at first, you chalked it up to him just being around more than usual. but the more he lingered, the more you realised you couldn't quite let go of the fact that he was the one you were thinking about. you couldn't even bring yourself to talk to him properly, much less tell him what you were feeling.

still, you caught yourself sneaking looks at him when hattie wasn't paying attention. every time he walked past, or sat down next to you, your heart raced. even if you didn't speak, his presence sent something wild in your chest.

the day before his flight came sooner than either of you expected. you decided to give your best friend the day to herself and her family, knowing this was hard on them. in the evening, your mum called you down, saying there was someone at the door for you. expecting hattie, you rushed down the stairs, ready to console your friend. your eyebrows shot up when you saw oscar standing in the hallway of your childhood home.

"oscar," you breathed out. "what are you doing here?" despite your best efforts, the surprise could be heard in your voice.

the fourteen year old boy before you shrugged, "didn’t feel right, leaving without saying goodbye,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to yours and away again. he hadn't thought this through, all he knew was in his heart he felt like he was leaving you behind along with his family.

hearing his words, your lips twitched up slightly. taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart, you closed the distance between the two of you and enveloped him in a hug. between his surprise and delight, oscar managed to wrap his own arms around you. he just hoped you couldn't hear how fast his own heart was beating.

"i'll miss you, piastri." you mumbled into his chest. when had oscar grown so tall?

the brunette boy chuckled at your words, squeezing you a bit tighter. "i'll miss you too, y/n."

that was the last you'd seen of him for a while. sure, you kept in touch. kind of. mostly through instagram likes and the occasional dm. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to know he was still there, just a few taps away. and through his family.

chris and nicole were always talking about him. the framed photos. the race tickets. the way they talked about oscar’s accomplishments like they were their own. you heard about his f3 and f2 victories through their proud smiles, their excited chatter. you watched his career grow through a screen.

every now and then, you’d see him when he was back in melbourne. family dinners. holiday get-togethers. the longing was still there, buried deeper now. you weren’t sure if he felt it too.

somewhere along the years that passed, your conversations developed from comments on posts, to discussions about his upcoming races. oscar would update you as soon as he got out of the car, and you would tell him how every test went as soon as you left the classroom. your relationship evolved. and you could only hope it would be in the best way.

formula 1. the ultimate dream for every kid that once sat in a kart. it was oscar's first home race, the third race of the season. oscar invited you, personally, to come to his first ever home race. you hadn't told hattie, and when she brought up the topic of the papaya garage, you had to act surprised.

"you know, oscar's first home race is coming up." she mentioned one day, as the two of you were sat on her bed scrolling aimlessly on your respective phones.

you took a deep breath, "yeah, he told me. you all going?" you froze. so much for acting surprised. hattie sent you a look, one that said 'spill'.

you sighed, cheeks warm. “okay. so maybe we’ve been talking, what's the big deal?"

"the big deal is that the two of you never talked much before. what changed?" hattie said, sitting up, now curious as to your relationship with her brother.

you looked away, shrugging. "we've been messaging a bit." your best friend gave you a pointed look. "fine. a lot."

"i knew it! you're totally into my brother." she exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up and a wide grin spreading over her face. while you just blushed, embarrassed by her words.

"is that okay? i mean not me being into him, because i'm not," hattie gave you a look, to which you just rolled your eyes. "but me messaging him. i didn't mean to hide it from you."

"of course it's okay, i'm just glad you're getting along." she gave you a smile, you returned an even wider one. "i'm guessing this means you'll be at the race?"

you nodded, "yeah, he invited me." hattie smiled even wider at your words.

"this means you could totally be my real sister now!" you laughed at her words and buried your face in the pillows. sure you liked oscar, you had known that for a while. but that didn't mean that he liked you back, did he?

the race weekend came sooner than you thought. despite the melbourne heat dissipating, the paddock was still buzzing with people. some making important phone calls, others rushing to the garages. you, however, managed to find peace in the chaos.

free practice one. oscar's whole family was in his garage. they all stood with big headphones on, listening and watching intently. you found a small space in the back, a few screens still visible. you took out your sketchbook and began drawing - it always calmed you down. not only was the paddock overwhelming, but everytime oscar got into his car you breathed a little less and your heart beat a little faster.

the session finished as quickly as it started. you noticed only when a shadow blocked the light on your sketchbook.

"what are you doing back here?" he said, now crouching down to be level with you. oscar was sweaty. his face red, fading lines from the helmet still visible.

you smiled a little when you saw him, your heart automatically doing flips in your chest. to answer his question, you flipped your sketchbook so he could see. a black and white drawing of his, usually, papaya car. it had all the details, the front and back wings, the soft tyres he just used in his free practice session.

"you like it?" you said, looking at him now. you'd shown oscar your drawings before. going to art school meant that's all you pretty much did - draw. however, he'd never seen one so personal to him.

"it's beautiful, y/n," he replied softly, his eyes switching between the paper and you.

you both stood up, now almost level with him, and smiled wider. you carefully ripped the page out, before handing it to him.

"good, keep it." oscar’s brows furrowed. his heart did somersaults in his chest. you couldn't help but notice the slight blush on his cheeks. but that was probably still from the session he just did. right?

"are you sure?" he said, carefully taking the paper from your hand.

"don't say i never gave you anything," you said playfully, leaving to join his family in the front of the garage.

oscar watched you go, a smile spreading on his face. he felt like the fourteen year old boy standing on your doorstep every time he watched you walk away from him. he also felt the familiar tug on his heart every time you smiled - it hadn't changed since you were a kid. neither had your laugh. he could listen to that for hours.

the truth was, neither of you had changed as much as you thought. oscar was still as oblivious as he had been almost all his life. he was still quiet and collected, until he had to face the music and brave the world. and you were still caught in, what you thought was, unrequited love. smiling your way through heartbreak, pretending it wasn't affecting you.

the next day brought tears and disappointment. oscar was out in q1. he would start his first home grand prix in p16.

the brunette got out of the car and went straight to his driver room. he didn’t speak to his engineers, team principal, or family. just slammed the door and the whole garage went silent. you and hattie exchanged and understanding look.

"you should go talk to him," she said, seeing her parents walk over to the hospitality suite - clearly giving oscar time to breathe.

"no, he should have some space," you dismissed her, but hattie was stubborn.

"no, what he wants is for you to go over there and listen. trust me, he always used to do this when he was younger." she was relentless, you had to give her that.

you sighed, preparing for the worst. "alright, i'll see what i can do." hattie smiled slightly at your words, giving you an encouraging nod, before leaving to join her parents and sisters.

you were prepared to be turned away. oscar really looked like he wanted to be alone, in the way he simply stormed over to his room without a word. nevertheless, rejection therapy might be good for you. who the fuck made that up?

you knocked. three times. at first there was silence, then you heard his voice. "mark, i really don't want to hear it right now." his words were clipped, you could tell he was angry.

"actually, it's not mark. just me." your voice contrasted his, soft and careful. when oscar realised it was you at the door, he quickly got up to open it.

"hi," he said, looking at you. there was a crease between his brows, that you so badly wanted to reach out and smooth over. you'd take all his pain and make it yours if that was possible. "sorry, i didn't realise you were here."

you shook your head, waving your hand dismissively, "it's okay."

the two of you looked at each other. no further words exchanged. oscar moved aside, opening the door further to let you inside. you stepped into the small room. there was a couch, small closet and desk. a larger window let in some of the remaining melbourne sun into the room.

you took a seat on the couch, looking at oscar who stood by the door, not making eye contact with you.

"are you okay?" your voice was barely above a whisper, careful and collected. the polar opposite of what oscar was feeling right now. you really didn't need to ask. you saw it in the way his shoulders were tense, and his eyes dull.

he took a deep, shaky breath, "honestly?" you nodded, now that he was looking at you. "not really," oscar gave a something between a scoff and a chuckle after his words. he sat down next to you, leaning over and putting his head in his hands. you didn't say anything. just let him get all of his emotions out - god knows it doesn't happen often.

"i just feel like i've disappointed everybody. not only the team and fans, but you and my family too." you nodded, not in agreement but in understanding.

"oscar," you hesitantly placed your hand on his back, hoping to bring him some comfort. he finally looked at you. his eyes red, breathing uneven and shoulders tense. "they couldn't be more proud of you," you said as you drew circles on his back. "remember when you moved away? to pursue your dreams. sure, your parents were sad you were moving halfway across the world, but in their eyes i only saw pride. they've always only been happy for you. whether you went out in q1 or didn't finish the race. they've put so many pictures up, your house almost looks like a shrine," you laughed softly, hoping to lighten the mood. oscar shared your laughter, albeit his slightly quieter.

"and you?" he looked at you. really looked. it was like his eyes were taking mental photographs, hoping to map out your face in his mind.

"well... my house does not look like a shrine," he laughed again at your words, causing you to smile softly. "but i'm always proud of you, you know that. whether it's racing, or just you, developing as a person. i don't think you've ever given me a reason to be disappointed," your words were quiet but calculated, hoping to bring some comfort to the boy before you.

oscar nodded, seemingly more relaxed now. "thank you," he whispered, eyes locked on yours now. you shrugged, waving his words off like you haven't done anything to help. "no really," he took your hand in his. you just hoped he couldn't hear your suddenly hammering heart. "you're amazing, you know that?" oscar spoke quietly, like every word said could break this calm moment. shatter the illusion that right now the two of you weren't just friends. and in that moment, you let yourself believe - maybe he'd felt it all along too.

[zeka-maki]

Hello! May I request a Phainon, Aventurine and Mydei with a reader who YEARNS for them? Like when they are in public, and look to the readers eyes, there's always a look of affection behind it. The reader may not be so loud about it but they knows what the reader gives behind those eyes. The reader does anything for them to be with them. Perhaps learning how to cook and make simple gifts, sleep with them, take care of them. But behind those yearning eyes is a wanting to receive affection and love as well. Perhaps the reader can be compared to a dog but who knows. The reader doesn't want anyone else but THEM even perhaps marrying them someday but the reader won't say it yet.

Honestly, this feels relatable to me especially watching the new trailer.I hope this isn't a hassle to write and I hope you have a great day!💕

ʚɞ More than just a dream ʚɞ

Pairings: Phainon x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Mydei x Reader

Summary: You don't say how much you long for his eyes on you, you express it through the little gestures that can easily blend in with mundane tasks. But he notices them, every single time. And he knows, he's just as a fool for you as you are for him. The love you give him through the well-crafted gestures will never go in vain.

Tags: Fluff, established relationship, you can make it pre-established relationship too, yearning, yearner x yearner (esp on Phainon's part)

A/N: TYSM FOR THE REQ! AUGH YEARNER X YEARNER MY FAV TROPE, theyre so loser but Mydei n aventurine hides it better, anyways, hope you enjoy!

⚘ Phainon:

Phainon sees it — every time.

That quiet flicker in your eyes when your gaze lingers on him, the way your hands tighten around a basket you brought for him, filled with things he once mentioned in passing. The way you always wait for him to return from training, your breath hitching just slightly when he’s within arm’s reach. You never say it aloud. But gods, he hears it in everything you do.

And he mirrors it.

Every chance he gets, Phainon finds his fingers brushing yours, not by accident. He lets you patch his wounds even when he could do it himself. He offers to walk you home even if it means doubling back across the city with his greatsword and Aglaea's orders on his back. When you sleep too close to him during quiet resting hours, his heart skips but he never moves away. He wants that closeness — all of it. Wants you to know he yearns just as hard.

“You always look at me like that,” Phainon murmurs once, fingers curled around yours like they were meant to be there. “Like I’m all you’ve ever wanted. Do you know how hard it is not to kiss you when you do?”

Your breath catches. But he doesn't tease you — no, Phainon leans closer and rests his forehead against yours. His voice is soft, almost shy. “I want you too. Just as much. Maybe even more.”

⚘ Aventurine:

Aventurine doesn’t understand.

Not why you’re still here. Not why you cook for him without being asked. Why your hands brush over his shoulder like it’s normal — like he’s not made of sharp pieces and past regrets.

You laugh with him. You bring him gifts. You look at him like he’s everything. And for a man who’s lost everything before, it hurts to be loved like this.

He tries to play it cool. Makes sly remarks when you offer to fix his collar, pretends to be annoyed when you light a candle in his quarters just because he said the room was “too dim.”

But one night, you fall asleep beside him — not touching, not expecting. Just… there. Aventurine stares at you for a long time. And something in him breaks.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” he whispers to the quiet, hands trembling as he reaches out and brushes your hair away from your face. “You’re going to ruin me.”

And maybe that’s the truth. Because when you look at him with that open, gentle heart — he forgets that he ever lived a life without love.

⚘ Mydei:

Mydeimos is a warrior. A prince. Built from the stones of Castrum Kremnos, raised to command with the weight of mountains on his back.

So when you tuck a warm wrap around his shoulders on a windy night and mutter something about “chilly days,” Mydei pretends not to notice the way his heart flinches.

You never ask for anything. You never demand. You just… show up. With bandages, with food, with a song, with a laugh. And your eyes — gods, your eyes — they look at him like he’s not just some hardened soldier who’s seen too much.

He plays it cool. He shrugs when you catch him watching you. He smirks when you leave notes on his training blade.

But every gesture you make chips away at the walls around him.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” he tells you one Parting-Hour, voice low, arms crossed as you fuss over a cut on his cheek. “But you’re dangerous like this. You make me forget I’m not supposed to need someone.”

You glance up, startled, but Mydei doesn’t pull away. He just sighs and lets his forehead rest against yours — rough, tired, but unshakably yours.

“...Stay a little longer,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “You’ve already ruined me anyway.”

[yeagurt2]

it’s your first time with them — how it goes down and the different ways they react. Mostly a, how do they act? How do they make you feel? And how do they make sure it’s not just sex, but something tender

Satoru makes it a thing. The whole day feels like a slow dance, like he’s building toward something with every flirty look, every lingering touch. He’s unusually soft with you, like he knows he could tease or joke, but doesn't want to ruin the quiet moment you’re giving him. You’re both new to this, to each other, and it feels like the relationship is a delicate thread still being woven. So he pulls you close on the couch, makes you laugh a little, touches your hand like it’s breakable. When things shift, when the kissing gets heavier and you end up beneath him, there’s a flicker of nerves in your eyes, and he pauses. Brushes your hair back, kisses your forehead, whispers something stupid like, “We can stop if you’re gonna cry on me.” You do hit him, but it makes you laugh, and then it’s easier. When he finally eases into you, it’s gentle. Almost reverent. He keeps his forehead against yours the whole time. Murmurs, “You feel so good,” over and over like a prayer. Afterwards, he holds you way longer than you expect. Nuzzles into your neck and says, “You're mine now, right?” like he still needs confirmation you won't vanish.

Suguru is the calmest about it. He never rushes, never pressures, he simply lets the moment bloom, slow and natural, like he’s been waiting for you to come to him. He notices every flicker of uncertainty, every catch in your breath, and checks in without asking, he just knows. He kisses you slow, traces his fingers over your back like you’re art. When you say “yes,” when you ask him to take you to bed, he kisses your knuckles and tells you he’s honoured. And he means it. He’s so good at making you feel worshipped without turning it into anything performative. Tells you how beautiful you are, how lucky he is. Keeps his hands on your skin like they belong there, like you’re not just someone he wants, but someone he chooses. He finishes with a whispered, “There we go, sweetheart,” like it was never about release, only closeness. Afterwards, he lays with you in the quiet, running his fingers down your arm and humming against your shoulder. “I’ve wanted this,” he says, “but I didn’t want to ruin what we were building.” You roll toward him, tangled up. “Then let’s build it together.” He smiles. “I plan to.”

