#I watched this without expecting anything

[sosa2imagines]

We are in this together...

Warning- Angst, martial problems, assault at workplace, mean boss, miscommunication.

You never imagined that love could feel like this.

Raw, tender, and yet so fleetingly out of reach. The first six months of your relationship with Bucky had been nothing short of magical. He was sweet, attentive, and utterly devoted. When he proposed, it felt like your heart had found its forever home. Marriage only strengthened that bond, and for the first year, life together was a dream.

After every mission, Bucky would come straight home, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw you waiting for him. He’d sweep you into his arms, murmuring how much he missed you. The nights would be filled with whispered stories of his day, and the mornings with lazy kisses.

But then, something changed.

At first, it was subtle. One night, instead of coming home after a mission, Bucky texted, “Gonna hang with the team for a bit. See you tomorrow, doll.”

You smiled at the message, reminding yourself that he’d had a rough few weeks. Surely, he deserved some time with the team. When he came home the next day, you greeted him with open arms, brushing aside the faint sting of his absence.

But it didn’t stop there.

Every mission began to follow the same pattern, a quick text, a brief explanation, and days spent waiting for his return. He’d still come back eventually, wrapping you in his familiar warmth, but the rhythm of your lives had shifted.

The bed felt colder without him. Dinners grew quieter. You found yourself pacing the living room, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for an update.

When you finally gathered the courage to ask him about it gently and carefully, he dismissed your concern with a frustrated sigh.

“I just need some time to unwind with the team, alright? You’re making this into a bigger deal than it is!”

The sharpness in his tone cut deeper than you expected.

So, you stopped asking.

You told yourself it was okay, that this was just a phase. He needed space, and you wanted to respect that. But the loneliness crept in like a cold draft, and you couldn’t ignore it.

The worst part was that no one else seemed to notice. At the compound, the team talked about how happy and in love you both were. Natasha teased Bucky about how eager he always seemed to get home to you.

You wanted to laugh at the irony.

You didn’t tell them the truth. Not because you didn’t trust them, but because you didn’t know how to put it into words. How could you explain that the man who once couldn’t wait to be by your side now seemed so distant?

One night, after waiting for hours, you curled up on the couch, his favorite blanket wrapped around your shoulders. The television buzzed faintly in the background, but you weren’t really watching.

You stared at your phone, willing it to light up with a message. Anything. But the silence stretched on.

When Bucky finally walked through the door the next day, you greeted him with a soft smile, hiding the hurt deep within your chest. You didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to push him further away.

“Hey doll…” he said, dropping his bag by the door.

“Hey…” you replied, your voice steady despite the ache in your heart.

And so the cycle continued.

The cracks in your marriage weren’t gaping fissures, they were small, subtle fractures that had begun to quietly chip away at everything you’d built together.

Bucky had been so adamant about having a home, just the two of you. You’d offered to live in the compound, even reassured him that you didn’t mind being surrounded by the team. You loved them like family, and the energy of the compound had always made you feel safe.

But he’d been resolute, “I want a place that’s ours, doll. Somewhere quiet, away from the chaos.”

You’d smiled at his determination, thinking it was sweet. You didn’t need the white picket fence or the quaint suburban dream, but if it made him happy, it made you happy.

For a while, it did.

But now, it felt like you were living in a shell of a dream.

Bucky didn’t realize how hollow the house felt when he wasn’t there. How the silence pressed down on you like a weight. You spent your days going through the motions, trying to fill the void he left behind after every mission.

And it wasn’t just his absence, it was the loneliness that followed you everywhere, even when he was home. He didn’t ask about your day anymore, didn’t notice the way your shoulders slumped or how you fidgeted with your hands when you were nervous.

The one person you’d always relied on was slowly slipping away from you.

You thought about bringing it up again, about telling him how you felt. But the memory of his irritation the last time held you back. You didn’t want to push him, didn’t want to seem needy or clingy. So, you buried your feelings, telling yourself that this was just a rough patch.

Meanwhile, work was becoming a nightmare.

Your boss had started making comments. Offhand, seemingly harmless, but enough to make your skin crawl. A hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment too long. Compliments that felt less like appreciation and more like something sinister.

You wanted to tell Bucky. You wanted to see the fire in his eyes, the way his protective instinct would flare up whenever he thought someone was mistreating you.

But he wasn’t there.

When he did come home, his mind was elsewhere. You’d try to start a conversation, but his replies were curt, distracted. He’d drop into bed with a heavy sigh, barely sparing you a glance before falling asleep.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you, you knew he did. But somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten how to show it.

And you couldn’t blame him entirely.

You saw the way his face lit up when he talked about the team, about the camaraderie they shared after a successful mission. It was the kind of joy that used to fill your home, too.

You wondered if he missed his bachelorhood, those carefree days of laughter and bonding with his friends. Maybe he didn’t realize how much he’d given up when he chose this life with you. Maybe he regretted it.

The thought clawed at your chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him.

So, you stayed quiet.

You carried the weight of your days alone, retreating further into yourself. You told yourself you didn’t want to burden him, that he had enough on his plate. But deep down, you were terrified of what his answer might be if you asked him outright.

“Are you happy with me? With us?”

The house was no longer a home. It was a waiting room, a place where you counted the hours and days until he came back, only to feel lonelier when he did.

You stood in the kitchen one evening, staring at the untouched plate of food on the table. Your appetite had long since disappeared, replaced by a gnawing ache that no amount of distraction could soothe.

The sound of the front door opening startled you. Bucky walked in, his hair damp from the rain, his expression tired.

“Hey.” he said, barely glancing your way. He dropped his bag by the door and headed to the bedroom without another word.

You didn’t follow him.

Instead, you sank into the nearest chair, your head in your hands. The weight of everything you’d been holding inside finally broke through, tears spilling silently down your cheeks.

The worst part wasn’t that he didn’t see you crying.

The worst part was that he didn’t even notice.

The compound buzzed with life, laughter echoing through the halls as the team celebrated yet another successful mission. For Bucky, this had become his sanctuary, a place where he could unwind, shed the weight of his past, and lose himself in the camaraderie of his friends.

Natasha sat across from him, swirling a glass of wine, her sharp eyes trained on him. She noticed the way he laughed at Sam’s jokes, how relaxed he seemed, but something felt off.

“Where’s Y/n?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the chatter.

Bucky blinked, momentarily caught off guard, “She’s fine. At home.” He shrugged.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, “Alone?”

He waved her off, “She’s okay. She likes her space.”

Natasha didn’t buy it, “You’ve been here more than usual, Barnes. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze, “It’s fine, Nat. Don’t make it a thing.”

She narrowed her eyes but let it drop for now.

Meanwhile, at your workplace, everything fell apart.

Your boss’s behavior had been escalating, his comments growing bolder, his touches more invasive. You’d tried to ignore it, to handle it on your own, but today he crossed the line.

He cornered you in the break room, his hands gripping your arms as he leaned in too close, his breath hot and disgusting against your skin.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t act like you don’t want this.”

Panic surged through you, but you fought back. Your hand found the edge of your laptop, and without thinking, you swung it at him, the sharp crack of plastic and metal connecting with his head echoing in the room.

He stumbled back, cursing, calling you slut and many other things but you ran.

Your feet carried you to the one place you thought you’d be safe.

The compound.

The drive was a blur, your heart pounding in your chest as tears blurred your vision. All you wanted was your husband, his arms around you, his voice telling you it was going to be okay.

But when you arrived, your world shattered all over again.

Through the large windows of the common room, you saw them. Bucky, relaxed and laughing, a drink in his hand. He was surrounded by the team, but your eyes locked on the young trainee leaning too close to him, her hand brushing his arm as she laughed at something he said.

Your breath hitched.

You’d never doubted Bucky’s loyalty, but seeing him like this, so carefree, so oblivious to the storm inside you, broke something in you.

You froze, rooted to the spot as the trainee leaned in, clearly flirting, her hand lingering on Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t push her away, though he didn’t encourage her either. He just let it happen, a small smile tugging at his lips as he sipped his drink.

Your chest tightened, the air around you feeling suffocating. This wasn’t the man who used to race home to you after every mission, who couldn’t wait to tell you how much he missed you.

You turned and ran.

Back home, the silence welcomed you like an old friend. You stumbled into the bathroom, your clothes still clinging to you as you sank to the shower floor. The cold tiles bit into your skin, but you didn’t care. You turned the water on, letting it cascade over you, freezing and unrelenting.

The tears came in waves, the events of the day crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Your boss’s vile hands, the fear that gripped you, the look on Bucky’s face as he laughed with his team, it was too much.

You wrapped your arms around your knees, your sobs lost in the rush of water.

Back at the compound, Natasha had had enough. She watched the trainee closely, her sharp instincts picking up on every calculated move she made toward Bucky.

When the girl leaned in again, Natasha’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “That’s enough!”

The trainee blinked, startled, “What? I wasn’t…”

“Out!” Natasha ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The trainee stammered something, but Natasha’s glare silenced her.

“You’re done here. Pack your things and leave the compound by tomorrow.”

Steve watched the exchange, his brows furrowed. Once the trainee scurried off, he turned to Bucky, “What the hell, Buck? You didn’t think that was inappropriate?”

Bucky shrugged, clearly annoyed, “It’s not a big deal. I wasn’t flirting back.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, “It is a big deal. You’re married. What the hell is going on with you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “I’d never cheat on her, Steve. You know that. She knows that.”

But Steve wasn’t convinced, “Does she? Because from where I’m standing, you’re barely around to remind her.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t respond.

Neither Steve nor Natasha knew just how deep the damage had already gone.

The days blurred into a haze of hollow routines and sleepless nights. You’d managed to get through the aftermath of your boss’s attack in one piece, but the scars it left on your mind and heart were harder to ignore.

It was Tony who first noticed something was wrong. You hadn’t intended to tell him, but when he called to check in on you, his usual playful tone laced with genuine concern and you broke.

Between sobs, you told him everything.

The line went silent for a moment, and then his voice came through, steady but seething with anger, “Pack your things. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Tony, no. I can’t…”

“Sweetheart…” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument, “You’re family. Do you hear me? Family. And no one gets to treat my family like that.”

The next day, Tony and Pepper arrived at your doorstep. You were still raw, trembling as you recounted the incident in more detail. Pepper wrapped you in a warm hug, her soft words of comfort threatening to break down the walls you’d built around yourself.

“We’ll get you out of there.” she promised, her hand stroking your hair, “You don’t have to go back.”

Tony, true to his word, handled everything. He contacted your company’s HR department, made sure your resignation was swift and final, and ensured your former boss faced the consequences of his actions.

Pepper offered you a job at Stark Industries, something she said would align perfectly with your skills. But you hesitated.

“I can’t… I don’t want to burden you…” you said, wringing your hands.

Tony rolled his eyes, though his expression softened, “Burden? You’re like my sister, Y/n. You don’t ‘burden’ me. Now, take the damn job, or I’ll be forced to invent one just to keep you around.”

His words tugged at your heart, but you made them promise one thing, “Don’t tell Bucky. Please.”

Tony’s jaw tightened at your request, but he nodded reluctantly, “Fine. But only because you asked. He doesn’t deserve you keeping this from him, though.”

Unbeknownst to you, Tony confided in Natasha, unable to shake the worry gnawing at him. The moment she heard what had happened, her eyes flashed with fury.

“She doesn’t want him to know?” Natasha asked, pacing Tony’s workshop.

“Apparently not.” Tony replied, leaning against his desk, “And judging by the way Barnes has been acting lately, I can’t blame her.”

Natasha’s lips thinned. She vowed to keep your secret but decided to keep an even closer eye on Bucky.

Meanwhile, you tried to piece your life back together. You took the job with Pepper, though it felt like every step forward was weighed down by the nightmares that now plagued your nights.

The dreams were vivid, cruel reenactments of the attack. In them, you weren’t fast enough, weren’t strong enough. You’d wake up gasping for air, drenched in sweat, your hands trembling as you clutched the sheets.

You wanted to reach for Bucky, to feel his arms around you, to hear him tell you it was just a dream. But the bed beside you was empty.

Most nights, you stayed awake, unable to face the terror that waited for you in sleep. You buried yourself in work, trying to keep your mind occupied, but the exhaustion weighed heavily on you.

Bucky’s absence only made it worse.

He came home occasionally, offering you a distracted kiss on the cheek or a tired smile before retreating to the bedroom. He didn’t notice the dark circles under your eyes or the way your hands shook when you handed him a cup of coffee.

You tried to hide it, plastering on a brave face whenever he was around. But the weight of carrying it all alone was crushing.

One night, after yet another nightmare, you sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. The silence of the house was deafening, pressing down on you like a suffocating fog.

You thought about calling Natasha or even Tony, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to remind them of how weak you felt.

So, you swallowed the pain and carried on, day after day, night after night. But inside, you were unraveling.

The knock on your door was unexpected. You hesitated for a moment before opening it to find Natasha standing there, her sharp green eyes scanning you with concern.

“Hey, love.” she said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation, “You didn’t answer my texts.”

You’d forgotten. Your phone had been buried under a pile of papers for days, silenced to avoid the world.

“Sorry, I’ve been… busy…” you mumbled, brushing a hand through your disheveled hair.

Natasha’s gaze swept over you, taking in the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, and the slight tremor in your hands. Her expression softened, and she gently placed a hand on your arm, “Tony told me...”

Your stomach dropped. You turned away, the shame curling in your chest like a vice, “Nat, I…”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted, her voice steady but kind, “Your secret’s safe. I’m not here to push you, but I am here to help.”

The dam broke. You sank onto the couch, tears spilling down your cheeks as you finally let go of everything you’d been holding in. Natasha sat beside you, her presence steady and grounding, letting you cry without judgment.

When the tears subsided, she spoke, “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. You don’t have to, Y/n. Let me help you.”

With her encouragement, you agreed to see a therapist she trusted, someone discreet, someone who understood the unique struggles of those close to the Avengers.

The sessions were hard, each one peeling back layers of pain you’d buried deep. But for the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Natasha stayed in close contact, checking in on you regularly. She didn’t push, didn’t pry, but her quiet support was a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

Meanwhile, Bucky returned from his latest mission, tired but in high spirits. He dropped his bag in the common room, greeted by the usual banter from the team.

But Steve wasn’t smiling.

“Hey, Buck. Got a minute?” Steve’s tone was calm, but his eyes were serious.

Bucky shrugged, “Sure, what’s up?”

Steve led him to one of the quieter corners of the compound, his arms crossed as he faced his best friend, “Why don’t you go home anymore?”

Bucky blinked, surprised by the question, “What are you talking about? I go home.”

“Not after missions. You stay here, hanging out with us, but you never invite Y/n. And when you do go home, it’s for a day or two at most.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his defenses rising, “She doesn’t mind. She likes her space.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, “Does she? Or is that just what you tell yourself so you don’t feel guilty?”

Bucky frowned, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face before he brushed it aside. “Steve, it’s not a big deal. She knows I’m not going anywhere. She’s fine.”

“Is she?” Steve pressed, his voice rising slightly, “Because I don’t think you’ve even noticed what’s going on with her. You’re so caught up in the team, in reliving your ‘bachelor days,’ that you’ve completely forgotten what it means to be a husband.”

The words hit Bucky like a punch to the gut, but he masked it with irritation, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve stepped closer, his blue eyes sharp, “Don’t I? Y/n was willing to live here in the compound, to be part of this chaos with you. But you wanted the house, the space, the life you said you both deserved. And now, you’re the one ignoring it.”

Bucky looked away, his jaw clenched, “I’m not ignoring her. I just… I need this, Steve. The missions, the team, it’s the only thing that makes me feel normal.”

Steve sighed, his voice softening, “I get that, Buck. I really do. But you’re not the only one in this marriage. You made a commitment to her. And right now, you’re breaking it.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding.

Bucky didn’t respond, his thoughts swirling. Deep down, he knew Steve was right. But admitting it was another thing entirely.

At home, you sat by the window, staring out at the darkened street. Natasha’s words echoed in your mind, urging you to take things one step at a time. But as the days stretched on and the nights grew colder, the loneliness crept in again.

You wondered if Bucky even noticed you were gone, not just physically, but emotionally.

And for the first time, you wondered if he ever would.

The thought struck Bucky out of nowhere during breakfast at the compound. He realized he hadn’t been to your workplace in months, hadn’t seen where you spent your days or even asked how things were going. Guilt prodded at him. He decided to surprise you, to make amends for all the time he’d been away.

Pulling up to your old workplace, he entered with a small smile, half-expecting to see your familiar face light up at the sight of him. But as he approached the reception desk and asked for you, the receptionist gave him a puzzled look.

“Y/n? She doesn’t work here anymore.”

Bucky blinked, stunned, “What do you mean? When did she quit?”

The receptionist shrugged, “A couple of weeks ago, I think. You’d have to check with HR.”

Bucky left in a daze, the receptionist’s words looping in his mind. You’d quit? Why hadn’t you told him? Where were you working now?

What happened to you, that he missed so much? Was he really that absent?

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan

@saiyanprincessswanie @mercurial-chuckles

@emerald-writes @redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans @gracescor3

@ghostlythinggoingaround @winterssecretgirl @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @zuri-767-666

@geeky-politics-46 @dexter99 @calwitch

@caplanreblogsfics @winterslove1917

@pono-pura-vida @renegadesgirl1991 @iwudbutnah @ghalouha @sebastians-love @wintrsoldrluvr @ordelixx @baw1066

@bucks-babe @lolzies123r @kandis-mom @purplecolordeer @avioletkurt @sebastians-love

@pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss

@kpopgirlbtssvt @baw1066 @hawkeyes-queen @soelstress @eugene-emt-roe @adenewton @fckwritersblock @chocolatereignz @danzer8705

@peaches1958 @sebbymybaby21

[fear-is-truth]

⋮ ⌗ BATBOYS REACTION TO . . .

╰┈➤ ( finding out you’re pregnant with their baby )

contains : f!reader · pregnancy · fluff ┆ headcanons incl: b.wayne ◟ j.todd ◟ d.grayson ◟ t.drake

BRUCE WAYNE .ᐟ

he’d thought about this, in abstraction. not in active terms, but the notion was there nonetheless; archived along with the other possibilities. now it’s here, spoken aloud and no longer theoretical. a man of his discipline ought to default to logistics: security protocols, press containment, revisions to the trust (he is a billionaire, after all). and those thoughts are there, somewhere, waiting their turn. but no, those aren’t what emerge first. you’ve given him many things: love, direction, the rare condition of being known. and now this: a private possibility, once relegated to idle thought, is tangible. yours and his; no longer deferred. it makes sense in a way very few things do. bruce looks at you and thinks, rather plainly, yes.

JASON TODD .ᐟ

his first question is whether you’re alright. there’s nothing rhetorical about it; he needs the answer before anything else can take shape. the second—are you sure?—gives him time to gather his thoughts. not about the facts, he’s already accepted those. he’s tracing out the possible outcomes, running the numbers on what this means for you, for the life you could’ve had without him in it. and what it might cost you to keep him involved. jason doesn’t reject the reality of it. what you’re seeing is self-doubt, honed down to one question: can i give you a life you won’t come to resent. jason can live with pain, loss, unfinished business—what he can’t stomach is the thought of you waking up five years from now and wishing you’d chosen better. fatherhood, as a concept, was never aspirational to him. but the idea that you’d want something this irreversible with him—he wants that. more than he can articulate. he watches you as you speak. listens harder than you’ve ever seen him listen. when you finish, he nods. alright. then we do it. commitment, spoken plainly. he’s in. entirely. and from that moment on, he’s already moving forward.

DICK GRAYSON .ᐟ

he lights up before he can stop himself. barely a second—bright, unfiltered joy, and vanishes almost as quickly. he catches it mid-breath, trying to reel himself back into something more appropriate and composed. doesn’t work. the question slips out anyway. are you serious? i’m gonna be a dad? dick tries to say something else. fails. the smile returns, wholly unrestrained. he’s stepped closer. a hand find your waist, eyes flickering to your stomach like he’s expecting to see evidence right away. he looks at you, then your stomach, then back again. you haven’t even said much, and he’s already all in.

TIM DRAKE .ᐟ

he’d always known it was possible, statistically speaking. at some point he’d run the numbers before he ever touched you. it was a thought experiment—improbable, but conceivable. unwise, depending on context. when you say the words, i’m pregnant, that brilliant mind of his blanks. total silence across the synapses. part of his brain detaches and begins parsing again, compiling information: genetic risk factors, medical protocols, your vitamin levels, the statistical safety of continuing urban patrol. etc. but the other part of him resists the pull toward abstraction, remains with you. the enormity doesn’t unravel him; rather, it sharpens his focus, channels the nervous energy that rarely finds release. a surge of protectiveness rises, fierce and unyielding. he imagines the lengths he’d to go guard what you both carry.

 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐈𝐒-𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content. ꕀ

[syrecjh]

Katsuki has this stubborn, almost infuriating habit of always—always—opening the car door for you.

It's not the chivalrous kind of gesture you’d expect from cheesy dramas. No. It’s the Katsuki Bakugo kind—silent, unyielding, laced with that same scowl he wears like armor. He doesn’t announce it. Doesn’t say get in, doesn’t motion. He just moves ahead of you with those broad shoulders and calloused hands, like muscle memory has already mapped the ritual into his bones.

Even when he's irritated, even when the air between you crackles with an argument still unresolved, he unlocks the car and storms to the passenger side first. His jaw is set, his brows furrowed, but he opens that damn door like it's the one constant he refuses to give up.

You could be annoyed or something, arms crossed, words still burning on your tongue—but there he is, holding it open without a word, like the gesture is louder than anything he could ever say. You’ve tried to beat him to it before—once, twice, even jogged—but he all but growled, “Don’t even think about it,” before snatching the handle first, as if letting you do it would be some betrayal of the world he’s built around you. He doesn’t even let you touch the door when your hands are full of grocery bags, or when it’s pouring and he’s the one getting soaked. You once joked that he was acting like some old-school husband from a black-and-white film. He rolled his eyes, muttering something about how it’s not that deep, but you saw the faint twitch of his lip—the almost-smile he tries to hide whenever he does soft things without knowing they’re soft.

Sometimes, when you're quiet on the drive home, watching raindrops chase each other down the window, you wonder when it started. Was it after your first date? Or first meet? You don’t know. You just know that Katsuki Bakugo opens the car door like it's a vow. Like it’s the only way he knows how to say I’m here. Even when he can’t say sorry. Even when he won’t say I love you—not yet, not out loud.

