#he just has to not think about what it means and not let it go any further

[holeforzenin]

Early morning cravings with Husband Kento <3

Tw - stuff with piss. Don’t read if that’s not your thing. And no I don’t condone any of this irl and I know this could end very bad and harmful if it was to be tried irl!

The rustling of the sheets woke you before the sun fully rises. You hear the telltale sound of fabric shifting, a soft grunt and one side of the bed dipping away from you. You don’t open your eyes—you just reach out blindly and grab for the body that’s already getting up.

“Nooo,” you whine, your voice rough with sleep. “Where’re you going??”

“Work, baby,” Kento murmurs softly, already half-dressed in his slacks and a sleeveless undershirt. He leans over and presses a kiss to your hairline, gentle and apologetic. He always gets up early and showers before spending the rest time he has to cuddle with you before he leaves. “Didn’t mean to wake you”.

You latch onto his arm and pull him close. Acting really pathetic and needy and it’s not even 6:30 am yet. “Don’t wanna be alone…”

He chuckles softly. “You say that every morning”.

“I mean it every morning”.

You’re not even fully awake, but your body moves on its own—following him as he pads toward the bathroom. You’re slow—dragging your feet with your oversized shirt slouching off one shoulder, panties crooked under your oversized tee. You look like you got hit by sleep itself.

He doesn’t comment when you trail behind him. You always do this when you’re clingy, especially in the morning when he has to leave.

But this time, instead of perching on the counter like usual, you stay close. You hug his back while he lifts the toilet seat. Your cheek’s pressed and nuzzling against his spine, arms wrapped around his waist, and he just lets it happen like he always does.

“You’re gonna watch me pee?” he asks calmly, already unzipping his pants.

“Mhm”.

“Not exactly glamorous”.

You shrug behind him. “It’s hot”.

That makes him huff. But he doesn’t argue.

You lean your head sideways, cheek pillowed against his hard back as you watch him pull his cock out. There’s something mind-melting about the routine of it—about how casual he is, how easily that thick, golden stream spills into the bowl. He doesn’t aim with two hands. Just one. His other hand rests on your arm while you hug him like a gigantic teddy bear.

And fuck he’s so sexy like this. Big, slow-moving, and warm with lots of patience. You can feel the heat of his piss rising with the steam from the bowl, the sound of it splashing echoing through the quiet bathroom. You watch the heavy head of his cock pulse at the end, even after the stream dies down, still a little damp and drippy.

He shakes it off. Not even looking down, like it’s nothing.

But you’re staring with your thighs rubbing together.

His tip is still glistening—smeared with the last remnants of his piss and your mind’s already sliding into the gutter, your pussy involuntarily flutters just thinking about what it’d feel like, all warm and sticky while pressing up between your folds.

“Kento…”

He hums.

“Can I have it…?”

He pauses. Not because he’s shocked. But because he’s making sure you really mean it. He looks down at you with those patient, attentive eyes—his sweet little wife, clinging to him like a sleepy parasite, with heavy lids and needy eyes and no shame whatsoever.

“I haven’t washed it yet,” he says.

“I know,” you breathe, lips parting with your body leaning forward a little.

He stares for a second longer. Then kisses your temple like he always does.

“Sink,” he murmurs to you.

You turn without hesitation with your chest fluttering. You brace your hands against the edge of the sink, the cool porcelain waking you a bit as you bent over and he moves behind you. You feel him hitch your shirt up—he doesn’t even bother taking your panties off, just tugs them aside with a knuckle, exposing your excited pussy to the air. And then—

Then you felt his cock lay heavy against your slit, damp and heavy, the swollen tip dragging through your folds like it belonged there—parting your messy pussy lips with every slow, sticky pass like he was teasing the hole he already knew was his.

“Oh my—,” you moan softly, instinctively wiggling your ass back at him for more. “Fuck Kento, feels good”.

It’s wet and warm, smeared with more than just your arousal. It’s sooo filthy but that’s why you love it so much. You can feel the residue of it—the faint scent of his morning piss, the heat of it lingering on your folds. Your clit throbs when his tip bumps it, and you swear you feel a droplet smear against you like he’s marking you with it.

He exhales through his nose behind you. Completely calm and unbothered. “You’re something else,” he murmurs, still moving his cock back and forth slowly between your now sticky folds, coating himself in the wetness blooming between your legs. “Getting off on this”.

You nod, your whole body twitching. “It’s dirty…”

“Mm. real dirty,” he agrees, now rubbing your messy clit with the wide head of his cock, letting the piss and your slick mix into a warm mess that makes your thighs shake just by the feeling of it. “You’re such a little perv, darling. You like that I didn’t clean it for you?”

You nod faster, mouth falling open into a low whimper. “Y—Yes, love it s’much Ken”.

He lets a quiet laugh slip out—disbelief and fondness—and presses his palm against your lower back to keep you balanced against the sink as his other hand cups your tit from behind, kneading it lazily through your shirt.

“Can’t believe this is how I’m starting my day,” he mutters with a chuckle. “Grinding my piss-covered cock on my wife’s sweet cunt”.

“Y-Your fault,” you whimper, hips bucking back against him, your clit catching perfectly every time he rocks forward. “You’re too sexy in the morning”.

That earns you another slow drag—more harder and rougher than before. Your pussy’s soaked now, cum sticking against his cockhead as it slides and rubs through your folds again and again. You’re panting, thighs shaking and your clit pulsing every time he nudges it with pressure.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear.

“Want me to rub it on your little hole too?” he says calmly. “Spread your pussy open and make it messy down there too?”

You nod like you’re drunk. “Uh-huh…please!”

He pulls back just a little then spits into his hand and smears it over his length, already wet, already messy, and then slides the fat head back down—this time letting it kiss your entrance. He doesn’t push in. Just presses and circles it. Smearing more of his warmth and slick over your hole until it’s fluttering open and begging to be stuffed.

“Fuuck,” you whisper, gripping the sink like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“You gonna cum just from this?” he asks, rubbing it harder and applying more pressure, spreading everything everywhere. “From daddy’s messy cock on your pussy?”

You moan so loud you’re sure the neighbors heard it. He kisses your temple again. “You’re unreal, baby”.

And he keeps going—rubbing it slow and nasty, letting you rut back against him like a dog in heat. His free hand tweaks your nipple while the other keeps you steady, and your thighs are clenching, your whole body arching for more of your husband.

You cum like that—crying his name while pressing your face into your arm, trembling as he indulgently smears your cream right back on himself.

And when it’s over, when you’re still bent over and panting, he leans down and kisses your lips.

“Happy wife,” he murmurs, tucking himself away with a quiet zip.

“Happy life,” you finish weakly, dizzy with bliss.

He brings you a warm towel after.

Because he’s the best husband in the world even when you’re a freak.

[nanamisweetgirl]

🜼 ⋆ challengers themed!satoru sucks on your tits while suguru fingers you open. — wrote this based on an ask!

they make it feel like a game.

not tennis—not really—but something with scoreboards and rules they pretend to follow until your legs are pulled over one lap and your spine’s curved into the other. suguru on the left, satoru on the right. both of them turned inward like a trap snapping closed around you, and you, stupidly, sweetly, know it. you know exactly what you’re letting happen, exactly what they want and you let them have it anyway.

because it starts with a look. suguru glancing down at your lips when you laugh too hard at something satoru says. satoru’s hand brushing your thigh when he leans back, all casual cockiness and bored brilliance, like he knows he’s winning without playing hard yet. their knees bracket your hips. suguru reaches past you to grab a drink and his hand lingers on your waist. satoru starts playing with the hem of your shorts like he’s not even thinking about it. and then suddenly—

suddenly you’re leaning into one of them with your lips parted and someone—someone—kisses you first.

you don’t remember which.

you just remember the moan that crawls up your throat before it even begins, the way your body jolts, every nerve going hot under your skin like a match lit too close to your ribs. you’re not even sure whose hand pulls you in tighter, but you find yourself straddling gojo’s lap while suguru leans in over your shoulder, the edge of his mouth grazing your neck as you kiss gojo slow.

lazy, like you’ve got hours, like this isn’t a betrayal or a dare or something no one will come back from. your tongue flicks at satoru’s and he groans deep, one hand palming your ass while the other cups your jaw like he wants to feel how warm your cheeks are when you fall apart for him.

and then suguru’s mouth is on yours, sudden and greedy, licking up the slick that gojo left behind, kissing your open mouth like he’s taking back what satoru just stole.

and you—god, you let him. smiling, moaning, tasting them both, your hands fisting into suguru’s hoodie while your thighs twitch on gojo’s lap, pressure building under you in thick, throbbing waves. the pace is nothing. no fucking yet, not even grinding—just lips, tongue, teeth. soft hands turning possessive. too many mouths and too little time.

“she’s already shaking,” suguru mutters into your jaw, voice thick and rough and just a little mean. “didn’t even get our hands on her yet.”

gojo chuckles, kisses the side of your neck, teeth flashing in the low light.

“don’t need to,” he hums. “look at her. she likes this. spoiled little thing, kissed dizzy already.”

you giggle, even with suguru’s fingers curling around the waistband of your shorts. you kiss satoru again, deep and filthy, before twisting in suguru’s grip and kissing him just as messy. there’s spit on your chin. your breath stutters. they taste like each other, like sweat and want, like the jealousy they’re pretending they’re above. you don’t know which one you want more, which one you’re teasing harder—maybe that’s the point.

suguru’s hand slips past the elastic of your underwear like he owes you something that needs to be proved, like this has always been the natural progression. and when his fingers touch your heat, slow and knowing, your hips jerk. gojo shifts under you, smirking as your thighs tense around him.

“oh, fuck,” he says, voice dropping. “you feel that?”

suguru presses two fingers in like he’s been waiting all week, like he knew you’d take him this easy. your cunt clenches, greedy and wet, and he groans low under his breath.

“she’s soaking through,” suguru mutters darkly, watching your face twist up. “already leaking all over my fingers, fuck—”

“’course she is,” gojo says, voice all sugar now, “she’s got her favorite boys around her. can’t help it, huh baby?”

you make a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a sob and satoru grins, hand slipping beneath your shirt in one smooth motion.

“let me see,” he whispers. “let me make her feel even better.”

and then his mouth is on your chest.

you don’t even have time to gasp before he easily pulled your top down and wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking slow, his tongue swirling in wet, lazy circles while his hand squeezes the other breast with greedy affection. your head falls back into suguru’s shoulder and he catches you easily, still working his fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling just right with every drag of your hips. you’re pinned between them, trembling, panting, sweat beginning to bead at your lower back.

“feels good?” suguru whispers, his lips at your ear now, his pace steady and cruel. “feel full, baby? feel spoiled?”

you nod so hard you’re gasping.

“look at her,” satoru laughs, pulling back just enough to lick a stripe across your chest, leaving your skin slick. “gonna cum just from this, aren’t you? no cock, no tongue, just our hands and mouths—fuck, you’re perfect.”

you moan again, high and helpless, your thighs twitching as suguru fucks you open with just his fingers, three now, thick and strong and relentless. satoru mouths over your nipple again, humming as you whimper, his free hand sliding to your throat.

you’re not even kissing them anymore. your mouth’s too busy falling open.

“say thank you,” suguru murmurs. “say it, sweetheart.”

“thank you,” you gasp, hips rolling. “thank you—oh my god—please, i—”

gojo’s lips graze your ear, voice warm and laughing.

“don’t even know what you’re begging for, do you?”

and you don’t. not at all and all you know is your thighs are soaked, your tits are in satoru’s mouth, suguru’s hand is soaked from knuckle to wrist, and you’ve never felt more wanted in your life.

[sweetdarlingfic2]

Yeah right

Cw: smut

You’ve been sleeping with Ghost on and off for a few months now.

No labels. No talks. Just sex, video games, and quiet 2 a.m. hangouts in the dark, nights that start with trash talk over split-screen shooters and end with your legs around his waist, breath caught between your teeth.

It’s casual.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Say it enough times, maybe it starts to feel true. But the way he touches you, slow, soft, like he’s savoring every inch, makes it hard to believe this is just sex.

He lets you wear his hoodie home, then pretends not to care when you post a mirror selfie in it but he still double taps it within two seconds. His jaw clenches when you take too long to reply. And his eyes always drop to your mouth when you talk, linger like they’re thinking.

You want to ask what this is. Why he acts like this. What you are.

Is it just comfort? Is it just habit? Or something close to love? Maybe too close?

You tried to ask once.

But the words barely left your mouth before he kissed them away, hands sliding up your thighs, breath hot at your throat. The question died in your mouth. Drowned in the way he fucked you like you were his. Like he didn’t need to say it because you already knew.

So you let it go.

You kept pretending it was enough.

Even though it wasn’t.

Was a Thursday night. He was at your place. The city’s asleep outside, but your apartment was lit dim and warm, a mess of tangled sheets, empty beer bottles, and that ghost of something unspoken, thick in the air.

He was quiet after. On his side, one arm slung around your waist like it’s second nature. Your skin still hums from his touch, but you’re cold inside empty in a way he hasn’t even noticed.

You stare at the ceiling.

And then “Do you ever think about me when I’m not here?”

It comes out softer than you meant it to. Too soft. Like you’re afraid of scaring him off.

Silence.

He doesn’t answer he just exhales slowly and pulls you closer, his mouth brushing your shoulder. Warm. Familiar. Wordless.

that was the only answer you got.

You don’t sleep.

You just laid there, his breath at your neck and that emptiness blooming wider in your chest. You’re not comforted by the closeness. It pisses you off, how he can touch you like that, hold you like he means it, and still give you nothing.