Nanami treats your first time like something sacred. He lights a candle—seriously. Asks if you want wine, puts on soft music, lays out fresh sheets. It’s almost too perfect until you realise it’s all for you. He wants you to feel safe, valued, and adored. He kisses you deeply, undresses you with slow care, like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. The sex itself is loving, slow, and full of whispered compliments. “You’re beautiful,” he tells you. “You feel incredible.” He holds your hand the entire time. He’s a strong man, precise and intentional, but with you, he’s tender. Afterward, he wraps you in the sheets and carries you to the bath. “I drew this before you arrived,” he admits, almost sheepish. “Thought you might appreciate it.” You blink. “You planned for this?” He smiles. “Only if you were ready. And you were. So I gave you the night you deserve.” Later, when you’re curled up on his chest, he kisses your forehead and whispers, “You’re everything I hoped for.”

Toji is a little distant in the beginning. It’s not that he doesn’t want it, it’s that he’s so afraid of messing it up. He’s got a thousand thoughts running through his head: that he doesn’t deserve you, that you’re too good for him, that this is the part where he ruins things. But the second you kiss him, really kiss him, with your hands in his hair and your chest pressed to his, he softens. He touches you like he’s memorising you. Eyes locked on yours, jaw tense, like he’s holding himself back from falling too deep. When he finally takes you to bed, he moves with this quiet, grounded intensity. He doesn't say much, but the way he grips your hips and pants your name into your neck says more than words could. Afterwards, he rests a heavy hand on your stomach, the other tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling like he’s waiting for the guilt to creep in. But then you roll over, press your face to his chest, and he hears you sigh, content. Something shifts. “Didn’t think I’d ever have this again,” he mutters. You hum. “Good thing I’m not letting you lose it.” His arm curls around your waist tighter.

Choso is nervous. Like, really nervous. He wants to do everything right but is also incredibly worried about doing anything wrong. He's quiet at first, asking soft questions like “Is this okay?” and “Do you like it when I touch you here?” He listens to your body better than anyone ever has, pulls back the moment your breath catches in hesitation, kisses you slower when you seem overwhelmed. He goes out of his way to make it about you, your pleasure, your comfort, your pace. What surprises you is how affectionate he is. Constant kisses, constant touch, his body close to yours like he wants to fuse with you. You don’t feel nervous around him for long, because his whole presence says you’re safe. Afterward, he wraps the blanket around both of you, rubs your back, and murmurs softly about how warm you are. Then, about ten minutes later, he randomly blurts, “Was that good? Did I do it okay?” and it’s the sweetest, dorkiest, most sincere thing you’ve ever heard. You kiss him again just to shut him up.

Sukuna is intense. There’s no halfway with him, everything he does is with full control and emotion. But this? This he takes surprisingly seriously. You expect him to be cocky, arrogant, teasing, and he is, at first. Until the moment your hands tremble. Until the moment your voice comes out soft. Then all that bravado melts into something… deeper. He cups your cheek with surprising gentleness, runs his thumb across your bottom lip, and murmurs, “Are you sure, little one?” You nod. “Then I will give you all of me.” And he does. He doesn’t take, he offers. With every kiss, every touch, he gives himself to you. His voice is low, reverent, praising your reactions. “That’s it,” he growls softly. “Show me how good I make you feel.” It’s overwhelming, yes, but also beautiful. Afterward, when you're curled on his chest, his four arms lazily draped around your body, he kisses your temple and hums, “Mine. Forever.” You laugh. “Bold of you to assume I’m not the one keeping you.” He grins. “Then I’ll stay. Gladly.”

[miley1442111]

admitting- j.abbot

summary: a fight leads to a confession, and jack abbot finally admits something he wants.

pairing: jack abbot x fem! doctor! wife! reader

warnings: lowkey just fluff and jack being really traumatised

banners from my good friend @no-144444 !

Jack usually operated under the assumption that you were asleep when he got home on a Saturday morning. Last night had been a fucking mess, a fight with you (if you could call it that) and then straight into work with a cop and a kid dead in the first 3 hours. The rest of the shift evened out, just regular flu victims, or stupid scrapes and cuts. It weighed on him though, made his entire body ache, made his head hurt like his skull was squeezing his brain too hard. He debated getting it checked out at neuro, but ultimately decided a bit of time in bed with you would probably fix it. That was if you let him into bed. Last night had been awful, he’d been called in at the last minute, a terrible crash would be flying in and Shen was already down a nurse and two doctors. He couldn't let him go at it alone, even if he desperately wanted to finally get his long dreamt-of Friday night date. 

You added the finishing touches to your makeup as you tried to hide your smile. God, how long had it been since you and Jack had gone out, just you two? 3 months probably, and even then it was your sister’s wedding. You were excited, excited to just have one night where he wasn’t Dr. Abbot and you weren’t Dr. Y/l/n. 

He turned the corner into your bedroom, and his crispy white shirt was nowhere to be seen, replaced entirely by the black scrubs he frequented. Your face fell, and a hand cupped your chin as he rested his forehead against yours. “I know,” he breathed out before you could even protest. “I’m sorry.” And that was it, he wasn’t going to say no and stay with you. He was going to go to work like he always did. You knew he was a workaholic, anyone with eyes did, but you hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected this to be so far down on his list of priorities, for you to be so far down. 

You nodded solemnly and stepped back, turning back to your vanity and taking the carefully curated bracelet stack off your wrist. He wanted to reach out, promise you he would make it up to you, but you both knew he couldn’t. This happened too regularly to be made up for. “Wow,” there was venom on your tongue, he could hear it. He just hoped he wouldn’t make it worse. You swallowed it down, leveling out your voice. “Alright Jack. Alright.” It wasn’t alright, he knew it, but Shen needed him. Hurt people needed him. 

“Shen needs me,” he started, taking another step towards you. You turned to the closet next, stepping out of your dress. He bit his lip, staring as he finally saw the lingerie you’d been hiding from him for this night specifically. Fuck, you were gorgeous. You pulled a hoodie over yourself, discarding your bra in the laundry hamper with the matching lace thong. You opened his drawer and pulled on a pair of his boxers. He thought you looked even more beautiful. “I’m sorry-”

“You’re going to be late,” you stated softly, sitting at your vanity and reaching for your makeup remover. “You’d better go.” He gritted his teeth. You were doing that thing, that thing where you just disconnected from him entirely, and he couldn’t even blame you. You had been so excited, hell, you’d ironed his shirt. You two were only going to dinner and a movie, but you were excited to have one night where you had all his attention, and he wished he could give you that. 

“Don’t do that,” he pleaded but it fell on deaf ears as you kept rubbing your makeup off. “Don’t shut me out.” Selfishly, he was desperate for you to just let him go without a fight, let him leave without guilt, but he didn’t deserve that. He deserved to be shouted at, but you’d never do that. You were too sweet, too kind for something like that. Sometimes he wondered what he did in a past life to deserve someone so fucking understanding, especially in those moments when he couldn’t find it in himself to find that same patience for you. 

You sighed, tears welling up. You stood and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Be safe,” you whispered, leaning into him. “I love you.” You were barely even whispering, but he heard it still, felt it still. His heart cracked a little, guilt gnawing at his insides as he pressed a kiss to your cheek and nodded. He didn’t deserve to have you, to love you, or have you care for him the way you did. 

He left. You stayed. That was just the way it was. 

He took one of the prepped meals you made out of the fridge and placed it in the microwave before stepping into the bathroom and stripping down. He left his scrubs in a pile in the corner, he could deal with it later. The water was scalding, just how he liked it. After going months at a time without a shower during his time in the military, there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t thank Benjamin Waddy Maughan for creating hot water heaters. Yes, he’d looked up who’d created them. 

His prosthetic was quickly discarded beside the shower. The phantom pain worsened as the weather changed outside. Summer was winding down and soon the cold months would come, it always made it worse. He stepped into the shower. He scrubbed himself down quickly, sitting on the handily built-in bench you’d insisted on. You were always looking out for him, always demanding he take care of himself. He pushed past those thoughts and continued scrubbing, trying to get the scent of the hospital off of himself, trying to get the stench of his guilt off his skin. He was out in the kitchen when the microwave beeped. He ate quickly, reading over the news on his phone as he stood in the kitchen, a towel hanging on his hips. He didn’t bother with the social media apps everyone else liked to busy themselves with, but he had an instagram, mostly to keep up with what you were posting. He checked it as he left his plate in the sink, a story from yesterday. A picture of you and your friend at a market from the day before. God, you looked stunning. He had no idea what you saw in him sometimes. 

You walked into the house, looking more than exhausted. You didn’t even acknowledge him, not even noticing his figure, as you walked straight to the couch, and flopped down on it. He stared. Your eyes closed and you curled up into yourself as he’d seen you do a thousand times before, and he stepped closer. His hand ran over your cheek. “You alright?” he asked, voice hoarse and gruff. It’d been a tough shift, you could tell. 

“Mhm,” you nodded, leaning into his touch. “Shitshow of a night. Jayden called me. Maggie was super sick, I had to rush her over to the emergency room,” You sighed. His brow creased, a silent question. I didn’t see you? You nodded. “She lives on the other side of town.” he nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” he cradled your head like it was the most fragile thing he could ever hold. It was to him. “You’re a good friend.” 

You nodded. “It was crazy,” you groaned. “Still didn’t get rid of my baby fever though.” You chuckled, reaching a hand up and running it through his wet curls. He stilled. Baby fever. He gulped down the panic rising in his chest and cleared his throat. 

“You have baby fever?” he questioned, the tips of his ears going a pretty shade of crimson. You let out a soft chuckle and nodded, sitting up. He sat beside you, pulling you into his lap, straddling him. A thousand thoughts at once ran through his mind. He’d dreamed of wild mornings and spilled drinks, he’d dreamed of Saturday afternoon practice and sleepless nights with his very own bundle of light in his arms, but it never happened. It wasn’t in the cards for a man as broken as him, someone as… unworthy as he. Men like him didn’t have families. He’d been told when he was younger, a more fresh-faced Jack Abbot, less able to hold his liquor. He’d told some of his squad that he silently wished for a day where he’d have a family of his own, raise them better than he’d been raised. They’d laughed at him. No one would have a kid with you, let go of that. And army men don’t cry, so he didn’t. His soul wept for him, quietly setting the dream down and sweeping it under the rug, hoping that maybe one day he’d get that chance.

You cupped his jaw, watching him with careful eyes. “Jack? Are you alright?” You asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. He nodded softly and pressed his lips to yours gingerly. You kissed him back. He relaxed into it, his hands wrapped around your waist, yours in his hair, uncaring of how wet it was.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he admitted, pulling back from your lips. “I should’ve stayed.” He searched your face, landing on your eyes. He loved your eyes. He loved how he could make you nervous with just eye contact, something so simple. You nodded. 

“Thank you for apologising, but the night would’ve been ruined anyway. I was busy playing mom to Maggie.” You shrugged, a finger drawing patterns between the freckles that adorned his chest. You’d admitted before that it was one of your favourite things about him. You just loved them. He couldn’t understand why, but who was he to yuck your yum? 

There it was again. The idea that you two could have a kid. You with a little baby in your arms, his baby in your arms. A little human that was made from the two of you. His eyes welled up, but he kept his voice steady. You didn’t notice the tears, too busy drawing on his skin. “You want to have a kid?” he asked, just above a whisper. You smiled. 

“You’re not helping my baby fever, y’know,” you finally looked at him again, and your face fell. “Jack, what’s wrong?” A hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into it, a stray tear falling down his cheek. You took his other hand in yours, squeezing. 

He shook his head, biting his cheek to stop himself from falling apart. “I always wanted a family,” he admitted, pushing through it. Pushing through the fear of rejection, pushing through the voice in his head that told him to shut up. He’d been working with his therapist and you on verbalising what he wanted. He was hyper-independant, and he knew it strained you two a little, so this was a chance to actually let you know what he wanted. “I want that with you.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. “Yeah?” you questioned, a surprised smile pulling the corners of your lips up. He nodded silently, anxiety and fear holding all his muscles taught. “I want that too,” you whispered before swallowing his lips with a kiss. 

He had it. He had his wife. He had his job. Now, he’d finally get the chance to get what he wanted, a family.  A family with you.

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[frudoo]

Hear me out. Reader who is convinced she’s barren x soap with a breeding kink. HEAR ME OUT-

I KNOW I KNOW you wanted this to be a hell of a lot more smutty than I wrote it to be. That’s my bad pookie I haven’t been horny enough lately 💔 hope you enjoy anyway :)

Warnings: Angst. Smut. Mentions of infertility, fear of miscarriage, etc. Fem!Reader. Reader is very insecure and self-deprecating. MDNI.

“No,” you whisper, avoiding his eyes.

     Johnny stills. Dark eyebrows furrow with hurt and shock, thin lips turning downward. A rejection was the last thing he expected to hear from you when he dropped down on bended knee and presented an intricate ring he’d spent weeks designing. Crickets chirp around the two of you, the river gently rippling beneath the bridge he brought you to—the bridge where he kissed you for the first time after one of your early dates, where he came to the devastating realization that he had fallen completely in love with you as your excited voice rambled to him about the wandering egrets and ducks that sat on the water’s surface. 

     “N-no?” He’s rightfully taken aback, resting his other knee on the ground as his hands fall into his lap, the ring he thought would be on your finger by now still safely tucked away into its little box.

     “I’m not- fuck,” you suck in a deep breath, nearly choking on a sob. “Johnny, I love you, but I-I’m not what you need.”

     Your boyfriend stills, those pretty blue eyes that you’ll always have a weakness for now trained on the pebbled ground, glossy with unshed tears. In all the time you’ve been dating him, not once have you seen him cry. He gets choked up, sure, but he never lets you see him at his most vulnerable. Not usually. Not until right this moment, when you might as well have ripped his beating heart from his chest and stomped it into the pavement. With trembling hands, you lean down and cup his handsome face in your palms, coaxing him to look up at you. It’s your turn to break.

     “Baby, it’s not you,” you sniffle, thumbing away the moisture in his waterline. “I love you—God, you have no fucking idea how much I love you—b-but that… that’s why I can’t marry you, Johnny. You deserve more than what I can give you.” 

     “Ah dinnae understand,” he murmurs. 

     “I don’t wanna do this here,” you look around with a shaky sigh. “Let’s talk about it at home, okay?”

     Silently, he stands, but his head hangs low as he begins the walk back to his truck. He doesn’t even reach for your hand like he normally would, and that in itself makes your stomach drop. 

     You could have anticipated the silence on the ride back to your flat. Instead of the comforting quiet you’ve grown accustomed to with him, it’s awkward. Painfully so. It’s wrong and it makes you nauseous, makes your head ache. When you finally arrive Johnny walks around and opens your door, and you give him a faint smile. He doesn’t return the gesture. You shuffle inside and he follows closely after, muttering under his breath as he checks the locks three times, like clockwork. 