And maybe that’s the thing about love with him—it’s never loud where it matters. It’s in the small consistencies, the wordless tenderness, the things he does without thinking, over and over again. You never open the door yourself. Not because you can’t—but because he won’t let you. Because to him, love isn’t flowers or fireworks. It’s making sure your hands stay warm. It’s standing in the rain so you don’t have to. It’s Katsuki Bakugo, quietly, fiercely, always choosing you.

[formulafanfics13]

Ok I haven’t been able to get this out of my head but I severely lack the writing talent for it

Max Streaming on the sim with his girl straddling his lap covered while he’s inside her & occasionally touching her more and whispering absolute filth to her?😅 could also be done with LN if you prefer x

They dont know - MV1 🔥

Masterlist

summary: max goes live on his sim stream, casual as ever. what his fans don’t know is that you’re naked under the blanket, straddling him with his cock buried deep inside you. he whispers filth, plays clean, and makes you lose your mind without moving a muscle.

warnings: established relationship, public sex (sim stream), cockwarming, blanket over reader, lap-sitting, nipple play, filthy whispers, breeding kink language, dom!max, possessiveness, power play, overstimulation, threat of movement, max being obsessed and composed and evil, reader struggling to stay quiet, unsafe levels of that man has no shame

You’d made the mistake of walking into the sim room wearing nothing but one of his oversized shirts. And no panties. And no bra. And maybe you were doing it on purpose. Maybe you were teasing him. Maybe you wanted this.

You just hadn’t expected this to mean Max dragging you into his lap, tucking a blanket over your hips like it was nothing, and sliding his cock inside you before pressing “Go Live.”

“You’re insane,” you whispered, clinging to his neck as he adjusted the headset. Your entire body was stretched and stuffed and trying so hard not to squirm.

He just smirked. Dead calm. “I’m streaming, baby. Be good for me, yeah?”

Be good. With his cock inside you. While thousands of people watched.

Not like they could see anything, the camera was angled high, focused on his face, the sim, his hands on the wheel. All they saw was the signature blanket he always kept over his lap. His “cold sim room” blanket. The one they all joked about.

If only they fucking knew.

“Yeah, yeah, I see you in chat,” Max said casually, flicking through settings like he wasn’t buried to the hilt inside his girlfriend. “Not late. You’re just early.”

He adjusted the wheel with one hand and slipped the other under the blanket.

You twitched when his fingers found your nipple. You were already full. Already leaking slick down your thighs. But Max? Max was composed. Untouchable. Voice steady. Only the faintest twitch of his jaw when you clenched around him like you needed to move.

“Doing Spa tonight,” he said to the camera. “Long run. Gotta test some things.”

His thumb swirled around your nipple. Pinched. You bit down on his shoulder. Hard. He chuckled. Into the mic.

“Relax, schatje. You wanted this, no?”

You nodded frantically. But your legs were already trembling and the urge to move, just a little, was burning you alive.

He leaned in, mouth at your ear, words like fucking poison. “Don’t forget who you’re sitting on.”

The first lap was fine. The second, less so. By the third you were shaking, thighs twitching, cunt clenching with every subtle roll of his hips. His cock was right there, heavy and thick and not moving, but he kept whispering like he wasfucking you.

“Bet your little pussy’s drooling all over me. Bet you want to bounce, hmm?”

You whimpered.

“Can’t, though. Gotta stay still. Be a good girl. Don’t wanna make noise, right?”

You nodded, sweating under the blanket. His fingers tugged your nipple again.

“God, I love when you’re stuffed full like this. Warm little hole just made for me.”

The chat exploded with confusion when he groaned low in his throat. He brushed it off as a crash replay. They bought it.

You were barely breathing. The pressure of him inside you, the stimulation, the teasing, it was too much. You were so fucking close to unraveling just from his cock sitting inside you and the filthy things he kept saying.

“After the stream,” he murmured between shifts, “I’m gonna fuck you right here. You hear me?”

You nodded.

“Gonna rip the blanket off, bend you over the wheel, and ruin you.”

You clenched.

“Or maybe I’ll make you finish the race with my cum dripping out of you. Let you sit here and stream the whole thing while your pussy leaks all over the pedals.”

You nearly moaned. Nearly. He pinched your thigh when you did.

“Quiet.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. He stayed in you the whole race. One hand on the wheel. One under the blanket. Fingers tracing lazy circles on your inner thigh, dragging slick up and down, whispering filth whenever chat got busy.

And when the screen finally faded to black, when he clicked “End Stream” and pulled the headset off, he turned to you, kissed your cheek like a gentleman, and said:

“Now you bounce.”

[tok0yqmi]

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

Little Things He Does When He’s In Love ⋆˙⟡

╰┈➤ Katsuki Bakugo!

˚⊱🪷⊰˚ - you might be the main thing, baby

૮₍˃̵֊ ˂̵ ₎ა

• Cooks your favorite meals without you asking, slamming the plate in front of you like it’s no big deal.

• Walks on the side closest to the road without thinking twice.

• Glances at you when you’re not looking and quickly looks away when you catch him.

• Remembers every little detail, your coffee order, your stress tells, your allergies, the way you hum when you’re deep in thought, everything.

• Pretends he’s annoyed when you touch his stuff, but lets you anyway.

• Softens his tone when you’re upset, though it kills him to not yell at whoever made you cry.

• Carries your things without offering, just grabs them from your hand like it’s expected.

• Secretly keeps gifts or notes from you in his drawer like they’re sacred.

• Glares (we all know he’s burning inside) at people who flirt with you, even if you’re just laughing.

• Sits silently beside you when you need comfort, offering warmth and presence without words.

• Stays awake when you’re sick or hurting, watching over you like a guard dog.

• Does your chores or errands on your worst days, no questions asked.

• Says “I love you” in other ways like “Don’t die,” “Be careful,” or “Text me when you get there.”

• Lets you mess with his hair.

• Trains extra hard when he’s worried about you like his strength could protect you from anything.

• Gets super competitive over dumb couple games, but only because your laugh makes him soft.

• Touches your pinky or sleeve in public instead of full-on PDA, but it means the world.

• Gives you his hoodie when you’re cold, even if he complains you’ll “stretch it out.”

• Calls you dumb in the softest voice he’s capable of, like it’s the highest compliment.

• Admits he’s scared of losing you, but only in the quietest hours, when his walls are down and you’re all he sees.

[ribombeee]

i don’t know why i’m bothering to reply to this comment when you did not even bother to read the one single sentence of the original post.

1) if you find comics really annoying and grueling to read, you probably just don’t like comic books and should go read or watch or play something else. no one is forcing you to read comics just because when you say “i like comics” people expect you to mean that you… like comics.

2) did you notice the part of this post where i said “people they hire”? “characters they are being hired to write?” this is a post about people who are getting paid to write characters that they know nothing about. one might consider it LITERALLY THEIR JOB to know things about these characters, and yet they won’t read any of their past comics and DC won’t ask them to. i can’t stop people from making “fan” works without reading the actual comics (how exactly are you a fan if you don’t like the actual comics?), but i would argue that is an entirely different completely distinct unrelated phenomenon to professional comic book writers slacking on their paid jobs.

3) comics have always been “fragmented” as you say, and young justice is a run from almost 20 years ago, so neither of these statements have anything to do with the current state of comic books. if your suggestion for how DC can get people to read comics is to stop having them interact and overlap with other runs, i would once again say you perhaps just don’t like comic books very much, since that’s a staple aspect of the format. my suggestion for DC might be to hire people who know literally anything about the shit they’re writing.

crazy how dc comics is so bad at getting people to read dc comics that they cant even get people they hire to write dc comics to read dc comics about the characters they are being hired to write .

[cheftsunoda]

ahhhh!!! the nolan fic you wrote was SO GOOD! i was wondering if you’d be able to write something about nolan with a rookie f1 driver reader. like she might also race for mclaren (or wtv team you want) and they become the motorsport it couple. and she’s like super popular and famous bc she’s the only female f1 driver, so he’s all nervous and shy around her. thank you!! i love your writing🫶

golden retriever boy, black cat girl — ns6

smau + written blurbs

nolan siegel x !o’ward f1 driver reader

you’ve always been loud in a world that wanted you quiet. the only woman on the formula 1 grid. mclaren’s rookie. pato o’ward’s little sister. and now, lando’s partner in chaos. eyes are always on you—press, fans, critics. but you’ve learned to thrive under pressure.

then there’s nolan siegel. your brother’s quiet indycar teammate. soft-spoken, golden-hearted, and too pretty for his own good.

he looks at you like you’re something cosmic. you grin like you might eat him alive.

he has no idea what he’s getting into.

neither do you.

fc : saradeanii on ig and biancaaaaa

(a/n): tysm for the love cutie pie!!!! hope you love

—

ynoward

liked by patriciooward, lando, nolansiegel and 1,877,734 others.

ynoward : dumping my recents on you 🥸

tagged : lando

—

view 257,009 other comments.

lando : everyone go buy my monster!! in stores now

liked by ynoward

↳ ynoward : no self promotion on my page muppet.

liked by lando

↳ lando : i literally made it melon flavored bc that’s what you like 😔 BE NICE

liked by ynoward

↳ ynoward : oh yeah my bad pimp. continue

liked by lando

alex_albon : lando looks so proud…almost like he built the fridge himself

liked by lando and ynoward

↳ ynoward : the door fell off during delivery so technically he did have to put it back together

liked by lando and alex_albon

elbaoward : you are unreal 😻

liked by ynoward

↳ ynoward : learned from the best;) miss you so much

liked by elbaoward

↳ elbaoward : miss you even more 💋💋 hugs and kisses

liked by ynoward

patriciooward : norbi misses pancake (this is my way of telling you that i miss you so much and need to see you before i implode)

liked by ynoward

↳ ynoward : pancake misses norbi more (i am literally going insane without you and elbs) (be home asap)

liked by elbaoward and patriciooward

↳ username000 : omg. they are so special to me. so adorable

nolansiegel : you are so cool it is unfair. hope the season is treating you well so far!

liked by lando, ynoward, patriciooward and elbaoward

↳ lando : she breathes and you are already down on one knee with a ring

liked by ynoward, patriciooward and elbaoward

↳ nolansiegel : i’m just being supportive 😇

liked by ynoward

↳ elbaoward : supportive is one word. whipped is another

liked by patriciooward, lando and ynoward

↳ ynoward : i like my men whipped

liked by nolansiegel and lando

—

flashback

You hadn’t even been in the garage for ten seconds before chaos began to ensue. Classic.

You weren’t even wearing anything particularly wild—just your usual— black crop top, jean shorts, sunglasses on your head, a lanyard with your credentials, and a granola bar you stole from Lando’s drivers room weeks ago. You were there to surprise Pato before practice and maybe steal a headset to watch his run.

What you weren’t expecting was the very cute, very startled boy currently standing next to your brother.

He was mid-sip of a Gatorade when he saw you, and immediately choked. Violently.

“Jesus,” you laughed. “You okay there, champ?”

He blinked at you like you’d just slapped him with a carbon fiber wing.

Your brother turned around, spotted you, and grinned.

“YN!” Pato shouted, tugging off his headset. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Surprising you. Stealing snacks. Maybe stealing your data sheets if you piss me off,” you said, reaching out for a hug.

“Classic,” Elba muttered from behind you, barely looking up from her phone. “Also, he’s been talking about this all week.”

You ignored that and turned back to the boy who was now actively trying to become one with the garage floor.

“And who’s your friend?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“That’s Nolan,” Pato said casually. “New teammate. Don’t scare him.”

You looked him over. Full race suit, messy hair, soft brown eyes. Nervous wreck.

“Hi, Nolan,” you said with a smile, sticking out your hand.

“Hi—yes—um, I mean—hi,” he stammered, his voice cracking a little as he shook your hand. “You’re—I mean, I know who you are. Obviously. YN. Pato’s sister. You’re… cool.”

Your grin widened.

“You think I’m cool?” you asked, leaning in just slightly.

“No! I mean—yes! I mean, you are. Obviously. But I didn’t mean it like that. Or I did. But not like weirdly. Not in a weird way. Not that you’re weird—”

“Okay, breathe,” Elba interrupted from behind you, like she’d seen enough secondhand embarrassment to last her a lifetime.

Pato squinted at the scene in front of him like it physically pained him. “If you traumatize my teammate before qualifying, I’m disowning you.”

“Relax,” you said, tossing a wink at Nolan. “I like him. He’s cute.”

Nolan turned red so fast you were genuinely concerned he might overheat.

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, before he finally blurted out.

“Do you—do you want a Gatorade? I have extras. In case you like… hydration.”

You bit back a laugh. “That’s very chivalrous of you.”

—

Fifteen minutes later, you were still sitting on the pit wall next to Elba, sipping the Gatorade Nolan handed you. He kept glancing over at you. Not subtly. At one point, he nearly walked into the timing screen cart.

Elba nudged you.

“He’s toast.”

You shrugged. “He’s cute.”

“You’re gonna break him.”

“Probably.”

—

And that was the first time you met Nolan Siegel.

You still think about it sometimes—how awkward and breathless he was, how pink his cheeks went when you called him cute, how he genuinely looked like he might combust over a single handshake and a smile. You remember the way his voice cracked when he offered you a Gatorade, and the Sharpie-written “for YN” label you kept in your glovebox for three months like a middle schooler saving a love note.

It would’ve been so easy to laugh him off. Write him off. Let him stay exactly what he was— Pato’s sweet, rookie teammate with anxious hands and big eyes and the inability to make eye contact for more than four seconds straight.

But then he texted you that night. And then the night after that. And the next. And now?

Well, now it’s been four months.

You’re halfway through your first Formula 1 season, and Nolan’s been right there through all of it—quietly orbiting, always watching, never pushing. He checks in before race weekends. He sends you playlists before long flights. He FaceTimes you after every qualifying, even when it goes badly, even when he’s exhausted. You send him photos of Lando doing crimes against fashion and screenshots of Twitter spiraling over random nonsense.

You never said it out loud, but you think you became best friends somewhere in the middle of all of it.

And yeah, maybe you’re a little gone for him too. Maybe it’s the way he always listens. The way he talks about racing like it’s poetry. The way he still gets flustered when you wink at him. Or maybe it’s just because for the first time in your life, someone makes you feel seen—not like Pato’s sister, not like the only girl in the paddock, not like a headline. Just… you.

So yeah. You’re in deep. And you’re about to make it worse.

“You think they’re gonna freak out?” Lando asks from the seat across from you, legs stretched across the McLaren jet.

You glance up from your phone. “Nolan might pass out. Pato’s gonna act mad but secretly love it.”

“Did you tell Elba?”

“Nope. I wanted her to be surprised too.”

Lando grins. “God, this is gonna be fun.”

You roll your eyes but smile, gaze drifting out the window. The clouds blur past in soft whites and silvers, the light bouncing gently off the cabin walls.

The truth is, this whole PR trip was your idea. McLaren’s pushing cross-series content this year—“building the brand,” “global unity,” whatever nonsense Zak said in the meeting—and when the calendar lined up with the next IndyCar race, you raised your hand before they even finished asking.

You didn’t tell anyone why.

Not that they’d need to ask.

It’s not like you and Nolan are dating. You haven’t even kissed. But sometimes, it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something fragile and golden. Like the next moment could tip the scale.

You haven’t seen him in person since the Miami GP two months ago. He’d been in the crowd, half hiding under a McLaren hat, and you’d found him after the race—sweaty and exhausted and radiant. You hugged him, longer than you should’ve. He didn’t let go right away either.

Now you’re two hours away from surprising him at a track he doesn’t expect to see you at.

You can already picture it—Nolan stepping out of the hauler, half asleep and sunburnt, and then freezing mid-step when he sees you standing there with your arms crossed and a smirk on your face.

He’s going to look at you like he always does—like you hung the stars just to watch him trip over his own feet. And you’re going to let him.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned since that first chaotic handshake in the garage, it’s that being around Nolan makes everything feel a little less loud. And god, you’ve missed the quiet.

—

The second your sneakers hit the ground, it smells like home. Fuel. Rubber. Fresh asphalt. Nerves and sweat and sunscreen. You’ve never even raced in IndyCar, but after a childhood of track days and karting weekends and watching your big brother grow up in orang, this place will always feel familiar. Like a heartbeat you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

Lando’s already peeled off toward the hospitality tent, grumbling about needing coffee before dealing with cameras. You don’t blame him. You have other priorities anyway.

Like sneaking up on your siblings.

You spot Elba first—hair pulled back, sunglasses low on her nose as she talks to a crew member. She’s in full big-sister-mode, eyes sharp and focused.

You walk up quietly, then casually say, “Hey, when were you gonna tell me you were auditioning for team principal?”

She freezes. Literally stops mid sentence.

Then, without even turning around—

“No.”

“Yes.”

She whips around so fast her sunglasses nearly fly off. “What?!”

You just grin, arms open. “Surprise, bitch.”

Elba drops her bag with a gasp that turns into a scream, launching herself into your arms. She squeezes so tight you swear your spine cracks a little.

“You didn’t tell me!” she yells, pulling back just far enough to swat your arm. “You didn’t say anything! I would’ve—god, I would’ve put on real mascara!”

“You look beautiful,” you say sincerely, brushing a loose piece of hair from her face. “You always do.”

She glares at you. Then melts. “I missed you, enana.”

You squeeze her again. “I missed you too.”

“Wait until Pato sees you,” she whispers like a conspirator, already scanning the pit lane. “He’s been unbearable all morning.”

“He’s always unbearable.”

“Oh, I know.”

—

You don’t have to wait long.

Pato rounds the corner like he’s on a mission, fire suit half-zipped, arguing with someone when he glances up and sees you standing next to Elba.

He stops. Full-body freezes.

You wave. “Hola, hermano.”

“Noooo mames,” he mutters under his breath before breaking into the biggest, most disbelieving grin you’ve ever seen.

He doesn’t run—he sprints. Wraps you up in a hug so tight your feet leave the ground.

“Why are you here?” he asks into your shoulder. “How are you here?”

“McLaren PR stunt,” you say. “Surprise content. Good optics. Also I missed you. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Pato pulls back, hands still on your shoulders like he’s making sure you’re real. “You little menace.”

“You love me.”

“I do. Unfortunately.”

Elba rolls her eyes. “You’re both insufferable.”

You stand between them, arms slung over both of their shoulders, soaking it all in. The sun. The smell of the garage. Your siblings right beside you. It’s loud and warm and perfect.

But there’s still one person missing.

—

You peel away a few minutes later, claiming you’re off to find Lando (lie), and duck behind the hospitality tent, winding through the rows of transporters and spare tires until you spot him.

Nolan.

He’s crouched by a tire stack, scribbling notes on a clipboard, totally unaware of the world. His fire suit is half-tied around his waist, and his hair’s a mess, already windblown and slightly sweat-damp from the heat.

Your heart does something stupid. You walk up slowly, carefully, savoring the moment. When you’re a few feet away, you say softly—

“Working hard or hardly working, golden boy?”

He jumps like he’s been electrocuted.

“YN?!”

He scrambles to his feet, nearly knocking over the clipboard in the process. For a second, he just stares—like his brain’s short-circuiting. Like he’s not sure you’re real.

Then he smiles.

It’s the kind of smile that makes your stomach flip. The one that starts slow and then completely takes over his whole face, lighting up his eyes until he looks like he could power the entire pit lane with that expression alone.

“You’re… you’re here,” he says, still stunned.

You nod, stepping closer. “Surprise.”

“I didn’t know—I didn’t think—Pato didn’t say anything—”

“Because he didn’t know,” you say, grinning. “No one did. McLaren sent me and Lando for PR. I just… wanted to see you.”

He looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Then, finally, he just says, “This is the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

Your smile softens.

“Hi, Nolan.”

“Hi,” he echoes, quieter now.

There’s a long pause. Not awkward—just full of all the words you’re not saying. All the weight and softness between you.

And then he opens his arms, a little uncertain. “Can I—?”

You don’t let him finish. You walk right into his chest and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in the side of his neck.

He hugs you like he means it.

Like he’s been waiting for this.

Like you’re the one thing that makes the world slow down.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice warm against your ear. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

—

The day ends in laughter. Between the surprise, the press rounds, and the nonstop teasing from Lando, you’ve barely had a second to breathe. After dinner with your siblings, you finally peel off from the chaos, promising Elba you’ll meet her for coffee in the morning, dodging Pato’s overprotective third degree, and managing to sneak out of the hotel bar before Lando can drag you into another round of espresso martinis.

You don’t go back to your room.

You knock on Nolan’s door instead.

He opens it on the first knock like he was already standing there—hair still wet from a shower, hoodie slung over his shoulder, bare feet on the carpet. He looks so soft, so him, and you suddenly feel like you’ve been holding your breath all day without realizing it.

“Hey,” you say, quiet.

“Hey.” He smiles. That shy, lopsided one that always gets you.

He steps back, and you walk in.

The room is dim, lit only by a lamp on the bedside table. The TV is on mute, some old race replay flickering across the screen, and his notes are still spread across the desk in half-organized chaos. But the bed is made, and there are two water bottles on the nightstand, and you can tell he was nervous. That he hoped you’d come.

You sit down at the edge of the bed. “You looked really good today.”

Nolan laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s funny. I spent the whole day trying not to pass out.”

“You handled it well.”

“I almost tripped over nothing. Twice.”

“Fair.”

A beat of silence passes between you, not awkward—just charged.

You glance up. He’s already looking at you.

And he’s so beautiful like this—lit by lamplight, still flushed from the sun, his expression soft and open and full of all the things he hasn’t said yet. It makes your chest ache a little.

“You wanna sit?” you ask gently, patting the bed beside you.

He hesitates for only a second before he does, close enough that your shoulders brush. You can feel the tension humming between you like static, waiting to snap.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” he says, voice low. “I thought about you all morning, but I didn’t think—”

“I missed you,” you interrupt, looking at him fully now. “A lot.”

His breath catches.

“Nolan,” you start, softer now, “I don’t know what this is yet. But whatever it is… I really, really like it.”

He’s still staring at you, eyes wide and warm and so full of that golden kind of hope.

“I like you,” you admit, heart pounding. “I think I’ve liked you since the second you offered me that Gatorade.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, then shakes his head.

“I didn’t just bring it for you once,” he says quietly. “I’ve brought an extra to every race since. Just in case you showed up again.”

Your throat tightens.

“I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, YN,” he says, and this time there’s no hiding it. No rambling or stammering or pretending to be casual. He’s steady now. Honest. “You scare the hell out of me sometimes. You’re confident and sharp and everything I’m not, but you make me feel like I can keep up. Like I matter.”