You turn away from him before sunrise. His arm slips off your waist. He doesn’t pull you back.

Good.

Let him feel it.

Let him wonder why you’re quiet in the morning. Why you don’t kiss him goodbye. Why you nod and shut the door behind him like it doesn’t take everything in you to do it.

Because if this means nothing to him… then why should it mean anything to you?

A month passes.

You don’t sleep with him. Not once.

Not because you don’t want to. You do. Desperately. Every time his shoulder brushes yours on the couch. Every time he leans back laughing, head thrown, or looks at you like he misses you even though you’re right there.

But you resist.

You keep your distance. Draw careful, invisible lines between your thigh and his. You still hang out because neither of you knows how to stop but you don’t stay. Not anymore. You dodge his touches. Dodge his eyes. Ignore the ache in your chest and pray he doesn’t see through it.

Of course he notices.

He’s restless now, picking at beer labels like they’ve got answers printed on them. Watching you when he thinks you won’t catch it. And when you do, he looks away fast, jaw tight like your silence is choking him.

Maybe it is.

He doesn’t know what he did. That’s the worst part. You asked him a question and he let it float off into the dark. Now all he has are guesses and guilt and that gnawing pit in his stomach that only you used to calm.

He needs you.

And he’s trying. He shows up more. Lingers longer. Drops hints with his hands, his eyes, the way he says your name like a question he’s too afraid to ask.

But you don’t break.

Not this time.

Because until he can look you in the eye and give you something real, you won’t let yourself be touched like you’re his when he’s not willing to say it out loud.

Not again.

He’s the one lying awake, wondering what the silence means.

It all comes to a head in the fifth week.

He shows up quiet. Tense. Like something’s unraveling inside him and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

He doesn’t play cool. Doesn’t make half hearted jokes. Just watches you. And this time, when you catch him, he doesn’t look away.

You feel it building in the silence between you it was thick with all the things unsaid.

You’re on opposite ends of the couch. Some movie’s playing, neither of you are watching. He just looks at you like you’re speaking a language he can’t translate.

Then, finally

“What did I do?” Voice low. Rough. Not defensive. Not cold. Just lost.

“I don’t know what I did,” he says again, eyes locked to yours. “But you’re not staying the night. You’re not looking at me. You won’t even let me touch you. I miss you… and you’re right here.”

You blink, eyes burning a little.

“I asked you,” you whisper. “I asked if you thought about me when I wasn’t there, and you didn’t say a word. Just held me like that was supposed to be enough.”

His brow furrows. That moment lands.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he mutters. “Didn’t wanna say the wrong thing.”

“So you said nothing?” You sit up straighter. “You can’t fuck me like I you love me and then act like I don’t matter.”

He leans closer. Not touching. Just close enough to feel.

“you do matter,” he says, it’s not soft. It’s firm. “You mean so much to me. You always have. I just… fuck I don’t know how to say it without ruining everything.”

You stare at him.

“I love you,” he says, finally. “And I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

This time, when his hand reaches for yours, he waits.

you let him touch you.

You don’t speak. Just lean forward and rest your forehead against his. His breath hitches. His eyes flutter shut.

“Show me,” you whisper “show me you love me,”

He kisses you like a confession. No rush. No greed. Just soft, reverent pressure. Like he’s trying to say I’m sorry with every slow drag of his mouth.

His hands find your thighs, sliding over your skin like he’s remembering how to hold you. “You sure?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Just… be honest this time.”

His jaw flexes. “I promise.”

He lifts you like it hurts to let go, carries you to the bedroom, lays you down with more care than you’ve ever seen in him.

This isn’t just sex. It’s something else.

He undresses you in silence, and when he pushes inside you, slow and aching, your whole body breathes for the first time in weeks.

“I wanted you for so long,” you whisper, fingers threading through his hair. “Even when I pretended I didn’t.”

His eyes close. A breath shudders out of him.

“Me too” he says. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He fucks you like he’s reclaiming something. Like your body is a home he got locked out of. Every stroke says what his voice can’t, I need you. I miss you. I’m yours. I’m trying.

And when he comes, breath broken in the crook of your neck, he doesn’t pull away.

He stays.

You lie there tangled up. Skin sticky. Sheets a mess. And when he says your name, it’s not a question. It’s an answer.

“Love you.”

You turn to him, heart raw but full.

You both slept that night.

Hands sewn together. The quiet, certain feeling that maybe, just maybe, this is what it means to be loved.

[suiyuzu]

TWs: Babytrapping, breeding, pregnancy

Caleb would baby trap you.

Like, how could he not? He even admits himself that he has a long-standing desire to ‘protect’ you and remain close to you. His need to protect and maintain control over you has been a prevalent trait of his since you were children. The difference is that before, it could be deemed as sweet. But now, it only feels suffocating. So, when Caleb felt as if you’re straying too far from him, he came up with the perfect solution.

His only goal, his only instinct is to keep you away from harm. Safe. With him. His own ego and sense of pride take control of this situation once he knows you are secured in a place only he has access to. So how does he keep you in a place where he knows you won’t leave? And he’ll have access to 24/7? How can he make sure that you’re in a position where you’re safe, away from harm, unable to leave, bound to him, protected, and…

The idea comes into Caleb’s head, leaving him a man obsessed.

He starts letting his intentions slip into casual conversation. Off-handedly mentions something about how you made his Skyhaven home so inviting and heartwarming for his birthday…you should go back home with him instead of staying in Linkon…you should just y’know, tie the knot and he could provide a really good life for you! The tone he says it in is light hearted, so you just giggle and say yeah, wouldn’t that be fun? If only you could! Haha. He pauses for a moment, but laughs himself.

Whenever you two hook up, you’re mindful to bring a form of protection. You bring condoms every time. Although, he tends to whine about how they dull the feeling and doesn’t feel as good as the real thing. You sigh and, if it’s a safe-ish day based on your cycle, you. tell him to just be sure to pull out. Which he does. He likes seeing cum on your stomach…even if there’s a note of disappointment on his face each time that you do try to ignore. He asks you why you don’t want kids yet, and you reply with something about ‘just not being ready yet, you want to keep your options open for my future…’ Which he mutters something about understanding what you mean in reply, but the look on his face says otherwise.

You do get a bad feeling from him sometimes. But again, you ignore it. You know him, he loves you, and above all, he feels good. Sure, he has his faults, but the chance of you catching a better fish in the sea is low. He cooks and cares for you, checks up on you often, accompanies you and takes you out, plus his dick is big and he’s got a lot of stamina, so come on, of course you’d keep him around.

Alas, Caleb was bound to snap eventually. You’re going at it as usual, you on your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, breathing labored, murmurs something about being close.

Normally, when he says that, he sits more straight up, making it easier to quickly pull out and cum on your stomach. But this time, he stays close, skin to skin, bodies pressed together. You even think he suddenly seems to press himself even closer. You curl your hand into a fist and gently tap on the nape of his neck a bit, murmuring hey, don’t cum in me, just in case he forgot.

He stops. Everything. He leans up, looks down at you, eyes half-lidded and full of emotion that you haven’t seen before, but something about it is so manic and dazed that it creates a pit of unease in your stomach. It’s not a pleasant look. His eyes are narrowed, his lips are pulled tight and his jaw clenches with frustration, irritation. He looks upset. Petulant.

But the look breaks after a split second. Caleb shakes his head and sighs, as if to himself, hanging his head as he leans back down, pressing your bodies together again, only this time, he grabs each of your wrists, pulling them together and locking them together with his bionic arm so you can’t wriggle out, and gripping the sheets below with his other.

You panic and thrash and question what he’s doing. You think you probably ruined the mood and he lost his arousal a bit or something, and he’s working his way back up to being close…no. You’re still whining out little startled interrogatives and hey, stop, hold on, when he rolls his hips especially hard, causing you to cut off your words. You look back up at his face, which now suddenly looks calm, determined, blissful even, as he says gently: shh, don’t worry about it.

His thrusting into you returns back to the vigour as before. Harder, even. You can physically feel the frustration leave his body, and, in your confused, worried silence, he says in a low whisper to hold still.

I’m gonna knock you up.

He flips you over would render you more unable to move at all. You sure try to with all your might – crying out and protesting and freaking out, kicking and thrashing, but it’s no use. Amidst his heavy movements and labored breathing, he mumbles into your ear saying that he’s gonna put a baby in you, knock you up…you’ll be so cute swollen up with my baby…but don’t worry, you’ll be okay, you’ll be happy, with me, with them. He knows you’ll need him. He knows you would. You could never make it on your own, but you don’t have to worry, because he’ll take care of you. All of you. You won’t be able to resist the offer of his support and protection.

His attempt at comfort is too much for you to handle. What's even more baffling to you is that even as you protest, he’s not listening to you.

B-but... I don't want--

Don’t worry about it, I’ll be there for you.

But…you can't just do this to me!

Don’t worry…you’ll be fine. I promise.

Caleb comes inside you. He's too excited to notice the look on your face, at least not for a few seconds, finally turning to you after realizing your stunned silence.

Mm? Something wrong?

...That...that's...you...

And really, nothing you can say can actually change his mind. For gods sake, don’t you get it? Being at home with his kids and having his babies is the only way he can make sure that you’re not leaving. It would be a perfect little world where it’s just you and him. And the kids. Yes you'll be a good mom, yes you'll be fine, and yes if you’re that paranoid, you can get your friend Dr. Zayne to check up on you so you'll be great health-wise. If you try to talk him out of it, it’s akin to trying to reason with a brick wall.

His determination is frighteningly obsessive. Even when he's inside you, hips bouncing off the back of your thighs, he keeps talking about it, words slurring as he mumbles something about putting a baby in you, knocking you up, so on and so on, all the while, gripping at your hips and making sure to slam all the way in as far as possible when he finally cums inside you. Maybe he's already accomplished what he wants, who knows, but he has to just keep trying until it's certain, so you only get a few minutes of respite before starting back again. Now, no condoms. No pulling out, even though you haven’t learnt your lesson and still beg for him to do so. Whimpering and pulling at his hair, pushing at his chest, all night long, over and over.

You’re still pleading with him, trying to reason with him, but you can tell that your pleas are getting weaker by each day. You’ve come to terms that it will be a death sentence to any hope of escaping him. He’ll always get to you somehow. You've been thinking about trying to leave since being dragged here three days or so ago, trying not to let him inhibit you. You just need some more time, just a little bit of time...

You don't get that time.

It doesn't take long. He's young and virile, so, maybe, that’s why your cycle is late. The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach. At first, you don't say anything, deciding not to bring the matter up unless he does, partially out of your own denial. But Caleb is attentive. He never forgets a thing about you, much less when you’d be expecting your period. So, after a while…you can see the gears turning in his head. You've been here a month now. You haven't bled at all in that time (he would know, he's been fucking you multiple times a day)...so that means...?

Caleb’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. He almost looks as if he’s unable to hold himself back when he reaches out and wraps his arms around you tenderly. He's ecstatic for the rest of the day, unable to shut up about how great this is and all the things you're going to do.

He’s extra-careful with you now. He treats you as if you can’t do anything by yourself— which was kind of true in the first few months; since you’ve been relocated to Skyhaven, you’ve experienced nausea from altitude sickness which unhelpfully overlapped with the nausea from pregnancy, rendering you ill most of the time. You still have sex, carefully and a lot more gently, and sometimes he'll just look you up and down, staring at your belly for a few moments with a haze in his eyes before dragging you back to bed so you can get plenty of rest by his side. It's not like you can resist much.

And of course, any negativity from you is shut down on the spot. At first, he mistakes it for nervousness— don't worry, it will be fine! You’ll have him. That’s the most important thing. He can assure you, over and over, telling you to just not worry about it is his default answer to any concern you have. He assumes that you’re all uptight and stressed because you’re hormonal, so he doesn’t really take anything you say into heart.

“I’ve said it before. Just relax.”

Soon, you find yourself in the hospital. Despite having a living, breathing infant in your arms, you could only feel fear, having to process and accept reality that your future is being sealed, that you realize this is actually, genuinely the beginning of the rest of your life. You try not to think too much about it.

Unfortunately, you barely get any time to rest. It’s hard with a newborn and with Caleb pestering you all day asking are you feeling okay? do you need help? do you want some hot water to drink? do you think we can get started on the next one now? Despite you seriously telling him that he has to wait a few weeks, which is what the doctor said, and he gets all stressed again because ‘well, what if you try to leave in these weeks between?’ When you literally have your arms full with a mini-him.

But a few weeks passes and Caleb goes back to fucking you like a man starved when you finally give him your consent. It does burn a bit, after having gone a while without getting so ruthlessly stretched and pounded as he always does to you. He’s seemed to have forgotten about his own strength, as he grips your hips and arms and throat and presses your face into the mattress and fucks into you with such force that the whole bed creaks as it rocks back and forth.

After a while, his fingernails dig into your hips, holding your bodies as close as possible, the closer and closer you both get. You feel a sense of dread. You know what he’s trying to do.

Hey, no, give me some more t-time…

Just a little more time, just some time to feel like you can finally breathe, but once again, you don't get that time. He makes sure not a drop goes to waste when he stuffs you with cum. He stays inside you for some time, not pulling out so as to prevent any from spilling. Just like he did before. And the time before that. At least Caleb would hold you, rubbing your back, saying, it’s going to be okay.

You get a bad feeling that it’s not, when suddenly, there’s two.

Ironically, he gives you more freedom when you do eventually have more kids. It’s as if he knows you can’t get far with two…three…four children who need you. Plus, you need him to look after them all. It’s the one thing that he’s doing rather well. At the end of the day, Caleb is a good dad. He’s involved and energetic around them, cooks for them and plays with them, plus he does help you out quite a bit to look after them when he can, feeding them and bathing them and putting them to sleep…except you’re still the only one who has to go through arduous pregnancies whereas he’s more or less of a sperm depositor when it comes to making them.