     Despite being with him for so long, despite living and sharing a bed with him, you never expected the relationship to get this… serious. You’re happy with him, sure, but you’ve never really allowed yourself to imagine a future with him. He wants a big, happy family like the one he grew up in. You can’t bear the idea of holding him back, keeping him all for your selfish, dysfunctional self. 

     “Ah’m gonna get ready fer bed,” he informs you quietly, and instead of dragging you into the bathroom with him to fulfill your nightly routine like he typically would, he shuts and locks the door before you can even process what he said. 

     You chew on your bottom lip anxiously as you slip off your shoes and tread into the bedroom. Your side of the bed is neatly made and his is a mess—you can’t help but huff out a bitter laugh at the irony of it. He’s much more organized than you, generally. Johnny runs on discipline, confident and unshakable thanks to his years in the military. But you? You just take life as it comes, blindly swaying in whatever direction the wind decides to blow you in at that very moment. 

     He needs someone more like him, a leader. Someone who is more of a partner than a burden. He needs someone who can raise a family and hold down the home while he’s away working to support the household. He doesn’t need you, a woman who can’t give him the very thing he wants most. You can’t give him the abundance of life he desires to drown in.

     His knee pops when he lowers himself onto the bed, facing the wall instead of wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into him. After you strip yourself down and replace your outfit with one of his shirts, you join him, taking it upon yourself to hold him instead. He flinches, tensing at the contact.

     “Didnae think ye’d wanna touch me,” Johnny grunts sarcastically; it stings, but you somewhat expected it.

     “Johnny,” you coo, carefully pushing down on his shoulder so that he lays on his back. “Please look at me.”

     He complies but there is no enthusiasm in the way he blinks up at you. There’s a maelstrom of emotions hiding in those stormy irises, and you can tell he’s trying his hardest not to say something he’ll regret. Johnny is a hothead, but he never takes it out on you. He’s never even gotten this close to losing it before. You hate yourself for being the cause. 

     “I-I know that this is all you want,” you hum, hesitating before hooking your finger beneath his scarred chin. “To get married, start a family with someone who loves you.”

     “Aye,” he nods, and despite himself, leans into your warmth. 

     “Johnny, I can’t- I can’t give you that.”

     He shuts his eyes in frustration, running a rough hand over his face. You’re being cryptic and you know it, but the truth is something you haven’t admitted to anyone before. To say it out loud would make it all too real. 

     “Ah thought we’re doin’ alreit, thought ye… hen, ye’re the love o’me life. Ah wanna give ye me las’ name, wanna show the ‘ole world tha’ ye’re mine. Bunny, ah c-cannae imagine livin’ any longer without ye as me wife,” he pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to hide the way he’s blinking back tears. “Ah wan’ ye tae be the mother o’me children. Ah wanna be buried w’ye.”

     “I want nothing more than to be your wife,” you choke out. “But I’ll never be the partner you need me to be. I-I’ll never carry your children or-”

     “Jus’ stop,” he laughs bitterly, sniffling as he sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Ah ken s’not wha’ ye wan’. Ah’m not wha’ ye wan’, bunny. S’okay tae say so.”

     “I want you more than you know, John MacTavish,” you retort, furrowing your eyebrows. “I already told you that it has nothing to do with you!”

     “Ye’re doin’ a great job at convincin’ me,” he spits. “Ah’m sleepin’ on the couch. Willnae take up yer space any longer.”

     “Johnny, please wait-!” You call after him, but he’s already slamming the bedroom door shut.

     God, the last thing you want is for him to be angry with you, but you can’t exactly blame him. He’d spent weeks planning, spent the whole day waiting for this evening to propose in a way he thought you’d love, expecting you to say yes because why wouldn’t you? Instead, you crushed him. Ruined him. You let out a frustrated sob, pulling the covers up over your head.

     Maybe it’s for the better. Better to hurt him now and give him time to get over you than to marry him and have him realize how miserable he is with you. You would never be able to forgive yourself if he devoted himself, his life, his everything to you, just to find that you’re nothing but damaged parts. A broken machine pretending to be functional just to feel something real. You were foolish to believe that you could keep up the facade. 

     He’ll leave early tomorrow morning to go to the gym, like clockwork. That’s when you’ll pack up your things and leave this apartment like you were never there to begin with. Maybe, after time, he’ll be able to convince himself that this—that you—were never real. One last night in this bed might be detrimental for your mental health in the end, but you’re too exhausted to care about where you’ll end up. All that matters is that Johnny gets his happy ending. All you care about is his joy. 

     You fall asleep as quickly as your tears dry.

//

     The gentle dip of the bed startles you awake at an ungodly hour. A strong arm wraps around your waist, and the warmth of a familiar body melts into your back. The shirt he’d had on when he first got in bed is gone, and you never thought you could love the feel of his skin on yours more. Chapped lips trail kisses along the softness of your jawline. 

     “Johnny?” You question, voice raspy with exhaustion. 

     “Ah’m sae sorry, hen,” he whispers. “Feel terrible fer ‘ow ah treated ye.”

     You turn to face him, humming contentedly when he rests a large palm on your cheek. Even in the dark, his bright eyes manage to hold your attention.

     “No, don’t apologize. Y-you were… I hurt you, Johnny. I deserved it.”

     “Dinnae make excuses fer me, bunny. S’not fair o’me tae expect ye tae wan’ the same things as me,” he shakes his head softly. “Ah dinnae care if ye don’t wanna get married or ‘ave kids. Ah’m willin’ tae give those up. Ah jus’ cannae live without ye.”

     You sigh softly, resting your forehead against his. Your hand moves his own from your face so that you can intertwine fingers, squeezing fondly.

     “It’s not that I don’t want to,” you admit. “I just can’t. I-I… Johnny, I’m infertile. I can’t give you kids, and I refuse to let myself marry you if it means I’ll hold you back. You deserve to be with someone who’s able to give you everything you want. I can’t stand the thought that you would settle for- for this shell of a person that I am.”

     He sucks in a long breath and his grip on you loosens. Your boyfriend is still, silent for a while. You can only assume that the gears are turning in his head.

     “I know it’s a lot to take,” you mutter. “But it’s fine. I’m packing in the morning-”

     “Wha’?” Johnny’s incredulous voice takes you by surprise—when you flinch, he holds you tighter once again. “Nae, ye’re not leavin’. Oh, lass, is tha’ the only thing holdin’ ye back?”

     “I-I mean… yeah? It’s a big thing.”

     Johnny tuts, cupping your face in both of his hands and pulling you as close as possible. The tip of his nose brushes against yours clumsily, but neither of you seem to care.

     “Ye’re more than wha’ yer body can or cannae do,” he says firmly. “Ah fell in love w’ who ye are, bunny, not yer fuckin’ uterus. Ah could give two flyin’ fucks about biological kids if it means ah cannae be w’ye.”

     “B-but you want-”

     “Ah wan’ ye. Ah wan’ all o’yer flaws and struggles. Ah wan’ every bloody part o’ye,” he interrupts. “Children are negotiable. But ye, mo chridhe, are not.”

     He’s so warm and so genuine that it makes your heart drop into your stomach. You sigh softly against his lips as he pulls you in for a slow, tender kiss, tangling his fingers into the hair at the back of your head. Somehow you eventually find yourself pinned beneath a shirtless Johnny with his hips settled between your thighs. 

      “Johnny, wait,” you pant, grabbing onto his shoulders as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you sure? I understand if you wanna call this off.”

     “Steamin’ Jesus, ye drive me mad sometimes,” he huffs, partly with frustration and partly with amusement. “Ah’d rather die than let ye go, hen. Ye’re a part o’me, now. Alweys will be.”

     You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in closer, running your hands along the expanse of his broad neck and shoulders. Johnny leans down for another kiss and grunts appreciatively into your mouth when your fingers dig into his muscles. He is carved from stone, an immovable mountain, and yet when he allows himself to indulge in the tenderness of you, he crumbles. He would argue that, in pieces, he is stronger—especially when you are by his side to build him back up when he needs it most. Even when you hide, he is there to wrap himself around you like a fortress. A team, and one that Johnny would sooner give up air than breaking. 

     “Ah love ye sae much, bunny,” he hums, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “Gonna sho’ ye tha’ ye mean the world tae me. More than tha’, ye ken—ye mean everything tae me.”

     His hand travels down past the place where your bellies meet, and he hooks his fingers into the hem of your panties. You lift your hips to aid him in removing the garment and he rewards you by grinding himself against your bare cunt. Your breath hitches as he slides the length of his clothed cock through your folds in a slow tease. 

     “E-even though I can’t give you babies?”

     “Even if ye cannae give me any babies,” he murmurs, cupping your chin in one hand and squeezing just slightly so that your lips pucker out, “Ah’ll still fuck ye like we’re tryin’ fer one.” 

     “Johnny,” you gasp, squealing when you feel him pull his boxers down so that his flushed skin finally meets yours. 

     Your man’s tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip before he devours both yet again, notching the head of his cock at your weeping entrance. Any other night, you would ask him to prep you first to get your poor pussy ready for his girth, but tonight, he’s so desperate and you’re not going to deny him anything—not after the emotional rollercoaster you put him on. When he finally pushes his thick cockhead inside, he swallows the pained whimper you release into his mouth.

     “Ah ken it hurts, hen. Ah’m sorry,” he apologizes, leisurely feeding himself into your aching heat inch by agonizing inch. “Tell me if it’s too much, aye?”

     You nod as your eyelids screw shut. Johnny sighs softly when he feels his balls press against your ass, now fully sheathed inside of you, intertwining both of his hands with yours and pinning them beside your head. 

     “Alrigh'?” He asks, but the little moan you let out along with the tight pulse of your walls around his dick tells him all he needs to know. “Gonna move now, bonnie.”

     “I love you,” you rasp through a broken weep the moment he starts moving, crossing your legs over the small of his back.

     In this position he can barely move, but the grinding of his hips against yours is all either of you need. His cock hits deep, and his tongue licks over yours, and it’s the closest you’ll get to heaven while still on this planet.

     “Ah love ye more,” he whispers. “Cannae believe ye’d ever think otherwise.”

     “I’m sorry-” you begin, but Johnny shushes you with a particularly lengthy pump of his hips.

     “None o’tha’, baby,” he tuts. “Nothin’ tae apologize fer. Jus’ gotta talk tae me, aye? Dinnae wan’ ye feelin’ less than because o’summat ye can’t control.”

     You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breaking your hands free from his to trail them up his back and feel the muscles there contracting with his every move. His own hands travel lower to grasp the backs of your knees, pushing them up to settle his body over yours. Your pretty eyes widen when he hugs your thighs so that your calves rest on his shoulders, keeping you completely spread and useless beneath him. Your boyfriend grunts as he starts thrusting quicker, harder, mouth hanging open as he stares down at you with those crystalline eyes full of admiration. He just about bursts when his rhythm causes your shirt to ride up over your tits.

     “Ye’re bloody perfection,” Johnny groans, lowering his head to lick a broad stripe between the valley of your breasts. “Cannae breathe when ye’re gone from me. Cannae think when ah’m awey from ye. Price is startin’ tae keep me off the field ‘cause all ah do is worry ‘bout ye.”

     You whimper as he sucks a nipple between his lips before kissing his way up your neck right back to your lips. His entire body drapes over yours once again as he holds you down in an overwhelmingly warm bear hug, pressing his sweaty forehead against your own. Your nails scratch down his back carelessly as he presses deeper and deeper still with every pump of his hips, damn near reaching the plug of your womb. 

     “B-but you love—fuck, Johnny, right there!—you l-love being on the field,” you cry, legs bouncing uselessly in the air. 

     “Not as much as ah love me gal,” he murmurs. “Bit difficult tae focus on the enemy when ah’ve got a hard-on thinkin’ about the wey ye feel around me. Fuck, like bloody heaven, lass.”

     You go crosseyed when the pleasure that had been building in your belly finally peaks, and your pussy tightens around him so hard it’s like it’s trying to push him out, but Johnny persists—strong hips snapping forward as hard as his body allows. He cups your face in his big hands and pushes one thumb into your mouth, pressing it against your tongue. When you begin to suck, it sends him over the edge. He growls as ribbons of hot cum coat the inside of you.

     “Bleedin’ ‘ell,” pants Johnny, collapsing on top of you and peppering your neck with slow, lazy kisses. “Could do nothin’ but fill ye up fer the rest o’me life and die a happy man.”

     “Freak,” you breathe affectionately, flipping him onto his back so that you can cuddle into his side. 

     “Aye, yer freak,” he huffs amusedly, rough fingertips caressing your back and the nape of your neck. 

     “I wanna marry you, Johnny," you admit after a moment of silence.

     “Ye do?” He questions too quickly, clearing his throat to try and hide his excitement. “Bunny, are ye sure? Ah dinnae wanna pressure ye intae anything.”

     “You’re not,” you assure him. “I do. I want to marry you.”

     //

     “She’s comin’, mate,” Simon informs the groom, leaning against the doorframe of the men’s dressing room. 

     “Wha’?” Johnny asks, straightening his tie before turning to face his best man with a confused scowl on his face. “Righ’ now?”

     “Affirm,” the blond man grunts, giving you a polite nod when you approach and stepping out of the room so that you and your future husband can have a moment alone. 

     You look nervous, and Johnny’s first thought is that you’re getting cold feet. His heart sinks as he sees you in your gorgeous dress, tears in your eyes and your painted lips trembling. You look stunning even in your fear.

     “Wha’s wrong, lass?” Your fiance coos, carefully wiping the moisture from your waterline. “Ye havin’ second thoughts?”

     “No! Yes? Fuck, I-I don’t know,” you ramble, starting to hyperventilate.

     Johnny guides you to sit on the sofa in the dressing room, kneeling before you. He takes your hands in his and gingerly rubs his thumbs over your knuckles. 

     “Talk tae me.”

     “I took a couple of tests because I’ve been feeling off lately,” you admit slowly.

     “Tests?” He cocks an eyebrow, heart pounding inside of his chest. “Like-?”

     “Johnny, I’m pregnant,” you conclude, nervously meeting his eye. 

     “Ye’re…” he pauses, utterly confused. “A-ah didnae think ye could-”

     “Neither did I,” you squeeze his hands tightly. “I’m so fucking scared. I don’t understand.”

     “Alrigh’. As soon as the ceremony’s over, ah’m tellin’ Price ah wan’ out o'the field fer good—only deskwork from now on,” he says sternly, confident in his plan. 

     “What? No, no, no, Johnny, please don’t do that just because of me. What if it’s a… a false positive? W-what if I lose the baby? What if I can’t-?”

     “Relax, hen,” he smiles, sitting up on his knees to cup your face in his hands. “Everything ah do is for ye. Ah wouldnae wan’ it any other wey. No matter wha’ happens with this pregnancy, this marriage, any challenges we’ll face, ah swear ah’ll be righ’ by yer side fer all of it.”

     “I don’t deserve you,” you whisper, croaking out a gross sob.

“Ye absolutely do. S’why we’re gettin’ married,” he grins.

“You weren’t even supposed to see me yet,” you sniffle, looking down at your dress. “I ruined it.”

“Nae. Ye needed this, bunny. Didnae think ye cared about traditions anywey,” he teases.

“I thought you did.”

“Used tae. All kinda changed when ah met ye. Ah much prefer takin’ it one day at a time w’ye, now,” he leans in to press a lingering kiss to your lips, then kisses his way down your sternum until he reaches your belly, whispering something inaudible before resting his forehead there.