You blink, the words hitting deeper than you expected.

“I was terrified you’d never take me seriously,” he continues. “That I’d always just be your brother’s awkward teammate with a dumb crush. But I’m not just crushing anymore. I want more.”

Your voice barely comes out. “What does more look like?”

He reaches for your hand—gently, slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle you. His fingers thread through yours, warm and sure.

“More looks like this,” he says. “You. Me. Together. No hiding. Just… us.”

Your heart cracks open.

And then you kiss him.

It’s soft at first—tentative, like you’re still testing the weight of it—but the second he exhales into your mouth, you’re done for. His hand moves to your jaw, your fingers tangle in the hem of his hoodie, and suddenly he’s pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like he’s afraid to lose it. To lose you.

You kiss him again. And again. And again.

Each one sweeter than the last, more sure, more real.

At some point, you shift into his lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders, laughing between kisses as he tries and fails to string together a full sentence.

“I had a whole speech prepared,” he mumbles against your cheek.

“Yeah?” you breathe, smiling against his skin. “What was it?”

“No idea,” he grins. “You kind of erased my brain.”

“Good,” you whisper, kissing him again. “It’s about time I returned the favor.”

You spend the rest of the night wrapped up in each other—no cameras, no pressure, no expectations. Just two people who’ve been waiting far too long to stop pretending.

And when you finally fall asleep, curled into his chest, his arm slung around your waist, you think. This is it. This is the beginning of everything.

—

ynoward

liked by patriciooward, nolansiegel, elbaoward and 2,572,077 others. ynoward : successful break with my most favorite people in the world…now let’s get back to racing 🏁🧡

tagged : elbaoward, nolansiegel and patriciooward

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

You wake up to the sound of waves, the smell of coffee, and Pato’s voice yelling from the kitchen. 

“YN! Tell your boyfriend to make breakfast. Tengo hambre.”

You blink against the morning light, groaning into Nolan’s bare shoulder. He’s still half asleep beside you, hair a mess, arm curled loosely around your waist.

“Tell him to shut up,” you mumble.

“Don’t think I can yell at your brother,” Nolan mumbles back, eyes still closed.

“I give you permission.”

“You also said that he wouldn’t be annoying about us.”

“I lied.”

He laughs softly, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and sighs.

You eventually drag yourselves out of bed, both in oversized shirts and sweatpants, and shuffle out to the kitchen together, hand in hand.

Pato is dramatically fanning himself with a banana leaf he definitely stole from the garden. Elba is perched on the counter sipping an iced coffee and watching the show unfold like it’s live theater.

“Oh my god,” Pato says the moment he sees you both. “They’re holding hands. In my kitchen.”

“It’s not your kitchen,” you say, grabbing a mug.

“Everything is mine if I’m loud enough.”

Nolan tries to hide his smile as he digs through the fridge. “I guess I will make breakfast,” he says sheepishly. “Thought I’d earn my keep.”

“You already earned it,” Pato says, then pauses. “Are you actually dating my sister?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’ve known this for a week.”

“Yes, but now you’re in my family vacation house and you’re making breakfast, and she is wearing your shirt and I feel like I need verbal confirmation.”

Nolan blinks. “Uh. Yes?”

Elba snorts. “God, you’re lucky he’s cute.”

“Don’t scare him,” you warn, tugging Nolan closer by the sleeve of his shirt. “He’s mine.”

Pato sets down the banana leaf. “No, no. I’m not scaring him. In fact…”

He turns to Nolan, suddenly grinning.

“I am thrilled.”

Everyone blinks.

“You are?” Nolan asks, startled.

“Duh,” Pato says, like it’s obvious. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for someone to show up who actually sees YN? Like sees her? She’s been surrounded by idiots for years.”

“Hey—” you start.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Pato says, cutting you off. “They were all lame. And now you’ve got this guy—“this golden retriever of a man” making pancakes and smiling at you like you’re the sunrise. You win. I win.”

Nolan looks like he might combust on the spot.

You glance over at him, biting back a smile. “You okay there?”

He just nods, ears bright pink, flipping a pancake that’s way too perfect.

“I love him,” Elba says around a sip of cold brew. “He’s soft. I want to put him in a little glass case and protect him from the world.”

“Too late,” you say. “I already claimed him.”

Pato dramatically wipes away a fake tear. “They grow up so fast.”

The rest of breakfast is all sunshine and laughter. Nolan somehow makes the perfect plate for everyone, and you end up curled into his side on the outdoor patio couch, sharing a fruit bowl and feeding him bites of papaya just to make him blush again.

Pato tries to start a game of “who knows YN best,” which turns into Elba shouting, “you were five years old when she had her Jonas Brothers phase, you don’t count!” and Nolan somehow winning by guessing your favorite travel snack. 

Eventually, Pato leans back, sunglasses on, arms behind his head. 

“I give you my blessing. But if you break her heart, I will make sure your suspension mysteriously explodes mid race.”

“Understood,” Nolan says instantly.

You kiss his cheek. Pato throws a grape at you.

—

The sun is starting to dip, casting long golden rays across the beach. You’re curled up in a hammock with Nolan, tangled together in the laziest, softest way, your head on his chest, his hand lazily tracing patterns on your back. You can hear Elba and Pato arguing over a beach volleyball match down by the shore. You have no plans to join them. You’re too comfortable here. Nolan’s phone buzzes, and he groans quietly.

“Is it the team?” you murmur.

“No. Worse.”

You shift to look up at him. He’s holding up his phone, showing you a very dramatic tweet.

yn o’ward is in tulum with her brother, her sister, and nolan siegel, who is apparently now part of the family?? is this a PR stunt or do we think he actually bagged her???

Below it, a blurry zoom-in photo of the two of you sharing a smoothie with one straw.

You snort. “I love that they think you ‘bagged’ me. As if I didn’t do all the flirting for three months straight.”

“You did,” he nods, smiling. “I was useless.”

He scrolls again.

@/lando (replying): i’ve been begging. they won’t listen to me.

You giggle. “Lando’s such a hater.”

Nolan pauses. He turns his phone off and sets it on the deck rail beside the hammock. You can feel him gathering courage…it’s in the shift of his shoulders, the small squeeze of his hand around yours.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, soft.

You nod, already looking up at him.

He bites his lip, just a little. “Would it be okay if we just like put it out there? I mean, only if you want to. No pressure, obviously. It’s just people are kind of already assuming, and I don’t really care what they think, but I care about you. And I really like being yours. And I kind of want to tell the world that.”

Your heart does something completely dramatic.

“You want to post us?”

His ears go red. “Yeah. Or you can. Or we both can. I just want people to know.”

You smile, leaning up so you can kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re the cutest person alive, you know that?”

“Debatable,” he says, but he’s already smiling.

“I’d love to hard launch with you.”

He exhales in relief. “Okay. Good. Cool. Yeah.”

You watch him pause like he’s trying to figure out the best way to even do that.

“Do we take a photo right now?” he asks. “Like, do we stage it? Or do we use one someone else took? Or oh god, do we post different ones at the same time? What’s the protocol here?”

You laugh and pull your phone out of your hoodie pocket, flipping to your camera roll.

You scroll through until you find the perfect one. 

“This one,” you say, turning the screen toward him.

He looks at it. Blinks. Smiles so wide you can see the tops of his teeth.

“That’s the one.”

—

nolansiegel

liked by ynoward, patriciooward, lando and 125,052 others.

nolansiegel : the prettiest girl in the world is mine. love you forever <3

tagged : ynoward

—

user has limited comments on this post.

ynoward : you are the cutest ever. i love you always ❤️💋

liked by nolansiegel

patriciooward : YAYYYYYYYYYYYYY

liked by ynoward and nolansiegel

lando : fucking finally

liked by ynoward and nolansiegel

elbaoward : my faves. cutest babes on the planet❤️

liked by ynoward and nolansiegel

—

twitter!

motorsportgirlies : nolan siegel spotted in the mclaren hospitality at the hungarian gp this morning, wearing yn o’ward’s initials on his wristband and carrying her matcha for her 🥹🤧

view 104,000 other replies.

username00 : i’m sorry but nolan siegel being a supportive f1 wag was not on my 2025 bingo card

username0 : THE IT COUPLE OF OUR GENERATION

username1 : yn has golden retriever boyfriend privileges. god is fair.

username7 : nolan “i’m just here to support my girlfriend and carry her iced matcha” siegel is the kind of boyfriend the grid needed

username5 : they are the blueprint. the it couple. the main characters. no one’s doing it like yn and nolan.

—

The paddock is already humming journalists buzzing like flies, engineers jogging between garages, fans pressed up against barricades hoping for a glimpse of anyone in orange. Race day always feels like a fuse has been lit. There’s energy in the air, sharp and crackling, full of nerves and noise and expectation.

But right now, in the tucked-away quiet of the motorhome lounge, there’s only you and Nolan.

You’re sitting on the couch in your race suit, top half rolled down and tied at your waist, black tank top clinging to your skin. Your hair’s half-done, pulled back with a clip. You’ve still got thirty minutes before the garage wants you. Just enough time to breathe.

Nolan sits beside you, one arm draped behind the couch, fingers gently tracing patterns into your shoulder like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. You’re curled into his side, legs tucked under you, head resting against his chest.  Neither of you are talking. You don’t need to. This has become your ritual, your calm before the storm.

He presses a kiss to your hair. “How’s the heart?”

You shrug. “Steady now.”

He smiles into your temple. “Good. That’s how I like it.”

There’s a long, soft silence. You glance up at him. He’s already looking at you, eyes so full of adoration it makes your stomach flip.

“You always look at me like that before I race,” you murmur.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re worried I might disappear.”

Nolan swallows. “Because sometimes it feels like you do.”

You blink.

“Not in a bad way,” he rushes to say, his hand tightening around your waist. “Just when you put the helmet on, when you walk into that garage, you change. You become this version of yourself that’s so powerful and sharp and untouchable. And I love it. But I still hold my breath until I see you again.”

Your chest aches at the honesty in his voice.

You reach up, hand cupping his cheek. “I come back to you every time.”

He leans into your touch, eyes closing for just a second. “I know. It’s just you’re my favorite person. And watching you chase danger at 200 mph isn’t exactly relaxing.”

You laugh softly. “And yet you race cars for a living.”

“Different when it’s you.”

Your heart stutters.

He pulls you closer until your forehead rests against his. “Just be safe, okay? And kick their asses.”

You grin. “That the official boyfriend pep talk?”

“There’s more,” he says, then kisses your nose. “You’re the fastest. The fiercest. The coolest person in this entire paddock. And when you win, I’ll be the idiot grinning at the monitor and crying behind my sunglasses.”

You laugh. “You’re gonna cry?”

“Already tearing up,” he says dramatically, wiping a fake tear.

You roll your eyes, but your heart is warm and full and fluttering in the best way. He leans in and kisses you soft, slow, lingering. It’s not rushed. It’s not desperate. It’s just love. Simple and sweet.

When he pulls back, you whisper, “I love you, golden boy.”

His face breaks into a grin so wide you swear the whole world tilts a little.

“I love you too, pretty girl.”

—

The sun is low and warm, casting everything in gold as you and Nolan walk side by side through the paddock. You’ve showered since the race, now dressed in soft black McLaren gear and sunglasses pushed up into your hair. Nolan’s wearing one of your hoodies, hands shoved in the pocket, cheeks still slightly pink from standing in the garage all day.

There’s a quiet between you. Not awkward—just easy. The kind of silence that means comfort. That means—this is normal now.

Every so often, he bumps your arm with his.

You nudge him back. “Stop flirting. We’re in public.”

“I’m literally just walking.”

“That’s flirting.”

He’s mid-laugh when a small crowd of fans spots you from the other side of the barrier. Their reaction is instant cheers, phones up, a few of them waving signs with your name scribbled across them in neon paint.

You smile and immediately pull Nolan toward the fence. “Come on.”

His eyes go wide. “Huh?”

“You’re part of this now,” you tease, grabbing his hand.

Nolan is visibly panicking as you both walk over. You’re met with excited voices, some yelling your name, a few screaming “NOLANNNN!” with just as much energy.

“YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE!”

“POWER COUPLE!!!”

“YN, YOU ATE TODAY—AND NOLAN’S LITTLE HEART EYES!!!”

“SOFT LAUNCH ERA OVER!!!”

One fan, probably seventeen at most, holds up a sign that says—

NOLAN, IF YOU BREAK HER HEART WE RIOT

in all caps, with a sparkly orange border.

You burst out laughing. Nolan immediately goes bright red.

“Oh my god,” he mutters under his breath. “They’re terrifying.”

“They’re adorable,” you correct, waving at the girl. “I love you.”

“She’s going to frame that sign,” Nolan mumbles, half-hiding behind you.

You sign a few things hats, shirts, a phone case that already has your face on it and Nolan stands quietly behind you the whole time, trying not to combust as people sneakily snap photos of him being the best boyfriend ever.

At one point, someone yells, “KISS HER FOR THE CAMERA!”

You glance at Nolan. His eyes go wide.

You just smile, lean up, and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

The crowd screams.

“OH MY GOD I’M NOT OKAY”

“HE’S BLUSHING SO HARD”

Nolan lets out a breath as you turn back toward the paddock, pulling him along.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft. “That was terrifying and also weirdly sweet?”

You grin. “Told you.”

“I think I just got threatened by your entire fanbase.”

“You did,” you nod. “Congratulations.”

Nolan glances over at you. “You’re really okay with all that?”

“The yelling? The signs? The marriage proposals?”

“Yeah.”

You loop your fingers with his and squeeze. “I love them. And they love that I’m happy. And you make me happy.”

Nolan smiles, still a little pink. “You make me happy too.”

You walk the rest of the way hand in hand, golden light wrapping around you like a bow.

The paddock is loud, chaotic, and buzzing with post-race energy but with Nolan next to you, it’s quiet in all the right places.

—

[godmadeaterribleerror]

The Best Part

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Demon Dean, Mark of Cain Dean, love confessions, angst with a happy ending, smut

Summary/Warnings: Dean's been avoiding you since he stopped being a demon, and it's not for the reason you think.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! The Demon Dean haircut haunts all my dreams. Let that man be blond.

Word Count: 5.4k

“Dean?” You slam your fist on the door, pausing before you call out again. “Dean Winchester, I know you’re in there.”

Nothing. You let out a long slow, breath, but he still doesn’t open the goddamn door.

“Dean, I just want to talk. I brought you pie.” You pause, taking a deep breath. “Please open the door.” 

You keep knocking, some tiny part of you still expecting him to open it. He won’t. You know he won’t. 

But you’re going to keep trying. 

At least until he looks you in the eyes, and says it to your face. 

He needs to say that he’s done with you. Admit that he’s either avoiding you because of some curse Sam is keeping secret, or just trying to get out of the conversation. The one that’s been due since he got turned back into a human, the one he’s been running around corners and hightailing it out of the garage to have. 

It’s crueler, though. If he ever felt anything for you at all, he’d just tell you. That you did something wrong, or you did nothing, but he just simply doesn’t feel it anymore. And that might rip you in half, but at least you’ll know this is over. 

This. 

This unnamed thing, that had been growing before the Mark, then bloomed into something real the moment Dean showed up in your room and begged you to help him feel something good. 

You had. There was no world where you turned him away. Where, whenever he gave you that look after—raised brows and a small smirk, making heat flood between your thighs and your cheeks flush—you didn’t stumble after him into the nearest closet or bathroom or private corner of the room. 

It was an easy task, making Dean feel good. You’d been studying from the moment you met him, and a stupid joke made him laugh. It had been the best fucking sound in the world, and you might have sold the most critical parts of your soul and body just to keep hearing it. It had become some sort of hymn, where you fell to your knees and worshipped at the alter, letting him give you whatever he wanted back.

And he gave. 

Dean gave you kisses and whispered praise in the dark, his hand when you walked through bars and then his chest, pressed to you back while you watch a movie. He gave you everything except that last piece—the one that told you what this was—and then he gave you nothing at all.

It didn’t start when he died, though. Dean as a demon had given you the time of day more than Dean now did. Demon Dean—Deanmon?—had been harsher, and didn’t even hold you like he thought you were going to run, but he held you. And you’d been a foolish, lovesick dumbass, and let him. 

“Can’t believe I ever fucking thought you’d leave me,” he’d drawled, hovering open you on the bed, two fingers buried deep in your cunt. “Nobody else touches you like this, do they, baby? Nobody makes you stupid on their cock like I do, you couldn’t leave me if you fucking tried.”

You stared up at him, mouth permanently slack with pleasure and all the energy long gone from your body. You’d been here for hours, and every dirty word out of Dean’s mouth had only made you come more and more apart. ‘

“Can’t fucking answer me, pretty girl?” He’d been mocking, and when you’d just stared at him, he’d grabbed your chin and spat into your mouth. “Fucking answer me-“

“Nobody.” You’d whispered, arching off the bed with a whine as he started to rub furious circle on your clit. “Just you- Dean-“

“I know,” he’d cooed, slapping your cheek as he slammed his cock back into you, without warning. “Such a good fucking slut, taking my dick like you should. Christ, it’s like you made to be my whore, pussy feels so fucking tight-“

You’d moaned, eyes rolling back in your head as he dragged out your tenth orgasm of the night, and you wish you could regret it. You’d went there to try and talk him into coming back, but then he’d kissed you and everything had just melted into Dean. Kissing you like he owned you, sneering possessive words in your ear and coaxing you back into his bed with barely a few words. 

So you couldn’t regret it. He’d been at his darkest point, but he’d wanted you. And you were supposed to be there for him, when he needed, so your dignity as he painted your whole body with his release—over and over until Sam had decided you were taking a worrying amount of time—had been a small price to pay when Dean might want you.

Maybe you’d lost him right there. Dean didn’t want you around because you’d taken advantage of him, when he wasn’t himself. That was why, the moment he’d been human, he’d stopped talking to you in more than grunts. Why he left the room whenever you entered. Why he wouldn’t pick up the phone, answer any of your texts, or even tell Sam what was going on. 

You might have to leave the bunker, if it was that. He needed to feel safe in his own home, and you’d survived without him before. You’d never be able to go back to not loving him, but at least you could make him feel better, if leaving was what he needed from you. 

You fucking prayed it wasn’t. 

But at this point, you just wanted to know.

“Dean,” you sigh, dropping your brow against the door. “Please. I’ll leave after, if that’s what you want-“

You cut yourself off with a yelp, as the door is yanked open. Stumbling forward with the pie tight in your hands, everything happening too fast for you to brace your fall- 

Strong arms catch you. Move you upright slowly, before big hands take the pie and set it off to the side. 

You look up, and Dean is staring at you, eyes wide and face pale.

You haven’t really seen him, since he stopped being the demon. 

He looks so fucking tired. But when you reach up to trace his jaw, you have to yank your hand back. 

If the way his jaw clenches is any sign, Dean doesn’t want you to touch him at all. 

And now, as he clears his throat and stares at the floor, you have to hear him say it. 

“Don’t leave.” He grunts, and- That’s not what he’s supposed to say. “I’ll go, if I gotta. But this is your home. You shouldn’t leave it, just ‘cause of me.

“Dean, I- I don’t want to leave.” You frown, tilting your head at him. “But I’m only here because you and Sam let me-“

He lets out a dry snort. “Please, we’d be running around like freakin’ chickens without you. Sammy can’t cook. I can’t decorate-“

“I can’t clean.” You mumble, staring down at your hands. “I need you, too, Dean. But- If you need me to go-“

“I don’t.” He grunts, and when you glance up, he won’t look you in the eyes. “Need you.”

There it is. 

That’s it. Dean doesn’t need you. It’s better if you go, because Dean doesn’t need you. 

“Oh- Okay.” You sniff, shoving down the pain in your chest until you can get back to your room. You’ll collapse on the floor, then start packing once it passes. 

The pain. 

The pain will have to pass. 

Loving Dean simply won’t.

But you’ve loved and lost him before. 

“I- I’m sorry.” You whisper, and it’s hard to speak over the lump in your throat. “I’ll give Sam my keys.”

Dean’s head shoots up, and before you can walk away, he’s grabbing your wrist with a panicked expression. “Wait, that’s not what I-“

“Dean.” You sigh, giving him the best sweet smile you can drag together right now. “It’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not-“

“I get it-“

“Son of bitch,” he hisses your name. “You don’t, don’t leave, I- I don’t give a shit if it’s selfish, I don’t want you to goddamn leave-“

“You don’t have to justify it.” You mutter, and this hurts more than if he just kicked you out onto the street. “I know what I did-“

“What you did?” He gapes at you, and you frown.

“Yeah?”

“No, you- You’re perfect, baby- Fuck-“

God, he hasn’t called you baby since the Demon thing. And it makes you feel sort of high , but he looks like he’s tearing himself apart from the inside out. You want to help him. But you’re frozen. It’s all moving too fast, and you don’t have a single fucking idea what he’s talking about. “Dean-“

“No, I- I’m the one who should leave.” He squares his shoulders, giving you a determined look. “I’ll leave. Just tell me to damn leave, sweetheart, and I’ll go.”

It’s your turn to gape, your voice becoming barely a breath. “No.”

“Don’t feel bad about it, I know what I did, just damn say it-“

“What you did?”

Dean nods, then suddenly released your wrist like it’s burning through his skin. “Fuck- I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be touchin’ you-“

No. No. He needs to keep touching you, now. Needs to keep looking at you like you’re made of stardust, and he’s trying to keep you from slipping through his fingers. Nothing he’s saying is making sense, though. It’s as if he doesn’t understand that you’re already stuck to his skin. That he couldn’t lose you if he tried. 

“Dean.” You force your voice to be firm, and he looks up at you with a hopeless weight in his eyes. 

You’d like to share it with him. If he’s still going to let you. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He recoils like you’re trying to bite him, and fuck, maybe you said the wrong thing- 

“Don’t say that.” He mutters your name, and you frown.

“You didn’t, I’m the one that-“

“I hurt you.” He pushes the words between his teeth, and you freeze. “Even more than I hurt Sam and Cas, and- Christ, baby, I know you didn’t want to see me, I shouldn’t have opened the door-“

“No!” That one was allowed, and Dean stared up at you. “Dean, I- I’m the one that hurt you-

He snorts. “You know, that not your fault shit doesn’t work when you try to act like your the one who did something wrong-“

“I did.” You whisper. “You weren’t yourself, and I- I let you touch me-“

Dean grunts your name. “I was myself. I remember every goddamn second of that, I treated you like shit-“

“I liked it.” You whisper, and he blinks at you, jaw clenching tighter. “I really liked it, Dean. I- I liked feeling like I was yours.”