And then there's another...and another...the realization even strikes you, a few years in, that since beginning your "new life," you've spent more time pregnant than not pregnant and have left the house less and less ever since the arrival of your third child. Which is, unfortunately for you, Caleb’s intention exactly.

Thankfully, your home in Skyhaven miraculously still fits everyone. It’s getting to be a bit of squeeze with the bunk beds coming in and toys scattered everywhere. Caleb likes it though— he thinks that the house finally looks like a home, even if it’s cramped and somewhat messy. You do try and maintain some order, except you never get a break, always getting another one pumped into you as soon as it's physically possible again. With him gone most of the days, it's just you and the ever-increasing number of children.

You're constantly doing something or needing to do something and taking care of the other. There’s what, eight now? The youngest one needs your constant attention so he’s strapped to your chest pretty much 24/7 while the older ones can entertain themselves. It’s the upside of having a lot of kids, you suppose, that they become self-sustaining with each other so they don’t really get bored. Except the problem becomes that, well, kids need their mother, and theres only one of you. This one banged his head on something and comes up to you, crying and blubbering, and while you’re rubbing his head soothingly, another one tugs you sleeve saying Mama I’m hungry but you don’t even get to respond when you hear another cry from the bedroom — MamaaaaAAAAAA — so you go pick that one up (a more difficult task than usual considering you're heavily pregnant again) with two kids trailing you and one wanting to be picked up but by the time the baby is in your arms, you turn around to face three of them talking to you at once and then another one comes running over to you with mama play with me!and you know you can’t right now because you’ve got to settle these kids first but you don't want to hurt the poor thing's feelings and want him to be happy so you stand there smiling while he explains what he wants to play but now your arms start to tremble from the strain of holding two kids in each arm and now you’re surrounded by five kids pulling on your clothes and talking at the same time and this one wants to be held as well oh god where's the sixth and seventh ones because everyone else is here but you can’t see either one and the youngest starts crying again and you start to panic and— You feel like you're going insane. Each and every day wears you out in full.

Suddenly, you begin to look forward to Caleb coming home.

That’s when the weight of it finally settles in. You've been so busy with everything happening, you never really got to process how much time has passed, how deep into this life you've settled. In the back of your head, there’s been the lingering mentality that you'd still find a way out one day, but in that moment, you realize all too late and that will never happen. Even if you had the chance — and looking back, it occurs to you now you've had many chances to run — you could never bring yourself to abandon them. You get the sense that's part of his intention. If he can’t hold you down himself, he can make other ways to contain you, to make sure you’re all his and under his protection, forever.

So, when your dearest lover finally comes home to a crowd of excited children (and you, as little as you’d like to admit it) looking handsome in uniform, you could finally breath a sigh of relief as they’re all crowding him now, as he gets to the kitchen and starts cooking a big meal for dinner. He talks about taking you all out to the park or something tomorrow on his day off. You’re actually looking forwards to it more than the kids do. You haven’t been out in ages. There’s a lot of smiles and laughter. It actually feels like a home. You can almost enjoy the soft tenderness of the moment, if you forget a lot of what went into this life you live.

By night, you’re slowly breathing in and out in time with the rising and falling of Caleb’s chest pressed to your back. And you think to yourself,

Maybe it’s all for the best.

—

tags: @bruhfan-3 @mayhaps-nerd @pinksaiyans @maidofking123

[bruisedfig]

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ — thinking about SOLDIER BOY helping soothe your post-sex soreness .ᐟ

loosely based on / set after this lil drabble

warnings: smut, fingering, fauxcest, daddy kink, use of ‘dad’ and ‘daddy’, use of other petnames, somno(?), age gap, est. relationship (daddy!soldier boy x fem!reader) 18+

wc: 2.1k ⋮ read at your own discretion

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

your cunt ached like it had been ripped in half, sore from how merciless ben had been when impaling you with his cock, spearing you open like he’d die without your warmth wrapped around him. your clit throbbed—not in the pleasant way—and you were sure your cervix was bruised.

you were pressed against ben’s firm chest, his meaty arms wrapped around you, circling your body like a cocoon. you could smell his musk through his shirt; it was smokey and deep, mixed with a smidge of sweat—a masculine scent that made your stomach churn with delight, something familiar and comforting.

ben’s snores were loud as they bounced around the walls in your bedroom, deep gruff noises that came right from the bottom of his lungs. the sight of ben in your room was still bizarre—america’s big burly ex-golden boy, tucked away under your sheets in your girly little bedroom, filled with books and candles and too many things with frills and sparkles. it was almost humorous the way he stood out amongst your things.

yet, somehow, he fit in perfectly.

you didn’t quite understand how you and ben had come about, but for some reason, you worked. you made sense. you sought comfort, and he gave it—no questions asked. you fall over and scrape your knee? ben’s there patching you up, drying your tears. ben has an episode, just staring off into space as he relives the horrors of his time held captive in russia? you’re there, slotted into his lap, letting him breathe you in until his heartrate slows back down and the life reenters his eyes.

yin and yang—a soft little thing to his hardened self.

you could hear the slow breaths exhaling from ben’s lungs as you cuddled into his side. he was deep asleep, dozing carelessly as you twitched against him.

the ache between your legs was growing stronger, a painful dull sensation throbbing inside you. you whimpered, trying to squeeze your eyes shut, like that would make the pain go away.

you felt ben shift.

“mmm, baby?”

his voice was low and gravelly, riddled with sleepiness; a pleasant sound that would otherwise have you smiling if the aching between your legs wasn’t continuously nagging at you.

“you’re awake. why’re you awake?” ben muttered again, this time pulling you back to meet his gaze. your eyes blinked, and he let out a drowsy sigh, taking in the state of you. “up past your bedtime, babydoll. you’re meant to be sleeping.”

ben’s hazy green eyes continued to dart around your face, lingering on your creased brows and trembling pouted lips. his face softened. “what’s wrong?” 

a whimper escaped you, and you shook your head. “hurts…” you managed to squeak out.

his brows shot up slowly, the drowsiness starting to vacate his features as he studied you, mild concern growing on his face instead. “what hurts, baby?”

“inside.”

ben blinked, staying quiet for a moment before murmuring softly. “inside? you mean your pussy, baby? your pussy hurts?”

you nodded.

“oh, sweetheart,” ben sighed, slipping his hands under your arms and pulling you up against him more. he sat up against the plethora of pillows adorning your headboard and tucked your head into his neck, stroking your hair in a way that seemed unusually soft coming from him. “m’sorry, baby. i didn’t mean to hurt you, you know that.”

quiet little noises made their way up your throat and into his neck. “i know…”

“yeah? course you do. you’re my smart girl, huh?” ben agreed, his voice verging on mocking. he pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline, letting his thick fingers tangle in your locks. “s’it just your pussy, or your tummy too?”

“just my…” you trailed off. your voice was meek, filled with embarrassment and shame, as if you’d done something wrong.

ben caught on quick.

“just your pretty pussy? that’s okay, honey,” he said softly. “m’sorry i hurt you, kiddo. should’ve been more careful with my special girl, yeah? you’re just a little thing, all fragile and delicate. i forget you’re breakable, baby. you aren’t like me.”

ben felt you nod into his neck, and his heartbeat slowed right down. there you were. even in pain, you were nothing short of a sweetheart—his good little girl, so agreeable, so sweet, just submitting to his words in exchange for his comfort and care. he couldn’t help but grin.

“silly daddy, huh? i was bad to you… took you too rough, didn’t i? fucked that tight little cunt too hard?” he muttered, letting his words soak into the air. he felt you lapping them up, letting them absorb into your tired brain, just the way he intended them to. “maybe i should say sorry to her. make her see how bad i feel for bein’ mean. do you think she’d like that, sweetheart? dad telling your pussy he’s sorry?”

your insides clenched. you knew anything ben was planning to do was going to end in tears and even more overstimulation, but at the same time, you felt your head spinning and your cunt preemptively spewing out slick in preparation.

ben tugged your head back, gripping the hair at your nape to make you meet his eyes. “words, bub.”

his hand darted down past the waistband of your sleep shorts, forcing its way into your underwear as he waited for you to respond. you winced as his fingers found your bud.

ben chuckled, “oh, so we’re just noises right now? not using your big girl words f’me?”

he rubbed slowly at your clit, setting alight the nerves that sent waves of pleasure up your spine. ben watched your face change; what was once scrunched up in agony had now softened into parted lips and hazy eyes.

“yeah, that’s it. daddy’s making it all feel better, huh? could’ve just said you wanted dad, angel. if only you used your brain, you dopey little thing.”

he huffed in delight when a whimper fell from your lips. he circled your nerves, feeling your thighs clamp tight around his hand and your cunt muscles pushing back against the light friction he was creating under his fingertips.

“mhm, can feel her waking up, baby. can y’feel your pretty pussy sayin’ hi to dad?” he chuckled, all breathy and mocking.

your hips began to roll themselves against his hand, searching for pleasure in the quiet moment between the two of you. his fingers slipped up and down your slick folds, giving you exactly what your body was asking for.

a quiet moan ripped its way out of your mouth, the sound kissing ben’s neck and bouncing up into his ear. he smiled at that. “uh huh, there you are. feeling better already, aren’t ya, kiddo?”

the nod you gave him was involuntary; your body moving on its own again.

“still hurts?” he asked, his tone still soft but now laced with a speck of sincerity—something rare for ben in moments of intimacy.

your throat bobbed as you swallowed down another moan, and you nodded. “mhm, a little… more my insides, though.”

“yeah, babydoll? inside your pretty cunt? maybe daddy should have a feel around?”

ben grinned at the muffled whine you let out into his neck, the sound pathetic and unsure. he slipped his hand further down between your legs, the pads of his fingers finding your slick opening.

you tensed—your body warning you—as you felt him brush past the sensitive nerves that circle your entrance.

ben chuckled. “c’mon, baby. daddy knows what he’s doing here. s’not his first rodeo.”

the stretch of his two middle fingers was unimaginably good, but you were still indescribably tender. your walls fluttered around them, delivering small kisses to his slick-covered skin.

“see? she’s awake. she’s fine, angel. she’s givin’ dad a squeeze too. welcoming me home.”

ben stroked along your walls, the contact forcing your hips to jerk forward and a whine to shoot out of your lungs.

“daddy–” you cried out into his neck.

his fingers scooped deeper into you, curling up into that sweet spot that was still oh-so-sensitive.

“you’re alright, sweetheart. daddy’s got it. m’gonna make the pain go away. just relax, kid.”

the pressure was overwhelming—sore, but so so so satisfying, like pressing into a bruise. your muscles spasmed, and your legs clamped tight around his hand again.

“i said relax.”

ben’s other hand tugged your thighs back open, and he resumed his ministrations inside your cunt, brushing his fingers against your gooey walls.

you squeaked. and whined. and groaned.

but that didn’t stop ben. he could see the pain mixing around with the pleasure on your face. what a sweet little doll. his good girl.

“takin’ it so good, baby. feels good, doesn’t it? better than the ache daddy left in here, huh? he’s sorry about that, honey, he really is,” he cooed into your ear, then placed a kiss on your forehead.

your orgasm was forceful, ripping out of your cunt with determination that left you utterly breathless in his arms. ben’s motions inside you didn’t cease until you finished squirming in his lap—gushing and covering his fingers with your release, gasping into his neck like your breath was being held hostage in your lungs.

“ohhhh, that’s it, babygirl. i knew exactly what this lil’ pussy needed, didn’t i?” he huffed out a rough laugh into your hair and kissed your head again. he kept up his strokes along your sticky walls, slowing them down until his fingers laid dormant inside you.

the throbbing returned as he stilled, the feeling spreading through your overworked core muscles. they squeezed tightly around his fingers, and you groaned quietly.

“such a good girl f’me,” ben murmured. “think daddy can put you back to bed now?”

you shook your head into his neck quickly, letting out a quiet noise. “no… please. i need–”

“no? oh, so we’re being greedy tonight? already fucked you stupid before, doll, and now you want another orgasm?” ben mused. “you’re a greedy girl.”

“please,” was all you could muster up. “still hurts.”

“mhm, sure it does, puppy. but i guess i owe you for hurting your pretty insides, huh?”

ben curled his fingers back up into that spongey spot, starting up his motions inside you once more. a wave of pleasure crashed over you again, wringing out the aching sensation and now replacing it with a warmth in your core.

your hips rolled against his fingers, helping them press harder into your gspot, forcing electrical currents to shoot up your nerves and explode like fireworks in your brain. the pain simmered out once more as ben began pulling another orgasm from you.

your soft delicate noises in his neck had him grinning from ear to ear. you were maddening, just a silly little girl in his arms, wailing softly at his thick fingers digging into you and dulling away the ache that his monster cock had brutally drilled into you.

“mmm, baby. you’re so soft f’me, aren’t you? m’so proud of you, takin’ all of this so well,” he stated in a gentle whisper.

ben was being unusually soft. the combination of his quiet murmurings and free hand rubbing along your spine had you lulled into a fuzzy headspace.

“i could eat you up, darlin’, i really could. you’re my good girl.” he felt you nod into his neck in agreement with his words, and he huffed, amused, “yeah, you are.”

ben continued stuffing your pretty cunt with his fingers, now focused on brushing your clit with the heel of his palm too. good submissive girls get extra special care, or at least ben thought so.

within a few minutes he’d pulled another orgasm from you, smirking to himself triumphantly as you twitched in his arms, breathlessly whining at the feeling between your legs.