“We’re gonna be alrigh’, ye ken.”

You nod, allowing him to help you stand and pull you into a gentle, loving hug.

“Let’s go get married, Mr. MacTavish.”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

"Aren't you angry?" the villain asked. Their index finger traced a line down the back of the hero's neck, making them shiver. "To have been offered to me like a lamb for slaughter?"

"I wasn't sacrificed," the hero clarified. "We agreed on specific terms. I am simply playing my part in all of this."

The hero stood up, pulled the towel over their shoulders. The villain was a little taller than them, but that didn't intimidate them anymore. It only added to the thrill.

"You could have protested," the villain pointed out. "After all, in the end you were nothing but a good. A good we traded."

The villain reached out and touched the hero's collarbone. Their fingers ghosted over the hero's skin as if the hero was indeed something holy.

The hero guessed to some degree that was the truth now: in exchange for the villain's help and support against a greater evil, they had wanted the hero.

And they had gotten them.

However, the hero wasn't ready to fall to their knees obediently. The villain may have had the impression that they were possessing the hero but possessing and dominating are two different things.

"I hope you know that I encouraged my colleagues to do this," the hero said. They grabbed the villain's wrist, making the towel slide down their shoulders. "I'm not sure what you're expecting from me, but I am not suffering. I am not angry, I am not sad. We considered many possibilites before this."

The villain's eyes drifted to their wrist where the hero's fingers curled around their skin. They smiled softly.

"Of course." The villain let go of the hero's collarbone and instead grabbed the towel, put it back around the hero's shoulders. "Still. It's a little sad that they let you go that easily. You out of all people."

It did sting partially, even though the hero had suggested this solution. No one had made efforts to find a different fate for the hero. There had just been mild relief that the villain was dealt with.

But the hero knew this had been the best, no, the only option.

Their heart was about to jump out of their chest.

"You're putting me on a pedestal," the hero said.

"Is that so?" The villain's fingers brushed the hero's lips, then their chin. Their eyes were fixed on the hero's face. "Is it even possible to glorify someone as perfect as you?"

The hero looked away. They were used to the cheering, but words of flattery from an opponent? Not so much.

The villain pushed the hero's chin back until the hero looked at them.

"What does it feel like?" the villain whispered. They took a step forward, closing the gap between the two of them. "What does it feel like to be left behind? You know that pain is real. You know I would have never done that to you."

"I...I agreed to this."

"Out of conviction? Or obligation?" the villain asked. They were close enough for the hero to feel their warm breath against their wet skin. Another shiver ran down their spine. "We both know you don't like me the way I like you. You didn't agree because you wanted to be mine."

Was that so? Why had the hero agreed this quickly? Obligation? Conviction? Obsession, perhaps?

They hadn't thought about confronting why they had made the decision. They had thought the villain would take them, no questions asked. They had thought the why was irrelevant.

This wasn't about submission. It wasn't about sacrifice. It wasn't even about obligation.

Suddenly, the hero grabbed the villain's shirt and pulled them close enough for them to lean against one another. The villain's eyes were wide open.

"Fine. This is about delight. It's about pleasure. You excite me." The hero's eyes dropped to the villain's mouth. "Is that such a sin?"

The villain smirked.

"The most treacherous sin of them all, I'm afraid."

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Chapter 21

Summary: What happens after Wanda and you get engaged? Is there a party, wedding planning or plans for grandchildren? (spoiler, it's all of the above.

A/N: So, this is all thanks to @a-cat-on-titan and their love for this series. Their ideas and encouragement made me write this tiny little chapter. I don't know if more will come soon, but this leaves things on a nice little note, I think. Enjoy!

--

It’s the best night of your life.

Never, in a million years, would you have seen this coming.

“Are you happy?” Wanda says in a soft voice as you drive back home.

“What? The big smile on my face is not enough answer, my love?” you reply and she laughs.

As you park in the driveway of your home, you stay inside, taking it all in.

“Laura and Clint took the kids. I thought we could use some time for ourselves” Wanda says, still in a low voice. As if speaking louder will break the spell. “I even considered going back to a fancy hotel suite or something, but I wanted us to spend this night at our home”

“I think that’s perfect”

“Yeah?”

“And you’re perfect” you kiss the back of her hand, smiling. “Come on, let’s get inside”

Wanda’s too eager to wait for you to open the car door, so she joins you in the porch steps, her hand reaching out for yours.

“Do you have your keys?” she looks in her purse, and you look back to the car.

“Maybe. I’ll check… in a minute” you press her against the door. “I really need to kiss you right now”

Your fiancee -how you love the word- lets out a laugh, but it turns into a moan when you pull her by the waist, lips meeting in a hungry kiss. You hear a breathless moan that sounds like your name when you bite down her earlobe.

“Find your keys so we can get inside and continue this” Wanda tries to push you away, but you shake your head, pulling her closer.

“Or, let’s just have fun in the porch and then I’ll find the keys. I just really, really need to make you cum right now, baby”

Wanda responds by switching your places and pushing you roughly against the door. When you gasp, shocked and turned on, she takes advantage and pushes her tongue inside your mouth, claiming you in a searing kiss.

“You’re mine” she whispers hotly against your lips.

“All yours, forever” you promise, undoing the buttons of her shirt to kiss down her neck.

You’re both too busy to hear someone walking to the door and opening it from inside.

Which is how you end up falling, Wanda on top of you. Your friends shout “Surprise!” but they’re the ones who end up being surprised by the state of you.

Wanda squeals, getting up and hiding behind you as you stand up.

“Hey” you say, clearing your throat. “What’s up, guys?”

“You sickos! Out in the porch?” Darcy swats your arm. Wanda’s trying to button her blouse and your friend tsks. “Missed a button there”

“Give her a second” you push her back.

“Are we even surprised they couldn’t keep it in their pants?” Pietro laughs.

“Nope” Agatha says. “Not the first time they’re all outdoorsy either. That fence ain’t tall enough”

“Yeah, on call rooms aren’t sound proof either” Bucky comments, and a couple of people laugh.

“Sorry, is this a roast or an engagement party?” you glare, and everyone laughs.

“So, you said yes!” Kate claps.

“Of course she said yes, why else would they be getting freaky in the streets? Anyways, welcome to your engagement party” Darcy signals for you to come in.

Everyone claps, and as you make your way across the room, your friends hug you and make you show off the ring.

“It fits perfectly! How did you guess her size?” Agatha admires.

“I didn’t. It’s my mother’s” Wanda says, squeezing your hand.

It had been a surprise to the both of you. Wanda expected the ring to be a bit too small, but it was honestly the perfect fit.

“Meant to be” you say, kissing Wanda’s temple.

“Looks good on you” Ekaterina says, and you hope she’s not about to scold you for the little show you put on when you first walked in. But what comes out of her mouth is much worse. “So, grandchildren”

“Oh, yeah, where are the twins?” you play dumb, looking around the living room.

“How old are you?” she insists.

“Thirty five” you don’t know if you should add a “Ma’am” for good measure.

“Wanda’s thirty one. So, if she’s having the babies, you have more time. But if it’s you… you better hurry, dear”

“Mama!” Wanda says, shocked.

“I’m just being practical. And you know I want more grandchildren. At least four”

“Four in total or four more?” you gulp, suddenly nervous. Ekaterina smirks at you, and you let out a nervous laugh. “Well, good thing I’m a doctor then”

Just in time, there’s a commotion at the door. Clint walks in, followed by an entire army of children that come inside running and screaming. They are lead by none other than Billy and Tommy.

“Mom! Did she say yes? Are you guys getting married?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Easy there” you say, picking them both up. “Yes, we’re getting married. So you knew all this time, huh? I’m surprised you could keep it a secret”

They laugh and go to greet everyone, talking excitedly about whether they want a brother or a sister.

“Not them too” you complain when you hear Billy say he wants a brother and sister.

Clint goes to congratulate you, and you take Nathaniel in your arms, playing and making faces at him.

“Careful, he’s starting to bite” Clint says when he closes his mouth around your thumb.

“Yeah, I see”

“Something to look forward, huh?” he winks.

There’s laughter, snacks, some wine and you tell the story of how Wanda proposed at least three different times. Mrs. Davies cries, which of course she does.

At one point, you decide to take a break from all the small talk and walk outside. You take a look at the ring, running your finger over the diamond.

You never thought you’d get this. A family. Someone who wants you for the rest of your lives. A mother in law that happily gives you her own engagement ring.

“Hey” a soft voice says from behind you.

“Hi, Darcy” you turn back to look at her, smiling. “Thanks for the party”

“Don’t mention it. You only get married once. Unless you’re an ass, like Ross”

That makes you laugh, but there’s silence between you a moment later.

“I know it’s hard to believe it, but you deserve good things. And this is good”

“Yeah. It is good. So, uh… will you be my bridesmaid?” you sway until you’re pushing her with your hip, and she scoffs.

“If you ask anyone else, I will kill you”

“Ok, but Jenny has to be in it too” you remind her.

“Right. You should tell them. They’ll be happy”

That’s true. There’s not a lot of people you have to tell this to. Most of your friends and family are inside the house.

You think about the people you left behind in Boston, and how they’d react to the news.

Natasha.

By the time everyone leaves, you pull Kate into a tight hug and she aws, until you shush her.

“Does Yelena know?”

“No, I didn’t even know about it until today. Why?”

“Don’t tell her”

“But…”

“Natasha” you whisper as you pull apart. “I want to tell her myself. And her sister can’t keep a secret”

“Right. Ok. I just… she’ll be mad at me for not telling her” Kate says, frowning.

“Well. Good luck, Bishop” you pat her back, and send her on her way.

Wanda tucks the kids in bed while you stand  against the door, watching with a smile.

“We’re really happy about you” Tommy says.

“Me too” Billy adds.

“Me three” you say, making them laugh. “Good night, kiddos”

The party leaves you more exhausted than you expected, so you change into a pair of briefs and a t-shirt, scrolling through your phone while Wanda gets ready for bed.

She leaves the bathroom with a playful smile and straddles your lap. That thin tank top and satin shorts ride up sinfully with each movement. Your hands rest on her thighs, enjoying the view.

“There’s a Sokovian tradition…” she starts, trailing kisses down your throat.

“Mhm…”

“That… you’re not supposed to touch… even kiss…” she whispers hotly against your ear, her nails pushing your shirt to scratch your abs. “Until you set a date for the wedding”

“Oh… wow…” you’re too lost on the sensation of her touching you to pay attention. But then a second later you turn around, shocked. “WHAT?!���

“I’m kidding” she laughs and you plop down in bed, rolling your eyes. “You should have seen your face”

“Not nice, baby”

“Sorry” she cuddles next to you, still laughing.

“You’re lucky I love you” you mumble, kissing her temple.

“Yes, I am” she says, laughing as you hold her close.

—

The bed is empty when you wake up, the sound of music coming from the kitchen.

Wanda laughs the minute you come to view, rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

“Morning, malyshka”

“Morning, evening… what day even is it?”

You forgot Darcy makes cocktails that have at least three different types of alcohol in them.

“It’s just past 10. Come, sit, I made pancakes” she turns to pour you a cup of coffee and you corner her against the kitchen island.

“Hi, gorgeous” you mutter against her ear.

“Food’s gonna get cold” she warns you when you kiss her shoulder, hands playing with the hem of her shirt.

“I just need five minutes” you promise, kissing her neck, shoulder, and then her temple. “Wanna practise for wedding night?”

“Yes, but…” she pushes her butt against your front and you think you won, but then she’s making you walk back, looking over her shoulder. “Now I want you to eat”

“I’ll eat you, how about that?”

The way she says your name makes it clear that there’s no room for argument.

“One last thing” you say against her lips, and smile when you catch her breath hitching. “I want my ring back”

“What ring?” she frowns, playing dumb.

“The one you hid. I want to propose too” you say, finally sitting down to eat your food.

“I did no such thing”

“Wanda” you think you’re tone could be more stern if your mouth wasn’t so full of food.

“Fine. I’ll go get it”

“Thanks, babe” you wave your fork in the air and you think she went to get the ring but instead, Wanda drops a heavy binder in front of you, making you jump.

“Jesus, what is that?” you pull it open. It’s full of articles about weddings. Dress, food, decoration, you name it.

“This is like my Pinterest board before Pinterest was even a thing” Wanda says, flipping the pages. “I got into this stage, maybe between fifth and eight grade about my perfect wedding”

“Ok, let’s take a look” you pull her down into your lap, glancing over her shoulder. “Wow, you really thought this through… even the groom, huh?”

There’s a portion of the binder full of celebrity pictures. You’re surprised to see some girls between the men.

“You think you were the first girl I dated?” Wanda elbows you, and you frown.

“I did, actually”

“Interesting. That’s a conversation for later, though” she hurries to say, flipping the pages and showing you the dessert section. “I really want a five tier wedding cake. Each tier a different flavor”

“Ok… back to this girl, or girls you dated…”

“I’d love to get an old, vintage car. Like the one on the Dick Van Dyke show” she keeps muttering, flipping the pages. There’s no way to pull her out of her bride to be mind state, until you get to the next section of the binder and she closes it so fast it traps your hand between the pages.

“Ouch, babe!”

“You can’t look at that”

“Why not? Jesus, I need these hands to operate, ya know?”

“It’s the dress part. I have the perfect dress idea”

“Ok, and?” you frown, pushing the binder away like it personally attacked you.

“It’s bad luck” Wanda jumps from your lap, getting more coffee.

“To see the actual dress, not a concept of it” you say, shrugging your shoulders.

“Still. I wouldn’t want to see your suit before the wedding”

“I was actually considering a dress. What?” you say when you feel Wanda staring. “You say you like me in a dress and it’s a special occassion. I can manage”

“Anything you want is perfect for me, detka” she says, kissing you softly. You think you’ll finally get your chance to spend some time alone when Sparky comes running. “Someone needs a walk”

“Someone needs a fuck” you mutter and Wanda glares. “Fine, I got it. Come here, boy”

As usual, the furball isn’t even peeing. He just wants to snoop around the street and get pets and hugs from whichever neighbor is around.

“Cockblock” you say, pulling out your phone. Jenny promised she’d videocall when Zack was with her so you could tell both about the engagement.

As you go back to your messages, your eyes travel to a different contact.

You honestly hope she doesn’t pick up.

“Romanoff”

“Hey. It’s Y/N”

“I know”

“I wasn’t expecting you to pick up” you stall, kicking yourself over the decision you just made.

“That’s usually what the other person does when someone calls. You ok?”

The way her sarcastic tone drops when she asks if you’re ok eases your nerves. So you take a breath, deciding to just do it.

“I… have some news. That I wanted to tell you myself before Yelena did her usual thing”

“You finally proposed” she says with an even tone. Not happy, but not… indifferent either. Then you hear the rustling of paper and figure she was working. As she puts down the chart she was probably reading, her tone seems warmer, as if she’s listening for real this time. “Congratulations”

“Well, she proposed. It was a surprise, actually. But yeah. I’m getting married. It’s stupid, but like I said, it didn’t sit right with me that Yelena told you instead of me”

“Y/N” she interrupts your rambling and you finally stop talking. “That’s great for you. You are happy, right?”

“Yes, very” you admit in a low voice.

“Then I’m happy too”

“Alright. All good with you?” you say, because it’s been forever since you’ve spoken to her. Natasha’s a bad texter.