He’s looking at you like you’ve grown a third head. “But you’re not mine.”

You flush, the painful truth of that slamming right into your chest, and a weak noise leaves your throat as you take a step back.

“Shit- Wait-“

“I-“ You swallow. You won’t cry in front of him. “I’m sorry, I’ll go-“

“No, I- Fuck, baby-“ Dean lurches forward, grabbing your face between his hand. 

And he’s touching you so softly again. It only makes the tears fall faster.

“Don’t cry,” he mutters, almost sounding desperate. “It’s not you, sweet girl, I meant- Goddamnit-“

You sniff, shaking your head. “It- It’s okay-“

“No, it’s not. You are mine, baby, but I- I got no right to call you that- Please stop crying, sweetheart, it’s alright-“

“Dean, I-“ You’re leaning into him, and at this point, it’s just masochism. “I am yours-“

“No, you’re not.” There’s that fucking weight again. Moved into his voice, sounding almost painful. “I hurt you, I don’t- You-“

“Don’t say I deserve better.” You whisper, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, and it’s fogged. Glazed with adoration and pain. Like this might be hurting him as much as you. Like maybe you’ve gotten something wrong, and Dean doesn’t want you to go. 

And if there’s any chance to salvage this, you’re going to grab it by your fucking teeth.

“Well, you do,” he mutters, trying to pull back, but you grab him. Keep him right against you.

He could shove you off, easily. 

He doesn’t.

“I don’t.”

He grunts your name, and you shake your head.

“No, Dean. If- I loved it. I loved being yours, I-  loved you wanting me, and I took advantage of that, because I-” Your grip tightens against him. “I love you.”

Dean stares at you, and all you can hear is your own heavy, ragged breath and heartbeat. You said it. Aloud. There’s no going back, and at least if you read this wrong, you’ll know there was never any hope anyway. That you’d been right from the start, and Dean could never really be yours. 

But his hands are still holding you softly. And his voice is hoarse when he speaks. 

“Please don’t say that, baby.”

You shake your head. It’s the only thing you know, you have to say it. “Dean, I love you-“

“Don’t say that,” his grip tightens, grip tightening slightly. “You don’t mean it-“

“Yes, I do. You don’t have to love me back-“

“Of course I fuckin’ love you back.” It falls out of him in a second, and everything in the world seems to be floating.

He loves you. Dean loves you, and this isn’t over. 

It’s barely even really begun.

“I love you,” he repeats, dropping his brow against yours. “I can’t stop, baby, I’ve tried, just to save you- But I can’t. Even when I was just some scum of the earth demon, still managed to love you- It’s the only goddamn thing I’m sure of-“

“Dean-“

“But you can’t love me.” He rasps, tugging you a little closer. “If you love me, I’m gonna lose you. I’m never gonna give you the life you deserve, and you should never have even given me the time of day. Talking to me puts a bounty on your freakin’ head, baby. Loving me is going to put a mark on your back.”

There are too many things for you to say to him about them. You’ve had a target on your back, just from knowing him and living this life, so loving him is going to be a reward. There’s no bounty on your head you couldn’t outrun, outsmart, outlive, in order to stay by his side. There isn’t such thing as a life you deserve, only a dark and lonely one without Dean, and a good one with him. 

But they all start and end the same way. 

With Dean.

So it’s easier to say that. 

“You’re allowed to have good things, Dean.” You let your lips brush over his, and his eyes squeeze shut. “And even if you’re not, I want you. I want to be yours.” You let your voice go soft and pleading, your fingers curling on his chest. “Please let me be yours.”

You can watch the words sink into him. He opens his eyes—darkened and blown out with lust—as he slowly scans you over, running his thumb over your lower lip. 

“Say it again.”

You open your mouth again, just enough for his thumb to slip between your lips, and you suck on him slowly until releasing it with a pop.

“I love you,” you say, making your voice as confident as you can, and Dean’s eyes flash. “And I’m yours.”

His throat bobs. “Are you-“

“I’m sure.” You pause. “Dean, if you’re not-“

Your words turn into a long moan as he slams his mouth over yours, the kiss hot and rough and desperate as he walks you back against the wall. One hand grabs your throat to tip your head back, offering him further, deep access, and the other grabs your wrists and pins them over your head. He unforgiving, in the depth of the kiss. His tongue is claiming your mouth like you’re going to vanish under his touch, his body pressed to yours until it’s all you can feel. Fingers drop down to dancing up your side, until he’s palming at your breaths, the vibration of his chest as you grind up into him, moaning his name.

And this is what you’ve been starved for. What you’ve dreamt about with your hand between your thighs and his name on your lips.

Dean.

All of him.

In whatever way he’ll allow you to have, even if it’s back to only long glances and frozen moment you play over and over. 

But he’s giving you the best way of all right now. 

And you’re not going to let that slip by.

“Dean,” you gasp, and he grunts as you try to pry your wrists from his grip. “Let- Let me touch you-“

“No.” He grunts, mouth slowly working its way over your jaw with little bites. “Hands to yourself.”

“But- Oh-“ You whimper, bucking up as he pinches your nipple and rolls it between two finger. “I- I missed you- It’s been so long-“

“I know.” He murmurs, leaning back up to give you a softer kiss. “But I gotta to take care of you, baby. Tell me I can take care of my girl.”

“Whatever you want, I- Just wanna feel you-“

He flicks your nipple before dropping back down to suck a dark mark on your throat. 

“Dean- I’m-“ You moan as he drops to angle your hips, letting them roll so your core is rubbing against his bugle. “Touch me, I need you to touch me-“

“You gotta say it, sweetheart, you know that-“

“Please, touch me, Dean, please-“

Your eyes roll back into your head as his hand shoves into your pants, rubbing over your pussy as he pulls back to watch you with a grin. 

He’s got you exactly where he wants you, and the asshole fucking knows it. You’re writhing and squirming under his teasing fingers, but it’s never enough. Dean’s always been strong, but the Mark of Cain makes it like trying to part the ocean. And it feels so good, whenever he presses the lightest touch to your clit and a tiny shock of lightning rushes through your body. 

It’s like he’s stringing you on a tightrope, seeing just how long you can balance on the wire before you fall. 

“Dean- I- More-“

“Wait, pretty girl,” He mutters, rubbing to strong circles around your clit with his thumb. “Trust me, it’ll feel good.”

You trust him, but you’re going to snap in half if he doesn’t touch you. If he doesn’t give you what you’ve been starved for while he was gone, if he keeps fucking playing with your pussy and never once offering any sort of release. His fingers teasing over your entrance as he brushes against your clit, all while planting deep, claiming kisses all over your neck and face. You’re going to be marked, when he’s done. And he’s barely even begun.

This is why you’re ruined for him. Nobody can bring you right to this edge so fast, give you exactly what you need while holding everything back. Your nails are digging into his arm as he rubs tight circles around your clit, your pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing as he nips on your ear.

“So wet for me,” he mutters, and you throw your head back with a squeak. “Always so wet. Do you think about me, whenever I’m not here to make you feel good. Use these pretty fingers to fuck yourself and scream my name?”

Your mouth falls open, and you blink at him through the haze of the pleasure he’s drawing out of you. “I- How’d you know-“

Any words fall back into a moan as Dean presses down on your clit, eyes darkened with lust.

“Dean-“

“You do?” He’s starting at you with what seems to be awe, lips brushing right over yours, and you nod desperately. “Tell me with your words, baby, say that you think about me touchin’ you like this-“

“I think about it,” you gasp. “All the time- I need you, Dean, need you so bad-“

Two rough fingers suddenly shove inside of you, crooking and rubbing against that sweet spot, and Dean kisses you with so much power it topples you right over. 

He holds you up. Kisses and fingerfucks you through the sudden orgasm, until you’re panting and whimpering down his throat.

“There’s my good girl,” he mutters, and you can only squeak a sound meant to be his name. “Get on the bed, baby, I’m not done with you until you can’t remember your own name.”

You almost fall over yourself, trying to get to the bed. Shedding your clothing like it’s burning before scrambling onto Dean’s mattress, all dignity long gone in favor of this. Spreading your legs and blinking innocently up at Dean, his features blown out with adoration and eyes flashing as he peels off his own shirt and stands over you. 

He barely spares a glance at your pussy, though. He’s mostly scanning over your features with an unreadable intensity, brows furrowed slightly. You’re about to second guess, to ask if this is really what he wants, when he shakes his head. 

“You really did miss me.” He mutters, and you frown.

“Of course I missed you, Dean. I- I was really worried you were never going to speak to me again.”

He bows his head, letting out a slow breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- Couldn’t possibly have guessed that you were running around thinking you were taking of me. I didn’t-“ His words choke slightly, and you push fully up on your elbows. 

When you extend your arms, he crawls into them in a second. Holding you tight to his chest and burying his face in your neck, not quite crying but breathing heavy, shaking slightly in your arms. 

“I did a lot of this I’m not-“ He lets out a dry laugh. “Proud’s not even a strong enough word. Hell, I’m surprised you and Sammy didn’t just fucking kill me-“

“We love you, Dean.” You whisper, combing your fingers through his hair. “We couldn’t kill you.”

He shakes his head. “Shoulda-“

“No.” You don’t have to make your voice firm. He’s not allowed to think that, not when you spent so many empty months just praying for him to come back. “I didn’t just miss this, Dean, I missed you. I missed talking to you and laughing with you and having you here-“

“Baby, the things I did-“

“You weren’t you, Dean. We all forgave you.” You sigh, leaning slightly back down. “I didn’t think you’d forgiven me.”

He angles his head up, resting his chin between your breasts, his voice deep and rough. “Can I tell you somethin’?”

You nod, keeping your fingers in his hair, and he grunts.

“I thought of you,” he mutters, holding your gaze. “All the goddamn time. And not like I thought of Sammy, only the worse shit about Dad and Ruby and Purgatory. Just- You. And they weren’t pure thoughts, baby, but I never wanted to hurt you. Just-“ He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t feel like a human, but I still loved you. And I didn’t feel guilt or shame about loving you, it just- Was. And I was willing to do damn near anything to have you. Never would’ve hurt you though. I thought I wouldn’t hurt you, but I didn’t think what we were doing was hurting, and-“

“It wasn’t.” You cut in, and he blinks at you. “I told you, Dean. I liked it. I- I didn’t care that it wasn’t you. I just, I wasn’t thinking straight, you looked at me like you wanted me-“

“I do.” He grunts. “Always have. Loved you from the moment I saw you, baby. You’re the best fuckin’ part of me, and it’s always- It’s been deeper than my heart. Didn’t think you’d want me around, but not talking to you- It felt like- Shit-“

“Something was missing?” You offer softly, and he nods. 

“Yeah. That.”

You swallow, tracing your hand over his face. 

He leans into it, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“You would’ve done anything to have me?” Your question is soft, and Dean gives you a tight nod. 

“Still would.” He mutters. “If you’ll have me-“

“I’ll have you.”

He pauses, his voice dropping impossibly deeper. “What do you want me to do?”

“Anything you want, Dean.” You whisper, and his nostrils flare slightly. 

“How about making good on that promise?” He kisses your breast, and you feel the heat starting to spread back through your core. “You wanna forget your name, baby?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, the sound hitching as Dean takes one nipple into his mouth. “Do- Dean, do that-“

You moan as he obliges, his free hand comes up to palm at your other breast, tongue flicking and teasing over your nipple until your dizzy with pleasure. 

“Dean-“ You squeak as he groans around you, your nails sinking into his back as you grind against the sheets. “Dean-“

“You want something, sweetheart?” He looks up at you with a smug grin, and you nod weakly.

“I can’t wait, Dean, just I- I need you-“

He grabs your neck again, pressing you gently back down into the mattress with another deep kiss, and you don’t know how he can make a kiss feel this good. Every nerve in your body buzz, your legs spread as wide as you can get them as you relax beneath him, making weak noises of desperation. 

“Oh-“ You moan as he starts to rub his hard cock between your pussy folds. “Dean, please-“

“Tell me that you want me.” He grunts against your lips, and you nod stupidly. 

“I- I want you, Dean, just you- God, please-“

You make a soft noise of good as he slowly pushes into you, and he always makes you so full. His thumb rubs slow circles on your clit, trying to help you relax into him, but you’re wound so tight.

“You gotta relax, baby.” He grunts, head dropping to your neck as you flutter around. “Shit- C’mon, sweetheart, please work with me-“

It’s like a spell. Dean’s words get to your head, and you go limp below him. 

He groans right in your ear as he bottoms out, and you moan.

“Good girl,” he mutters, kissing your cheek. “Already so cockdrunk you can’t talk, huh?”

You make an undignified nose, and Dean chuckles.

“Alright,” he draws up, and before you can make a noise of complaint from the loss of your warmth, Dean’s grabbing your angles and pulling them right over his shoulders. 

He’s so deep at this angle. Pressed right against your g-spot, his thumb flicking against your clit as you try to wrap your arms around your stomach, the feeling mind numbing and right on the edge of too much.

“No.” He grabs your wrists, dragging them away. “Wanna see all of you. Watch my girl go stupid while I fuck her, see how pretty you look cumming on my cock. Can I watch you, baby?”

You nod, and Dean grins down at you, his thumb moving back down to your clit as he folds you in half. 

“Love you,” He mutters your name, and you whine. “Always loved you. Never gonna let you think anythin’ else again.”

You open your mouth to tell him that he’s not allowed to think anything else either, but any possible mumbled words die as Dean starts to fuck you. 

It’s not rough, but it’s not slow, either. He draws almost all the way out before pushing back into you, balls slapping against your ass as his free hand plays with your tits, and you try to anchor yourself in the sheets. It’s the fucking of someone who’s been studying how to give you that perfect amount of attention and care to bring you back to the edge, without letting you fall over. His fingers roll your nipple as he draws his hips in a circle, that needy spot inside of you feeling every inch of his cock it drags through you. 

His pace picks up, until the lewd, wet sound his cock is filling the room, and you grab his hand on your tits. 

Dean raises his brows at you, a low sound escaping his throat as your pussy clenches around him, and it turns into a full moan as you take his finger into your mouth. Sucking on them as you hold his gaze, moaning as his hips jerks and he hits the deepest spot inside of you. 

His eyes flashes, and he drags his fingers aways before pulling almost all the way out, slamming back in, and planting them on your clit. 

It’s immediate. Stars glow behind your eyes as you cum with a gasp of his name, and Dean picks up his pace. He rearraigning your insides, lighting you on fire from your core out, and you never fucking want him to stop. The first orgasm crests up and up as he presses on your clit, but he doesn’t stop. Dean starts to rub it back and forth with firm, powerful pressure, and the second orgasm slams into you like a train. 

“There you go,” he growls your name, and you wiggle under him, too far gone to think of anything but the fire he’s sweeping through you, still fucking you into the mattress. “That’s it, baby, feels good, doesn’t it-“

“Yes,” you gasp, and suddenly it’s not nearly enough. “More, Dean- So fucking big-“

He groans, moving your legs off his shoulder to rut deep into your cunt, and a third orgasm crashes through you. Shakes your whole body as Dean falls over you, holding you tight to his chest as his thrusts become uncontrolled and desperate. 

You’re not sure where the heat in your body stops and Dean ends. It’s only warmth and good, the strength of his body and smell of his shampoo drowning you in a heavenly daze, your body almost burning with pleasure as your orgasms roll and crest over each other, and you’re turned into nothing but a mess of ecstasy. The only sound in the world is his perfect grunts of praise, then the sinful sound of him moaning your name as you find the strength to bite his lower lip and squeeze around his cock, and you can feel him everywhere as he fucks you through his orgasm. 

You’re still a little high, when leans down to kiss you gently. It makes everything a daze that isn’t Dean. You can hear him murmuring something in your ear and pulls out with a grunt, feel him move you up to your feet and guide you to the shower. It’s long and warm, the water soothing over your body as Dean washes your hair, and you press light kisses to his neck. 

He chuckles, tipping your head back with a grin. “You’re sorta out of it, aren’t you, baby.”

You only hum, blinking up at him, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose. “I’ll take care of you.”

Of course he will. 

He’s Dean.

He gets you out of the shower, helps dry you off, then guides you back to bed. Pulls you up into his chest when you lie on the bed, letting you drawn mindless shapes on his skin as he runs his fingers through your hair. Time moves into something meaningless, in the afterglow of it all. It’s just you and Dean in the whole universe, trapped in this tiny world without pain, and if you could you’d never leave. 

“Are you-“ Dean clears his throat, and when you glance up, he’s watching you so carefully. “You still good? With- Us?”

You nod, unable to stop your ditzy smile. 

Us. 

This thing is now us.

“Do I get to love you now?” You whisper, and Dean grins. A wide, handsome grin that’s become so fucking rare. That means the whole fucking world.

“Yeah.” He hums, kissing the top of your head. “Long as you let me love you, too.”

End Note: Mr. Winchester if you're reading this I am free whenever you want.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

the people (the people being me) yearn for mingi w a lactation kink, star please. thinking abt this at work rn im in hell i cant stop thinking about that man having such a huge oral fixation HELP ME -🌀anon

➯a/n: i'm just here to give the people what they want (the people also being me😓) ! i love how we ALL just agree that mingi has an oral fixation, something about him is screaming it so hard that the entire atiny community agrees 😭

hard hours 008:

Mingi + his out of control oral fixation = leaking

RATED XXXX. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥Song Mingi x fem reader

♫Sweet - Cigarettes After Sex♫

(>ᴗ•)genre: pure smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: oral fixation. shockerrr. soft dom / sub dynamics, sub minki, lactation, dry humping, casual intimacy, lowkey mommy kink maybe ?, pet names: momma

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @klllerwaifu @seonghwasslytherin @yoonglesbae @wolviejex @estrnrea @lover-ofallthingspretty @willowwyy @jaerisdiction @peelingpaint-heavyheart @satsuri3su @bubbly-moon @hannahstacos

18+.MINORS GET OUTTA HERE.

─..008.milk.───

⊹Mingi always has his mouth on something. Always keeping it busy. He can't function right if there's nothing going on in his mouth.

⟡Most of the time it's gum or something, just anything to get him through the day. But when he comes home to you, he just shuts his brain off and worships your body with his mouth for hours on end.

Today, it's your breasts that he focuses on.

Laying on top of you, wrapped up in your arms and legs softly as he sucks on your nipple gently. He isn't expecting anything to come out of it, it never does; and he's been doing this a long time. Your whole relationship, basically.

So when, today, an otherwise uneventful day, something sweet touches his tongue — he freaks the fuck out. His brain short circuits. He swallows, out of pure instinct, as he sits up with wide eyes to meet your own.

"Did you ju-"

"I think you made me-"

You speak over one another, shock undeniable. You both slowly look down to your chest — finding a small droplet of milk on the nipple that he was just licking. "Mingi, I think..." You breathe out shakily, "I think I'm leaking."

He can only stare, jaw dropped, as you reach and give your breast a small squeeze... and milk comes out. Dribbling down the round of your tit before his body acts for him and forces him forward to lap it up.

"Ah~ Mingi..." You moan softly, bringing your hand to cup the back of his head, "do you want to- uh, maybe, do you want to drink it?"

"God, yes," he pouts, staring down at your chest, "please let me..."

"I think I would really like that- ooooh, shit," you gasp as he latches onto your nipple again, cradling his head close and pulling him back down with your legs to lay flush against you.

Immediately, he's grinding into you. Layers of clothing be damned — he's humping into you with slow and clumsy movements, motivated purely by desire. Moaning and swallowing up every drop he manages to suckle out of you.

It feels... strange. Not in a bad way. Just entirely new and interesting. You like it.

Guiding his hand up to your other breast, you urge him to give it a squeeze — watching in awe mixed with disbelief as milk leaks between his fingers.

He whines, pressing his hips closer to you and tilting his head to lap at that nipple instead; slurping up the spilled milk before it can get away. "Holy shit," he pants, "holy fucking shit, Momma..." His usual nickname for you rolls off his tongue without thought, and when the thought catches up to him; he's chuckling breathlessly.

"You really are like my Momma now~"

─..008.milk.───

[t4kalcvr]

THE TWIN SIN — 𝖩𝖨𝖭𝖴 𝖲𝖠𝖩𝖠

WORD COUNT. 5,850 GENRE. romantic drama, emotional comedy, && angst. CONTENT CONTAINS. suggestive bonus ending, heartbreak, yelling, && possibly more (?). PART ONE ! PART TWO ! PART THREE ! PART FOUR !

𐔌՞꜆. ̫.꜀՞𐦯

he only shows up when she’s not there and that’s what ruins everything.

you used to think it was the guilt. the betrayal. the fire of lust that made your love feel dangerous.

but it isn’t. not anymore.

the thing that stings the deepest now is how much it feels like you’re still hiding — still a secret. and that maybe, even with everything jinu’s done to prove he loves you, part of him is still choosing silence when it counts.

because when rumi leaves the apartment, jinu appears.

he knocks on your window. or he waits in the stairwell. or he texts you, “are you alone?”

and you always are because that’s the only time he comes.

he brings your favorite snacks. your weird brand of ramen. a jacket because he swears you’ll catch a cold. he kisses your forehead. holds you while your demon patterns pulse faintly through your skin. says your name like it’s the last thing keeping him tethered to this world.

but he’s never there when rumi’s in the next room.

he never touches you when she’s on the couch. never speaks your name when she walks past. he doesn’t look at you when you pass in the hallway, doesn’t brush his fingers along your spine like he does when it’s just the two of you.

and that absence?

it’s louder than his love.

because what kind of relationship only exists in the dark?

you don’t want to be his escape, you want to be his choice, but instead, you feel like a secret.

still, even after all this time.

and the worst part?

you know he loves you, you believe it now.

but love doesn’t mean anything if it’s only true in silence. and every time he holds you only when she’s gone —

you feel more like a mistake than a miracle.

he knocks only once.

not loud, not urgent — just enough to be sure.

you don’t answer right away. you always used to. sometimes you’d already be waiting at the door, lips curled in a soft, guilty smile, asking if anyone saw him. sometimes you’d pull him inside by the collar, kiss first, questions later.

but not tonight.

tonight, the silence stretches too long.

and when you finally open the door, it’s with no smile at all.

his expression flickers the second he sees you.

you’re not angry. you’re not even cold. you’re just… quiet.

like someone who’s already walked through the fire and come out on the other side — alone.

“rumi’s gone?” he asks, stepping in without waiting for the answer, like usual.

you don’t respond.

you just move back toward the couch, barefoot, hoodie on, tea in hand — not the outfit you wear when you’re expecting him. not the mood that usually greets him like home.

he closes the door behind him slowly. watches you.