“uh huh, that was a good one, wasn’t it?” ben hummed. “why don’t you just close your eyes, pumpkin? dad’s got you. you just try to sleep, alright? daddy’s not going anywhere.”

your eyes fluttering closed was instantaneous. ben loved it—how quick you were to always follow his orders, whether you wanted to or not.

“atta girl,” he cooed. he placed another gentle kiss on your forehead and whispered into your hairline, “i got ya, baby. just keep your eyes shut.”

ben’s fingers dug into you at a steady pace, keeping up a constant stream of pleasure inside your core. his other hand continued to rub up and down your back, holding you tight against his torso, soothing you while you tried to relax.

a few minutes passed, and ben could already feel your body weight pressing into him, accompanied by your slow deep breaths against his neck; you were already falling asleep.

ben hummed in amusement—you were his sweet dozey little thing. he didn’t let his fingering falter for a moment, but instead continued the curling motions as he felt you finally melt into him fully. he smiled to himself, resting his lips against your head. “that’s my good girl. you’re so fuckin’ sweet… and too fuckin’ good f’me.”

fig yaps: *gulps nervously* was this too much?? LMFAOOO idc daddy soldier is so fun to write bye this is for the daddy issues girlies and if it ain’t you i don’t wanna hear it 🤚🏼 <3

⟡ taglist: @abellmunsonmovie @cryingdew @floralscented @deansbeer @honeyyxxbee @ilovedilfs-4-ever @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @beausling @sturnspup @bluemerakis @luvmes-things @n-o-p-e-never @dubina-dawkins @fawncried @jasvtsc @starzify @bejeweledinterludes @sbwifey @nymphet-quenn @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @minettacreekk @sapphic-destiel @tinas111 @skutykocur @completedust @clitsout4clark @diner-girl @littlejoels @tortureddarkstar @angelically-yours @pieandflannel @angelicjackles @cherrygirl444 @confuzzled-waffle @spookyysinsanity @ccupidzbvnni @euphoriabyjk2 @jackles010378 @cupidzbunny @slayjjuni @lanasgirlfr @celebrinigf @briisbananass @hueswithblues @siddyyyyyyyy @manicjk @ackl3z @defnot-svnshine @sunnyteume @shannonxg

join my taglist here! or message me to be removed! <3

[astonmartinii]

let me at em' | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x fem albon reader

alex’s sister goes on love island and has a horrible time… good thing there’s someone waiting who knows how to treat her

MASTERLIST | OSCAR PIASTRI MASTERLIST

loveisland

liked by alexalbon, georgerussell63 and 302,099 others

tagged: yourusername

loveisland: meet another one of the new islanders! y/n albon is a fashion designer from london… and yes she is the baby sister of formula one driver alex albon!

view all comments

user1: finally some good fucking casting for love island

user2: i mean she looks good but like is she going to be good tv?

user3: i’ve just deepdived on her tiktok and it seems like she makes her brother’s life hell when he’s with her

user4: f1 fans know she’s an icon and a menace

alexalbon: take care of my baby sister itv or else

alexalbon: i’d threaten you with lawyers but i’m the broke f1 driver

maxverstappen1: you can have mine!

alexalbon: thank you max

alexalbon: let any crusty man fuck with my sister and you’ll have max verstappen’s lawyers to deal with

user5: can the f1 fans like fill us in on her personality and stuff!!!!

user6: she’s very much like alex in that she’s very playful but also very sarcastic - she’s close to a lot of the grid, having known a lot of them for a very very long time!

user7: oh she’s such a lovergirl it’s insane

user8: her last relationship was so cute on her side, like she’s very much a gift giving person and puts everything into the relationship - you can tell because she was destroyed by the breakup

user9: ^^ this makes me a little scared because love island do not have a good track record with men who treat women right

user10: i am not looking forward to them fumbling her - especially when they find out who she’s connected to

user11: i hope she keeps her brother to herself so none of the boys try and take advantage

alexalbon: can yall stop you’re freaking me THE FUCK OUT

alexalbon

liked by oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 520,045 others

tagged: yourusername

alexalbon: me watching crusty, dusty and musty men treat my sister like trash

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user16: we need a PROPER gentleman bombshell in there right fucking now

user17: i feel so bad watching her cry… i can’t imagine how it feels with her being your actual family

user18: production need to be doing WAY more in my opinion

georgerussell63: it’s nearly over alex, don’t worry

alexalbon: IT SHOULD BE OVER NOW

alexalbon: she should legally be allowed to beat their asses

alexalbon: if i see one of them laughing about her while she’s crying again i WILL lose my shit

georgerussell63: let’s go back to the dart board buddy

user19: the … DARTS BOARD?

georgerussell63: he’s got a darts board set up with print outs of the the boys fucking with y/n and he’s been throwing darts at their faces for hours

user20: anyone else think this is a bit too far?

alexalbon: they deserve worse for what they’ve done to y/n

lando: slay

oscarpiastri: speak on it

lando: why are you in family business?

oscarpiastri: can i not be angry on y/n’s behalf?

lando: angry for y/n or angry at the boys for having a chance with her?

oscarpiastri: ERM?

lando: shut up we all know you’ve got a big fat crush on her

oscarpiastri: LANDO THIS IS NOT ALEX’S PRIVATE ACCOUNT???

lando: i know!

alexalbon: honestly can mclaren lend you to itv???

oscarpiastri: kinda have a world championship to win?

alexalbon: oh so you don’t want a chance with y/n?

oscarpiastri: i’ll let her make her decision

user21: too much happened in this comment section

user22: and yet i need even more

loveislandnews

liked by user23, user24 and 31,049 others

tagged: yourusername & loveisland

loveislandnews: there were over 48,000 complaints to ofcom last night over the treatment of y/n albon in the love island villa. since arriving in the villa, y/n has been verbally picked at by all of the male contestants, has been manipulated in a love triangle and has been isolated from nearly all of the girls and in the last couple of episodes has only been shown crying and being alone.

view all comments

user25: the producers have really let her down this season

user26: all the fuss about them being better since the past and they’ve let this bullying go all season

user27: kinda crazy since y/n brought such a big audience this season

user28: i say we let ALL of the albon pets in for family day so they can BITE THEIR ANKLES

albon_pets: don’t give us an idea

user29: i think it’s fair game after the boys laughed at the names of you guys

user30: we should’ve known they were bad news at the first old cat lady joke

user31: i mean is it really that deep because a load of f1 drivers make that joke about her all the time and she gladly laughs then

user32: baby girl it’s all about intention - they love her love for her cats, these boys genuinely couldn’t give a fuck

this comment was liked by oscarpiastri

user33: i’m sorry why is oscar piastri lurking in love island news instagram comments

lando: he’s checking in on his boo thang

oscarpiastri: she’s not my boo thang?!

user34: but if you hadn’t have been a pussy she would’ve been and NONE OF THIS NONSENSE WOULDVE HAPPENED

alexalbon: they make a compelling point oscar

alexalbon: that’s it you’re being added to the darts board

oscarpiastri: ???? WHY ???

oscarpiastri: you guys are all saying this like it was a done deal she doesn’t even like me hence why she WENT ON LOVE ISLAND

user35: tbf even i know that’s bullshit because that girl LIGHTS up when she talks about oscar - even on love island

alexalbon: see !!!!

oscarpiastri: i am really not comfortable with you guys all speaking for y/n - it’s her place to reject me not you guys

oscarpiastri: now can we all please delete these comments PR are blowing up my phone

user36: how can we do the tweet challenge just with this whole exchange

user37: i know ian stirling has the NASTIEST joke lined up for this situation

user38: don’t let this tomfoolery distract you from the fact that these men have absolutely destroyed this girl - i don’t think we’ve seen her smile in episodes

oscarpiastri: they need to die

user39: i thought PR was on your ass

oscarpiastri: but this needed to be said

oscarpiastri: they can’t silence the TRUTH

f1

liked by oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 1,983,920 others

tagged: yourusername & alexalbon

f1: a hot new bombshell has hit the paddock

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user41: oh look how she’s GLOWING already

user42: it really was them and NOT her

user43: we been known

user44: the way oscar was in the likes before me… does he just have a sixth sense for y/n content

alexalbon: idk does he ? @ oscar piastri

oscarpiastri: woah it was bad enough baiting me out when she had no access to her phone but i know she’s back to at least 14 hours of screentime

yourusername: is it allowed when most of the hours were on facetime to you?

alexalbon: exsqueeze me

yourusername: we had to catch up on the hot gossip

lando: they were shit talking me real loud

oscarpiastri: no ?

yourusername: and fucking what

lando: nothing!

yourusername: exactlyyyyyyy

user45: she’s making fun of lando again she’s got her spark back

user46: she looked very, very happy to be by the mclaren garage

alexalbon: she’s such a loser omg

user47: so how is this any different to what the boys in the villa said?

yourusername: that’s my brother bozo not a random electrician with a hair transplant and misogyny problems

maxverstappen1: i’m bored and the car is shit so like oscar can you make a move i wanna watch something 🍿

oscarpiastri: MAX?

maxverstappen1: bro that girl is just as pathetic as you

maxverstappen1: she basically went on a dating show just to get your attention

yourusername: THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED?

maxverstappen1: but you were pining once you were in there and you realised that 99% of the male population are not as good as oscar piastri

oscarpiastri: i am right here!

yourusername: you guys are both meant to be getting ready to get in the car???

maxverstappen1: you can’t avoid this forever….

user48: why am i in the same trenches as max rn

alexalbon: they’re freakishly bonded… they’ve got a 700 day streak on duolingo and she treats their text thread like a diary

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, maxverstappen1 and 1,458,304 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: i heard that i had an admirer on the outside

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user49: OMG THEY’RE SO CUTE

user50: why did i have to suffer through her being tortured on love fucking island if we knew the whole time these idiots liked each other

alexalbon: THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING

yourusername: have you guys considered i needed to kiss a couple frogs to get my prince

alexalbon: gross

oscarpiastri: my patience payed off - i’ve got myself a queen :3

loveislandboy: rude?

oscarpiastri: i actually think you should cease to exist

loveislandboy: excuse me?

yourusername: gosh that’s so hot

maxverstappen1: i am so happy for you guys… they grow up so fast

georgerussell63: idk who you think you are max but as her other brother i am HAPPIER for her

oscarpiastri: and not me?

georgerussell63: be quiet oscar, max and i are arguing here

maxverstappen1: put your duolingo streak on the table bozo

georgerussell63: well only one of us were asked to go in for the family and friends episode

maxverstappen1: oh he doesn’t know…

yourusername: max don’t !!!!!!!

georgerussell63: what?

maxverstappen1: there never was an invite

georgerussell63: i can literally show you the email rn

alexalbon: max….

maxverstappen1: it’s not real LOL

maxverstappen1: alex, oscar and i got asked and we didn’t want you to get your feelings hurt

georgerussell63: BLASPHEMY

user52: i’m crying - y/n was going through psychological torture but they had to fabricate an email to placate george

alexalbon: let’s just say both i and itv were glad when y/n tapped out before the episode

oscarpiastri: anyway…

oscarpiastri: i do admire you… a lot… too much

oscarpiastri: actually i don’t think i can admire you TOO much

yourusername: you’re the cutest ever omg

yourusername: i admire you too

yourusername: if my ramblings weren’t making me obvious enough

oscarpiastri: dinner after the race…?

yourusername: only if i get dessert afterwards

alexalbon: GRIM.

oscarpiastri

liked by alexalbon, maxverstappen1 and 3,209,493 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: get your ‘i told you so’s out now i’ve got a date with a girl who’s just my type on paper

view all comments

user53: bro getting all big for his boots now he got gentle-parent-ed to asking out a girl

user54: he’s such a virgin loser

yourusername: gOOD

yourusername: i don’t want anyone else to have touched him

oscarpiastri: yes ma’am

user55: oh so he really as pathetic as they said

yourusername: i didn’t lie when i said my type was pathetic on love island

lando: you gonna take that bro?

oscarpiastri: yes? highest compliment in my opinion

alexalbon: i think i’m allowed to say i told you so for the rest of my life

alexalbon: even during a best man speech…

logansargeant: woah … stealing my car that one time wasn’t enough for you? you gotta steal being best man too?

oscarpiastri: we’re talking weddings already?

yourusername: you don’t want to marry me?

oscarpiastri: I DO !!!!!!!

yourusername: say the words baby

alexalbon: gosh you guys are gross

yourusername: bruv i saw the pics of you crying over how i was treated in the villa… i know you’re happy really

alexalbon: i am!!! but like surely me and lily aren’t this annoying …

yourusername: whatever you wanna hear babe

lando: bro my culture is not your costume

yourusername: i knew you got a hair transplant

lando: no ???

oscarpiastri: so that’s why you’re always ‘exploring a connection’

lando: why has he started talking back to me?

oscarpiastri: i fought the love island demons - i can fight you too

yourusername: let me be your ring girl xxxx

user56: so they’ve just always been like this? and they kept it from us?

yourusername: it’s called we were both horribly pining and didn’t want to embarrass ourselves… so i went on love island and embarrassed myself

oscarpiastri: no - you’re the purest of heart and they didn’t deserve you - thank god

yourusername: UGH I LOVE YOU

oscarpiastri: i love you too :3

user56: way to flex on me thanks guys

fin.

note: it be like that... i'm celebrating summer break :((((

[mishappeningss]

Heyooo,

Do you think you could do driver reader with other retired drivers like Seb, Jenson, Kimi, Nico and people like that? Like what would they think of her, what would the dynamic be?

she’d do ANYTHINGGGG to be able to go back in time and race w them :(

more about driver!yn

Sebastian Vettel — “She’s the storm the paddock needed.”