“You might hear some breaking news about my clinical trial soon” she says and you can tell she’s smiling.

“I hope the Nobel Prize stays in the family this year”

“Thank you. Take care, ok? And congrats again”

“Bye, Nat” you hang up, staring at your phone for a second. But Sparky is pulling his leash like a maniac and you have to look up. “Settle down, boy”

Of coure, Ekaterina is at the house and he’ is going feral because he knows she’ll give him all the treats he asks, even if Wanda tells her not to.

You’re so caught up in your conversation with Natasha, mainly relieved that it went well, that you forget that’s not really the end of the subject.

“Did you have a good walk?”

“Y-yeah. I was, uh…”

I was calling Natasha to tell her.

But the words get stuck in your throat.

What if she gets mad? Insecure?

Just tell her.

Your phone pulls you out of it and you frown when you see Clint’s name on the screen.

“Hey, Barton” you say, Wanda standing next to you, casually listening.

“Hi. I know it’s your day off but we have a rescue situation down the hikig trail. Can you come in? It looks bad and we’ll probably need a doctor onsite”

“Yeah, send me the location”

“I’ll send someone to pick you up. Your car won’t do in the terrain, and Stark will be sending the helicopter when we get them” he says, voices heard in the background calling for him.

“Well, there goes my morning” you smile, trying to joke with Wanda. But she’s looking over your shoulder, biting her thumb. “Babe?”

“It’s not… dangerous. Right? You’re not going to be going down a cliff or anything” she mutters, hands fidgeting in the way you know she does when she’s nervous.

“It’s fine. I’ll probably just need to be on the helicopter ride back to the ER”

“Please, be careful” she pulls you into a hug, her hand holding on to the back of your neck like you’ll vanish any second now. “If anything happens…”

“It won’t” you promise, rubbing her back.

“Ok. You’re right” she smiles, wiping her eyes before the tears roll.

When you finally leave, guilt weighs you down over how anxious Wanda looks.

—

“They’re down there” Clint points at a cliff.

Well, shit. You are going down a cliff.

“Can’t I just wait for you to pull them up here?” you sigh, looking at the equipment being set up.

“Afraid of heights?”

“No. I kinda promised Wanda I wouldn’t do this” you look at the edge, evaluating the situation. “What were they doing rock climbing here anyway?”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re all wondering too. This is not the place to do it. You know how to handle the ropes?”

“Yeah, my dad liked rock climbing. He thought me some of it, then I worked at a gym during high school”

“Alright. This is why I called. Because you’re the best” he says, inspecting the climbing harness and anchors.

“Nah, it’s because you don’t want to go down there, lazy ass” you wink at him, beginning the descent.

As you reach the two people at the base of the cliff, you’re surprised to hear yelling.

Not from pain, or worry.

No, the woman sounds fucking pissed.

“What on Earth were you thinking, dragging me to this place? Rock climbing for a first date, seriously?”

Oh, yikes.

“Hi there, I’m doctor Y/L/N. We’re getting you out of here”

“My name is Lisa” the woman says, holding on to her left arm. That’s probably broken, you think as you turn to the man.

“And you are…”

“An idiot” Lisa mutters.

An idiot that happens to be in shock from severe pain, scared shitless at almost dying or more likely both.

“Alright, then” as you inspect his pupils, and look for any bleeding or trauma, he finally starts talking.

“I slipped and we… pendulumed into the rock wall. It’s never happened before”

“Did you hit your head?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure both of my legs are broken”

You try not to wince, taking the radio to call for Clint and the Stokes basket.

“I think she just hurt her arm” the man says, but his date doesn’t take it very well.

“Did you say I just hurt my arm? Why don’t I break yours to see if it’s that insignificant”

With a sigh, you sit between them, examining her. Judging by the way he’s ignoring her, the woman’s voice is a lot more uncomfortable than the broken legs.

“Dating sucks. You married?” she says when you answer to her first statement with a noncomittal hum.

“Engaged”

“If he likes stupid outdoor activities, reconsider”

“She likes to garden and bake. I think we’ll be just fine” you smile, giving her something for the pain. If it was up to you, she’d be sedated by now.

Lisa mutters how unfair it is that Andrew (that’s his name) is taken to the hospital first. Thankfully, once the man is lifted, she stays quiet, until it’s her time to go up.

Inmobilizing her arm, you place a triage jacket and hook her to your ropes so the team can pull you up.

It’s going relatively well until Lisa decides to look down, and freak out once again.

“It’s too high, we’re going to die. Take me down, now!”

“Lisa, stop moving” you look at the rope and then up, while Clint is asking through the radio what the hell is happening. “Lisa, stop or you’re going to…”

And just like Andrew said, the ropes losen and she’s penduling straight to the rock. On pure instinct, you pull her rope towards you, and the strenght of the movement drags you until your left side collides with the rock wall.

“Ah, shit, Clint!” you call for him. “We need a little help here”

It takes two of Clint’s guys to secure you again, and they take you up in record time to stop Lisa from another freak out.

The ride to the hospital is silent, as you hold your side, trying to breathe normally.

“Anything broken?” Clint asks and you shake your head no. “Good, Wanda won’t kill me, then”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Barton” you try to joke.

Still, when you get to the hospital, you walk next to the woman’s stretcher, giving instructions.

“Bishop, handle it” Darcy says, pulling you to another room.

“Hey! What about Andrew?”

“Severely injured right tibia, knee, ankle, and heel. Now you get ready for X-rays and anything else. I don’t want Wanda to kill me”

“Oh, so everyone’s concerned about Wanda, not me” you roll your eyes, but Darcy pats your back, nodding.

“Glad you understand”

Still, there are no broken ribs, no internal injuries. Just a couple of nasty bruises on your hip, leg and arm.

“Good luck explaining that to her” Carol says, examining your X-rays and turning to look at Lisa’s. “This girl got lucky. Won’t need surgery, it was a clean split”

“Don’t use the word lucky or she’ll go off on you. Want any help with Andrew’s surgery?”

“Nope. Go home to your fiancee. She’ll kill me if I keep you here with a bruised side and a hurt shoulder”

“It’s fine” you say, but don’t push it. This is your day off, after all.

And when you’re finally home, the first thing you see is Wanda, running towards you.

“You’re back! I was… are you ok, detka?”

The unshed tears that cloud her vision are enough to make your stomach drop.

If you tell her the truth… if it’s too much for her…

No.

You can keep it to yourself this time. It barely hurts.

“It was nothing, my love. I’m ok”

“Thank God” she sighs against your lips.

This is the second time you’ve lied to her today.

But you hope it’s the last.

—

24 hours and you’ve been on the verge of getting caught a couple of times.

Like when Wanda mentioned you were tossing and complaining while you slept. Because of course, you can’t sleep on your left side like you’re used to.

Or when she asks you to mow the lawn and you can’t think of a good reason to say no. She does buy your excuse that the sun is too intense and you need to use pants and a long sleeve shirt.

And when she’s curious about your next shift and you tell her Fury gave you a couple of days off to celebrate your engagement.

Thankfully, she has to run some errands and you’re more than happy to tag along.

The first stop is at Laura’s office, to go over the final schedule of the book release. Though it appears not much can be done because she’s holding Nathaniel while trying to write an email, his little fingers hovering over the keyboard like it’s his own personal toy.

“Hey! How are the future brides?” she says, standing up. Nathaniel flies to your arms and you catch him, a little grunt leaving your body as he collides with your bruised side.

“Good, just enjoying some time together. I like your new assistant” you say, bouncing him around.

“Oh, I love him so much but I’m in back to back meetings and no one could take care of him today”

“We can” you offer without thinking about it, but then turn to look at Wanda. “Right?”

“Yeah, that would be perfect”

You gather some of his toys, letting him decide which ones to pack for your evening while Wanda and Laura discuss the schedule.

“Oh, by the way. Apparently they could show you around the place either today or until next month. They’re stacked with summer weddings” Laura says, and Wanda looks at you.

“What is it about?”

“Just an inn out of town that I really like… but it’s too soon for wedding venues, we can wait until next month” she says, dismissing the idea.

“Nah, let’s go. I have some time off, we’re both free right now. If we wait another month it might be too late to book it. If we like it” you smile at her.

“Ok, if you’re sure” Wanda says, and even if Nathaniel is trying to pull your ear, you only have eyes for her.

God, she’s gonna look beautiful in a wedding dress.

“You guys are so cute” Laura says, face on her hands as she admires the way you look at each other.

Fortunately, Wanda drives to the inn and you look out the window, Nathaniel interested in the trees and the road ahead.

“I don’t mean to pressure you” Wanda says after you leave the city.

“What do you mean?”

“With a wedding venue, setting a date… we don’t have to do it right away”

“Babe, you have a six inch binder with ideas. I think planning that takes time. It’s fine, I want you to have your dream wedding” you say, relaxing against the seat. It looks like you and Nathaniel are getting lulled by the movement of the car.

“I just want to be married to you” she says and you smile, kissing the back of her hand.

“Me too. And this is the part where you’d say me three, if only you could speak, little Nathaniel”

It’s no wonder Wanda likes the place. In the middle of a hidden forest, the inn has a hall with wooden panels and floor to ceiling windows. There’s a lake surrounding the entire area, a small bridge connecting the garden with the rest of the place.

As soon as he sees the ducks by the lake, Nathaniel goes crazy and you have to take him there. He’s in the akward phase of trying to walk but still waddling, so you end up bent over grabbing his hands while he attempts to steady his steps.

Wanda’s the one asking about all the details, which is probably for the best since you have no idea how to plan a wedding. Still, when you come back from running around between the ducks, the manager is writing down some things.

“How many people are you inviting?” Wanda turns to you.

“Like… 20?”

“Ok, so 100 guests then”

“100? Wands, are you inviting all of Sokovia?” you say, amazed at the fact you’re having a party with that many people.

By the time you’re done with the tour, Nathaniel is fast asleep and Wanda’s holding him while you drive back and she scrolls through some files the manager sent her. Ideas for menus, albums from past weddings… she’s working hard to get you booked, that’s for sure.

“It’s a really beautiful place” you say.

“Expensive, too”

“How much?”

“A bit out of budget” she says, still looking at her phone.

“How out of budget? What’s even our budget?”

“Well, it’s a couple hundred more than I expected. Plus if you’re only inviting a few people maybe I should put more into everything. Or cut down the guest list”

“No, you’ll have your dream wedding, I promise” you say, smiling up at her. “Let’s find a date and book it”

When you get home, Nathaniel is still fast asleep so you take him to your room, arranging pillows around in case he flips over in his sleep. Wanda stays downstairs to get some food, but you look so peaceful after having a hard night that she lets you rest, smiling at how cute you look with Nathaniel snoozing next to you.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that the baby’s gone.

Clint’s going to kill me comes to mind, and you’re about to jump out of bed, ignoring the pain on your side when Wanda walks in, totally relaxed.

“Baby!”

“What?”

“The other baby! The small one!” you gesture with your hands, still half asleep and looking under the bed.

“Laura picked him up just now, relax” she pulls you down on the bed again, laughing when you rub your eyes. “You know, you look so cute when you’re babysitting. So… strong and soft. Makes me wanna have your babies”

“Oh…” you smile, feeling fuzzy when she kisses the spot behind your ear. “Wanda…”

“Yes, malyshka?”

“Keep going” you’re not thinking at all, not when she bites down the skin of your neck, or when she straddles your lap. The only thing that brings you back to reality is the moment she touches under your shirt, and you wince from the pain. “The kids will be home soon…”

“We can have some time to ourselves” she says, and good God she’s such a good kisser you almost forget why she can’t see you naked right now.

“Wanda” you say, taking her wrists between your hands.

“What is it?” she laughs and your heart drops. “Oh, my God! You got a tattoo, didn’t you? I wanted to draw it if you ever got…”

But then her smile disappears, as soon as your bruises come to view. And she looks up.

You’re expecting her to cry, yell, fuss and ask if you’re ok.

But she glares.

“Explain” she demands, voice shaking with what you assume is rage.

I’m so fucking cooked right now.

“I… went down a cliff” you say, avoiding her stare.

“You what?!”

“Ok, it’s not as bad as it sounds! I went to rescue two people, one freaked out and began to move like crazy. So I kinda crashed against the rocks but it’s just a bruise, it barely hur… ouch, Wanda, what the fuck!” you cry when she pinches your side.

“What? I thought it didn’t hurt” she snaps, climbing off your lap and leaving the room, pissed.

“Hey, love, come back here, Wanda!”

“Trouble in paradise?” Pietro says when you reach the kitchen. He’s eating cereal, smirking like this is funny.

“Shut up, Pietro” you say at the same time as Wanda.

“You can’t keep doing this. Lying to me” Wanda says, crossing her arms.

“I thought… I was protecting you. I didn’t want you to worry” you say, in a low voice. “You looked so scared and anxious and knowing I am causing that just… it makes me feel awful”

“That’s not an excuse to lie. I mean, what else have you been keeping from me?” she throws the question in the air as if it’s just hypothetical, but you shift uncomfortably. “What is it?”

“I… called Natasha a few days ago”

“See ya” Pietro stands up, leaving his cereal in the counter.

“Why?” Wanda says, cornering you against the kitchen island.

“Because, I wanted to tell her about our engagement. I didn’t want Yelena to be the one to break the news. She’s still my friend, Wanda” you try to defend yourself, but it comes of as a stupid excuse.

Such an idiot.

With the worst timing possible, the twins arrive with their grandmother. Thankfully, they’re unaware of the tense atmosphere in the room, but Pietro is talking to Ekaterina outside and you can only imagine what she’s thinking.

You’re not good enough for her.

“Are we still going bowling?” Billy asks, pulling his mom’s hand. Wanda smiles, nodding.

“Of course, my boy”

“You go. I should stay. I’m not… in the mood” you ruffle his hair, walking out of the room and upstairs before Wanda can go after you.

—

The problem has been you, all along. That much is clear. Wanda made a beautiful proposal, forgave your screw ups, welcomed you back into her home and you… you lied.

Multiple times.

I hope Darcy doesn’t mind me moving in with her again.

Even if you fix this, is this how you’ll be your entire life? Is it because your parents never had a real relationship? You have no idea what it’s like to be in a healthy partnership, do you?

A soft knock on the door makes you jump up, and you groan, holding your side.

“Are you ok?” Ekaterina eyes you suspiciously, and you nod, looking away.

Did she stay behind to scold you?

“Yeah, I just had a bit of a… work accident. I’m fine”

“Come downstairs. I made grilled cheese” she says, and it’s not a request. So you follow the woman, preparing yourself for what will probably be a shovel talk.

Or a “my daughter can do better than your sorry ass” talk.

“You should have gone bowling. You love it” you comment, eating a piece of sandwich. Though it’s hard to swallow when you feel the lump on your throat.

“Wanda said you were feeling ill. I don’t like to leave my children alone when they need someone to take care of them” she says.

That almost breaks you.

But you stay silent, eating and avoiding her eyes.

“Talk to me” she asks in a soft voice. And in that moment, you can see how much of her is in Wanda.

The love, the softness, the way to comfort people even when she doesn’t know what’s going on.

“I… my mom used to complain whenever I asked for something. Anything. So I don’t know how… to ask. For help. I’m afraid that if I keep getting hurt or making Wanda worried, she’ll see me as a burden” you confess, still not looking at her.