“did you eat?” he tries again, softer this time. “i brought those little shrimp crackers you like. and—”

“you only bring things when she’s gone.” your voice cuts through the room like wind through glass. not loud. not cruel. just true.

he freezes.

your eyes are still on the mug in your hands. “you only exist when she’s not here.”

he steps forward cautiously, like he’s not sure if the ground beneath him is going to hold. “that’s not—”

“don’t,” you say, still quiet. “don’t lie.”

your fingers tighten around the mug. your eyes finally meet his, and for the first time, he sees it. the hurt that’s been sitting there for days — not sharp or dramatic, just worn down from waiting.

“i know you love me,” you say. “but that doesn’t mean anything when you still only love me in the shadows.”

he exhales like he’s been punched. “you know why—”

“no, i don’t, jinu,” you cut in, voice finally rising, shaky but sure. “i don’t know why. because she knows. everyone knows. so who are you still hiding from?”

he’s silent.

you stare at him — all the softness drained from you now, not by anger, but exhaustion.

“if this is real,” you whisper, “then it has to be real all the time. not just when it’s convenient. not just when it’s quiet. not just when you’re sure you won’t get caught.”

he tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat.

you put your mug down and walk past him.

and for once — you don’t pull him inside, you don’t reach for his hand, you don’t kiss him into forgetting.

you just leave him standing there.

and it’s the first time jinu realizes he might lose you not because of rumi —

but because he’s made you feel like a secret when all you ever wanted was to be seen.

𐔌՞꜆. ̫.꜀՞𐦯

he doesn’t know why he came here.

maybe to get talked out of it. maybe to get talked into it.

but mostly — to stop the thoughts that’ve been eating him alive since the moment you looked at him like he was a stranger in your doorway.

the Saja dorm is dim, cluttered with jackets, half-drunk sodas, a tangle of charging cords. the boys are all here, scattered across the common room like misfit gods. abs is on the floor doing crunches. romance is flipping through a magazine upside down. baby’s curled in a hoodie in the corner, headphones barely on. mystery hasn’t spoken since jinu walked in, just stared, hair half covering his mouth like he’s biting his tongue in silence.

“so what’s the deal again?” abs asks, wiping sweat from his neck. “you love the twin you’re not supposed to love, and now she’s mad because you only show up when the other one’s gone?”

“basically,” jinu mutters, slumped on the couch, head in his hands. “she thinks i’m still hiding her.”

“well, you are,” baby mumbles from his corner.

romance tilts his head. “you’re not doing it maliciously, though, right?”

“no—i mean, not intentionally. i just didn’t want to make it worse.”

“but she knows now, right?” abs interrupts. “the sister? she knows. so what’s the problem?”

“she knows,” jinu says, voice low, “but it still hurts her. it’s messy. and complicated. and i don’t want to hurt either of them—”

“bro,” abs cuts in, sitting up. “stop. just stop. you already did. the hurt’s done. so either you keep hiding like a coward, or you grow some horns and go after the girl you actually want.”

romance leans forward, arms draped over his knees, voice softer. “abs isn’t wrong, but he’s being a dick about it. you do need to be honest — with everyone. but not loud about it. love her in front of people, sure, but don’t turn it into a parade. don’t make rumi watch.”

“that’s what i’ve been trying to avoid,” jinu mutters. “i didn’t want to rub it in her face.”

“but by hiding it,” baby says quietly, “you made it worse.”

“he’s right,” romance sighs. “you made your love feel shameful. like it wasn’t worth being seen.”

abs groans. “we’re making this way deeper than it is. you like her? then say it. kiss her in public. hold her hand. look the other girl in the eye and say you’re sorry. but don’t keep dragging both of them through this emotional maze.”

mystery finally speaks — a single sentence, low and gravelly, “she’s not gonna trust you until you show her that she’s safe.”

it silences the room.

jinu lifts his head. “and how do i do that?”

mystery doesn’t answer. just blinks, slow. like the answer isn’t in words. like it never was.

the room falls into heavy quiet.

romance breaks it with a soft laugh. “you’ll figure it out. you’re just slow.”

abs rolls his eyes. “just don’t mess it up. again.”

jinu leans back into the couch cushions, heart thudding hard beneath his ribs.

they’re all right and none of them made it easier, but the one thing that stands out — louder than the arguments, louder than the silence — is what baby said.

you made your love feel shameful.

and that’s what he has to fix.

𐔌՞꜆. ̫.꜀՞𐦯

you don’t know what you expected when you closed the door on him.

some part of you thought he’d knock again — maybe apologize, maybe beg, maybe tell you that you were right and that he’d do better right then and there. you expected drama. shouting. desperation.

instead, there was nothing.

silence.

the kind that sits heavy in your lungs and wraps around your throat like a chain.

you’d said what needed to be said. you’d drawn the line. you hadn’t cried. you hadn’t kissed him back. you didn’t even touch his hand when he reached for you, fingers curling in the air like he wanted one more chance to explain — but didn’t have the words.

you didn’t regret it.

not really.

but still — the silence hurts.

he hasn’t texted.

hasn’t called.

hasn’t slipped a note under your door the way he used to when rumi was home and he wanted to remind you he still existed.

and now, the silence doesn’t just sting — it terrifies you.

what if this is the end?

you sit at the edge of your bed, phone cold in your hand. the screen glows with nothing. no messages. no missed calls. no notifications that would mean he’s still trying.

and that’s the worst part.

you thought once you made it clear what you needed, he’d fight for you.

you thought he’d come back, not just with empty promises or kisses in the dark — but with proof. not crumbs. not shadows.

something real.

and maybe he still will.

maybe he’s just thinking. maybe he’s talking to someone, trying to figure out what to do — how to fix it all.

but how long are you supposed to wait? how many times can you remind yourself that love isn’t enough when it’s still hidden behind closed doors?

you curl your legs beneath you, staring at the ceiling. the light’s dim. the air’s still. you can hear the distant sound of rumi’s music playing faintly in her room again, and for the first time in a while, your chest doesn’t ache at the sound.

you’re tired of feeling like a villain in your own love story. tired of feeling like a ghost in the home you built with your sister.

you don’t want to keep waiting for someone to choose you loudly.

but god, if jinu walked through that door — really walked in, unafraid, seen, present —

you know you’d let him.

and that’s what scares you the most.

𐔌՞꜆. ̫.꜀՞𐦯

it had been four days.

four days without a text. without a knock. without a flash of black hair outside your window or a jacket left draped over your chair like a silent apology.

you didn’t expect the world to fall apart in four days, but somehow, it had.

it wasn’t loud. it wasn’t dramatic. it was quiet, like a crack running through the center of something that used to feel whole — a slow break, a steady unmaking. like something sacred had snapped and no one noticed but you.

except… they did. just not the way you feared.

zoey was the first to ask. casually, in the kitchen, while stirring honey into her tea. “you alright, babe? you’ve been kinda quiet.”

you’d nodded, smiled, muttered something about hormones or sleep. she didn’t push.

mira was next. more direct, but still gentle. “you skipped practice drills two days in a row. you don’t do that.”

you’d lied. “migraine.”

she’d just hummed and handed you a hot pack.

but it was rumi who said nothing — and that somehow hurt the most.

she noticed. of course she did. she always had the sharpest eyes when it came to you. she noticed how your appetite disappeared. how you lingered in the shower longer than usual. how your voice dimmed a little more each day, like your soul was losing volume.

she just didn’t ask. maybe she thought you didn’t want to talk to her. maybe she still didn’t feel like she was allowed to.

and maybe she was right, because even now, you couldn’t speak it aloud.

he’s gone. and i think this time, he might actually stay gone.

your chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with heartbreak and everything to do with doubt.

because what if you were wrong? what if he had loved you? what if this silence was just him respecting the line you’d drawn? what if he thought you didn’t want him anymore?

you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes in the privacy of your room, trying not to cry. again. the tears had become routine. brief, silent, exhausting.

your demon markings flickered faintly beneath your skin, glowing just long enough to remind you that your body still remembered him.

even if he’d forgotten you. and still — you said nothing, because what could you say?

that the boy who’d once worshiped every inch of you like you were holy had now vanished without a trace?

that you’d finally asked to be loved in the light — and were met with nothing?

so you smiled through it, and the girls noticed, but they didn’t ask because they couldn’t possibly guess the truth. and even if they could…

you weren’t sure you were ready to say his name out loud ever again.

and now, you were in your room and it’s the first time in days you’ve actually felt hungry.

your body’s still weak, slow, aching like it’s been grieving something too quietly. but the dull pressure in your stomach finally turns into a whisper: eat something.

you don’t hesitate. you can’t. you know if you wait even five more minutes, you’ll talk yourself out of it. you’ll crawl back into bed. you’ll forget how to be a person again.

so you move. barefoot across your room’s wooden floor, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, hair still tangled from restless sleep. your hand grazes the doorknob. you take a breath.

and then—

the door cracks open.

your eyes lift on instinct, half-expecting to see an empty hallway, or maybe one of the girls heading toward the kitchen.

but instead, you see him.

jinu.

he’s walking down the hallway, calm, casual — like this isn’t the first time he’s walked this path. like nothing’s broken. like the last four days of silence didn’t happen at all.

and then he does the unthinkable.

he stops at rumi’s door.

knocks, softly.

and she opens it.

no hesitation. no fury. no hesitation in her expression — just a quiet understanding as she steps aside and lets him in.

you freeze.

your hand slips from the doorknob, falling limp at your side. the air leaves your lungs so slowly it feels like drowning.

you don’t say his name.

you don’t even blink.

your body is still.

but your mind — god, your mind is flooding.

he’s here. he’s here.

after all that time. after all that waiting. after all the promises he made and broke and made again.

and he’s in her room.

why?

why now?

is he here to explain? to apologize? to… choose her?

your heart slams against your ribcage so hard you wonder if it’s trying to escape. your mouth is dry, your knees are trembling, and all you can do is stand there, caught in the slow, cruel moment that doesn’t seem real.

you can’t tell if you’re still breathing — or if your body’s just forgotten how.

you back up.

slowly.

quietly.

as if you’re the one intruding.

and the door clicks shut behind you, your food forgotten, your hunger replaced by the sharp ache in your chest that now has a name again.

jinu.

you don’t remember how you got back to your bed. did you walk? did you float? you don’t know — all you know is that the door shut behind you like it was sealing away the last shred of hope you’d been stupid enough to hold on to.

your hands feel cold. colder than the room. colder than your skin.

they’re trembling in your lap as you sit at the edge of the mattress, staring at nothing, the silence pressing against your temples like a scream stuck in a glass bottle. and suddenly you’re thinking of everything — every little thing.

the times he showed up smiling, only when she was gone. the way he never touched your hand in front of anyone. the way he kissed you like it meant everything — then left before the sun could catch you still in his arms.

what were you to him? a secret? a comfort? was it guilt that kept him near? was it love? was it loneliness in disguise?

you press your palms to your face, digging your fingers into your skin like maybe you can scrape the ache out, but it doesn’t help. it only makes the tears spill faster. you’re not even sobbing — not yet. the pain is still too raw for that. right now it’s just water, just your body leaking heartbreak in the only way it knows how.

quiet. pathetic. endless. your mind won’t shut up, it replays the hallway like a broken film reel.

rumi letting him in. jinu walking through her door. her door. not yours.

you feel humiliated. like your love was a joke you told in front of the whole world and didn’t realize the punchline was you.

and the worst part?

you still love him. god — you still love him.

even now, as your heart sinks to the bottom of your ribs and starts to rot. even now, when you should be screaming, cursing, ripping him out of your chest.

your phone buzzes across the room, once, and you don’t move to check it.

because what if it’s him? and what if it’s not?

your limbs go heavy. your stomach curls. the hunger’s gone again — chased off by grief. and you wonder, bitterly, what hurts more:

jinu walking into rumi’s room… or the fact that he never walked into yours when it really mattered.

the knock on your door sounds distant — like it came from somewhere underwater, barely reaching your ears through the fog of your thoughts. you don’t even flinch.

your voice comes out cracked and low.

“come in.”

you don’t care who it is. maybe part of you doesn’t want to know. maybe you’re just too exhausted to move — to pretend like you’re okay again.

the door creaks open. and when you hear the soft click of it shutting behind them, you glance up, slow and lifeless, only to find—

rumi.

you freeze. your heart stutters. and for a second, shame strangles every other emotion in your chest.

her expression is calm. not angry, not smug, not cold — just tired. maybe even a little… sad.

you blink fast, wiping your sleeve across your eyes before sitting up, making room on the bed with a clumsy shuffle. you don’t know what to say. if anything, you expected her to storm in with words like knives, or to ignore you forever — not this.

not this quiet mercy.

rumi walks over without a word and sits beside you. the bed shifts with her weight, but neither of you speak.

the silence is thick. heavy. not awkward — just… full. like both your hearts are breathing it in, trying to understand what’s happening.

then —

her arms wrap around you.

you go stiff. shocked. unsure if this is a trick or a mistake.

but rumi sighs softly, pressing her cheek to your shoulder like someone laying down a burden.

“i forgive you,” she says.

you blink. your throat tightens. your eyes sting all over again.

“…what?”

she pulls back, just enough to look at you, and though her face is calm, her eyes shine. there’s pain there — but there’s peace, too.

“about jinu,” she clarifies. “i forgive you.”

your breath catches.

you don’t speak — can’t. your lips part, but nothing comes out. your lungs feel like they’ve folded in on themselves. everything in you is spinning, floating, breaking.

rumi keeps going, her voice soft but sure.

“i thought it was betrayal. or some kind of jealousy. or maybe he was just cheating. i didn’t understand what it really was.”

she glances down at her hands, folded tightly in her lap.

“…but it was love. wasn’t it?”

you feel your head nod before you can even process it. the tears spill again, but quietly this time. no sobs. no gasps. just streams of guilt and relief slipping down your cheeks like rain sliding off glass.

“you didn’t mean for it to happen,” rumi says, her voice trembling just a little. “but it did. and i’ve hated you for it. and i hated him for it, too.”

you watch her, your hands gripping your blanket like it’s the only thing holding you to this world.

“but if it’s love… then i get it. and i’d rather let it go than lose both of you forever.”

you cover your mouth with your hand, not to silence yourself — just to hold in the sob clawing up your throat. she doesn’t look at you, not anymore. just stares forward, like she’s still processing the words as they leave her lips.

it hurts. god, it hurts. this forgiveness feels like a blade dressed in silk. you don’t know if you should cry harder or beg her to take it back.

but in this moment — in this fragile, heavy, human moment — rumi is showing you a kind of love too.

a painful, selfless, final kind.

and all you can do is sit there, shattered, and hold it in your trembling hands.

rumi exhales slowly, like she’s been holding that breath in for days. her hand brushes your shoulder one last time before she stands.

you don’t move.

your chest is too tight. your mind’s reeling. but something about her calm… it steadies you, if only slightly.

and just as she takes one step toward the door — it opens.

your eyes snap to the movement.

he walks in.

him.

jinu.

he looks like he’s been through hell — his hair a mess, eyes red, jaw clenched so tight you can see the tension in every part of him. like he hasn’t slept. like he hasn’t breathed right since that night.

his eyes meet yours, but only for a second. because then they shift to rumi — who turns just slightly toward you and says softly,

“he’ll explain everything.”

you blink.

“i’ll check in on you later.”

and just like that —

she’s gone.

the door closes behind her with a soft click, but it sounds like a gunshot in your chest.

you don’t look at him right away. instead, you shut your eyes and tilt your head back slightly, breathing through your nose in slow, long pulls. like you’re bracing yourself for impact.

your hands clench into the sheets.

because gods, your heart still aches for him — the pull is still there, alive and deep in your ribs, screaming for his touch, his voice, anything—

but there’s anger too.

burning under the ache. growing with every second of silence between you.

you don’t open your eyes. you just breathe, because the moment you do, you know you’re going to let him have it.

every thought, every pain, every question you screamed into your pillow.

all of it.

and he’s going to hear it, even if your voice breaks in the process.

he tries to speak.

tries to say your name, or maybe apologize, or maybe start from the beginning — whatever the beginning even was. but you don’t let him. your voice cuts sharp before he can finish the first word.

“no. shut up.”

he blinks. frozen at the threshold. still in the same spot where rumi left him.

you’re already grabbing the nearest pillow from your bed and throwing it at his chest. it hits him with a soft thud. he doesn’t flinch.

“you don’t get to speak first. you don’t get to waltz in here after four fucking days and act like you’re ready to talk just because it’s finally convenient for you.”

another pillow. this one a little smaller. it bounces off his shoulder and hits the floor.

“you let me sit here — rot here — wondering if i was insane. wondering if everything we did was just some side story in your perfect little life.”

your voice cracks, but you don’t stop. you grab your stuffed cat and chuck it at his knee. he just stands there, mouth parted, eyes wide, like he’s too scared to breathe in case it makes things worse.

“do you know what it feels like to be your secret? to only matter when she’s not home? do you know what it felt like to see you walk into her room like it was nothing?!”

you don’t even know what you’re picking up now — a rolled-up hoodie, a small plush, an empty water bottle — anything your fingers can close around ends up flying in his direction.

“i gave you everything, jinu. everything. i let you into my body, into my head, into my heart. and you gave me silence.”

he opens his mouth again.

“don’t.” your voice trembles now, but not with weakness — with rage.

with grief.

with the kind of love that’s gone sour in your chest and turned into something bitter and aching.

“don’t come here and say you were confused. don’t tell me you didn’t want to hurt anyone. you did. you hurt me. and now i have to sit here and pretend like i’m okay every time i hear her laugh. like i’m not just the version of love you couldn’t say out loud.”

you stop.

finally.

you’re breathing hard, shoulders shaking, throat raw from yelling.

he’s still standing there. eyes glossy. arms slack.

he flinches when the last pillow hits the floor. not because it hurt, but because you did. because every word you just screamed carved a line into his chest, and he’s bleeding from the inside out.

“stop,” he finally says, voice low. “stop throwing things.”

you stare at him, still breathing hard, hands clenched, chest tight like your heart can’t decide whether to break more or start stitching itself back together.

“i went into her room,” he starts, slowly, carefully, “to beg.”

you blink. your body stills.

“to beg for forgiveness. to tell her everything. to tell her i’m in love with you.”

your breath catches, throat burning, and his voice only grows quieter, shakier.

“i told her i can’t do it anymore. i can’t sneak around and pretend like what we have isn’t real. like you don’t keep me up at night just thinking about the way you laugh, or how you make me feel like i’m someone worth being loved. i can’t keep showing up only when rumi’s not home — like you’re something shameful. like we’re some secret.”

he swallows, stepping closer.

“i told her that if someone had to be hated… it should be me. if someone had to lose something, it should be me. not you. not the person i love. not the person who’s only ever wanted me to choose.”

you’re still frozen. tears are building in your eyes again, but they don’t fall — not yet.

he’s standing in front of you now, his hands trembling slightly.

“i told her i love you,” he whispers. “out loud. no hiding.”

your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to, barely a breath.

“then why were you gone for four days?”

his eyes lift to yours instantly, like the question burned right through him. and maybe it did.

“why didn’t you call me? or text me? or… or just say something? even if it was just ‘wait for me’—i would’ve. i was. but you didn’t. you just left me here.”

he stares at you like he’s afraid to speak. like he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing, or maybe just afraid of how much truth he’s holding in his chest.

“because i felt ashamed,” he says finally. “because i knew i hurt you. and the second i saw it in your face… the way you looked at me when i came over that day… like something inside you just shut off—i didn’t know what to do.”

he steps closer again, slowly this time, carefully like you might vanish if he moves too fast.

“i ran to the guys. i sat on that damn couch and begged them for answers like they knew what love felt like inside me. like they could tell me how to fix it. how to fix us.”

his voice cracks on the last word, but he doesn’t stop.

“i’ve never felt like this before. never been so scared to lose someone. never… never wanted to get it right this bad.”

you’re silent, still watching him with teary eyes, and jinu takes one more step forward until he’s close enough to kneel in front of you.

he takes your hands in his and presses a kiss to your knuckles, then another, slower one to the inside of your wrist.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers. “for every second you doubted me. for every time i made you feel like a secret instead of a miracle.”

his hands are trembling.

“i love you. not quietly. not in pieces. all at once. even when it’s hard. especially then.”

your fingers twitch in his grasp, and this time the tears fall.

not from pain.

from something softer. warmer. still scared—but starting to believe.

a few moments pass as you both have been sitting there in silence for a while now. the room smells like old tears and your perfume and jinu’s cologne, still clinging to that hoodie in his lap. he hasn’t said anything in a while. neither have you.

your fingers are picking at the seam of your blanket. his hands are knotted together like he doesn’t know what to do with them. like if he moves too fast, you’ll vanish.

but you’re still here. hurting, but here.

he glances over. then again, slower this time. “can i…?”

you nod before you even know what he’s asking.

and then he leans in. cautiously, like he’s walking into a storm barefoot. his hand rests on your cheek first, warm and shaking slightly, and your eyes flutter shut just from that. the way he touches you like you’re still fragile. like this moment might collapse if either of you breathes too loud.

his forehead rests against yours. he whispers, “i’m so in love with you it makes me feel stupid.”

you let out a soft, wet laugh. “you are stupid.”

“but you still love me,” he whispers, barely a question.

“yeah,” you say, just as quiet. “god help me, i do.”

and then you kiss him.

it’s not graceful. his nose bumps yours, your teeth click a little, and you’re both still kind of sniffling. but it’s real. aching and full of everything that couldn’t be said out loud until now. his hands slip into your hair, your fingers curl into his shirt, and the world narrows down to just the two of you — no secrets, no shame, no one else watching.

just love, and all the chaos that comes with it.

when you finally pull away, his eyes are glassy and wide.

“you’re crying,” you tease softly.

“shut up,” he mumbles, and kisses you again.

you both fall back against the bed, breathless.

not from the kiss — though that too — but from the whole thing. all of it. the yelling, the tears, the four days of heartbreak, the apology, the truth.

and now… this. finally.

“you cried first,” you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips as you roll over and poke his cheek.

“i did not,” he says instantly, completely betrayed. “i was sweating emotionally.”

you snort and nudge your head into his chest like a cat curling into the warmth. “you’re such a liar.”

“and you’re mean,” he mutters, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “you threw a sock at my face.”