Sebastian Vettel isn’t even supposed to be in Monaco. He swore off race weekends — no media duties, no team consultancy, no press box nostalgia runs. But the moment he hears YN is starting on the front row, something inside him itches.

So here he is, leaning against the paddock railing with a soft smile, baseball cap low, sleeves rolled up, and a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the Riviera sun.

And there she is.

YN — hair braided, race suit tied at the waist, fireproofs clinging to her like a second skin, bottle of water in hand, muttering something brutal about setup balance and slow corners. She hasn’t seen him yet.

When she finally turns and clocks him, her whole face shifts — eyes widening just slightly, jaw tightening like she’s trying not to grin. Trying not show how giddy she is that her favorite driver’s here.

“Thought you were done with all this,” she says, walking over.

Seb shrugs. “So did I. But you’re hard to stay away from.”

“Dangerously charming, aren’t I?” she deadpans, already rolling her eyes, but her voice is too soft to mean it.

They stand in silence for a moment, watching the chaos of prep unfold around them. Mechanics scrambling. Reporters shouting. Engines screaming in the background. And still — peace, between them.

“How’s the car?” he asks finally.

“She hates me,” YN sighs. “But we’re working it out.”

Seb smiles, something proud and private in the way his eyes crinkle. “Sounds like most good partnerships.”

After the race — P2. Not the win, but damn close. Close enough to make the world pay attention.

Seb meets her just outside the garage, catching her before the interviews. She’s flushed and buzzing, hair frizzed from the helmet, adrenaline still bleeding through her skin.

“That was brilliant,” he says, and it’s not the usual post-race praise. It’s reverent. Genuine.

“You saw the lock-up?” she asks, already grimacing.

“Yes. And the save.” His eyes glint. “You’ve got instinct. You don’t drive like anyone else.”

“That a compliment or a warning?” she teases.

He leans in slightly, like he’s letting her in on a secret. “Both.”

user: seb vetttelll being her calm anchor in a world that’s constantly trying to knock her down??? i’m sobbing

user: when he said “both”… i ascended. i left my body.

user: if you think seb didn’t come back to the paddock just to see her race, you’re wrong and also boring

Kimi Räikkönen — “She reminds me of myself. Just louder, and a lot more sarcastic.”

Kimi shows up in Silverstone with no warning. No media fanfare, no pre-race announcement. Just walks in with sunglasses on, coffee in hand, and a team lanyard he probably stole from someone else.

And naturally, he heads straight for her garage.

YN looks up mid-briefing, squints, and blinks twice like she’s hallucinating. “Are you… lost?”

Kimi doesn’t flinch. “No.”

“Here to consult?” she asks.

“No.”

She tilts her head. “Then what are you doing here?”

He sips his coffee and shrugs. “Wanted to see if you finally learned how to brake after turn nine.”

YN grins, all teeth. “I’ll show you how I brake — through your kneecaps.”

Kimi smirks. “Good. Stay angry. It’s when you drive best.”

Later, she’s in her race suit, pulling gloves on slowly. There’s a storm coming — not weather, just her. Tension in her shoulders, jaw locked tight, heat in her eyes. The kind of energy that usually ends in a podium or a full-on brawl with another driver. Sometimes both.

Kimi’s still there. He doesn’t hover — he just exists near her, like a shadow with a sharp tongue and too much Finnish honesty.

“You ever thought of coaching?” she asks, adjusting her earpiece.

“God, no,” he says instantly.

She chuckles, tossing her head back. “Not even me?”

He raises one eyebrow. “You’d fire me in a week.”

“Fair,” she agrees.

Pause.

“…You’re still my favorite, though.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches out, gently straightens the strap of her HANS device, and walks away.

On the pit wall — race ongoing:

Luca tells her about pushing harder in Sector 2. She snaps back with a sarcastic “I can’t push what’s already over the damn limit!”

The radio crackles again. And suddenly: Kimi’s voice. Calm. Dry. Perfectly timed.

“Then don’t crash. It’s annoying to watch.”

YN cackles mid-corner.

After she finishes P4, she storms into the garage, annoyed, sweaty, muttering about tire degradation and pit stop calls.

Kimi hands her a water bottle and says, deadpan, “Should’ve crashed. Would’ve been more dramatic.”

She flicks water at him.

He doesn’t flinch.

user: kimi showing up like a feral paddock uncle just to roast yn is PEAK mentor content

user: she said “you ever thought of coaching” and he answered like she offered him a job in hell i’m crying

Jenson Button — “I just remind her that she’s allowed to breathe.”

It’s the Canadian GP, and Jenson’s working punditry this weekend. He’s already had three segments where he talked about YN’s sector times like he was narrating a love letter. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Mid-FP3, he finds her leaning against the pit wall, helmet at her side, boots tapping against the concrete like she’s too full of kinetic energy to stand still.

He walks over, calm as ever.

“You’re overdriving turn 3,” he says without greeting.

“I’m testing the grip,” she shoots back. “And also proving a point.”

Jenson chuckles. “You always try to make a point.”

She raises a brow. “And?”

“And you usually do.” He nudges her boot lightly with his own. “But don’t forget to have fun. You used to smile more.”

YN pauses, eyes flicking up to his, and for a second, the sarcasm softens.

Then:

“I smile plenty. Just not when I’m surrounded by men with microphones who think I’m here for vibes.”

Jenson puts both hands up in surrender. “Hey. I am here for vibes.”

During Qualifying — Live TV Broadcast

“Okay, look at YN here,” Jenson says on-air, gesturing toward the screen mid-hot lap. “Watch the confidence on entry — no hesitation. It’s instinct. You can’t teach that.”

“Would you call her aggressive?” the co-commentator asks.

“No. I’d call her decisive,” he replies immediately. “She knows who she is. That’s dangerous in F1. And beautiful to watch.”

The fans melt.

After Qualifying,she finds him in the media pen, finishing a segment. Walks up behind him and says loud enough for the mic to pick up:

“So are we calling me beautiful or just my cornering technique?”

Jenson laughs, tilts his head. “Why not both?”

She grins — genuinely this time. It throws people off.

user: jenson calling her decisive instead of aggressive is EVERYTHING. this is what mentorship should look like. respectful. proud.

user: jenson and yn having mentor/older sibling banter while also looking like they’d rob you in matching sunglasses? ICONIC

user: “she used to smile more” “you usually make your point” “why not both?” STOPPP I’M GONNA START SHIPPING THIS

Nico Rosberg — “She’s chaos with purpose. That’s what makes her so dangerous. And so much fun to piss off.”

He corners her just after the drivers’ briefing in Monza. She’s already annoyed — the sim didn’t translate well, the car feels unbalanced, and some journalist just asked if she was “overcompensating” by being aggressive on track.

She’s two seconds from committing a crime when Nico appears behind her and says, way too casually:

“Still driving like you’ve got something to prove?”

She turns slowly. Narrowed eyes. Jaw tight. “Oh, I forgot this is your ‘I pretend to be insightful but I’m actually just trying to get a rise out of you’ era.”

Nico grins like a man who’s won. “I missed you too.”

Later, she’s mid-interview, giving calculated, smart answers, and Nico (with a mic, of course, because he’s media now) slides in beside her.

Nico asks, “So, YN, think you’ll ever learn to leave any space when overtaking?”

“Why would I? You didn’t.”

He grins in return. “Touché.”

“Thanks. I’ve got years of your footage saved. For research.”

The reporters eat it up. So does Twitter. He smirks. She glares. The chemistry is chaotic.

In private, though — it’s different.

She finds him on the balcony of the hospitality unit, staring out at the track as if he misses it.

Which, honestly, he probably does.

“You’re not that annoying, you know,” she says, arms crossed.

Nico looks over. “You’re terrible at compliments.”

She sighs, a little more serious. “You get it, though. The pressure. The performance. The branding. How they either hate you or want to own you.”

He studies her. “Yeah,” he says, softer. “I remember what that felt like. When the sport loves what you do but resents how you do it.”

Silence.

Then YN nods, once. “You’re still annoying, though.”

He grins. “There she is.”

user: WHY DOES HE ONLY TROLL HER. he doesn’t even acknowledge other drivers like this lmao

user: the way he called her out ON AIR and she just body slammed him with facts and footage. girl boss behavior

user: i’m sorry but they’re so enemies-to-mutual-recognition-to-rivals-who-flirt-through-insults. i’m sick.

[maskedbyghost]

He sat in the car for a while, longer than he should’ve, just staring at the shop window with his fingers curled around the steering wheel until the leather started to warm under his grip. He kept thinking to himself that maybe this was stupid, maybe it didn’t matter what kind of ring he picked because you'd say yes no matter what, or at least you’d pretend to like whatever he got, because you always told him he worried too much, especially when it came to things you didn’t care about.

Still, the thing was, he cared; he really fucking cared, and that’s why he finally stepped inside, ignoring the bells over the door and the way the woman behind the counter looked at him like he didn’t belong there. Not in a rude way, more in a surprised way, because he didn’t exactly dress the part. Still, none of that mattered because he wasn’t here to impress anyone except you.

He walked around a bit first, didn’t let the saleswoman follow him, and didn’t want her talking at him and saying things about carats and clarity and metals when all he could think about was your hands, the way they always moved when you talked, always expressive and stubborn and warm.

The way they curled in his hoodie when you were cold and always tugged at his mask when you were trying to get him to come to bed, and he remembered how you’d once said you’d never want anything too flashy because you’d lose it in two days or scratch it on the sink or forget to take it off when washing the dog.

He remembered laughing because it was true. After all, you had a box full of tangled earrings and broken bracelets that you never threw away, and he knew you’d want something simple.

So he stopped in front of a small glass case near the back where they kept the plain bands, and his eyes landed on this narrow gold ring that didn’t shine too much under the lights, and he stood there for a long time, just staring, thinking about how this was it, how this little thing was going to sit on your finger and mean everything, because there was no one else.

There hadn’t been for a long time, not since you came into his life and filled it with all those stupid things he used to think didn’t matter—morning texts and grocery lists and arguments over laundry and getting woken up because you’d had a bad dream and didn’t want to be alone, and all those soft, irritating, beautiful things that became the only parts of his day he looked forward to.

He didn’t ask for a box or a bag, just took the ring and shoved it deep into the inside pocket of his jacket, where it stayed even when he got home, even when he stood in front of the mirror in the dark, trying to imagine how he’d give it to you, if he’d do it in the kitchen one morning while the kettle boiled or if he’d wait until you were half-asleep and mumble it into your neck, or maybe he’d just hand it to you and say “you’re stuck with me,” because you always said he made everything dramatic, and you hated big gestures, but you’d love this, you’d love the fact he was nervous about it, that he bought it alone, that he didn’t tell anyone, not even Johnny, because it was supposed to be your moment, just the two of you, and no one else.

And then—

Then there was no moment.

There was just silence.

There was the hospital. There was a phone call. There was a body.

And now, he’s standing over you, trying to breathe through the pressure in his chest, trying not to break the way he already has a dozen times in the last few days, and he’s still wearing the same jacket because he hasn’t been able to take it off since you left, because the ring is in the pocket, and if he takes off the jacket, then it means it’s real, it means there’s no more time, and it means this is it.

You’re there in front of him, surrounded by flowers you would’ve said were too much, all done up by people who didn’t even know you, and your hands are still, too still, and the whole room smells wrong, and it’s cold and you’re cold and none of it makes sense because you were supposed to answer the door when he got back, you were supposed to be barefoot and annoyed that he was late and ask what he was hiding in his jacket, you were supposed to be alive.

His hands don’t work right when he pulls the ring out.

They fumble. They shake.

He drops it once, and the sound of it hitting the floor makes his knees buckle a bit, but he catches himself before he falls, and he laughs under his breath, just once, because of course he would mess this up, of course it wouldn’t go smoothly, even now.

He picks it up and wipes it clean.

And then, carefully, gently, more gently than he’s ever touched anything in his entire life, he lifts your hand and slides the ring onto your finger.

It fits.

Of course it fits.

He stares at it for a long time.

And then, without looking away, he says it:

“Wait for me. I’ll come find you in another life.”

And he means it.

He’ll finish whatever time he has left in this place. Then he’ll go to you. And you’d better be waiting.

You promised.

[nymphethotline]

Hey! Prompt ideas for Clark x reader:

- something like that episode of Smallville where Lois confesses her feelings for Clark on a lie detector when they're kidnapped

- slow, intimate sex to help relieve cramps

- “there’s only one bed” while traveling for investigate something together

caught in a flash

pairing – clark kent x reader

summary – a stakeout, car ride, and a booked hotel room all with the same guy you’re convinced doesn’t like you as much as you do him. what could go wrong?

word count – 3.7k (i got a little carried away 0_o)

content – co-workers to lovers, only one bed, slow burn, eventual smut, awkward pining, miscommunication, f!reader, workaholic!reader, brief praise kink, dry humping, sensual AND consensual sex, unprotected sex, creampie

author’s note – thank you anon for this request! i spent longer on this than i expected i was locked in (its almost 5 am as i post this don't mind any typos); reblogs and comments are appreciated!

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶·

The microfiber runs along your fingertips and the scent of isopropyl alcohol fills the surrounding air as you clean your camera lens, hunched over your desktop as you shoot quick glances over at Clark. You’d just been assigned a new report, some corporation – other than LuthorCorp, for once – has been funneling money out of the hands of taxpayers and into their own greedy pockets, causing a yellow level threat to citizens due to an increase of environmental decay from their illegal dumping on private property. Perry had come up to your corner of the room and informed you that you would be the photojournalist in charge of this article, alongside Clark who would be putting words to your thinkpiece. 