“That’s not who Wanda is, darling”

“I know, but… doesn’t make it easier. To know someone’s waiting home. Or that someone cares. It’s hard to accept love that’s so… pure” you finally say, feeling lighter.

Because that’s exactly it.

Her love is so perfect and so foreign to you, that it’s hard to take it all in. To not be afraid that it won’t go away.

After all, you almost lost her once.

“I guess you already know why Wanda was so mad at me for these past years” Ekaterina says, sitting down in front of you. “It was a difficult position, to respect her father’s wishes. But I didn’t fight him on it because a part of me was afraid she’d hurt too much. The thing is I underestimated her resilience, like you have no idea. She’s been through so much and yet, she’s still the same loving, kind girl that would bring home birds who couldn’t fly”

“Ah, so she has a thing for wounded animals” you joke, but Ekaterina just smiles.

“She doesn’t need you to protect her, Y/N. She needs you to trust her”

“Right. Since you’re already here and we’re having a heart to heart… I just… I’m proposing to Wanda. I mean, I have the ring. I’ve had it for maybe too long now and of course she asked me first. But still, I’d like to ask for your blessing to ask your daughter to marry me. To be a part of your family”

The woman nods, her slender fingers tapping against her chin, as if considering her options.

“How much do you make in a year?”

“Oh, I… with taxes and everything…”

“I’m kidding” she interrupts and you sigh. Unfortunately for you, Ekaterina delivers her jokes with the same tone she uses to scold anyone in the house. “You have my blessing, dear girl. And you’re already part of the family”

“Thank you”

When the kids return, they’re running to their room to pack a bag.

“Didn’t want them to see how my sister kicks your ass” Pietro comments.

“Appreciate it”

“Mom made uncle Pietro cry!” Billy announces when they come back down. You perk up immediately.

“Really? How come, uncle Pietro? Sore loser?”

“She can be more competitive than mama. But hey, you’re the one marrying her” Pietro slaps your back. “Night”

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun, don’t stay up too late and all that”

“We’ll go find Mom to say goodnight, she’s walking Sparky” Tommy says, hugging you.

Of course, maybe she’s still pissed. Or hurt. You decide to give her some space by going to take a bath. It takes a couple of minutes to get out of your clothes, and when you do, Wanda slides right after you.

“So, this is why you were taking so long in the shower these past few days” she whispers. You don’t dare to look back, so all you do is nod, feeling her fingers going over your bruised skin. “I’m still mad”

“I know, my love. I’m sorry”

“And about that call…”

“It was nothing. Just wanted to share the news” you say, pulling the hand that is closer to you to your lips.

“Ok” Wanda mutters against your shoulder. Her lips make you shiver, so you turn around, kissing her until she’s out of breath.

“Don’t push it. I’m still mad” she reminds you and you laugh.

“Right. Help me wash my hair?”

“Of course, dorogoya” she says, her touch soft and full of love.

When you finish your shower, Wanda walks up to her night stand, and hands you the engagement ring you got her months ago.

“Ask me. Whenever you’re ready, wherever you want to. Because I want to tell you, how much I want to marry you. Spend all our lives together. Taking care of each other”

“I will. Soon” you promise, kissing her forehead.

Truth is, you can’t wait to show her how much her love means to you.

--

It’s been a week that feels like a month.

Aside from endless work, you still have to plan the proposal.

“Why not just dinner?” Darcy says as you look at a map of the city. “A scavanger hunt feels… nerdy. Even for you”

“It’s original. Memorable. The kind of story grandkids never get tired of hearing” you tsk, circling the fair. “This could be clue number four”

“Yeah, but if you’re proposing by the park she’ll have to drive all the way to the other side of town” Darcy points out. “And what about the museum where you had your first date?”

“That’s a dead end” Kate announces, and you both turn to look at her. “It’s closed for rennovation, at least for the rest of the month”

“Great” you sigh, plopping down in the couch. “Back to square one”

“Hide the ring in a kebab” Darcy says but you don’t laugh. “Alright, someone needs to get laid”

That’s the other thing. You’re side barely hurts anymore, but Wanda’s been busy with the book release and whenever you have a free moment, you end up thinking about how to propose.

You’re practically dreaming about engagement rings at this point.

“Look, I’m sure you’ll think of something. Take a break from proposal planning, go out to dinner. Trust me” your friend says after a second. You nod, knowing she’s right.

You’re too in your head.

So, when you get home, the first thing you do is kiss your fiancee, smiling against her lips when she pulls you back for a more passionate greeting.

“Missed you” you say, kissing her temple.

“Well, yeah. When you’re not in the hospital you’re in your head, detka. Everything ok?”

“Oh, yeah” you say, hiding yourself as you check the food in the fridge. “No milk?”

“No, I was thinking of going to the store. Mom took the kids to the movies, they’ll probably have dinner at the mall”

“Well, let’s go then. We’ll eat at that Italian place you like so much” you say, knowing she could also use a break from cooking.

Maybe it’s a gut feeling, but you end up taking the ring with you. Who knows, maybe the perfect chance will come when you least expect it.

Or at least that’s what you hope.

It’s a quiet evening, where you talk about everything. Jenny’s starting college, closer to home than she had expected. She’s planning on visiting you with Zack (who’s always tagging along) and you know he’s going to be trouble once he meets the twins. And Pietro, of course.

Then there’s the issue of the book release and the reading happening at the library.

“You’re going to look so cute reading for all those kids” you smile and she hides her face in her hands, the pasta suddenly forgotten.

“You don’t mean that”

“Hell yeah, I do. Our kids will love bedtime story because of you”

“Kids? Multiple, huh? Mama got to you” she laughs, and you shrug your shoulders.

“You’re very pretty and kind and funny. I want some little Wandas running around the house” you smile, imagining a girl with auburn hair and green eyes. Wanda’s eyes soften at that and your heart beats faster.

Is this it? The moment you’ve been waiting for?

“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter says, and you both jump back, the connection suddenly lost.

“Tiramisu?” you say, looking at Wanda. It’s her favorite, after all.

But she declines and still, you ask it to go, knowing she’ll want something sweet later.

The drive back home is silent. For a moment, you think Wanda might be disappointed, and you wish you had taken out the ring. But then her eyes meet yours, and you see quiet tenderness, her smile giving away how content she feels.

Even if the house is about to be crowded again, you can’t help it when you’re both in the kitchen and she looks so perfect. It starts as a kiss, slow, tender, playful.

But then you remember, it feels like forever since you’ve been between Wanda’s legs. So you kneel, not to propose, but to remind her how much you love her in your mouth.

There’s a soft gasp that leaves her lips when you slide her underwear down. Wanda leans against the kitchen counter, fearing her legs will give in any minute, but you hold her, while your tongue darts out.

It’s like heaven, tasting her. You moan, pulling her close and sinking your hands in her flesh to keep her steady.

And though it’s not the time or place, a part of you wants to look up and ask her to marry you right now, because she looks so good all ruined from your mouth and you want her to think about it everytime she comes undone.

You don’t trust yourself, so you keep quiet as she slides down to sit next to you in the floor of the kitchen, coming down from her high with a smile.

“I could have tiramisu now” she says and you laugh, picking up two forks.

“Before everyone comes back home and ask for a bite” you agree, your arm around her shoulder as you both eat straight out of the container.

“Pietro took the kids to his place for the night after the movie with Mom”

“Are we losing custody?” you joke.

“I think they want to give us some space to be… engaged. I’m not complaining, not after that orgasm” she jokes.

“Did you think I was proposing?” you ask, voice suddenly small.

“For a moment, yeah”

“It’s just… you already saw the ring. Wanda, don’t even deny it, I know you. You opened the box, you’ve seen it”

“Mhm” she tries to hide her smirk by taking another bite.

“I want to surprise you. To make it memorable. I’ll make it soon, I promise” you kiss her temple.

“I said whenever you’re ready. I meant that, detka”

“You done with that?” you gesture to the empty container.

“Yeah, I…”

“Good” you pull her up, making her yelp when she ends up in your arms. “Because I’m not done with you”

—

It’s one of those quiet days. Thursdays, when the week is almost over but people still have to drag themselves to pretend like they’re working instead of dreaming about weekend plans.

Kids are getting restless, with summer fast approaching. School break is in the air, and the twins can feel it.

“Hey, you” Pietro greets his sister.

“Hello, trouble”

“Is that what I am?” he steals a cookie, and Wanda rolls her eyes.

“Stop. They’re for Darcy and Y/N. She still has a shift to get through”

Pietro hums, and gives her a strange look.

Something’s up.

“I’m taking the kids to the mall”

“I’m coming with you. I need to get a present for Laura’s birthday… Pietro? Are you listening to me?” she raises her voice as her brother goes upstairs, ignoring her. “Honestly, what a…”

But someone’s at the door and Wanda’s the only one who’ll go get it, obviously.

“Delivery for Miss Maximoff” a man says, handing over a giant bouquet. Wanda blinks several times, balancing the flowers while signing for the order. “Oh, this card comes with it”

“Thanks” she says, going back inside to read it.

I’d kiss you, but the guard said not to touch the art.

With impeccable timing, you call her.

“What is this?” she says, biting her lip, hands grazing the petals.

“Treasure hunt. Clock is ticking” you joke. There’s nothing that gives away where you are now. It’s definitely not work, as Wanda can’t hear the usual sound of people rushing by and pagers going off. “See you soon, my love”

Art.

Your first date.

Wanda smiles, excited. It’s been forever since she’s gone on an adventure like this. When she walks out of the house, holding on to the first clue, she looks up to find Pietro, Billy and Tommy giggling and looking out their window.

“You knew!” she accuses, crossing her arms.

“Hurry!” Pietro taps his watch. “I promise you, you don’t wanna miss it”

“Kids?” Wanda tilts her head, not the scary tilt; but the loving one only her boys get.

“Nu-uh! It’s a secret!” Billy says. Wanda scoffs, and just smiles.

“Fine. I can solve it like that” she snaps her fingers, getting inside the car.

So, first stop is the museum where you had your first date. But the doors are closed, construction equipment blocking most of the space.

Did she get it wrong?

“Hey. You Wanda?” a man with a yellow vest and helmet approaches her. “Here. Second clue or whatever”

“Oh, thank you!” she says, walking back to the car.

“Oh, shoot! Almost forgot. This too” he hands her a ticket. Well, a piece of paper than resembles a ticket. She stares at it, thinking that he may be giving her his trash.

Either way, she has a clue to descipher.

Some people are worth melting for.

Frozen. Movies. Christmas. The ice rink?

No.

Ice cream.

The parlour by the pier you love so much. That makes more sense, as the ice rink is obviously gone by spring and it’s on the other side of town.

She walks around the pier, feeling a little silly as she looks at the benches, or the lamps, hoping to stumble upon the next clue.

“Would you like to try our special?” the girl behind the counter says once she gets to the ice cream shop.

“What is it?” Wanda says, looking around the board but not finding it.

“Only for today. Chocolate chip ice cream, with strawberry jam and gummies. It’s called the Wanda special”

“Of course, yes. One Wanda special, please” she laughs.

The first time she ordered the exact same thing, you couldn’t stop mentioning the weird combination of gummies and ice cream.

“Comes with the second clue” the girl winks at her. “And your ice cream is already paid for, Miss Maximoff”

“She thought of everything, huh?” Wanda says, impressed.

“She did, it’s so cute. And your ticket for completing the second clue”

So, the other piece of paper wasn’t a mistake. This one has a little drawing in it, but it’s not enough.

Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life

Shakespeare.

So, two possibilities. Either the public library downtown, though you have never been there with her… or Odin Theater in Coulson Park.

Wanda goes with the latter because you went together to a Shakespeare in the Park show. It was during fall, and she remembers your arms around her as you watched the play.

It’s a ten minute drive, but the ice cream gives Wanda a sugar high, and she’s more determined than ever to get to the end of this mystery.

Save for some people and children playing around, the park is pretty much empty. Does she have to look around the place for a hidden card?

A man startles Wanda, and she’s about to hit him with her purse when she notices he’s dressed like one of the actors in the play.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and I see you in my dreams” he recites, bowing before her.

Wanda looks at him, frowning. Sleep? Dreams? Is she supposed to go back home, to your room?

“I see you…” the man says, hoping that helps.

“I. See. U. Oh! ICU! The hospital!” Wanda claps, happy that she got it.

“Milady” he hands over another piece of the ticket, and Wanda rushes to her car.

You’re at the hospital, she knows that. So this must be the last stop.

Of course. This is where you took her when Billy hurt his arm, and that was the start of your relationship.

“Miss Maximoff!” the receptionist calls for her as she runs past the front desk, eager to find you. “Doctor Y/L/N is…”

“Hold your horses, Maximoff” Darcy calls for her. “She’s not here”

“This isn’t the end?” Wanda’s shoulders drop.

“Relax. This is the last one” Darcy smiles, handing over the last piece of the ticket.

Wanda takes it, pulling out the rest of the paper and rearranging it.

The ferris wheel.

“Thanks, Darcy!” she hugs the brunette, and though Darcy makes a goblin like noise, she smiles at Wanda’s excitement.

“They’re both so corny, ugh” she mumbles as Wanda leaves the hospital.

The sun is starting to set, but Wanda makes it in record time. Pushing past people who are waiting around for their turn to get on a ride or try their luck with a game, she finally gets to the ferris wheel, though there’s no line and it seems pretty empty.

“Excuse me” she says to a man standing next to it. “I’m looking for…”

“Oh, you’re her. Yeah, finally” he pushes a few buttons, and the wheel begins to turn, until the only occupied passenger car stops.

“Just in time, my love” you smile, standing up and offering your hand.

“You’re absolutely insane” she laughs, sitting next to you and looking out as you begin to go up, stopping when you have the best view of the city.

“Crazy for you” you kiss her temple. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes. I loved the Wanda special. And the guy dressed up in the park. Very theatrical” she holds your hand. “You didn’t have to do all this”

“Well, you only propose once. Hopefully” you grimace, but she laughs, kissing you softly. “Alright, you better look over there or you’ll miss it”

“Miss what?”

Now that it’s darker, Wanda can make out some stars and the crescent moon. And then, fireworks lighting up the sky.

The crowd below you gasps and point up, admiring the show.

“That’s so…”

Wanda turns to look at you, and her hand flies to her mouth when she sees you holding out the ring

“Wanda… will you”

“Yes”

“Let me ask. Please” you roll your eyes. She makes a motion as if sealing her lips. “Alright, then. Wanda, love of my life. We’ve been through so much together. But the truth is… I want more. The rest of my life, loving you, caring for you. All of it. And so, I ask. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“Yes, of course I will!” she laughs, launching herself into your arms. The passenger car sways and you almost drop the ring.

“Babe, ok, thanks for the enthusiasm but we’re up in the air here”

“Sorry” she says, wiping the tears. “I’d love to finally put on my engagement ring”

“I’ve waited for so long…” you smile, sliding it in. “Perfect”

“Can’t think of a better word to describe this day” she smiles, climbing into your lap and kissing you harder.

Neither one notices the wheel turning again until you’re back at the bottom.

“Give us ten more minutes” you say to the guy, handing over some money. “I’m not done with my fiancee just yet”

And with fireworks, the stars and Wanda in your arms, everything in the world is right.