“a fluffy sock,” you counter, grinning now. “be grateful i didn’t throw your own hoodie. i was aiming for psychological warfare.”

he buries his face into your hair, groaning. “you’re insane.”

you tilt your head up just enough to meet his gaze. “and you love it.”

he hesitates dramatically. “eh… you’ve got a few redeeming qualities.”

you gasp, shoving him gently. “few?! wow. unbelievable.”

he tightens his arms and rolls so you’re beneath him, his weight warm and heavy in a way that feels grounding, not stifling. “okay, okay. maybe more than a few. maybe, like…” he trails off, pretending to count on his fingers. “a lot. maybe i’m obsessed. maybe i can’t stop thinking about you for one second without wanting to text you a heart emoji and then panic when you don’t answer in ten minutes.”

your heart flutters, but you still tease, “that’s crazy. you should probably get help.”

he kisses your cheek. “i did. i came here.”

you roll your eyes so hard you groan, but your arms wrap around him anyway, tugging him closer until his head rests against your shoulder and your legs tangle beneath the blanket.

he hums, content. “can we just stay like this for a while?”

“only if you promise not to disappear for another four days.”

he kisses your shoulder, voice soft, “never again.”

and as the room settles into a warm quiet, your fingers slip into his hair and his hand lazily traces circles on your back — soft, grounding, and still a little goofy.

it feels like home.

𐔌 bonus 𐦯

your bodies are tangled in the softness of your sheets, your laughter finally settled into quiet breaths. jinu’s head rests on your chest now, ear pressed over your heart like he’s trying to memorize the rhythm. one arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other lazily tracing shapes along your side.

it’s warm like this. still.

then, with a slight squeeze of your hip, he murmurs against your skin, “can i show you how much i love you now?”

you blink. “you are showing me.”

he lifts his head, all wide eyes and a mischievous pout. “no, like… physically. with sex.”

you stare at him.

he blinks.

then you burst out laughing, pushing at his chest. “jinu!”

he grins, shameless. “what! i’m just saying — you said to prove it in more ways than sex, and i’m doing that, i swear. i’ve been so good. but now i’d also like to include sex on the list, please.”

“you are unbelievable.”

“but lovable.”

you shake your head, biting your lip to hold back your smile — and then you climb on top of him, straddling his hips like second nature, your hands framing his face.

“you’re lucky i’m weak for you,” you murmur.

his hands grip your thighs, eyes a little blown. “so… is that a yes?”

you kiss him, slow and deep, your smile brushing his lips. “yes.”

“even after that tragic line?”

“especially after that tragic line,” you whisper, giggling as he flips you over with a grin, muttering a relieved, “thank god.”

and as your laughter fades into soft kisses and tangled sheets, the love in the room only grows — big and loud and entirely yours.

copyright © t4kalcvr 2025 all rights reserved

💬, guys im so sorry i haven’t been updating, my job has been working my ass off and ive also been exhausted lately, im lwk sleeping all the time 😭 BUT HERES AN UPDATE ANS IM SORRY REQS ARE TAKING FOREVER I’LL TRY TO GET MORE DONE, im going on vacation soon though, which is why i’ve working alot too lol im sorry ive been gone long though, i miss you guys :) ANYWAYS ENJOYYYY also its adorable to see you guys stalk my account ;) also also im still figuring out how to use instagram guys soooo im sorry lol

🗯️(tmi) : also last night, i got with this girl, and she lwk rode my brains out, like DAAAAAMN. and then we stayed up playing charades until like 3 am (i dont bang and bolt). and tbh it was really good i might make a fanfic on it, because i do write some of these based on my life lol 😭

᧔᧓ you just read a fic that ruined your life—donate a coffee ? ☕️

look here for more reads 📚!!

🔖: @sukunasrealgf @sinamew @haloangelfics @valentique @invinciblewaffles @smileysunshinesworld @pariahsparadise @chiharuhashibira @loreleis-world @theshadowsden @dainsleif-when-playable @lagataprrr @armycaratlover @calicocat-ina-tuxedo @your-sleeparalysisdem0n

[sereia4skz]

sooo for your 2k event, i don't remember seeing any ask with Seungmin, so... could you write something like the reader watches him from afar reading his books, and finds it interesting that he always has a new book with him; and reader silently starts leaving other books underneath the tree where he always sit, and then he's waiting for the new ones. and one day, when reader forgets, he goes to them and the two talk, and become friends? or something like, close to this scenario, or whatever you would like to write its fine.

congratulations on 2K! very much deserved.

2k Followers Event | the language of trees

pairing: seungmin x reader

synopsis: a first time joinning a nerd and his tea time

warnings: elf!seungmin, comfort type shyt

event masterlist: #2kShootingStars

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

AN: no one bother his tea time

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

The Sanctuary was supposed to be a refuge. For creatures like him, displaced and fading, a place to disappear without fanfare. But Seungmin didn’t want to disappear. He just wanted to be left alone.

When you meet him, he stands at the edge of the forest, tall and still as a shadow. His sharp eyes flick over everything, the shifting canopy above, the soft moss beneath his boots, the odd human standing beside the crumbling gate who looks far too cheerful for this place.

You extend a hand. “Welcome to the Sanctuary. I’m the caretaker.” Your voice is light, practiced. You’ve said it a thousand times, but there’s always something new in the way the newcomer responds. With some, it’s relief, fear, excitement. With Seungmin, it’s nothing. Just a tilt of his head, a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Seungmin,” he says, nodding once, almost dismissively.

You guide him along the winding path lined with wildflowers and ancient trees, the scent of pine and earth thick in the air. You can tell he notices everything, the way the sunlight spills through the branches, the quiet hum of magic in the soil. But he says nothing, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

“This cabin will be yours,” you say, pausing before a small wooden building nestled beneath a thick bough of oak. The moss that carpets its roof almost glows in the fading light.

He examines it briefly, eyes scanning every corner with a meticulousness that makes your heart beat a little faster. “Isolated,” he mutters, more to himself than you.

“Quiet,” you reply with a smile. “I thought you’d like that.”

Seungmin shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Obviously.”

It’s not rude. Just... direct.

You offer a smile anyway. “Well. If you need anything, I’m usually near the main hall. Or you can leave a note.”

“I won’t.”

You figure that’s the last conversation you’ll have for a while.

⋆｡°✩

You don’t see much of Seungmin except for glimpses. Sometimes at dawn, when mist still clings to the ferns, you find him sitting beneath the great oak tree near his cabin. Always the same spot. Always with a book.

You watch from a distance, the way his fingers brush over the worn pages, how his eyes narrow when he reads something that piques his interest, how he sips from a chipped thermos filled with tea.

You learn his favorite genre without a word spoken: poetry, history, human stories. He’s collecting them, these books, as if they were tiny anchors tethering him to a world slipping away.

One evening, after a day spent preparing herbs and bandages for the Sanctuary’s residents, you slip a book beneath the oak’s roots, a novel with cracked leather and a spine softened from age. You don’t expect him to notice. But the next morning, it’s gone.

And then it becomes a ritual. You leave books, some mysteries, some poetry, some tales of faraway lands. No notes. Just quiet offerings. Sometimes you pause, watching as he returns to the tree and finds them, the faintest flicker of surprise softening his gaze before he settles down to read.

Until the day you forget. Caught up in tending to a young kitsune with a twisted ankle, you lose track of time and leave no book at the tree. You don’t notice until twilight, when you return to your cabin, tired and aching.

He’s there. On your porch.

You stop dead.

Seungmin leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a brow raised. “Did you forget?” he asks, voice low but amused.

You blink, cheeks flushing. “I-I did?”

He lets out a soft, exasperated sigh. “I was looking forward to it.”

You smile awkwardly. “Sorry.”

He steps inside before you can protest, eyes flickering with curiosity as he surveys your cozy living space.

The shelves are crowded with books, old, new, some with bookmarks poking out like flags of conquest.

“You read all these?” he asks, picking up a battered copy of poetry.

“Most of them,” you say.

He flips through the pages, then looks up. “I never thought humans would be so... persistent.”

You laugh softly. And you share your first cup of tea, in a quiet that’s heavy with words unspoken.

But eventually, he starts showing up, every eve, with a new kind of tea, ready to demand a new book.

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere @sunfk88 @sillyseob @rougegenshin @yaorzu-blog @babigriin @tricky-ritz

[miinxiee]

spare time °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: jax decides to kill time with you.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: pre-pomni era, reader is called pretty, fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k

the circus was unusually quiet.

no yelling. no color-saturated chaos bouncing off the walls. just the low hum of the place existing, background sound looping as usual, almost comforting in its repetition.

you had tucked yourself away on one of the random lounge cushions left near the corner of the tent. probably caine’s idea of a ‘relaxation zone,’ though it looked more like someone had given up halfway through building a pillow fort. maybe kinger.

you weren’t doing anything special. just sitting. thinking. killing time the way you always did between adventures. you didn’t expect anyone to come by.

so when a pair of heavy footsteps padded behind you, you didn’t look up at first. not until they stopped just a few feet away, then hovered.

you turned your head. “...what?”

jax stared at you with his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “you always look so suspicious. like i’m here to drop a bucket of slime on your head or something.”

you raised a brow. “are you?”

“not this time.”

he sat down next to you. not close, but not far, either. his legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. he looked completely at ease, like this was his idea all along.

you watched him cautiously. “you’re not usually around during quiet hours.”

jax shrugged. “maybe i got bored.”

“of what?”

he looked sideways at you.

“everyone else.”

you snorted softly and looked away. “that’s fair.”

for a moment, neither of you said anything. you fiddled with a corner of the cushion beneath you. he leaned back on his hands, letting the silence settle. not awkward just... still.

then, without moving his head, jax said, “you’re weirdly quiet when no one’s watching.”

“so are you.”

“yeah, but i’m allowed to be. i’m mysterious,” he wiggled his fingers for dramatic effect.

you rolled your eyes. “sure.”

jax glanced at you again, sharp-eyed.

“what, you only talk when the spotlight’s on you?”

“maybe i just don’t have anything to say.”

“you? nah. you’ve always got something going on up there,” he pointed at your head. “it’s the way your face twitches when you’re thinking.”

“twitches?” you didn’t think he noticed that.

“yeah. like right now,” he leaned closer, faux-inspecting your expression. “see? you’re doing it.”

you swatted at him, and he dodged easily, grinning like a brat.

“you’re annoying,” you muttered.

jax gave an exaggerated shrug. “guilty as charged. and yet, here you are. letting me ruin your precious alone time.”

you opened your mouth to retort, then paused.

“…you didn’t ruin anything.”

jax tilted his head slightly. “no?”

you shook your head. “it’s kind of... nice, actually.”

he raised a brow, clearly surprised. “well, don’t get too sentimental. you’re gonna scare me off.”

you smiled faintly, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“noted.”

jax shifted, now sitting cross-legged. you could feel his gaze, but you didn’t meet it. not yet.

“so,” he said. “what do you even do during this kind of downtime?”

“sit. think. sometimes doodle on stuff. talk to myself, if i’m feeling unhinged,” you shrugged.

jax snorted. “hot.”

you looked at him sideways. “what about you?”

“me?” he sat up straighter. “i usually find someone to mess with. or wander around until something breaks. y’know. jax stuff.”

“but not today?”

“mm,” he hummed. “felt like being lazy.”

“lazy with me, though.”

jax gave you a look. “don’t read into it.”

you weren’t sure if that was teasing or serious.

you didn’t push it.

at some point, you ended up lying back against the cushion, arms folded under your head. jax followed suit a beat later, flopping onto his back with a dramatic sigh like someone exhausted from doing nothing.

you were side-by-side now. still not touching. but close enough to feel the warmth of presence, that subtle awareness of someone else just being there.

after a while, jax broke the silence again. this time quieter.

“you really think we’re stuck here forever-forever? like- as in forever?”

you turned your head toward him. he was staring at the ceiling.

“i stopped thinking about that a while ago,” you said truthfully.

“if we are,” he said slowly, “guess it’s not the worst thing.”

you blinked. “coming from you, that’s kind of shocking.”

jax shrugged one shoulder.

“eh. figured if i’m gonna be trapped, could be worse than being stuck with someone who isn’t completely unbearable.”

“wow,” you deadpanned. “how touching.”

jax turned his head, meeting your eyes.

“…you’re tolerable,” he said.

you smiled, lips twitching.

“you’re tolerable too.”

he smirked, then looked back up.

the silence stretched again. but this time, it was warmer. less empty.

you turned slightly on your side to look at him, cheek resting on your arm.

“you ever miss it?” you asked quietly. “the real world?”

jax didn’t answer right away. he seemed to really think about it before answering.

“…nah,” he said finally. “i think i did. at first. but now? i barely remember it.”

you nodded slowly. “same.”

jax tilted his head, catching your expression. “weird, right? all that stuff we thought mattered- jobs, bills, whatever.. now it’s like it happened to someone else. not us.”

you let out a quiet laugh.

“honestly? sometimes i like it better here than out there.”

“ha. knew you were crazy.”

you nudged his arm with your knuckles. “you’re one to talk.”

“hey, i never claimed to be sane.”

you both laughed softly, then fell quiet again.

after a while, jax propped himself up on one elbow and looked at you more directly. not with a smirk. not with that teasing glint he usually had. just... curious.

“you ever think about what we’d be like if we met out there?”

you blinked at him. “in the real world?”

“yeah.”

you tilted your head. “i don’t know. you’d probably annoy me in line at a grocery store.”

jax laughed. “you’d give me the dirtiest look. like, ‘who is this guy and why is he talking to me about the cereal aisle?’”

“and you’d still keep talking.”

“absolutely,” he said. “i’d make you laugh eventually.”

you smiled. “probably.”

“i bet you were pretty…” jax didn’t bet. he knew.

you felt your face redden slightly at the compliment and you carefully inspected jax’s face for any sign of humor, but there was none to be found.

jax’s voice dropped just slightly. “you’re easier to read here.”

you raised a brow. “how do you figure?”

“’cause you try so hard not to react. it’s a dead giveaway.”

you looked at him, lips twitching. “you realize that makes no sense right?”

jax smirked. “doesn’t have to.”

you rolled your eyes and laid back again.

he stayed propped up on his elbow, watching you.

“you tired?” he asked, softer now.

“not really.”

“…comfortable?”

you paused, then nodded.

jax let himself lay back down again, just a little closer than before. your shoulders almost touched. almost.

“good,” he said. “’cause i don’t feel like moving yet.”

[kewpiekitty]

where have you gone?

a/n !: i'm excited to finally finish this omg !! i was inspired by this scenario from @doodlewritesfics and i have been wanting to write this since i read it ahhh !! this is post-realization mateo btw !! also we're gonna pretend he can still see objects even after he's been realized and the inanimals are being watched by betty ! i hope y'all enjoy this !! also maybe i'll make a part two with pregnant!reader !!

content warning !: fem!reader, insecure!reader, reader kind of has abandonment issues, angst, comfort, crying, starts gentle then turns into rough sex, creampie, begging, and implications of pregnancy !!

synopsis !: the next morning you wake up to find mateo gone, nothing giving you a clue as to where he could've gone or when he'll be back. when you finally see him again you don't know if you can forgive him.

You were laid next to Mateo on the couch, it was a funny feeling, being able to really feel him next to you now. His warm hand brushing against your arm with each pet he gave to the dogs. They were sprawled out all over the couch and floor. It was like a dream come true, he was really here, and so were the inanimals.

The sounds of their breathing and occasional sighs had you drifting off to sleep. Before you are able to fully fall asleep, you hear Mateo whisper.

"You are my family, forever." 

His words were all you needed to hear before you fell asleep, head on his shoulder. Dreaming about helping Mateo and the inanimals find other missing critters and giving them a home. 

You wake up with a smile on your face, excited to spend the day with your now real boyfriend. Only now, there is no sign of him anywhere. You look around the house, trying to find clues of him or the inanimals everywhere. Yet there are none. 

Thinking that maybe you could've dreamt about realizing him, you put the dateviators back on. You look around the house once again but there is still no sign of him. Fear washes over you as you think about what could have possibly happened to Mateo. The objects all tell you the same thing, that they haven't seen him either. With no other ideas left, you break down crying. Discouraged and tired, you fall asleep on the couch where you and Mateo had been the day before. 

It has been a week since you've last seen him. You were drained and exhausted but you decided to turn on the tv. When you do a commercial for the WFYB pops up, and there stands Mateo and the inanimals. Your heart felt like it stopped and your breathing slowed, you watched in silence until he disappeared from the screen. Finally seeing your chance to find him you grab your keys and bolt out of the house, heading straight for the building. 

When you arrive there is no sight of him, but you talked to the person at the desk. No useful information came from them, except for a dismissive "They always come back!". All you could do was ask for whatever updates you could get, giving them your number so they could notify you as soon as Mateo returned. 

As you leave the building you think back to the commercial. The voice on the tv saying "They have never left a subject behind".

Except for you. They left you behind. 

All week you had laid in bed, unable to bring yourself to do anything without knowing Mateo was okay. The stress made it hard for you to get out of bed, and it was getting noticeable that you weren't moving around the house recently. A gruff voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

"You should really take a shower you know?" It was Doug. Of course he'd be here right now. 

"Doug please go away, I'm seriously not in the mood." He scoffs at you. "Yeah, that's why I'm here right now, dork." He grabs your arm and pulls you up out of the bed. "Listen, it's bumming everyone out cause you're just laying in bed. We know you miss Mateo but you need to get a grip." 

You want to get angry at his words but you can't muster up enough strength. You were tired, you had been abandoned and you were just expected to be okay with it?

"What do—what do I do Doug?" Your body gives out and falls over onto his. "What do I do now?" He wraps an arm around you and rubs your back somewhat soothingly. "How about you take a bath, relax for a bit and then you can go ask if there are any updates on your little boytoy okay?" 

You nod against his shoulder, gathering the strength to get up and run the bath water. A cool hand places itself upon your shoulder. You turn around to see Bathsheba, the dark frown on her face making you nervous. 

"I just cannot believe that he had the nerve to just dip like that! You realize him and then he just goes off into the world? No call, no text, no note, no "goodbye honey i'm off to become a member of a search group!"

You roll your eyes at her words despite them being true. She sits on the counter top and carries on talking as you bathe yourself, thankful for her chattiness since the last thing you want to do right now is talk. When you finish your bath she helps you get dry and brushes your hair, all while continuing to gossip. 

Bathsheba sends you off into your room to get dressed, hoping that maybe today will be better for you. As you finish dressing a high pitched ping echoes through the room. Your heart begins to race—could that be an update? 

You jump onto your bed, grabbing your phone in both hands. Your eyes are closed as you hold it up, one slowly opening to see who could've texted you. 

It was the WFYB. . .Mateo is back. 

You rush to the building again, hoping—no praying, that he'll be here this time. Your heart is racing so fast that you can hear your own heartbeat. There's a heavy feeling in your stomach, the uncertainty being able to see him again weighing in the hair. 

When you open the doors you see him. His chubby and tall figure standing there talking to one of his associates. You feel sick, a mixture of emotions creeps up. Anger at Mateo for not saying anything, happiness that he's alive and well, and sadness that he just left you. 

He turns around at the sound of the door chiming, a big smile plastered on his face when he sees you. 

"Mi vida! We've missed you so—" You interrupt him, asking to talk to him in private. When he takes you to a room off to the side you break down. Allowing every single emotion you've been feeling to come out all at once. Sobs rack through your body as he wraps his arms around your frame, but you push him away, pain now the only thing on your mind. 

"How could you leave me like that? You said I was your family, but you didn't even tell me you were leaving!" 

A deep frown forms on his face, guilt flows through his body. "I'm so sorry mi vida, I know I should have said something before but—" 

"No! You don't get to do that. I was worried day and night about you, I had no clue if you were dead or alive." You use your hand to wipe the tears from your eyes. "There was nothing that told me where you were. Do you know how scary that is?" 

He stands there looking like a child who's getting yelled at by his mother. He doesn't interrupt, letting you say what you need to. Although he's a little hurt that you rejected his touch he understands. However, his understanding goes out the window when you say that you don't think you can continue to be with him. 

"Mi amorcita please. I know I've messed up but please don't say that, you know you're my family. You're everything I need." 

You scoff, anger taking over everything in your body. 

"Do I know that? Mateo, I'm not mad that you wanted to do this." You hold his hands in yours. "I'm just mad you left without any warning. What if you did that and something happened? I wouldn't be able to live with myself." 

Tears well up in his big brown eyes, his lower lip jutting out and trembling. Your heart aches at his face. Your words have him looking like a kicked puppy. Yet his actions had you hurting like one. 

"I'm sorry Mateo, but I don't think I can—" 

He interrupts you with a bear hug, his grip so tight it could've stopped your breathing. You could feel warm tears wetting your shirt, along with small hiccups coming from his trembling body. 

"hic—ple...please mi vida. i can't live without you, i n...need you in my life—please." His cries were desperate and pleading. It was obvious he was trying to convince you to rethink your choice, and it was working. He didn't know how much it hurt you to say those things. 

'But if I was so important, then why didn't he tell me he was leaving?' 

He lowers himself onto his knees, his arms now wrapped around your legs. His face is stained with tears as he looks up at you. "bebecita—hic—por favor, forgive me. i haven't been the man you deserve, please...let me make it up to you." 

You pause, not knowing what to do. You can't help but feel so bad for your sweet boy. His lips forming a cute pout while he cries. Your hands find their way to both sides of his face, using your thumbs to wipe away his tears. 

"C'mon, let's go home okay? We can talk more about this there." You pull him up to his feet, taking hold of his hand. You, Mateo, and the inanimals make the way back to the house. The silence on the way there was killing him, while the inanimals were wagging their tails at the sight of their home. 

You enter the house, silence still filling the gaps between the two of you. 

"I'm going to head upstairs, okay? just make yourself comfortable and if you need something just ask." 

His strong grip stops you in your tracks. You can't bring yourself to look back at him, if you do you won't be able to stop falling apart. 

"bebecita...please look at me." you don't say anything, you don't dare to move either. "[name] please look at me!" you turn to look at him, his eyes watering once again. "i'm sorry. i don't deserve you and i know that now. you gave me the greatest gift of all—your love. and i took it for granted like a fool." 

He brings your hand up to his face, leaving kisses all the way up your arm. Warm tears dripping with each kiss he places. "I will do anything for your forgiveness, mi vida. Please let me make it up to you. If I can't please you, then I will accept the fact that you're no longer mine." 

His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to him. A soothing hold on the small of your back. Your heart aches at his words. You know he didn't mean to leave you in such a way, so you hate to make him so upset. Though it hurt you so much, you never could've seen him again, and you would have had to live with the fact that he was never coming back.