While excited to expose the wrongdoings of the multimillion dollar company, you were hesitant to partner up with Clark. Not because you don’t like him, but because you like him a little too much. Seemingly out of nowhere, you preserved a tight-lipped crush on him. It isn’t hard to understand why though; he’s kind and optimistic, and always willing to strike up a conversation with you no matter how buried in work he is. So when Perry assigned you together, part of your chest leapt, whilst your stomach turned to knots of anticipation wondering how you were going to handle being in his proximity for so long. 

“Hey, uh, ready to head out soon?” You flinched as Clark’s voice reverberated beside you. Even though the man was a giant, he managed to be stealthy as ever. “Jesus, you scared me. Let me just pack up my stuff and we can go.” Your hand reaches for your keys as you slung the strap of your camera case onto your shoulder.

He crouches his way into your sedan, his hairs brushing against the roof. You hold back a chuckle at his discomfort, but you can’t help but find it amusing. “So we’re gonna head over to both of our places, pick up some clothes and our toothbrushes and whatever else we need for the night. We’ll be taking photos at night around some of the dumping zones, then we’ll interview a few residents in the morning.” he notices your smirk. “What?” 

“Sorry, I just– I can’t take you seriously when you look like you’re in a clown car.” you giggle, trying not to burst into a full blown fit of laughter.

“Well, it’s not my fault that you’re pint sized and drive said clown car.” he murmurs, yet still audible.

“Hey! If anything, I’m the only normal sized one here, you’re just freakishly huge.” 

“Just saying.” He shrugs his shoulders, nearly banging his head. “How do you feel about this whole predicament?”

Your smile falls flat, recalling the whole reason you’re out here. “It’s sickening, you know? Innocent people who’re trying to live their lives are being burdened by the rich and powerful. And for what, so that they can save a little money? I mean, at what point is it enough for them? How can they see people struggling to hold on due to their actions and still think that they’re in the right!?” your grip on the steering wheel mindlessly tightens as you seethe, before relaxing once you realize how worked up you are. “Sorry.” 

“No, no, don’t be sorry at all. I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Clark admired your passion and your abhorrence to injustice. It uncovered a part of you that he’d never seen before. “Let’s lighten the mood a bit then, yeah? I don’t want you to drive us into oncoming traffic. Not today.”

At long last, you secured a parking spot in front of Clark’s apartment building. “How’s it going, Frank?” he calls out to the doorman as you bid him a polite wave. Maneuvering over to the elevators, pushing the up arrow before Clark got the chance. He gives a quick ‘after you’ once the doors slide open, thumbing the metal ‘3’ before you both sit in a brief silence. “Y-your hair looks nice today.” he rasps before clearing his throat. Smoothing a few out of place hairs before squeaking out a thank-you and a bashful grin. You contemplated on whether or not he noticed your nervousness, or if he had any around you. Did he even get nervous? A guy like him must be filled with confidence, sure of his every move. And besides, he would only be nervous if he liked you – romantically, that is. Of course he liked you, why would he sit through this whole thing if he didn’t-

Chime. The elevator’s signal halted your incessant mental ramblings. You follow behind him and the jingling of his keys. As his front door unlocks, you’re met with newspaper headlines strung along the walls and books with dog-eared pages on the coffee table. “Sorry, I didn’t get the chance to clean up the mess. Just give me a minute.” his voice fades as he enters his bedroom, his footsteps and shuffling echoes. 

You spend your time waiting by being nosy. Wandering around the kitchen you spot a takeout menu and a to-do list stuck to the fridge with an ear of corn-shaped magnet. ‘Forward articles to Jimmy for reviewing; Call Ma and Pa; Be a good person :)’ Your lips curl upward at the last one. You spot a stack of board games sat on the shelf under his compact dining table. Monopoly, Clue, Sorry! all misaligned, with Scrabble being right on top with its worn box. He would be the type to be perched playing Scrabble for hours. There wasn’t much hung up on the walls, but the knickknacks scattered around the place spoke volumes about who he was outside of work. 

“Ready?” his voice appears behind you, duffel bag in hand. “You have seriously got to stop doing that. How do you not make noise?” A laugh from him, then yours follows. “Let’s go. Now you get to see the state I live in.”

The charms on your keychain swing similar to a pendulum as you open the entrance to your townhouse. The air is laced with the scent of clean linen from the candle you were burning earlier that morning, placed on the island while you enjoyed your breakfast and read the news. You kick off your boots and place them on the rack right around the corner. “Shoes off, please. I don’t like to track dirt in here.” Clark seems stunned for a moment before removing his oxfords, revealing his dress socks littered with Superman logos. “Interesting fashion choice.” you tease.

“I wasn’t expecting to take off my shoes… in front of you.” 

“Ah, you weren’t expecting me to find out that you’re a Superman fanboy?”

“Something like that.” he trails off. 

Reminding yourself what you came for, you head over to your bedroom and grab a canvas tote and begin wadding in clothes. The wooden floor creaks as he walks in behind you, before the sound dampens from the carpeted ground your room was lined with. “It’s very clean in here.” he mentions, eyeing – almost scanning – the area from floor to ceiling. “Were you expecting it to be messy?” 

“No, no. Just… explains a lot about you.” 

You head over to the connecting bathroom before calling out, “Well, I can explain a lot about me. My room? Not so much.” Grabbing your toothbrush, paste, and mouthwash; stuffing them all in the bag before walking back out. Clark hums in accord, nodding his head at your perspective. “You’re more of a ‘figure me out’ kind of person, then?” 

“I guess so. Whenever I’m asked about myself, I’ll answer. It’s just that not many people bother to ask.” you slip your feet back into your shoes and watch as Clark mirrors you, before picking your keys up off the hook and heading out.

The sunset painted the horizon as you navigated your trip to the first dump site. It was located right on the outskirts of the city, often overlooked as its population wasn’t anything special in comparison. Perry told you to be on the lookout for liquid waste – chemical, oil, what have you. ‘Get a clear shot and the headlines’ll be printed by next week.’ You and Clark would have to wait and stakeout after dark, no way that an employee would be caught dead doing their dirty work in daylight. You parked adjacent to the storm drains that practically glowed green from the continual disposal, just hidden enough where you could still get a snapshot of damning evidence. 

“They were a gift.” Clark pipes up after what felt like hours of deafening silence.

“Hm?”

“My socks. They were a gift from my mom.”

“Oh. Well, that makes it much less embarrassing than picturing you as a grown man in the store weighing your options on which print best depicted your favorite superhero.” you quip, taking your eyes away from the binoculars he brought. “What’s your mom like? Obviously, she’s very generous.”

“She’s sweet. My dad too. He’s like a giant teddy bear, a big softie. I remember when I was younger, when the fair was in town, he’d go on rides with me even though he got motion sickness. Said it was worth it just to see the smile I had on my face afterwards.” his expression gazes longingly, you could practically see him replaying the memory in his head. 

Your heart falters at the sight of his smile, struggling to fight the urge to just lean over and kiss him. But you had to stay professional. You couldn’t risk fucking things up between the two of you before your work was over. “Your family sounds lovely. I’d love to meet them.” 

“I’d love it if you met them, too.” Did he just say that? Did he mean to say that? He probably  only meant it in a friendly way. Right? Your mind goes blank on what to say as your face heats up at the thought of him introducing you to his parents as his girlfriend, you turn to face the window nearest you to hide away. Clark notices, and tries to ease the tension. “Ahem, so w-when do you think we’ll get a shot?” 

“Uh, should be soon. Our source said they come by around 9 or 9:30.” you reach and check the time on your phone. “It’s 8:53 now.”  Moments later, a black van swings around the bend and stations right in front of the drain. Two men hop out, hustling their way to get the back doors open and retrieving barrels. Clark turns to you, “Get your camera ready.” Zooming in and capturing them in frame, you film shot after shot, making sure you have enough backups. The pair of you spied as their van doors slammed, before releasing a sigh you’d inadvertently been holding. “Okay, we’re clear. Can you put the directions to the hotel in the GPS?” 

Your feet sunk into the worn carpet, the odor of cigarette smoke and ash plumes the air with each step. It wasn’t the most luxurious hotel, but it seemed clean enough. The decor was a bit outdated and it needed a good dusting, but it wasn’t anything unlike visiting your grandparents’ house. “Hi, checking in for our room, should be under Kent?” Clark hovers above the front desk. The receptionist’s nails clack against the keyboard as she searches the name, but to no avail. Clark turns and passes a bewildered look. “Um, try my name instead.” Clickclickclick, nothing. Pausing and scratching your head, it hits you. “Try Perry.” A result appears on the computer and the receptionist hands over the keycard. “I thought we were gonna be stranded out here,” you revealed to Clark as you’re walking through the hallway. He chuckles, “I was already trying to figure out how I would fit sleeping in the car.” The sound of each other’s laughter fills the halls, but quickly dies down once the room door swings open and you spot the sleeping arrangement. 

One bed. 

Shit.

Clark’s quick to turn around, “I’m gonna go and ask if they have any other rooms.” He's all nerves, you finally see the confident mask start to slip. Before he can run out of the room, you grab a hold of his bicep. Jesus, was he hiding that under his baggy suit all this time? “Clark, wait. It’s late and I’m exhausted, I don’t feel like waiting another hour or two for them to clear out the room. We’ll figure something out.” 

His shoulders drop as he relaxes, “Alright. You take the bed, I’ll take the chair.” The sad, stiff chair faces the two of you from the corner, almost mockingly. “You are not sleeping in that thing, you’re gonna wreck your back!” You consider suggesting him sleeping in the bed with you, but not wanting to impose, you decide against it.

“Well, then I’ll take a pillow and sleep on the floor.” He marches over to the bed and grabs one, plopping it straight on the ground. You’re almost offended by his persistence, would it be that bad to share a bed with you? He’s only a coworker, it’s probably for the best that you keep your distance.  “Fine, if that’s what you please. I’m gonna change.” you point in the direction of the bathroom. 

After locking the door, you shed yourself of work clothes and replace them with an oversized graphic tee, and pajama shorts that didn’t leave much to the imagination. While rinsing your face and brushing your teeth, your thoughts are plagued with rejection. Even if he didn’t intend to, Clark’s haste to push you away stung just a bit. Telling yourself you’re better off without the drama, you hold your breath and prepare to face him again. You’re met with Clark in a white tank and a pair of striped boxers, his glasses askew on his face. With how good he looked, would a little drama really hurt? “Bathroom’s free.” He rushes past you without a second glance before the door slams. You flinch before it opens again, “Sorry, didn’t mean to close it so hard.” he whispers before shutting it softer than before. You settle yourself into bed, pulling the sheets over you and picking your nails anxiously as you wait for his return. 

The flow of water from the sink shuts off, indicating that he would be out soon. As you’re bundling up into the sheets to avoid the awkward eye contact, you hear the doorknob turn. He hits the lightswitch before walking over to the foot of the bed, and you watch as his silhouette crouches to the floor. “Good night.” 

“G’night.”

The room is nearly pitch black, the only illumination coming from the alarm clock on the beside table – 10:47 pm. Tossing and turning for the next few minutes trying to lull yourself to sleep, it feels impossible to doze comfortably while poor Clark subjects himself to torture. You read the clock again, trying to gauge how long he’d follow through with it – 10:53 pm.

“Would you just come up here already?”

Silence.

Then, the cotton pillowcase rustles in his grasp. A shadow of his curly mop pops up from the bed leg. A gust of air flows against your legs as he lifts the duvet and flumps into the mattress. He’s rigid as he lay next to you, almost like he’s more uncomfortable up here than on the ground. “Can I ask you something, Clark?” you whisper as an effort to ease the tension. You hear the sheets underneath his head swish as he nods, “What is it?”

“Do you even like me?”

That’s when you hear it. His entire body shifts to face you, and even in the dark you can tell he’s staring at you. “What? Of course I do, what makes you say that?”

“The fact that we were stuck in… several bouts of awkward silence during the ride over here, for one. And the fact that you jumped at the opportunity to sleep anywhere but next to me before I asked you. Just be honest with me, I have no problem keeping our interactions brief if that’s-”

“I like you. I truly do. I just thought… I figured that you wanted to keep things that way. I mean, you’re so put together and organized, you don’t seem like the type of person to have your work and personal life mixing together. You’re one of the best journalists in the office, I can tell how seriously you take your career. I- I didn’t want to distract you with loads of questions. But I promise, I like you. A lot.”  

As you listened to his rant, the more it made sense that you came off as a workaholic. A tendency you developed was to distract yourself with what was more important than engaging with a crush and having it end up as a failed endeavor. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to seem like I was brushing you off. My work is important to me, of course, but I love talking to you. I like when you laugh, when you tell me stories about you and your family, seeing the little notes you write to yourself. All of it.” You snicker, slightly embarrassed at what you were about to confess – “I… I wanted to kiss you earlier. In the car.” Heat flushes the tip of your ears.

A beat.

“Is it too late for that?”

Before you could utter a response, Clark’s broad hand cups your face as he inches closer. His warm breath fans over your skin, lips ghosting against yours before he closes the gap with a light peck. Almost like he was testing the waters. He goes back for seconds, this time with less restraint. He kissed feverishly, like he was making up for lost time. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the connection. A moan escapes your lips absentmindedly, spurring him to move his hands further down your body. He hikes your leg around his waist, humping against you as you whimper. “Clark…” 

“Is this okay?” he pulls away, a string of saliva stuck on his lips. “Yes, please – God – keep going.” He grabs ahold of your waist and fully positions you on top of him, guiding your hips to rub against his boxers. You feel him harden underneath you, groans and heavy sighs emanating from him. His calloused hands reach underneath your shirt, caressing your skin and pulling you closer to him. Thumb dipping into the waistband of your shorts, “Can I take these off?” A quick nod from you before they’re off and there’s one less layer between you. 