[creamcut]

king! sukuna refuses to remarry

you had not meant to speak of it — truly, you hadn’t. but the thought had long wormed its way into your mind, coiled and quiet at first, until one day it twitched in the shadows behind your eyes even when you dressed, even when you looked at your hands, when you spoke and someone younger, lighter, newer answered in court with a tone that mirrored yours and perhaps carried it better.

you are not decaying, no. you are not brittle or sickly. but you are aging.

it is subtle. a warmth leaving your limbs year by year, nothing that shows in the mirror but feels. the worm of reason tells you it is natural, it is good. the voice of doubt tells you your husband is a god amongst men — should sukuna not wish for a wife who can match him in untouched bloom?

so one evening, when the lamps are low and the sounds of the court are far, you dare it. you couch it in strategy, in duty. as though it is a thing of politics and not your own breaking heart.

"if you were to take a second wife — perhaps as a gesture of goodwill toward the families of kyushu, they have many daughters yet unwed — it would be understood. expected, even. alliances often require..."

the words trail, yet you don’t look at him. not at first. but when you do, the silence is not a gentle thing. it is cold. it is deafening.

and sukuna is looking at you like you have struck him across the mouth.

he does not raise his voice. he does not snarl. but his fingers curl around the armrest of his seat until the wood creaks and his shoulders coil like a drawn bow.

“...you dare suggest,” he says, slowly, voice a grind of stone, “that i trade you like livestock for a gesture?”

you flinch, not because he is angry, but because you had hoped — hoped — he would brush it off, laugh it away. instead, he is furious. "you think i would turn my wife — my wife, the one who held this house up in drought, in war, in bloodshed — for what? for youth?"

he rises. not towards you, but away, stalking a few paces across the chamber. you can see the twitch in his jaw, the way his hands flex like they long for a sword. not at you — never at you — but at the idea. the insult. the absurdity.

"what man," he mutters, half to himself, "chooses to grow old alone?"

he turns back, eyes hot and unblinking. "you think marriage is about perfection? about keeping the face the same, the skin smooth? have i asked for another?" a pause. then, more bitterly: "have i strayed?"

you shake your head, whispering, "no — never—"

"then what have i done to make you think i'd prefer someone new? someone untouched by time, untouched by me?"

you lower your gaze, ashamed. “i only thought… you deserved the option.”

he steps closer. "i do not want options."

and then, quieter. rawer. more difficult for him to say: "i want you."

he doesn’t sit beside you, not yet. doesn’t take your hands, or kiss your brow. he is not that kind of man. but he looks at you with a thunderous finality.

"if i have the blessing to age, then let it be with you—not around you, not away from you. with you."

then he says nothing more. only stands there, chest rising, as though he has laid down his sword and expects you to believe him.

the silence that follows your tears is not heavy—it is alive. it tightens the air between you.

the first drop leaves your eye before you can stop it, sliding down with a traitorous warmth that betrays every ounce of composure you thought you had left. it is quiet. it makes no sound. but sukuna flinches like it had struck him.

you see it — the way his hand hovers, uncertain, just barely raised. he doesn’t move closer, not yet. he’s a man forged of war and wrath, not tenderness. affection doesn’t come easy to him; it’s not that he doesn’t feel, it’s that he does, too much, and never knows where to put it.

his brow furrows. "have i... said something wrong?" his voice, usually sharpened with command, sounds dull. hesitant. you shake your head at once, your throat thick, mouth barely able to shape the words.

“no,” you whisper, wiping quickly at your cheek, “you’ve only said what i think i’ve been waiting to hear.”

he watches you, the way your lashes are wet and your shoulders still tight from trying to hold yourself in. and for a man so bad at showing softness, he doesn’t look away. not even once.

“i’m not crying because you hurt me,” you murmur. “i think… i just needed to know that i mattered to you not despite the years, but with them. that this — us — isn’t just duty. that it’s a choice. every day, still.”

sukuna’s jaw tenses, not in anger now, but in something stranger. something unreadable. the kind of expression that only ever visits his face in the privacy of your chambers, and even then, rarely. he doesn’t speak again. only nods once, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing you.

the conversation fades. the lamps are blown out. the futon waits. and that’s when it happens.

when you’ve laid down, arms wrapped around yourself as they often are out of habit, you feel it: the shift of weight. the slide of him easing down beside you, closer than usual. his hand hovers again, just like before, and this time — it lands. tentative. on your waist, warm and steady.

he’s never been the kind to pull you to him, not in sleep. but tonight, he tries. tonight, he does.

you don’t say anything. just press your hand over his, letting him know that you feel it. that you’re here. and he doesn’t draw back. doesn’t flinch. only exhales once, deep and low, as if anchoring himself in the space you make for him.

and when you close your eyes, the ache in your chest is gone. not replaced, not erased —held.

your marriage had always been a union of strength. but tonight, it is something softer. tonight, it is love — quiet, earned, and real.

[kaitlyn-imagines]

Can I get saja boys x emotional reader? Like reader who gets angry easily or cries easily and maybe both at the same time? Like something happens and reader just starts lashing out while also breaking down crying or something

Omggg, dont call me out, I'm such an emotional person! LOL! Literally, my poor bf has to navigate me crying all the time over silly stuff. We always call it my 'big feelings' haha, so I use that here!

Saja Boys with an Emotional Reader

Jinu:

The first time you burst into tears, he’s so startled that he just goes into overdrive like, “What do you need? What happened? What can I do?”

But as it happens more and more often, he kind of learns that you just have big emotions, and he comes to expect tears every other day.

Keeps travel-sized tissues on hand in case something happens like you spot an old man getting groceries at the store. “He was doing his own shopping, all alone!” you’ll wail.

And he just pets your hair, and wipes the tears from your cheeks like, “sweetheart, I promise you he was fine, he was just trying to figure out what brand of detergent he wanted…”

That is to say, he learns how to navigate your moods pretty quickly, like a captain braving the storm. He loves that you feel things so deeply, especially when it’s coming from a place of boundless empathy.

When he tells you about his past, you tear up instantly. And he just looks at you with an expression of such tortured love and shame, like, “shh, don’t cry sweetheart, least of all for me…”

Abby:

You’re having one of those bad days where everything just seems like it’s going wrong—your phone died, you lost your favorite keychain on the way over, your iced coffee dripped from a loose cap all over your jeans…

You don’t mean to be moody and short, but all that bad luck has made you impatient and you lash out a bit at Abby over something that normally wouldn’t have bothered you

He looks at you, an unappreciative look on his face as his eyebrows narrow. “You don’t have to snap at me,” he’ll huff a little, crossing his bulging arms over his chest.

And he looks so irked that it just sends you over the edge and your burst into tears. “I-I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m so sorry!” and you’re trying to wipe the tears and snot from your face.

And this poor guy just PANICS, grabbing your shoulders all concerned, like “shit, what’s wrong, what did I do??”

He rubs your back and hands you tissues while you cry and rant about your shitty day, and he’s so understanding, doting, patient, and forgiving. “Shh, jagiya, no more tears now. Come, drink some water, you’re probably dehydrated now…you want a sweet treat?”

Baby:

Bro, the first time you cry in front of him, his body just goes RIGID. He stiffens up and is so uncomfortable, just silently looks around for help because he doesn’t know what to do!

“Uhhh…” just pats your back with the most clumsy, unhelpful thumps. He’s bad at comforting people, and frankly, he just hopes you stop crying soon.

It’s a little easier if you’re crying from anger, because at least he understands that a bit better. Let’s you rant and get it out, dropping the occasional, supportive “hmm” and “what a jerk.”

If you’re crying from sadness, he has less experience with it, so he just awkwardly asks if you’re okay or need anything. He relaxes when the tears finally stop, feels like he just put out a fire. What a hero!!!

If you’re crying because somebody hurt you, his reaction shifts completely. He goes rigid, his jaw clenching a bit as a cold lethality flashes in his eyes. His voice is quiet, deceptively calm as he asks you to, “Tell me everything.”

Romance:

Very attentive and in tune with his emotions, so he’s naturally very comforting and good at helping you get everything out.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now…” Rather than just labeling everything as angry or sad, he always helps you find the right words for how you’re feeling. Lonely, disappointed, hurt, annoyed, frustrated, irritated, etc…

Never makes you feel like you’re overreacting or that your emotions are ‘too-much,’ makes sure you always have a shoulder to cry on or someone to rant to.

You’re watching a movie together, and it’s an emotional peak in the film. He hears a sniffle next to him, and looks over to see you leaking like a faucet. How had you been crying so much, and so silently???

“Oh darling, no no,” he’ll immediately pause the movie and grab both of your wet cheeks in his hands. His thumbs swipe away at the salty wet skin, and he coos softly.

Kisses your salty lips until you’re laughing through the tears like, “let me blow my nose first!” and he’s just glad to see you smiling.

Mystery:

Seeing you cry is near agony for him. If you’re feeling down and sad, he’s very touchy, pulling you into his arms and just holding you there as you tremble. Every sob that wracks through your body is like a punch to the gut.

Whispers small words of comfort and love into your ear, rubbing your back, petting your hair, making sure you know through physical touch that he’s there for you.

When you finally get it all out, he’s clingy. Doesn’t want to leave you alone…will cuddle with you for as long as you’ll let him. Follows you around like a dog until he’s 1000% certain you’re feeling better.

If you’re crying out of anger, he’s still pretty touchy…but he’s also barely restraining his own anger. Who made you cry? Swear, they’re his newest, biggest opp. Practically rigid with the thought that someone made you cry.

Even if it was something simple, like someone cut you off on the road. He’s got half a mind to get out of the car and kick a dent into their bumper.

[mischievousmoony]

not? according to plan husband!remus lupin x reader

summary: remus never planned to have kids, only dreamed of it ⊹ 983 warnings: angst w happy ending, fem!reader, reader is pregnant, remus werewolf self loathing

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Remus never wanted kids.

Well, that’s not exactly true. Remus would love to have kids. Especially after you came along, and all his hopes for the future started to center around you. He started daydreaming about a quaint backyard wedding and a small cottage to settle down in. Endless mornings waking up by your side. Having little ones who have his hair and your eyes, raising them up with you, wiping your tears when you send the first one off to Hogwarts.

He dreams of it all.

So, it’s not that he never wanted kids. He does, he really does.

But no matter how much he wanted that future with you, he was certain he could never have it.

It would be unfair to subject a child to a father like him. Kids are supposed to be afraid of imaginary monsters under their beds, not have a real monster for a father.

And what would he do if they turned out like him? How could he knowingly take such a risk?

It’s a vicious condition, especially for a child, which Remus knows all too well.

So, he keeps his dreams to himself. Doesn’t mention how good a mum he thinks you’d be. When you visit the Potters, he pushes down any feelings of longing as he watches you bond with baby Harry. Pretends not to notice the dreamy look in your eyes when he holds Harry in his arms.

Because admitting how much he yearns for kids of your own would only make it harder.

Remus comes home early one day. An odd job he picked up didn’t take as long as it could’ve. He carries a bundle of wildflowers he picked off the street, a pretty gift for his pretty girl, but they’re forgotten on the table when he hears weeping from the bedroom.

“Darling?” he calls softly, pushing open the bedroom door.

You’re curled up into a ball on your bed, head tucked into your elbow. Your whole body tenses up in his presence. You weren’t expecting him so soon.

His chest tightens with worry, brows furrowing as he wonders what could have you in such a state.

Remus crosses over to you quickly, kneeling beside the bed and resting his chin on the mattress, only inches away from your hidden face. He soothes a hand down your side.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, his voice calm and hushed.

You shake your head, whimpering softly, and it breaks Remus’s heart.

“Hey,” he coos, carefully pulling your arm away from your face and tilting your chin up. “Talk to me.”

“No,” you sob, hot tears streaming down your face. “I can’t.”

Remus has never seen you like this. Sure, he’s seen you cry, but it’s never been like this.

“Please,” he begs, his voice taking on a tone of desperation, tears of his own welling in his eyes. “Let me help, darling. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out together.”

He cups your face with both hands, holding you firmly. His eyes bore into yours, like he’s searching them for the cause of your pain.

“You know I’m here for you always. There’s not a thing you can’t trust me with, I swear.”

You’re completely still for a moment, and you almost look stunned. Like even you can’t believe the words that are about to come out of your mouth.

“I’m pregnant,” you whisper, and it’s so quiet that Remus isn’t sure he heard you right. When your face crumbles and more tears come, he knows he had.

He slowly retracts his hands, and you begin to cry harder. He wants to run, get as far away from this as possible. But flashes of that little life he dreamt of play in the back of his mind.

You had your quaint wedding, on a beautiful spring day in the Potters’ backyard. You got your little cottage to grow old in, a small place in the country that you’ve made your own.

There’s just one more piece to the puzzle.

Remus suddenly realizes he stopped holding you, and he hates himself for it. He quickly envelops you in a firm embrace, climbing into the bed with you, rocking you gently.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you weep, clutching on his shirt.

“Shhh, no. None of that. Don’t be sorry, darling girl, it’s—”

He swallows the lump in his throat.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, a reassurance you both need to hear.

He’s scared—no. Terrified. But when he looks underneath that, there’s something warm. Something happy.

He never thought this would happen for him. He never would have intended for it.

But it has. It is happening. How could he not be happy that it’s happening with you?

“No,” you insist. “This isn’t… this can’t… you never wanted this.”

Remus presses his forehead against yours, cupping your cheek with his hand.

“Oh, my girl, you think I don’t want this? Of course I want this. I’m absolutely terrified, and I have a million reasons to be. And a million more reasons to think I don’t deserve it.”

It makes your heart ache that he thinks that.

“Rem-” you start, but he's not finished.

“But I could never truly be upset about this. And I’d never be upset with you for it,” he reassures you firmly, thumb stroking your cheekbone in soothing motions.

He takes a long, shaky breath.

“Listen to me, we’re going to figure this out. Hm? Together,” he promises.

You sniffle. “Yeah.”

“I love you. So much,” he tells you softly, kissing the tip of your nose.

“I love you too, Rem.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Only tonight 2/5

Summary : Lando Norris expected another loud Monaco party after the Grand Prix, what he didn’t expect was her. Charles Leclerc’s little sister, Eléa, dancing like the night was hers to burn. Radiating a freedom he’d never seen before, she wasn’t the quiet girl from the paddock he was used to.

But as the music pulsed and the drinks flowed, something in her laugh didn’t quite ring right. And when she whispered it was her birthday… everything changed. Now Lando make his personal mission to make her birthday unforgivable.

Genre : fluff, consumption of alchool

Pairing : Lando Norris x Leclerc sister (original female character)

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Author note : mega race this weekend for Lando, so happy for him so here a new chapter to celebrate this well deserved win :)

Lando had completely lost count of how many drinks she’d had. He had finaly agree she ordered some coktails after she made this sad look he apparently can't resist. He wasn’t sure she even finished any of them, to be honest. She’d take two sips, get excited about the garnish, or the glass shape, or the tiny cherry floating in the bottom, and then jump to the next one like a distracted butterfly.

Everything amazed her. Everything made her smile.

“Oh my god, this napkin is sooo soft,” Eléa whispered across the table like she’d just discovered silk. “Feel it, Lan. Feel it.”

Lando pressed the napkin between his fingers, chuckling. “Incredible. Revolutionary textile engineering.”

“I’m gonna steal it,” she said, hiding it in her purse with a theatrical wink. “Souvenir.”

He couldn't stop smiling. His face was starting to hurt.