You didn't reject his touch, and he took this as a sign to continue. His swollen lips kiss from your neck to your ear. Shivers going down your spine due to his hot breath.

His strong arm hooks under your legs, the other holding your back to keep you from falling. He practically flies up the stairs with you in his arms. Never stopping his movements until he reaches your bedroom, the smell of your perfume and clean laundry hits him. He hasn't realized how much he missed your scent until now. 

You're on the bed within seconds, staring up at Mateo between your open legs. His gaze is hungry—both pleading and animalistic at the same time. Like an animal that hasn't eaten in days, begging for food. You can feel the heat between your legs grow at his unmoving gaze. Small kisses are peppered all over your body, but most of them land in between your thighs. Mateo stares at you questioningly, his dark brown eyes filled with love, lust, and adoration. 

"May I touch you mi bebecita?" 

You nod absentmindedly, giving him the courage he needed to continue worshiping your body. The room was dim and quiet, each kiss he placed on your body was like an unspoken apology. His hands roamed around your body, occasionally stopping to pinch and play with your nipples. 

The sounds you made were music to his ears. Looking back at it now, Mateo has no clue why he left the way he did. He had the world right in front of him. You gave him this gift of life, and the first thing he does is abandon you. He feels like such an idiot. 

His cock twitches in his pants at the sight of you, he forgot what it felt like to touch you. To be able to worship your gorgeous body again. There is no rush with his delicate touches, he savors the moment of being with you again. It felt right, like this was how everything was supposed to be. 

Mateo can feel the warm tears roll down his cheeks. Crying at your beautiful body under him. "Mi vida—please," He ruts against your clothed cunt, desperate to feel you around him. "allow me to make you feel good." 

It doesn't take much time for the both of you to peel off your clothes. When you're naked you sit and stare at each other, taking in the vulnerability of each other. While he did leave so suddenly, you know you could never be fully mad at Mateo. 

He's quick to hover over you, his hard cock poking at your entrance. You're nervous though, it had been awhile since the two of you had been able to do anything. This whole month you’ve been alone and you know it'll hurt when he bottoms out. 

Mateo is gentle with your body though, treating you like a princess as he guides himself into you. A hiss of pain falls from your mouth at the feeling of him stretching you out. He plants a small kiss on the top of your head to help. "I know mi vida, I'm sorry for hurting you." 

He doesn't move when he's finally bottomed out, allowing you to adjust to his size once again. He's always been so gentle with you, every word he speaks and every action he does is just so comforting. I guess whether he's human or not he'll always be that way.

You tap his shoulder signaling that it's okay for him to move. His thrusts are soft and sweet, catering to every need your aching hole has. You feel safe under Mateo like this, though it brings back memories that make tears threaten to spill from your eyes. 

His pace gets quicker, his cock slamming into you at a rough and rapid pace. Small sobs break through the noises of skin slapping and groans. It's Mateo. "Bebecita please don't leave me," His thrusts get harder with each word he utters. "I'm so sorry, you're my goddess and I've been such a fool." His hands lift your legs up to your chest, spreading them wide enough to show off your cunt swallowing his dick whole. 

Tears fell down his face for the fifth time today. His hands roam your body as he ruts into you with an animalistic face. Loud squishing and squelching sounds filling up the room. "Princessa, I know I messed up but please," He pulls himself out of you, and you whine at the emptiness between your legs. "tell me that you need me. Tell me that you'll always be mine. I need you to promise me you won't leave me please, and I won't leave you ever again." 

He rams back inside of you and steadies himself before he pulls out once more. Your hole clenches around him at his words, the knot in your stomach begins to tighten and Mateo can tell. He angles his hips upward hitting your most precious spot. The friction makes it hard for you to even keep your eyes open now. 

He grabs your chin with his hand and makes you look up at him. "Amorcita, tell me that it'll always be just us. I need to hear you say it. I need to hear you tell me you love me please." His pace gets sloppy and frivolous. Your legs wrap around his waist pushing him deeper inside of you. 

"Mateo, I love you so much. I'll always love you with all of my heart!" He wants to come undone at your words, but Mateo knows better than to do that. He wants his princess to cum first. He needs you to. 

Mateo's hand flies to your clit, circling the little nub until you're attempting to make coherent sentences. The only thing that falls out of your mouth is 'please'. And please he will, his cock slams into your g-spot. He slips out each time due to how wet you are. 

With one final thrust he has you cumming all over his cock, a loud squeal coming from your mouth as he spurts his load inside of your pussy. When you've finally come out from the blissful daze you were in, you kiss his face all over. 

"I love you Mateo. But please don't ever leave me like that again." He kisses your forehead before nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I promise I won't my love, now, you can be by my side on our adventures. If you would like to be, of course." You nod your head, happy with the agreement you've come to. Ready to drift off into a peaceful slumber before. . .

"Amorcita, have you still been on the pill?" 

You take a moment to think about it, eyes still closed. They pop open at the realization that no, you haven't been. 

"Oh no. . ." 

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

John Walker X Reader: Promiscuous Behavior

Warnings: smut, teasing, innuendoes, reader is a bit of a minx, oral (f & m receiving), John and his never ending stamina, mutual pinning, cursing, kissing, penetration (p in v), gn!reader, pet name (sweetheart), no use of y/n

Word count: 2.4 K

It was stupid, really, how you’d found yourself in this situation. It also wasn’t your fault.  Well—not entirely your fault.

Sure, you teased. You flirted. You threw out innuendos whenever possible. But you’d never actually expected him to do anything about it. John Walker was just fun to flirt with. You enjoyed the shade of red his face turned when you blew him a kiss before missions, or when you said something particularly dirty during training. But that was it. 

You did not have a crush on the blond super soldier.

You really needed to stop lying to yourself.

Months and months of your teasing had finally started to get to John. At first, it had been funny—just some dumb little thing you did. But then he noticed something: you only did it to him. That’s when his mind started to spiral with thoughts he hadn’t had in a long time. And his heart… it started feeling things he didn’t know it still could.

So when he walked in and saw you—on the floor, face practically pressed to the ground, ass up in the air, doing God knows what—his body froze. His eyes zeroed in on your ass before he could stop himself, and then—feeling like a creep—he quickly looked away. Not before storing the image in his memory for… later use.

“Oh, come on, you piece of shit, just—ugh!”

It was then that John realized what you were doing: something had rolled under the couch, and you were trying to reach it.

“Need a hand?”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, flinching and smacking your head against the bottom of the couch. You let out a groan and reached up to rub the spot you'd hit.

“Shit, sorry—my bad. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

John watched as you straightened up, his eyes trailing from the arch of your back to your face. You looked at him with furrowed brows, still massaging your scalp.

“You could’ve given me a concussion.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’d have to hit your head a lot harder than that, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

It slipped out before he could stop it, rolling off his tongue so naturally it made your stomach flutter. And then—of course—he blushed, just a little. It made you smile. He looked so cute when he was flustered.

“Well, you gonna help me or what?”

“You want me to get down on my knees and help you out?”

There was no way he said that without meaning for it to sound dirty. But then you looked at his face and remembered: this was the man who thought the space crisis had something to do with not enough room in the building. So maybe he was just a pretty blond.

Not that you minded.

“I mean, if you want to, I wouldn’t complain.” You gave him a devilish smirk.  “Though, you could just use those muscles of yours and lift the couch for me instead.”

John stared at you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then, without a word, he crouched down and grabbed the edge of the couch. With a grunt, he lifted one side effortlessly, his biceps flexing under the strain.

You tried not to stare. You failed.

“You gonna grab that, or you gonna keep staring?”

Oh, he was getting confident. You could see he was enjoying this—finally getting back at you for all your teasing. But little did he know, this was exactly what you’d always wanted. You teased him to get a reaction, because that meant you weren’t the only one affected. It meant he was affected by you too.

“Gotta say, I do enjoy having a super soldier around,” you muttered under your breath, crouching to retrieve whatever you’d dropped.

He smirked, chest puffing with pride as he held the couch up with ease. “That all I’m good for?”

You looked up at him from your spot on the floor, slow and deliberate, letting your eyes drag up the length of his body.

“Well… the muscles are definitely a perk. But I can think of a few other uses.”

Then you gave him your signature grin—the one reserved for his eyes and his eyes only. You moved out from under the couch slowly, choosing to remain on your knees on the floor rather than stand. John stared down at you, enjoying the view far more than he probably should.

“You can put the couch down now, John,” you said with a smile. “Unless you wanna keep showing off.”

He let out a small grunt and gave you a lopsided smile, setting the couch down with ease. His face was mere inches from yours as he did, but like you, he chose to linger for a moment before straightening up. You stared into each other's eyes for a beat, then John finally moved to stand at his full height. He ran a hand through his hair, gaze shifting anywhere but toward you. You’d made him flustered again.

“You gonna help me up, soldier?”

He let out a low chuckle, though it sounded just a little strained. “You keep calling me that, you’re gonna get in trouble.”

He reached a hand out to you, and you took it, letting him pull you up from the floor. Even when you were standing, you didn’t let go of his hand right away.

You tilted your head, stepping in closer. “Promise?”

John’s jaw clenched. His eyes closed for a second. You could practically hear the internal screaming going on in that overthinking brain of his. You reached up and brushed a bit of lint off his shoulder, your fingers dragging a little longer than necessary.

“You know, I always wondered what it’d take to get you all hot and bothered.”

“I’m not,” he said, but his voice was lower now. Rougher.

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, letting your hand trail down his chest. “But don’t worry—I like it.”

And that was it.

John moved. Fast. One second he was standing still, the next you were backed up against the wall, his body caging yours in, hands planted on either side of your head.

“I’m warning you,” he growled, his voice right against your ear. “You keep pushing, and I won’t hold back.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, grinning. “I’m counting on it.”

Whatever thread of control he’d been clinging to snapped in that instant. His lips crashed into yours before the last word even left your mouth. 

His hands found your waist,  pressing you firmly against the wall. Yours slid up his chest, curling around the collar of his shirt, anchoring yourself as the kiss deepened, got messier, more desperate. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, and God, you wanted more of that.  

You gasped when he bit your lip, and he used the sound to slip his tongue into your mouth. The groan he let out was primal, and it went straight through you.  He pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing yours.

“You’ve been driving me fucking insane.”

His hands were under your shirt before you could answer. You raised your arms automatically, letting him tug it over your head and toss it to the floor. His eyes raked over you like he was trying to memorize every inch of skin, like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he’d admit.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost reverently, as his thumbs grazed the sides of your waist. “You’re so—fuck.”

You reached for the hem of his shirt in return, dragging it up and over, revealing that solid chest you’d only gotten to ogle during training sessions. His skin was warm and tense under your touch. You pressed a kiss right over his heart, and he made a sound that damn near broke you. 

“I want you,” you whispered against his skin. “Want all of you.” 

You expected him to pounce on you then. He’d already been so pent up that you were sure this would be his breaking point. But instead, John paused, his hand still resting on your hip, his eyes locked onto yours. Before you could ask what was wrong, he picked you up, his hands digging into your thighs as he carried you away from the living room. You clung to him, your lips never parting from his until he had closed the bedroom door behind you.

He moved over to the bed, lowering you down until your back hit the mattress, his body coming down on top of yours—solid, heavy, everything you’d imagined and more. His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your thighs, your neck. He touched like he needed to relearn you over and over again. You arched into him as he trailed kisses down your jaw, your throat, the swell of your chest, his fingers already undoing the clasp of your bra with maddening precision.

“You gonna keep teasing me?” he asked against your skin, voice low and dangerous.

“Maybe,” you breathed, though your body was already trembling under his. “Depends on how good you are.”

He paused just long enough to meet your eyes, dark and wild, before dipping lower. His mouth found your breasts, taking one into his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. You arched into him, fingers digging into his scalp, pulling him closer as his other hand found your other breast, kneading it roughly. Your breath hitched as his tongue flicked over your nipple, teasing and tormenting until you were trembling under him.

Your jeans were next, unbuttoned and tugged down with an urgency that made your pulse spike. When he finally ran his hand between your thighs, his fingers pressing over the damp fabric of your underwear, he paused and looked up at you.

“You’re soaked.”

You smiled through a gasp. “Told you I liked it.”

John’s mouth captured yours again, teeth grazing your lower lip, and you parted willingly, letting him deepen the kiss. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, warm and deliberate, teasing the slickness already pooling there. Your breath hitched as he circled your clit slowly, drawing out the sensation, making every nerve ending ignite.

“John…” you whispered, voice thick with need.

He lifted his head, eyes blazing. “Say my name again.”

You did, breathless and needy, and it was like a spark set off a wildfire in him. He slid two fingers inside you with slow, measured strokes, giving you time to adjust before picking up the pace. You gasped and arched into him, your hips moving in sync with his hand. 

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured, voice rough with desire.

And then as if it couldn't get any better John leaned down, his face level with your pussy. His lips replaced his fingers, kissing, sucking, licking every inch he’d just touched. You gripped the sheets, nails digging into the fabric, breath coming fast and shallow. 

“Let me hear you,” he urged, voice thick and low.

You didn’t hold back, moans spilling free, your body trembling on the edge. His hands held onto your hips roughly, dragging your closer to him every time to tried to pull away. He was so good at this that in moments your orgasm washed over you. You gushed over his face, your muscles clenched around him, and he groaned deeply, savoring every shudder.

He pulled away, beard covered with you juices. You stared at him, trying to catch your breath. He moved up your body so he could kiss you and you accepted it withou any hesitation.  John pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, dark and wild with hunger. 

“Now it’s my turn.”

Before you could react, he slid his jeans down with a snap, freeing himself. His cock was already hard, glistening with precum, and your mouth watered at the sight.

“On your knees,” he commanded softly.

You obeyed instantly, switching positions with him. Your heart pounded as you reached for him, fingers wrapping around his length. Your lips parted, and you leaned in, taking him into your mouth inch by inch. He hissed at the sensation, fingers threading through your hair, holding you steady.

You worked him slowly at first, learning the taste and heat, then faster, more urgently, your tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. His hips jerked forward with each movement, pressing into your mouth, deepening the pleasure for both of you.

When he grabbed your hair tighter, you knew he was close. You bobbed harder, swallowing every inch, desperate to push him over the edge.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, voice breaking. “Right there.”

With a strangled curse, he spilled into your mouth, hot and thick. You swallowed every drop, savoring the taste, then looked up at him, breathless and flushed. He dragged you up from the floor, pushing you back onto the mattress before leaning over you. You felt his dick nudge against your thigh, eyes widening as you realized he was already hard again. 

What the hell did they put in that super soldier serum?

His chest pressed against yours, his eyes focused on where his cock lined up with your entrance. Slowly, carefully, he pushed inside you, filling you completely. The stretch, the heat, the tightness—it was everything you’d imagined and more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, matching his slow, grinding thrusts.   

Your breaths tangled together, heavy and uneven, the soft sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. His mouth found yours again, kissing with a hunger that matched the wild pounding of your heart.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice rough, almost desperate.

“And you’re mine,” you whispered back, fingers digging into his shoulders.

He sped up, thrusts becoming harder, more urgent, each one driving you closer to the edge. Your nails raked down his back, your moans mingling with his grunts in a frantic symphony of pleasure. His hands moved from your hips to your thighs, lifting you higher, giving him more leverage to move deeper. 

“John,” you breathed, voice barely a whisper but full of need.

He lowered his head, kissing you fiercely, his tongue claiming your mouth as his own while his hips slammed into yours with unrelenting force. 

When your second orgasm hit, it tore through you like a lightning bolt—hot, electric, overwhelming. You clung to him, breathless and trembling. John followed moments later, groaning your name as he came deep inside you, both of you shaking from the intensity. He collapsed onto you, chest heaving, lips tracing soft kisses down your jaw. A lazy smile found its way onto your face. 

“Worth the wait,” he whispered.

He brushed a stray hair from your face, smiling that rare, soft smile. You grinned at him, hands wrapping around his neck as you tugged him down for another kiss. He accepted it without any complaints. 

[shangchiswife]

lex luthor- made to obey

summary: you help lex let off some steam

lex x fem!reader

warnings: smut

word count: 2296

....

The door to Lex Luthor’s office slammed so hard it rattled the glass. 

You froze mid-motion, fingers still grazing the edge of the papers you had just finished organizing on his desk. Your body went still, your heart skipping, but you didn’t speak. You didn’t move. You knew better.

He didn’t look at you. Just strode across the room with a fury that clung to him like a second skin. His coat hit the chair with a careless throw, and he dropped into his seat like he wanted to break it. 

You could practically see the veins popping out of his neck.

You had seen him furious before but this was something else

And you already knew the reason.

Superman.

Again.

The news was everywhere. He had dismantled whatever Lex had been working on behind the scenes, exposed it with effortless precision, and saved a crowd of people while doing it. Per usual the cameras caught the whole thing. The media was already painting Superman as the flawless hero. Again.

Lex didn’t speak at first. Just sat there, his hand clenched against the armrest, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he stared at nothing. His breathing was shallow, uneven. Then his eyes snapped towards you.

“You’re still standing there,” he said, voice low and sharp. “Why?”

He stood slowly. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just slow movement like he was holding himself back from ripping into the nearest thing he could reach.

“You think sorting paper makes you important? You think standing there, playing obedient, makes you useful?” He moved closer, voice colder. 

“You’re not here because you’re good. You’re here because it would waste more of my time to replace you than to put up with your constant incompetence.”

The words landed hard. You felt them settle under your skin, hot and humiliating. You didn’t flinch, but it took effort. It always did.

“You waste my time. You ask too many questions. And you look at me like you think I need saving.” He scoffed, disgusted. “I don’t.”

You didn’t speak. Your face stayed still, but your chest was tight. You weren’t sure if it was anger or shame. Maybe both.

You didn’t even know why you still worked here. It wasn’t the job. It wasn’t the hours. It wasn’t the way he treated you, because God knew he made it clear you were expendable. He barely looked at you like a person half the time. But still, something in you wanted to matter to him. To be seen. Maybe even needed.

You had always found him attractive in some sick way. You didn’t try to reason it out anymore. It was something about the intelligence, the control, the way he moved like he owned everything and didn’t have to ask for anything. Even the cruelty pulled you in. The way he never apologized for it, never explained himself.

And sometimes, you thought he might have found you attractive too. There were moments. Glances that lingered too long. A shift in his voice when no one else was around. The way he said your name like it tasted wrong but stuck to his teeth anyway.

Maybe you were just in your own head. Maybe none of it meant anything. Maybe you just wanted it to.

Then his voice dropped.

“I need your mouth.”

Your breath caught, too sharp, too loud in the silence. He heard it. You knew he did.

He stepped closer. The space between you didn’t feel like space anymore. It felt like pressure. Heavy and impossible to ignore.

“Now,” 

He didn’t move at first. Just stood there, watching, like he was giving you one last chance to do what he wanted without being told again. Then, slowly, he turned and walked back to his desk.

He sat down like he owned the world and was already bored of it. Leaned back in the chair, spreading his legs, one arm resting lazily on the armrest. His other hand tapped once against his thigh, steady and expectant, like he was giving you instructions without saying a word.

You stared at him a second too long.

You couldn’t lie. He looked good like that. Calm, in control, and cruel. 

Just like always.

You had dreamed about this. You hated that you wanted him. Hated that he could treat you like nothing and still leave you wanting more. Still leave you hoping he’d look at you like this.

And now he was.

Not ignoring you. Not talking over you. Just waiting calmly.

His fingers tapped again against his thigh.

“Wipe that dumb look off your face,” he said, voice cold. “And please me. I’m not going to ask again.”

You stepped forward, your pulse loud in your ears.

The space between you disappeared inch by inch, until there was nothing left but silence.

He shifted slightly in the chair like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

Like he didn’t have to think about you at all.

Then, just loud enough to hear, his voice cut through the quiet.

“Good girl.”

Your heart practically fluttered at his words.

You hated how easy it was for him to pull that kind of reaction out of you. Hated how a single word could make your breath catch like that.

Your knees lowered to the floor with ease as you stared at him.

The carpet was cold beneath you. Your hands rested still against your thighs. Your head felt light.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t praise you. Didn’t touch you.

He just leaned back, like this was nothing new. Like this was exactly where he expected you to be.

His cold eyes bore into yours like he was seeing straight through you.

You didn’t look away.

You weren’t sure why. Maybe part of you wanted him to see it. The conflict. The want. The part of you that hated this, and the part that didn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth barely moving.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he said as he began to unbuckle his belt.

You swallowed hard as he released his cock from his pants.

You stayed still. Knees pressed into the cold carpet, hands resting flat on your thighs, heart thudding beneath your ribs.

His gaze didn’t soften.

“Well it isn’t going to suck itself, go on,” he said with a twinge of annoyance.

You leaned forward, licking a bead of pre-cum from his tip before slowly wrapping your mouth around him. Heat crawled down your spine as you took him in, inch by inch, your tongue tracing along the veins on his cock.

You placed your hands on his thighs to steady yourself, fingers curling against the tense muscle as you sank down further.

Lex’s head fell back against the chair, a sharp exhale escaping his chest as his eyes fluttered shut. For a moment, you felt him melt into it, into you, his body slackening under the weight of pleasure. 

For a moment, you felt the power in your hands, in the way you moved, in how his body reacted to you. You moved slowly on purpose, every stroke of your tongue teasing,knowing exactly what you were doing.

But he felt it too.

His thigh tensed beneath your palm, and his breath hitched, just slightly, like he was trying to hold something back. You could feel the control slipping from him, could see it in the way his fingers twitched, the way his jaw clenched tighter with every second you dragged it out.

Then his hand shot out, threading hard into your hair, yanking your head back with a roughness that stole the air from your lungs. Your mouth slipped off him with a wet gasp as you stared up at him with wide eyes.

He stared down at you, and there was nothing soft about it. His eyes were dark, glazed over with something deeper than just want. Anger, need, something raw and barely contained. His grip tightened, holding you there, making sure you felt it.

“You really think you’re in charge right now?” he said, voice low, thick with heat. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, slow and firm, pressing down just enough to make your breath catch. 

“Cute.”

He leaned in close, his breath brushing your cheek, his words a quiet threat against your skin.

“Try that again, and I won’t be so patient.”

Despite the tension in his grip and the warning in his tone, you could feel yourself growing wet, the heat between your thighs building so fast it made your breath hitch.

He didn’t wait. His hand stayed tight in your hair as he pulled you back down, slower this time but more in control. 

Your lips parted easily, taking him in again, letting your tongue trace along him with careful pressure. 