Grabbing your loins, he rocks you back and forth on his clothed cock again, driving his hips up into you to match your pattern. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. So gorgeous like this.” Another broken sob comes from you that eggs him on, and in a blink of an eye he’s increasing his tempo and sliding your shirt off. You grasp his wrist and place his palm on your breast; he gives it a gentle squeeze before putting it in his mouth and tonguing the nipple. “Oh, fuck!” you cry out, encouraging him to continue tugging on the sensitive bud. He hums around it, mouth alternating between the pair. You pull on his hair as his tongue flicks around with no relent. 

“Clark?” you gasp. “Yeah, honey?” 

“Can you fuck me now? Please?”

Pop! His lips detach from your tit, hands sliding back down to where his and your groin meet. “Since you asked so nicely,” he jests before landing a peck on your lips. Pulling down his boxers enough so his head emerges, before lining it up with your slit and sitting you on top. You moan in unison as you feel him slide in, nearly splitting you in half at the sheer size of it. He draws you in close to kiss you lovingly, before singing a song of praise. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. Taking me so well.” he brushes the hair out of your face, “Pretty girl, my pretty girl.” 

His admirations push you to ride him harder, ignoring the sting of him stretching you open so quickly. You nearly send yourself to the brink before he slows you down, then plunging upwards and meeting your new pace. “Take your time, baby, ‘s no rush.” Arms envelop you as his chest connects with yours, kisses peppered all over your face. His cock brushes against your g-spot at the new angle, leaving you whining in pure pleasure. At this, he picks up speed. Pounding into you repeatedly, each thrust knocking the wind out of your lungs. That all too familiar fire in your belly creeps up on you, signalling that you’re almost finished. “Clark, I-I’m gonna-”

“I know, I feel it. I feel you tightening around me.” He chuckles before jackhammering into you, sending you over the edge within seconds. “Holy fuck! Clark!” you claw at his back, needing something to keep you grounded as your core reached its peak. Clark wasn’t far off behind you, his thrusts getting sloppier and off rhythm as his breath remained heavy. “Where should I come?” 

Too dazed to care, you tell him inside. He starts to unravel, hips moving rapidly, overstimulating you while he chases his high. Finally, he holds you close to him as his motion stills and he empties his load inside of you. The two of you sit there for a moment, still panting and wrecked. 

As he pulls out, you shudder at the abrupt emptiness. You can no longer hold yourself upright, instead slumping onto his shoulder and resting your head there. Clark comforts you by rubbing your back and kissing your forehead, small acts that say so much in so little words. 

He disturbs the silence, “Still think I don’t like you?”

“I think we better go another round to make sure.” 

[barcapix]

i heard that you wanted more f1 requests sooo i have one for landoo 🥰🥰 no.14 from the summer prompts please!

❀ Lemontini - Lando Norris

lando norris x fem!reader

prompt/s: rhode peptide liptreatment.

a/n: this is lateee im sorry ! i forget these are supposed to be short idk. thank youuu for the req😛

warnings: cringe last line. idk unless i think most things are cringe.

THE SUN SUGGESTS THE TIME OF THE DAY IS 4PM, as the sunlight begins mapping out six-sided shapes across the sand. you’re lying on your stomach, half-asleep on a towel that still carries the scent of laundry detergent, and erupting into a small sigh everytime a wave of wind breaks past that provides a cool, fleeting reprieve to contrast the blaze of sun on your skin.

lando’s next to you on a towel of his own, although it’s half lost in the sand. he’s got his sunglasses on crooked as he’s chewing on the cap of your water bottle like he didn’t just spend fifteen minutes whining that you stole his.

point be corrected, he forgot to put his in the cooler.

you have no dire interest in speaking, just enjoying the radiation from the suns rays as it soaks up into your skin; tan lines begin to form. meanwhile, lando’s fiddling with the speaker with his shoulders pink from forgetting sunscreen, and you already know your bank account is going to take a hit from the amount of aloe vera you’ll be guilted into buying.

“could you just pick one,” you groan, growing tired of the constant one second clips from songs, “it sounds more like the speakers have a malfunction.”

lando makes a face at ‘party in the usa,’ immediately turning the knob again. “you liked the last one.”

“what ‘friday night,’?” you scoff. “i tolerated it. big difference.”

the brunette mutters something incoherent, eventually letting ‘são paulo’ play, as you flip to lay on your back.

but as soon as your fingertips even make contact to the sunglasses you’re about to slide onto your eyes, there’s a rustling sound again.

“can you not,” you sigh without looking. “whatever you’re doing. you have a attention span of a seven year old.”

lando ignores you entirely. “why do you have like—like six of these?”

you grumble. “what are you on ab—” as soon as your head turns, you find him elbow deep in your purse and holding a ray of lip balms. oh, great. “is my purse full of sand now?”

your boyfriend frowns at the balms, a sheepish “no.” in reply. your rhode peptide collection, a daily essential you fear you can’t leave the house without. not even without one.

he eyes them up like he’s trying to solve a algebraic equation, the watermelon one dangling pathetically from his fingers.

“flo has loads of these,” he comments idly. “never understood the hype about them.”

“of course you wouldn’t. all you understand is fancy cars and dj-ing,” you shoot back, already reaching for the gloss in his hand. “besides, i actually got that one with flo at the rhode pop up.”

lando quirks a brow, taking his glasses form his eyes. “when?”

you shrug, adjusting the strap of your bikini top absentmindedly. “almost four weeks ago.. all i know that it was a sunday and it was busy.”

the words slip out before your brain catches up to the timeline your loud-mouth confirms; what weekend it really was.

“is that where you went just before the grid walk? at silverstone?” he inquires, a bewildered squint daunting at his face. “and you almost missed the formation lap.”

you pursue your lips, guilty in the way someone is when they’ve already been caught.

“i knew my suspicions were right. no way it takes you 55 mins to use the bathroom. girl or not.”

“well, don’t sulk. too late to do anything about it now,” you dismiss, loading them all back into your purse—by all, you mean you think you got them all—and flip onto your back again.

though, you don’t. lando still has the lemontini cap screwed off and sniffing the scent like two dogs mating.

“what happens if one gets damaged?”

“i’d.. consider a replacement. why?”

the brit grins, lifting himself up by his elbows. “so, you wouldn’t care if one went for a swim in the ocean?”

a huff escapes your lips when you turn back towards him, to only spot him sprinting along the sand. “why would it—lando!”

such a child, you think. aggravatingly, you pry your body from the towel and march your way over to the shoreline. “don’t run away! atleast walk so i can catch up!”

|| 🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli @bwueden (lmk if you wanna be added or removed ◡̈)

[maruflix]

SUKUNA RYOMEN: “THE ONLY PERSON IN THE WORLD WORTH KNEELING FOR.”

sukuna loves to see you cry—but he doesn’t like it when you turn away from him. (short 1.6k fic heavily inspired by a dream i had)

cw. female reader, true form sukuna, reader is sukuna’s wife, mean sukuna (he gets progressively softer), no beta we die as always

Sukuna knows he’s done something wrong when you refuse to meet his eye at the hallways. No greetings, no nothing. But you don’t voice it out loud, so he has no sure way of knowing.

He tests that theory and disappears for three straight days. When he returns, the estate is as still as a tranquil lake. He almost misses having random objects thrown at him; something you usually do when he leaves the estate without prior notice.

At dinner, your seat is empty. When he turns to Uraume, they just give him a solemn shake of the head. No explanations—like they knew something he didn’t.

When he walks the corridors, an uncomfortable silence stretches ahead—unpleasant, unfamiliar. You didn’t even bother to come out of your quarters.

This foolishness ends today.

Sukuna is fuming. He’s sent Uraume to relay the message that he’s looking for you but you never showed up. He has no time for your bullshit; if you won’t go to him obediently, he’ll come to you instead.

He walked to your quarters—only to find the door locked.

So he breaks it down.

“Wife.”

Sukuna is now standing in front of you, his full height casting a shadow over your sitting figure. You didn’t look up.

He can feel his patience thinning. “Woman.”

Even then, you ignore him completely, finding it more entertaining to play a game of shogi against yourself.

He reaches out a hand to your face but you smack it away swiftly.

Sukuna grunts in displeasure at your rejection. You may be his lover, but Sukuna Ryōmen doesn’t take kindly to disobedience. He moves forward, causing you to back away until you hit the wall.

You gasp when he slams his arms on the sides of your head, his other two arms clutching your wrist.

“Let go!”

But Sukuna merely tightens his grip. “Do you think you can avoid me forever?”

“Why do you care?”

Sukuna reels back, feeling the last threads of his patience snapping—almost. “What is with this attitude? If you have something to say to me, say it.”

“Last month,” you finally look at his crimson eyes, “I waited for you all night. You never came. I waited all night, Sukuna!”

He stares at you. What is this joke? He searches his memories, finally registering the events you’re talking about. He did fail to show up one night, and you’ve been frosty to him ever since.

“All this... over me skipping dinner?”

Stilling, you meet his incredulous gaze and glare at him. “It was our anniversary, bastard.”

Sukuna sighs, the puzzle pieces finally clicking together. He doesn’t know why you love to place such a huge significance over some dates — anniversaries, birthdays, what other godforsaken days, — when no matter the occasion, the ferocity of his love remains unchanged.

“I was preoccupied.”

“With Uraume?”

The sentence came out more accusatory than you planned. It causes your husband to raise an eyebrow, loosening his hold on you. Taking that chance, you immediately break free, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Ho,” Sukuna shifts, his lips stretching into a mean grin, “do I hear jealousy?”

“Fuck you.”

He grips your chin, forcing it upwards. “I will not have my wife insult me continuously. Let’s put that mouth into good use, hmm?” he leans down, his gaze fixed on your lips—

But you turn away, eyebrows knitted in defiance.

Sukuna feels his annoyance start to prick. “You refuse to kiss me now?”

No matter how hard you try to hide it, he can see it clearly—the slight shake in your shoulders, the wetness in the corner of your eyes, the faint pink on your nose.

You’re holding yourself back from crying.

His eyes narrow, “If you’re not going to even look at me, perhaps I should find Uraume instead.”

He doesn’t mean it, of course. The very notion that you thought of his relationship with Uraume as something more than master and subordinate makes him feel sick. Disgusting—

In front of him, your figure has begun to tremble, long eyelashes dampening with tears.

—but seeing you squirm is a delicacy like no other.

You don’t cry often, so when you do, Sukuna feels something dark flicker inside him. The thought that only he is able to make you feel things so greatly gives him a high.

“Come now, are you really crying over something like this?” Sukuna grumbles, pretending that your tears didn’t awaken something primal inside of him.

But it was weird: it usually takes more than that to ire you. Way, way more. He’d have to wipe out cities and slaughter hundreds of lives to get you to come to him with that disapproving look on your face.

Sukuna will admit that he loves it—your attention. But now, something is different. You’re still refusing to look at him, even going as far as to muffle your cries. Your whole body is turned away from him, like you want to get away.

That, he doesn’t love.

“Look at me.”

You stubbornly inch yourself away from him, sobs starting to escape from your lips.

There it is.

You cry so beautifully, it makes him want to ruin you. Yet, at the same time, he feels a surge of something uncomfortable—the more you sob, the more he has difficulty breathing.

Sukuna didn’t know he was capable of having a guilty conscience.

“Alright, alright. Cease this at once. Look at me.”

Sukuna wrenches your hands away from your face. The sight that greets him makes him feel it again—the irritating dread that crawls up his stomach.

Even with tears running down your face, you’re still glaring at him with those red, puffy eyes. He sees your lips, bleeding from how hard you were biting them. They quiver, and you almost bite them again—but this time, Sukuna is quicker.

His lips crashes onto yours with urgency. He can taste the metallic taste of your blood, a taste that he loves—but not this time, not this way.

His hands has moved to your palms, clasping them with a rare gentleness. He can feel the resistance leaving your body slowly as you melt against him.

“There’s my girl,” Sukuna grins when he pulls away, his breath still hot on your lips, “no more crying.”

“I still haven’t forgiven you.”

Sukuna huffs. He could just leave you to deal with your own anger, but he had a feeling that the consequences of him doing that would come back to bite him in the ass. “Do you wish to know why I failed to show up to dinner that time?”

“If you were meeting with another woman, I don’t want to hear it.” you say, looking away from him.

Being Sukuna’s wife is many things: exciting, intoxicating,—but easy, it is not. Sometimes you can’t figure out whether he truly loves you, not when he never says the words out loud. For him, love is worthless. Who’s to say you’re not another thing he picks up out of interest, only to throw away?

Sukuna stays silent, only moving to kiss you again with more force than before—like he’s giving you an answer. His big hands are still clasped over yours. For a moment, you consider forgiving him.

Then he bites your lip. Hard.

“Sukuna!” you jerk away from him, looking at him in disbelief.

“I will forgive you this once for spouting such nonsense,” Sukuna’s voice is low with warning, “there will be no next time.”

You look at him, wronged.

Sukuna sighs, running a hand through his salmon hair. “Is it not your birthday coming up soon?”

You tilt your head.

It’s only after the king of curses presents you with a large bouquet of peonies do you finally understand: he missed your anniversary because he was busy procuring flowers—for your birthday, no less.

It’s such an unfamiliar sight—an oddly domestic one, that you can’t help but let a smile crack through your features.