She suddenly leaned over the table again, eyes wide and hopeful. “Do you… do you have a boat?”

Lando blinked. “What?”

“A boat!” she said, like it was the most obvious next topic. “Do you have one?”

He hesitated. “Why?”

She leaned her chin on her hands, dreamy-eyed. “Because I love boats. Like, love love. And it’s Monaco. And it’s night. And if you have a boat, then this could be the most perfect birthday ever.”

His heart did something stupid in his chest.

She was beaming at him now. “Do you have one?” she asked again, and this time her voice was all softness and hope.

He opened his mouth to say no.

But what came out was: “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got one down at the harbor.”

She gasped so loudly the people at the next table glanced over. “No way. Really?”

Lando grinned, nervously. “Yeah. It’s… small. But nice.”

He didn’t know why he lied.

No, actually, he did. It was the way she looked at him. Like he was magic. Like he’d already made her birthday.

“Can we go?” she said, nearly bouncing in her seat. “Please, Lando, please, please, I want to see it, I want to see the sea, I want to float.”

There was no universe in which he could say no to her right now.

So he stood and dropped some bills on the table. “Let’s go birthday girl.”

Eléa squealed, launched herself over the table, and kissed his cheek.

And that was it. He was done. Confidence at 110%. No way out now.

The taxi ride to the harbor was full of her pressing her nose to the window and pointing at everything.

“Monaco looks like a jewel box,” she murmured, kicking off her heels and tucking her bare feet beneath her. “We’re so lucky to live in a jewel box.”

Lando was only half-listening, too busy going through every possible excuse for what he was about to do.

He didn’t have a boat.

But Max Verstappen did.

And Lando, thanks to one chaotic post-GP night last summer, knew the exact harbor location, the model, and the security code to get past the private dock gate.

It was fine. Probably fine.

They arrived, and Eléa all but skipped across the marina, her heels dangling from one hand. “Where is it, where is it, oh wait, this is private! There’s a gate!”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me…” Lando stepped up to the keypad, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and typed in the code.

The lock clicked.

The gate swung open.

And Eléa’s jaw dropped. “NO. WAY.”

Lando turned around, arms out. “Ta-da.”

“That's your boat?” she gasped, staring at Max’s sleek, gleaming superyacht like it was the Titanic and she was Rose. “It’s massive! It’s not a boat, it’s like...like a floating palace!”

He scratched the back of his neck. “It… has good lighting.”

She sprinted ahead, arms spread wide, barefoot on the deck as she twirled under the stars. “This is insane," she breathed, spinning in place. “Wow... Look at this view.”

He just stared at her.

She was glowing, flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, a little off-balance due to her tipsy state but full of this uncontainable joy. Her hair was wild in the breeze, her dress catching moonlight in waves.

It wasn’t the boat, or the view.

It was her.

“You wanna sit down?” he said softly.

She nodded, dropping onto one of the cushioned lounge benches with a sigh. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders again, then stepped into the small kitchenette below deck.

Max always kept emergency supplies, Red Bulls, of course, and more importantly, water.

He came back with a bottle and handed it to her. “Here. Hydration break.”

She looked up at him with glassy eyes and took it gratefully, uncapping it with a wobbly twist. “You’re taking care of me.”

“Someone’s got to.”

She leaned back against the seat, jacket wrapped around her, sipping water and looking up at the sky.

“The stars are so bright tonight,” she whispered.

He sat beside her, shoulder just barely brushing hers. “Yeah. They are.”

“I think,” she murmured, turning her face toward him, “this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

And the way she said it, soft, surprised, grateful, it nearly undid him. And right then, Lando knew. He would’ve stolen ten yachts if it meant seeing that smile again.

The stars had shifted overhead by the time Eéa began to slow down. The sea was calm, rocking gently beneath Max’s boat, the only sound was the water lapping quietly against the hull.

Lando hadn’t moved in a while. He sat beside her on the deck bench, jacket still wrapped around her shoulders, his body warm and still and completely alert.

She’d gone quiet for a bit, sipping the rest of the water, then slowly curled her legs beneath her and leaned, very gently, against him.

“Cold?” he asked, voice hushed.

She nodded without words and snuggled closer, cheek resting lightly on his shoulder.

He stared straight ahead, heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

The soft hum of the marina filled the silence between them, but Eléa was still awake, her breathing slow but even, her fingers brushing the fabric of his jacket like she was grounding herself.

And then she spoke again, quietly, her voice rougher now, sleepier.

“Did you know,” she murmured, “that Monaco has more yachts than grocery stores?”

Lando chuckled under his breath. “Is that a fact?”

“Totally. Googled it once when I was drunk.”

He smiled, tilting his head slightly toward her. "You get drunk often ?"

She hummed. “Just when feel lonely...Like tonight, especially tonight.”

He didn’t answer.

She kept going, her voice soft and meandering. “It’s weird. People think I have this perfect life. Monaco. Fast cars. Brother in F1. But no one asks me what I actually like. What makes me excited.”

He glanced at her. “Then tell me.”

She shifted just slightly, her temple pressing into his shoulder. “I love old books. The ones that smell like dust and ink. I love thunderstorms when I’m in bed. I love baking, even though I suck at it. And French fries dipped in mayonnaise, don’t judge.”

“I’m not judging,” he whispered. “I’m memorizing.”

She smiled softly. “That’s a good line.”

He swallowed, mouth dry.

And then she sat up a little, turning to face him. Her eyes, still glassy, were locked on his.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

The question hit him like a slap.

“What?” he said, blinking.

She tilted her head, innocent and bold. “Do you have a girlfriend? Or maybe… a boyfriend?”

He coughed, heart skipping. “No. I don’t. Why?”

She blinked in surprise, like she hadn’t expected that. “Really?”

“Really.”

“But that’s weird,” she said, frowning thoughtfully. “You’ve got fast cars, a sweet smile… and a boat.”

He laughed, covering his face for a moment. “You really think the boat’s a dealbreaker, huh?”

She shrugged with a grin. “I mean, yeah, when I was younger I always said I will marry a guy with a boat when I will get older, it's a very serious request."

All he could think about was that she’d called his smile sweet. And that he very not owned a boat, but maybe he will have to buy one now.

When he looked up again, her expression had shifted, soft, curious.

“What about you?” he asked carefully. “Anyone special?”

Her face changed.

The joy dropped off her features like a mask slipping, revealing something smaller and bruised underneath.

She hesitated. Then said, “I did. Once. He dumped me.”

Lando’s stomach twisted. “I’m sorry.”

“He was a jerk,” she said quickly, brushing it off with a fake laugh. “Said I was too closed off and then too intense sometimes.”

Lando didn’t know which part made him angrier.

“And since then?” he asked gently.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I think guys are afraid. Or just not interested. Or… maybe I’m just hard to like.”

He turned sharply to her, brow furrowed. “That’s not true.”

She gave a small, crooked smile. “Boys are lame anyway. And none of them have a boat.”

He grinned, but before he could reply, she added, more quietly:

“Also… it’s hard when your brother is Charles Leclerc. The golden boy. The prince of Monaco.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy.

“No guy can really compete with that,” she said softly. “And no one wants to be compared.”

He looked at her then and see everything. The way she was trying so hard to keep the edges of her heart together. The way her voice cracked just a little. The way her eyes were wide and vulnerable and quietly begging to be seen.

She glanced at him, and then smiled.

“Well,” she said, eyes bright again, “maybe you could compare.”

He blinked. “Me?”

She nodded, curling back into his side again. “Yeah. I like you.”

Lando didn’t breathe for five full seconds.

“You’re drunk,” he said softly, trying to laugh but failing. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” she murmured, not lifting her head. “I do mean it.”

“Eléa…”

“No, really,” she said, voice looser now, but still firm. “I think you’re… really cute. Like, since always. I just never had the guts to tell you.”

He turned, just enough to see the side of her face. She looked half-asleep but so honest.

“The alcohol helps,” she added. “Makes me brave.”

Then she sighed and nestled further into him, like she belonged there.

“It’s okay though,” she whispered. “You don’t have to say anything. I know it’s not… reciprocated. You’d never go for a girl like me.”

His heart squeezed.

“That’s not true,” he started, voice low, rough, full of something that was almost breaking out of him.

But he didn’t finish.

He couldn’t.

Because she was drunk. Because she was Charles's little sister and before tonight he had never had the chance to really talk to her.

And maybe she wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow.

And maybe she didn’t even mean it, not really. Maybe it was just the buzz, the loneliness, the stars.

So he said nothing.

And she didn’t seem to notice.

Instead, she lifted her head and turned to him with wide, sleepy eyes. “Do you know what I want for my birthday?”

He blinked, thrown off. “What?”

Her lips curled into a tiny smile. “A kiss under the stars.”

He stared at her, stunned. “Wait… what?”

“I used to dream about it,” she said, laughing softly, eyes distant now. “When I was little. I wanted a movie moment, you know? One perfect kiss, outside, under the sky. Just once.”

She sighed again. “But boys are dumb. And boring. And cowards. So it never....”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence.

Because Lando leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy.

It was slow, careful, like pressing a fingertip to the surface of still water, waiting to see if it rippled.

Eléa froze for a moment, caught by surprise.

And then, with a soft, startled noise in her throat, she kissed him back.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

And when they pulled apart, her eyes were shining.

“Thanks, Lan,” she whispered, forehead resting gently against his. “You’re nice.”

Then she curled into him again, arms tucking under his jacket, her body warm and soft against his.

Lando stared straight ahead at the sea, every nerve on fire.

“I’m not just nice,” he whispered, so quiet it barely reached the air. “I wanted to. God, I wanted to.”

But she didn’t reply.

She was already drifting into sleep, her breath slow and even, her fingers curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt.

And Lando just held her, still, silent, heart full and aching, under a sky full of stars.

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[edsbug]

come back to bed

pairing: johnny storm x gn!reader

summary: johnny helps reader fall asleep on a restless night. (wc: 1.5K)

contains: reader has insomnia, mention of sleeping meds not working, johnny being a sweetheart, hurt/comfort.

The city had finally gone quiet.

It was a rare thing, New York still and hushed beneath a black sky. From the bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows, the skyline glittered with a scatter of lights that shimmered like stars had forgotten where the sky ended.

Inside the Baxter Building, the rooms were dark and quiet, except for the low buzz of a city that never sleeps.

You couldn’t sleep either.

The sheets were warm and soft against your skin, disturbed only by the gentle rise and fall of the man beside you. Johnny slept like someone who trusted the world. One arm thrown carelessly over his head, the other half-curled like he might reach for you even in his dreams. His face was peaceful, lit faintly by moonlight, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheek.

You watched him for a while, hoping maybe the rhythm of his breath would pull you under too.

It didn’t. It hadn’t for weeks.

The sleeping meds had worked at first. The calm, drowsy lull had been a relief, until they’d stopped working, gradually, like a tide pulling back without warning. Now your thoughts stayed up long past dusk, pacing the edges of reason. You had learned not to wake Johnny. He already worried enough.

So you moved quietly.

The sheets whispered as you slid out of them, rising in one smooth motion, barefoot and silent on the polished floor. You padded to the edge of the room, where a glass door led to the balcony perched high above the city.

The night air kissed your skin, cold and sharp. You stepped outside, wrapping your arms around yourself as you leaned against the railing, looking out. The city shimmered below like a living circuit board.

From this high up, you’d think it would all feel lighter. That all the expectations, the worries, the fears, would feel less. But it doesn’t. It sticks with you no matter where you go, always inside you.

You don’t hear the door open behind you. Just feel it — a shift in the air, the flicker of warmth that doesn’t belong to the cold night.

“Couldn’t sleep again?”

You turn toward the voice.

Johnny stands in the doorway, his hair a soft mess, pyjamas pants riding low on his hips. He lifts a hand slightly, and at his fingertip, a flame dances small, golden, alive. It throws warm shadows across his face, lighting his frame in the darkness.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you say.

“You didn’t,” he murmurs, stepping forward. “You just weren’t there.”

He comes to stand beside you, the flame still flickering like a lantern he’s carried through the dark to find you.

“I’m okay,” you lie.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just flicks the flame out and leans on the railing, his arms folded loosely. The dark returns, broken only by the city lights below.

“It’s the meds again?”

You nod, not looking at him. “They stopped working.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” he asks softly.

You shrug, arms still wrapped around yourself. “Didn’t want to make it a thing.”

Johnny exhales softly, and when you glance over, his brow is furrowed, not angry, just worried. His eyes search your face like he’s trying to see the parts you’re keeping tucked away.

“Everything about you is a thing to me,” he says, voice low. “You hurting? Definitely a thing.”

You don’t answer right away. It’s hard to, with your throat tightening like that. So you just look back out, watching the city flicker, pretending the wind is what makes your eyes sting.

Then his hand finds yours. He laces your fingers together, the heat of his palm soaking into your skin. A quiet, grounding warmth.

You let out a slow breath, one that’s been caught in your ribs for too long. And for a moment, you don’t feel like you’re falling through your thoughts anymore. You’re here. Warm. Held.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”

Your voice was smaller than you meant it to be. “I know.”

You turn toward him slightly, as he lifts a hand to your cheek. His thumb brushes just under your eye, delicate, absentminded. Like he’s learning your face all over again in the dark.

He kisses your temple first. Then the curve of your jaw. Then, when you turn your head just slightly to meet him, he kisses your lips.

It’s slow, like he’s not in a rush. Like you’re the only thing he wants to focus on right now. The kind of kiss that anchors you. One that says, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

When he pulls back, your forehead stays pressed to his.

“Come back to bed,” he murmurs. “It’s freezing.”

“I’ll just lie there again.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, soft and sure. “Not if I help.”

The thing inside you — tight, anxious, wired — is still buzzing, but it slows a little at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t push again. Just lets the words hang there, hand still on your cheek like he’s holding you in place without holding you down.

Eventually, you nod.

He guides you inside gently, his hand on the small of your back. He lets go only long enough to close the balcony door, then guides you further into the room. He moves with certainty, like he’s done this before. Like he knows exactly how to coax you out of the corners your mind gets trapped in.

He moves toward the corner of the room where his turntable sits on its stand, a record collection stacked neatly beneath it.

He flips through the records with practiced ease, finally settling on one he knows you love. Soft, calming instrumentals that sounds like they were written for this hour.

“C’mere,” he says gently, guiding you back to the bed. The sheets are still rumpled from before. He pulls back the covers and slides in, then opens his arms without a word.

You go without hesitation.

You curl in facing him, your forehead nearly brushing his, noses almost touching. His arm wraps around your waist, fingers resting at the small of your back, thumb making lazy circles like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

The record plays low from across the room, soothing your mind.

You don’t talk much after that. You just breathe together. His hand at your back, your hand on his chest. His thumb still moving in that slow, grounding way. The world shrinks down to that space between you, a few inches of shared air, his breath warm against your lips, the soft rustle of sheets as your bodies shift closer without even thinking.

At some point, your eyes flutter closed.

The buzzing in your chest quiets, not gone, but soothed. The thoughts don’t claw so hard. The inside of your head doesn’t feel like it’s on fire anymore.

You feel his lips brush your forehead, light as a feather. Then the bridge of your nose. Finally, he rests his own forehead against yours, like there’s no place he’d rather be.

Still breathing. Still holding you.

And eventually, impossibly, you do fall asleep.

Not because everything is fixed.

But because you don’t have to face it alone.