You moved the way he wanted you to, steady and obedient, but he could still feel the way you pushed at the edge.

“Eyes on me,” he said, voice strained as he looked down at you. “Don’t fucking look away.”

You immediately did as he said, your glassy eyes looking up to meet his gaze.

His jaw was tense as he stared back down at you, letting out a breath that sounded like it had been dragged from the center of his chest.

“Good,” he muttered, barely audible. “Just like that.”

He never said things like that. Never praised you, nothing. So hearing it now, rough and breathless from his mouth, made something inside you snap. 

You moaned before you could stop it, the sound spilling out around him, and he felt it. His whole body tensed, his fingers twitching in your hair, the other hand gripping the armrest like he was holding on for dear life.

That one word sat heavy in your chest, in your stomach, lower. It made you ache. You dragged one hand down from his thigh, slow and shaky, slipping it beneath the waistband of your pants, fingertips finding the heat that had been pulsing ever since he pulled your head back the first time.

The moment your fingers moved, his grip in your hair snapped tighter.

His hips jerked forward, driving himself deeper into your mouth, and you choked around him, eyes watering as he held you there.

“Oh, you think you deserve that?” he growled, voice low and furious as he started to thrust harder. “Think a little praise means you get to help yourself?”

You whimpered, the sound broken, lost against him as he fucked into your mouth rougher now, the rhythm brutal and unforgiving. 

His hand pulled your head into each thrust, making you take everything, no choice, no space to breathe.

“You don’t get to touch yourself,” he snapped, teeth clenched, eyes burning down at you.

Your hand froze inside your pants, fingers trembling, overwhelmed by the pace, and by the way he looked at you like you were his and he was reminding you of it with every second that passed.

“You want more?” he asked, voice wrecked and breathless. “Then earn it.”

You didn’t dare move your hand again. You just looked up at him, your mouth still wrapped around him, your tongue dragging slow and deep as you sucked him harder. Your eyes were glassy and wet, your jaw aching, but none of it mattered. Not when he was looking down at you like that. Not when every sound from him made you feel that pull even deeper in your core.

He cursed, his hand tightening in your hair again, his other gripping the armrest like he needed something to hold on to.

“God, you feel too fucking good,” he muttered, voice rough, falling apart word by word. “So fucking perfect like this.”

More tears slipped from your eyes, trailing warm and silent down your cheeks as your mouth stayed around him.

His hips bucked forward, sharper now, more desperate. His rhythm faltered and you knew he was close. Every part of him was tense, from the sharp line of his shoulders to the way his thighs trembled beneath your palms.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours. 

His hips jerked again, and then he was gone. 

He came with a broken moan, deep and guttural, his whole body shuddering as he spilled into your mouth. His grip in your hair didn’t ease, holding you there like he needed it, like letting go meant unraveling completely.

“Swallow,” he breathed, voice rough and wrecked but still commanding.

You did slowly, your throat tightening around him as you took it all. The moment he felt you obey, another curse slipped from his lips.

“Fuck.”

He groaned again, quieter this time, breath catching as the last of his seed spilled out of him. 

His hips stilled, his fingers loosened in your hair, and he just sat there, breathing hard, like he was trying to pull himself back together but couldn’t quite manage it yet.

You stayed there, mouth still parted, breath shaky, eyes locked on him from where you knelt. 

Neither of you said anything. He just stared at you with his jaw tight and his chest rising and falling beneath his shirt like he still hadn’t recovered.

Then he moved.

He zipped his pants without a word, his hands steady even though everything in him still felt tense. When he finally looked at you again, it was like nothing had ever cracked in the first place.

“You’re free to go,” he said, voice calm again, quiet, but laced with that same heat that never really left his eyes. 

He watched you for a long second, gaze heavy. “But don’t go far.”

A beat passed. His mouth curved just slightly, not quite a smile, more like a warning dressed up as something smoother.

“I may need your services again. Soon.”

[sunsetmade]

Can I request that reader has an ed that she’s been hiding or that she has been recovering and relapses and Rafe finds out

One Step at a Time

Rafe Cameron x ED! Reader

Sunny’s Notes: This is definitely soft Rafe. I know it technically isn’t his character but let’s just pretend it is :) Enjoy everyone!!!

She’d been doing better.

Really.

Better than before, at least.

It wasn’t perfect—never would be. Recovery wasn’t a straight line, no matter how many times she tried to walk it like one. Some mornings were messier than others. Some nights lasted longer in her head than they did on the clock. But there was a softness now where there used to be only sharp edges, and that counted for something. At least, that’s what she told herself when she stood in front of the open fridge every morning, her fingers hovering in the cool air like they didn’t belong there.

It’s better, she’d whisper silently. You’re better.

Even when the indecision gnawed at her. Even when the weight of her own thoughts made her fingers curl around nothing.

She still smiled when Rafe stumbled in, eyes puffy with sleep and hair a chaotic mess from the night before. She’d meet his gaze across the counter, lips twitching up like it was natural. Like her thoughts weren’t already tugging her backwards. Like her smile wasn’t a mask she’d learned to wear with perfect ease.

Better. Not fixed.

And Rafe… Rafe was steady in a way she hadn’t expected. He wasn’t loud about it, never shoved sunshine down her throat when the world felt gray. He was good in quiet ways—the kind of good people never noticed because they were too busy looking for the storm. But with her? He was gentle. Steady. Solid.

Soft, when softness was all she could bear.

Silent, when words might tip her over the edge.

Fierce only when her strength ran dry and she needed someone to fight the dark for her.

He never looked at her like she was something fragile. Never made her feel like she had to be fixed to be loved. There were no conditions in the way he held her—just presence. Just warmth.

Maybe that’s why it scared her so much.

How easy it was to start slipping when no one was watching.

The signs came quietly, wrapped in old comforts she had sworn she didn’t need anymore. A skipped snack. A breakfast only half-finished. A dinner replaced by vague excuses—“I had a late lunch,” “I’m just not hungry,” “I’ll eat later.” Lies dressed up in polite tones.

She smiled through them all.

Laughed, even.

And Rafe, at first, didn’t say anything.

But she saw it.

The shift.

The way his gaze lingered just a little longer than before—on her plate, on her thinning wrists, on the too-careful way she avoided his eyes when he asked if she’d eaten. She caught the subtle pinch of worry in his brows when she pushed scrambled eggs around her plate without ever bringing the fork to her lips.

And then there were the little touches—brushed arms, a hand on the small of her back, a thumb grazing her knuckles as he passed her the salt she hadn’t asked for. They were quiet reminders. Grounding ones. Like he was trying to pull her back to herself without making her flinch.

She noticed all of it.

Because she knew him. Knew how loud his silence could be.

And she could feel the questions behind his eyes.

But still, she pretended.

Pretending was easier.

Easier than facing the truth that scared her—that the darkness wasn’t gone, only hiding. That she was slipping and didn’t know how to say it out loud.

Easier…

Until it wasn’t.

Until the silence turned heavy. Until her reflection started looking less like her again. Until she caught Rafe watching her one morning with a quiet kind of ache in his eyes, like he already knew the truth she hadn’t spoken.

And still loved her anyway.

⸻

Day 3

“Baby,” Rafe murmured, his voice low and a little hoarse with sleep as he padded into the kitchen behind her. His hand came up gently to brush her hair back from her face, fingers threading through soft strands like muscle memory. “You’ve been standing there for like… five minutes. You okay?”

She blinked at the open fridge, eyes unfocused, locked on a carton of yogurt she wasn’t going to eat. The cold air spilled out around her legs, making her shiver, but she didn’t move.

“I’m just… not hungry,” she said too quickly, too rehearsed.

Rafe stilled for a beat behind her. Just enough hesitation to say he’d heard the lie. But he didn’t press her. Didn’t sigh or frown or draw attention to it. He just leaned in, pressed a warm kiss to her temple, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

But the crease between his brows stayed. Even after he turned away.

Even after she shut the fridge.

He was trying not to show it. Trying not to hover or crowd her. But she knew him too well. And that crease didn’t fade the rest of the morning.

Day 5

She came home late.

The porch light glowed softly against the navy sky, and the front door creaked open with a whisper. Her keys jingled in her pocket as she stepped inside, greeted by the gentle hum of music drifting from the speaker in the corner of the living room— some old country song that he always said was their song. It was one of his quiet quirks—playing music while he cooked, like it made the house breathe easier.

The air was thick with the scent of rosemary and garlic, warm and nostalgic. Her chest tightened before she even reached the kitchen.

He’d made dinner.

Grilled chicken, roasted sweet potatoes caramelized at the edges, and the cranberry walnut salad she used to ask for every other week—back when she was eating regularly, before everything got tangled up in her head again. The table was set neatly, napkins folded in the way he’d watched her do once and copied ever since. Two water glasses sat side by side, catching the low light. Both plates still steaming. He had waited for her.

Her throat closed up.

“I already ate on campus,” she said quickly, before he could say anything. Her voice was light, casual, like she’d just remembered. She bent down to slip off her shoes, not looking at him. Couldn’t.

There was a pause.

Then the quiet sound of tongs being set down on the counter.

“Oh.” Rafe’s voice was even. Trying to be easy with it. “What’d you have?”

She hesitated at the edge of the kitchen, backpack still slung over her shoulder, fingers clenched tight around the strap. Her heart was pounding—not from fear exactly, but from shame, sharp and gnawing.

“…A sandwich,” she mumbled, eyes on the floor. “I just had a sandwich.”

Another beat of silence stretched out between them.

“What kind?” he asked.

Not accusing. Just soft. Careful. But it still landed like a weight on her chest.

Her nails dug into her palm.

“Turkey,” she answered. “Just… turkey.”

She dared a glance at him then.

He was quiet, jaw shifting slightly as he looked at her. His eyes didn’t leave hers, but he didn’t say what he was thinking. Didn’t ask if she’d really eaten. Didn’t remind her that he’d gone out early to get her favorite brand of salad dressing or spent over an hour prepping things she used to love.

He just nodded—slow, mechanical. “Okay,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. Like it was the only word he trusted himself to say without it cracking.

She stood frozen in place as he turned away and sat down at the table alone. The music kept playing, soft and distant.

He didn’t mention the food again.

Didn’t press. Didn’t sigh or look hurt, even though she knew he was. He just picked up his fork and quietly started eating, one slow bite at a time. Like he didn’t want the silence to feel like punishment.

And yet, it did. It did anyway.

She watched him for a long moment—his broad shoulders hunched slightly, the familiar slope of his back, the gentle clink of silverware against ceramic. He was trying so hard not to make her feel bad. And somehow, that made it worse.

Her heart ached. Guilt curled tight in her chest.

She walked toward the table with quiet steps and slid into the seat beside him instead of across. She didn’t say anything. Just scooted her chair closer, until their knees touched.

Then she leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder, soft and apologetic.

Rafe looked over at her, surprise flickering across his face for a second before it softened into something else. Something warmer. He didn’t speak.

His free hand moved instinctively, arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her in. Closer. Like he knew she couldn’t say the words yet, and didn’t need her to. His thumb rubbed a slow, absentminded circle against her side as he kept eating with his other hand, letting her stay tucked into him like she belonged there.

No questions. No pressure.

Just warmth. Just this.

And for the first time all day, she let herself breathe.

Right now, this was enough.

Day 7

She skipped lunch. Again.

Told herself she wasn’t that hungry. That she’d eat something later, maybe a snack, maybe dinner—something small. It was easier to lie to herself in pieces, to promise food to a future version of her that always seemed farther and farther away.

But later came, and with it, the quiet creak of the front door swinging open as Rafe walked in, a paper bag in hand.

“I stopped at The Wreck,” he said like it was casual, like he wasn’t worried. “Figured you wouldn’t feel like cooking.”

She’d managed a smile then, weak and flickering. “Thanks,” she murmured, taking the bag even though her stomach had already twisted in on itself.

Inside were all her favorites. Crispy battered hush puppies wrapped in wax paper. A grilled shrimp po’ boy with extra remoulade—just the way she used to like it. A side of golden fries, still warm, dusted with Old Bay.

It should’ve smelled good. It did smell good. But she felt sick.

They sat at the table together, the air quiet except for the occasional clink of takeout containers being unwrapped. Rafe hadn’t said much since he came home. Just moved around her gently, like he could sense the tension curled beneath her skin.

She stared at her plate.

Picked at the fries. Ate one. Maybe two.

Pushed the rest around like it made a difference.

Across from her, Rafe watched. Not in a harsh or judgmental way—just quiet, careful. His eyes tracked her fingers as they hovered above the food, then down to her lap, then back again. She wasn’t fooling him. Not tonight.

After a moment, he set his sandwich down and gently slid his tray forward.

“You want a bite of mine?”

His voice was soft. Hopeful, but not expectant. Like he was offering something fragile.

She shook her head without lifting her eyes. “I’m okay.”

And that was the end of it. He didn’t press. Didn’t sigh. Just pulled his plate back and nodded, wordless, and went back to picking at what was left of his food.

But she could feel the shift in him—the quiet disappointment he tried to hide under layers of calm. The way his shoulders sank just slightly, the way he chewed slower. Like his own appetite was fading, too.

They sat in that silence for a while. A long, aching stretch of it. Her fork untouched now. His sandwich half-eaten.

Eventually, Rafe stood, gathering his trash with quiet, deliberate movements. He crossed the kitchen, opened the bin, and tossed his leftovers inside.

She looked up just in time to catch it—the flicker of something raw on his face. A softness that had started to fray at the edges. Worry, barely masked. Hurt, maybe. Not because she hadn’t eaten—but because she didn’t feel safe enough to.

Because she was still holding herself at a distance he couldn’t fix for her.

The bag crumpled in his hand.

He turned toward the sink, his back to her now.

And she sat frozen at the table, appetite long gone, heart cracking open in her chest.

She hadn’t meant to make it feel like this. She hadn’t meant to hurt him.

But she could see it now—in the way his silence lingered longer than usual, in the tension drawn across his shoulders like a rubber band pulled too tight.

And all she could do was sit there in the dim kitchen light, staring at the hush puppies she couldn’t bring herself to eat, wishing she could be different. Wishing she could be better.

Wishing she could reach across the table and meet him halfway.

But she couldn’t.

Not yet.

Day 10

She didn’t expect him to say anything.

Not really.

Rafe had always been the quiet kind of patient with her—the steady presence in the background who never pushed, never pried. The one who waited for her to come to him, no matter how long it took. That was how he showed her love, in the silence between words, in the space he gave her to breathe. Because he understood what it felt like to be drowning in problems.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, he didn’t wait.

She wandered into the kitchen around seven, her sweater sleeves tugged down over her hands, exhaustion clinging to her limbs like static. The air was warm with the scent of something soft and nostalgic—crushed tomatoes, roasted garlic, melted butter. Her heart stuttered at the familiarity.

Tomato soup. Grilled cheese.

Her comfort food. The kind she used to ask for when the world felt too sharp. The kind she made when Rafe was having problems with his dad. The kind she hadn’t let herself eat in months.

The lights were dimmed low, the kind of golden glow that made the kitchen feel safe, tucked away from the rest of the world.

Rafe stood at the stove, barefoot on the cool tile, sleeves pushed up past his elbows. His hair was messy, a little damp from the shower, and he stirred the pot slowly, shoulders relaxed but focused. He hadn’t seen her yet.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Hey Ray,” she said softly the nickname feeling warmer than usual.

His head turned at the sound of her voice, and when he looked at her, it wasn’t surprise that passed across his face—it was something warmer. Something calm. Something that told her she didn’t have to pretend.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured with a smile.

Her arms crossed over her chest, suddenly unsure of what to do with herself. “What’s all this?”

Rafe flipped the sandwich on the pan, the edges crisping to a perfect golden brown.

“Dinner,” he said simply.

Her stomach clenched.

“I’m not—”

“I know,” he said gently, not looking away. “You’re not hungry.”

She froze mid-step.

The words hit her like a sudden gust of wind, knocking the breath from her chest. Not because he said them—but because of how he said them. No judgment. No edge. Just… truth.

And he was right.

She hadn’t eaten lunch. Or breakfast. She’d nibbled at a granola bar that morning and told herself it was enough. That maybe tomorrow she’d do better.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Rafe turned the stove off and wiped his hands on a dish towel. Then, slowly, he made his way toward her—measured steps, unthreatening. Like he was approaching a bird that might fly off at the first sudden movement.

He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t pull her into a hug. Just stood there in front of her, close enough to feel the warmth of him, but far enough that she could still breathe.

His voice was low. Steady.

“I’ve been trying not to push,” he said. “Trying to give you space. I know you’re workin’ through it. I know it’s not easy, and I didn’t want to make it harder by hoverin’.”

Her eyes burned. She looked down at her feet, at the cracks in the tile she’d traced with her sock-covered toes a hundred times before.

“But, baby…” he exhaled, almost like it hurt. “I can’t pretend I don’t see it. I can’t pretend like it doesn’t kill me.”

She blinked fast, vision blurring.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to get bad again.”

“I know,” he said, taking a step closer. “You don’t have to explain anything. I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this alone.”

Her throat tightened, shoulders curling inward like she could disappear.

“I feel like I’m failing.”

“You’re not,” he said without hesitation. His hand lifted slowly, giving her time to pull away—but she didn’t. His palm cupped her jaw, thumb brushing the corner of her cheek, grounding her in the softest way. “You’re not failing, baby. You’re tired. You’re hurting. But you’re still here. That’s not failure. That’s strength.”

She let out a shaky breath, her lips trembling. “But I lied to you. About eating. I keep lying.”

He nodded once, gently. “I figured.”

She winced.

“But I didn’t stop loving you,” he added, thumb gliding across her cheekbone. “Not even for a second.”

That cracked something wide open inside her.

The first tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. Then another. She tried to hide it, to look away, but he was already there—already wrapping his arms around her, drawing her in like she was something precious and breakable and worth holding onto.

Her fingers fisted into his shirt as she buried her face in his chest, warm and safe and steady.

“I’m scared,” she whispered into the fabric. “I don’t want to be like this again.”

“I know,” he murmured into her hair, lips brushing her temple. “But you’re not alone. I’m right here. Always.”

They stood like that for a long time—her breathing uneven, his steady. His hands never left her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles as if he could calm the storm inside her by touch alone.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at her.

“I made enough for both of us,” he said gently. “Will you sit with me? Just sit. You don’t have to eat all of it. You don’t have to finish anything. Just… let me sit with you. Like before.”

She hesitated.

The shame hadn’t left. The guilt was still curled tight in her stomach. But when she looked into Rafe’s eyes—all that patience, all that quiet devotion—she nodded.

He smiled. Something soft and real.

She sat at the table while he plated the food. Two bowls of tomato soup. Two plates with grilled cheese, cut diagonally the way she liked. He didn’t say anything when he set them down in front of her, just pulled out his chair and sat beside her.

They ate slowly.

No pressure. No expectations. Just warmth, and music, and the soft clink of spoons against bowls.

Rafe cracked a joke halfway through—something stupid about the soup being better than the kind in those cans she used to hoard—and she laughed, small and genuine.

When her hand trembled as she lifted her spoon, he didn’t comment. But he slowed his own movements down, matching her pace like it was natural.

She only ate half her sandwich, but he looked at her like she’d climbed a mountain.

And when she leaned back in her chair, her fingers twitching slightly, and whispered, “Thank you,” he didn’t say you’re welcome.

He just reached across the table and laced their fingers together.

“I’ll sit with you every day if I have to,” he said quietly.

“You don’t have to,” she whispered.

“I want to.”

Her smile was watery. Fragile. But full.

Because it wasn’t about the soup. It wasn’t about the sandwich. It was about the way he saw her. The way he stayed. The way he loved her—completely, without pressure, without conditions.

And for the first time in a long while, she let herself believe she could be okay again.

With him beside her, maybe she already was.

That night, she curled into him beneath the covers, the world outside their bedroom dim and quiet, wrapped in shadows and the soft hum of the fan above. The sheets smelled faintly of laundry detergent and him—clean, warm, familiar. Her cheek rested against his chest, rising and falling with each steady breath he took, while his arm curled protectively around her waist, fingers grazing the hem of her sleep shirt like he needed to keep touching her just to make sure she was still there.

She felt safe like this. Anchored. Held together.

The kind of quiet that came after a storm.

“Can I ask you something?” she mumbled into the soft cotton of his shirt, her voice muffled and drowsy.

Rafe’s fingers paused their slow rhythm against her back. “Always,” he said, voice low and steady in the dark.

There was a long beat of silence as she gathered the courage.

“Did you notice… before I started slipping?”

Her question hung between them, fragile and raw.

He didn’t answer right away.

His chest rose beneath her cheek with a slow inhale, and then, softly: “Yeah. I did.”

Her breath caught.

She lifted her head slightly, just enough to glance up at him through the shadows.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

His thumb brushed the curve of her hip, the gesture quiet and thoughtful.

“I didn’t want to push too hard,” he admitted. “I thought maybe… maybe if I waited, you’d come to me on your own. I didn’t want to scare you off. Didn’t want to make you feel cornered.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, loud and aching.

She hadn’t realized how much that answer would sting—and how much it would soothe her at the same time. He had noticed. She wasn’t invisible. He just hadn’t known how to reach her without hurting her.

“But next time,” Rafe continued, voice lower now, like he was speaking directly to the cracks in her, “I won’t wait so long.”

Her breath caught.

“I love you too much to let you disappear right in front of me.”

That did it.

Tears welled in her eyes, unbidden and quiet. She blinked up at him, throat tight with emotion. He looked down at her like she was something delicate but never broken—someone he’d fight for even when she didn’t know how to fight for herself.

“I love you too,” she whispered, the words barely audible, but true in a way that made her chest ache.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head—slow and lingering. Like a promise.

“We’re in this together, okay?” he murmured into her hair. “All the hard days. All the good ones. Every single one. I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded against his chest, her fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

And something in her finally loosened.

For the first time in weeks, her chest didn’t feel so heavy. The gnawing fear in her stomach—the one that told her she was too much or not enough or a burden to carry—quieted.

Because she wasn’t alone.

Not in this. Not ever again.

With Rafe beside her, she could finally believe that.

She let her eyes fall shut, heart beating steady against his, their legs tangled under the blankets. His arm stayed wrapped around her the entire night, like he was holding her in place—reminding her that she was wanted. That she was safe.

And for once, that was enough.

Taglist: (click here to join)

@lilaccameronsflower @starkeyvhs @faithlyn444 @delayeddrabbles @anobbs-blog @yurmom444 @tudorgirl @taliluv @sc05 @cokewithcameron @love-me-satoru @macbaetwo