“I do not care for this ‘anniversary’ you talk about. I am more than capable of giving you the same amount of affection every single day. But the day of your birth, I do see some significance in,” Sukuna doesn’t notice the giddy smile on your face and continues with his explanation, “and while your taste in flowers are exquisite, peonies are not easy to get.”

“But still, you could’ve told me or something.” you pout, hoping he’ll console you, “I waited for hours like an idiot. The servants will think I’ve lost favor with you.”

Displeasure flashes across Sukuna’s face. “Who would dare to make such assumptions? I will have their heads immediately.”

“That’s not the point!”

The point is, Sukuna is growing tired of your stubborness.

He sighs and lowers himself on one knee, reaching for your hand and guiding it to rest against his cheek. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen at the gesture.

“Ha, you’re smiling now? I have not even said anything,” there’s no mistaking the teasing in his tone, “wife, do you like seeing me below you, begging to be forgiven?”

Yes, you almost voice out your answer. The smirk on Sukuna’s lips widens, his eyes studying your reactions intently.

“Feeling proud of yourself I see,” he mocks, “Well, you should be. You alone are the only person in this world I kneel for.”

His nonchalant straightforwardness sends shivers down your spine.

Sukuna glances up at you, “Now, are you still going to deny me of your affection?”

You immediately leap into his arms, letting his arms engulf you. Sukuna just chuckles, immediately knowing that he is forgiven.

He still does not understand the significance people put in certain days, or actions. What he does know is how much he hates it when you avoid him. So if all it takes for you to forgive him are some flowers and him getting down on one knee—well, he’ll gladly do so, as many times as you wish.

“I love you, Kuna.”

He doesn’t reply. But the content hum that vibrates through his chest gives you all the answers you need.

@goxjo it’s here :’) !!

[elixirfromthestars]

You had me the moment you said roommates and pining idiots in love! 🙂‍↕️💖💖

More under the cut ᯓᡣ𐭩

Trouble is that Bucky Barnes is the type of guy that makes it very, very difficult not to fall for him.

^ Can’t even blame you, you are so right about that 🙂‍↕️🩷

You’d almost spat your drink in her face when she waved him over to where you were sitting, because there was no way in hell a man called James looked like that.

^ You know what…I’ve never thought about that…but yeah James doesn’t really seem to be like a hot guys name 😂

Natasha glanced between the two of you with that smug look of hers, and you shot her a warning glare because she knew. She knew from the moment you awkwardly shook Bucky’s hand that he was gonna mean trouble for you, with his leather jacket and his blue eyes and his fucking horrible tendency to be both suave and sheepish within the same sentence.

^ Trouble indeed 😩💗💗

Thankfully, you come up with a brilliant plan about a month into your new living arrangement. Or rather, your friends do. “You should kill him.”

^ OMG 💀

“All the things that piss me off?” you ask doubtfully. “I want my crush to go away, not make my apartment unbearable to live in.”

^ Yeah, it seems like a good idea, but it could backfire so badly 😬

Slowly, an empty smile on your face, you pull out your phone. Bucky, you are an actual horrible disgusting psychopath, you type with a forced sense of serenity. who tf drinks milk straight from the bottle.

^ To be fair…straight from the bottle is a bit diabolical 💀

Because the truth is, Bucky Barnes absolutely aggravates you sometimes, and it’s good to remind yourself of those times when he’s once again wandering around the apartment in nothing but his sweatpants.

^ Just in his sweatpants?? what a MENACE 🫠💕💕

“So? You don’t see me strip naked.” His smile is lazy, but his eyes sparkle with amusement as he turns his page. “I know, and it’s a shame.”

^ This is why I could never be his roommate, his flirting wouldn’t be good for my heart 😩💘💘

“Dot might,” you mumble, but he ignores you. Not that you expected him to; his on-again, off-again relationship has been a topic of contention for a while now, and not because of you.

^ Okay well…now I’m devastated 🥲

“Is that mine?” Bucky finally glances at you, looking almost bashful. “You said it was good.” You blink in surprise. You did say that, but not to him. You remember telling Colleen how much you loved it the last time you were facetiming in the living room while Bucky was perched at the kitchen counter with a bored, absent expression on his face as he silently scrolled through something on his phone.

^ He’s reading a book because she mentioned it was good?? 😩💕 omg that’s so cute 🥹🩷

There are days, despite your best efforts, that you still let yourself hope. Like when Bucky makes enough pancakes for dinner to feed an entire football team and you talk about the book he’s borrowed over maple syrup and jam until it’s eleven at night. Or when you’re out with your mutual group of friends and his gaze always finds yours after he’s made a joke, as if to gage your reaction, as if to make sure to catch a spark of amusement in your eyes.

^ Ahhhhh, it’s the little things that always tell you how someone feels 😭🩷🩷

Bucky freezes mid turn, clearly not having expected you to notice him. “Sorry,” he says. “I just got home.” Your stare remains fixed on the table. Your favorite mug is filled to the brim with tea, placed delicately on the previously empty coaster next to your pile of books. “You looked like you needed it,” he continues, and your heart swells. “Thank you,” you mumble and he shrugs. “Dinner should be here in twenty, if you want some.”

^ Omg he cares about her so much 🥺🩷🩷 The way he makes sure she’s comfortable and has what she needs 🥺🩷

“You know,” you say, leaning your head against the wall. “When I was little, I used to think these clouds were made of cotton candy.” Bucky doesn’t laugh, but you feel the smile radiating from him without even turning. It’s like that, between you. Random thoughts are never weird. Only there to be outweirded. “I used to think the moon was made of cheese,” he offers tonight. You do laugh, then, short and loud. When you meet his eyes again, they’re the color of the darkest parts of the sky, and the look on his face is indescribable. Almost like surprise. It sends a chill through you. “What?” you say, and he shakes his head. A car alarm goes off in the distance, and you avert your gaze again, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Bucky’s phone vibrates with a message, but he doesn’t duck inside like you expect him to. Instead, you both sit there until the sun has fully disappeared, and something seems to settle.

^ This moment right here is so beautiful 🥺🩷 The imagery of this scene is just gorgeous, and the way there’s so much that’s said between them without it having to be said speaks so much to their bond 🥺🩷🩷 Like the way they find so much comfort and peace in each other’s presence speaks volumes to how deep their feelings go 🥺🩷

“No one,” you say at the same time as Darcy says, “Barnes, duh.” You give her a sharp look. She sticks her tongue out at you. Nat bumps her shoulder against yours. “How long has it been, coming up two years in June?”

^ TWO YEARS?? 😧 She’s so much stronger than me 🤧

She gasps theatrically. “He killed Fernadette? You said it was an accident!” “Plants die, Darce, it’s not a big deal.” In the moment of her outraged distraction, Nat plucks your phone from her hands.

^ He killed a plant? 💀 Oh my 💀

It’s irrevocably over with Dot when Bucky officially breaks up with her the day before Valentine’s, which is a bit extreme even by your standards, and you’ve never liked Dot.

^ I’m celebrating 🥳🥳, but also I cannot believe he did it before Valentine’s Day that’s diabolical 💀

“Dickhead,” you gasp, thinking of your nice ruined chocolates. You twist to wrangle the pillow out of his grasp, but in doing so stumble. Bucky, to his credit, tries to stop your fall, but you only take him down with you, landing uncomfortably on top of each other on the couch. Your breath hitches when you feel his weight on you, closer to him than you’ve ever dared before. There’s something in the depths of his eyes that makes it very hard to have a single coherent thought. “Maybe,” Bucky says, and there’s a tiny crack in his voice as if he knows it, too, “I was sick of pretending.”

^ THE TENSION 🤭💗💗 I’m over here giggling and screaming just kiss already!! 🤭💕💕

The doorbell saves you from embarrassing yourself further. You can hear Bucky cursing under his breath as you gently shove him off you and hurry to the door, your heart still thundering.

^ Nooooooo 😩 Guess that kiss will have to wait 🥲

“That might be hours! I could starve by then!” He looks at you with his saddest puppy dog eyes, and it might have worked on you, too, had you not had this exact discussion several times before. “Please?”

^ See…those puppy dog eyes would’ve so worked on me 🫠💖💖

“Come on, sweets,” he whispers and you swear you feel all the hairs in your neck stand up. You don’t turn your head or move your arms. He leans over until his head is basically on your shoulder, his knee nudging yours, his hand sneaking for the bucket in your lap. “The popcorn. Stays. With me,” you hiss. You’re tempted to slap his fingers away, but you find yourself completely immobilized. “You said you’d share,” Bucky says into your ear. His entire arm is pressed against yours now, and it takes everything in you not to tremble. “Just let me have what’s mine.” You can only hope no one will ask you about any particulars of the movie later on.

^ There’s so much more going on between them in this scene and it makes me so giddy 🤭💕💕

You don’t expect it all to fall apart so soon after that.

^ oh no…

“I don’t know,” he says, and the unexpected iciness in his tone makes you turn around slowly. You have never seen this kind of look on his face, that coldness skewing his beautiful features into an ugly mask. In his eyes, there’s nothing, not even a trace of the fondness that swirled in them less than a minute ago. Your heart drops.

^ He saw the list didnt he ☹️💔💔

“Are you alright?” you ask softly. “Great,” he says brusquely, shoving your phone back in your hand. “In fact, I think I might go on a walk.” And without a word of goodbye, without a second glance, Bucky walks out into the opened floodgates.

^ omg I’m actually freaking out right now 💔💔

It’s then that you glance at your phone, still opened to your notes app, and your stomach plummets again as you read your own angry, frustrated words. I actually hate you, you know that? Hells even wrong with you.

^ NO, he read that?? 😭💔💔

You have to find Bucky. You have to tell him that this is all a misunderstanding, a terrible, terrible error. Youre such a fucking idiot. Your boots splash water in all directions as they hit the pavement. Slow. You’re too slow. “Bucky!” This was a mistake. I shouldve never moved in with you. When you reach the corner of the street, Bucky is long gone.

^ BUCKY 😭💔💔 Oh no, our poor boy is probably so devastated and heartbroken right now 😭💔💔

Maybe he’d come home. Maybe there’s still a chance to clear this thing up. But his shoes aren’t there when you stumble through the door, and it’s cold in here. As cold as the look in Bucky’s eyes had been.

^ Where did he go?? Come back home, please 😭💔

He looks terrible. The rain has molten off the terrible cold mask, but his expression underneath is even worse. He doesn’t meet your eye, doesn’t even acknowledge you sitting there as he walks past you, his dark circles not quite hiding the shattered, matted blue of his eyes. He doesn’t react to your saying his name again, and the bathroom door closes behind him before you can get up.

^ No because I’m actually so sad for him right now I just want to give him the biggest hug 😭💔💔

Of course, he doesn’t answer. He’s not pacing, either, like he usually does when he’s upset, but in this case, you’re not sure if that’s better or worse. Swallowing hard, you open the door. Bucky’s sitting on the edge of the bed, as if he’s been waiting for you, his head leaning heavy against his arms. He looks terribly small like this.

^ I can see this so perfectly in my head and it has my heart in distress 🤧💔

He lifts his head slowly, as if each degree it takes costs too much energy. When he finally looks at you, it almost makes you flinch. There’s a sadness inside them, mixed with tiredness, that you’ve only caught in your own reflection. For a long moment, you just stare at each other, before Bucky finally says, “Do you want me to move out?”

^ Is that why he was away?? 😭😭 That’s what he thought she wanted?? 😭💔💔

“Like, remember when you went to IKEA with Steve and I couldn’t come with you, so you got me one of those shark plushies and a whole almond cake?” You can’t help but chuckle, even though you don’t feel like it. “I tried reading into that for so long, if it was his idea or if I just got stuck in your mind.”

^ He was always thinking about her, wasn’t he? 🥺🩷😭🩷

“Or when Dot used to stay over and you’d make me an extra batch of waffles to make sure I wouldn’t feel left out. Or when we stayed up until 4 to make those Christmas cookies, even though it was September?” He huffs again. “I broke up with her that day.” You do look at him, then. “No, you didn’t.” Bucky’s still staring at the list on your phone. “I brought her the last of her stuff before Valentine’s Day. I don’t think it’d hit her before then, that she could be nasty about it all now.”

^ OH?? He’s been broken up with her this whole time 😧👀

“You’re my best friend, Buck,” you say quietly, your eyes burning. “I just didn’t … I don’t want to lose that.” “Hey.” He stands in front of you before you even notice him moving, his hands cupping your face and turning it towards his. A shuddering breath falls from your lips. “You,” Bucky continues, “could never, ever do anything to lose me.” “I almost did today,” you whisper and his face falls. “I’m sorry I ran away.” You shake your head and he pulls you into an embrace. His hair is still damp, but soft from his shower. He doesn’t smell like city rain, only the way he always does. As if it all had never happened.

^ Ahhhhhh, the reconciliation!!! 🥹🩷🩷 There’s so much love and care between them it’s so sweet 🤧💕💕

“So,” he says, and the cadence in his voice makes your heart stutter. You inadvertently move backwards, out of his grasp, and a wicked grin appears on Bucky’s lips. It’s impossible to look away. “She ‘didn’t deserve me’, huh?”

^ Not at all 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️✨

“At least she never ‘wanted to burn all my shirts’.” “And how would you know?” He’s still coming closer. “Just because no one’s done it …” You trail off. Bucky hums. “No one’s ever told me my eyes ‘look criminal in this light’, either. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” “Bad,” you say, wincing as you bump into his dresser. “So bad.” He’s very close to you now, his arms trapping you on both sides, towering over you. Your eyes flit between his own and his lips. That freckle. The look on his face reminds you of late evenings on a fire escape.

^ I love their little banter after such a heavy moment 🥹🩷 And then this line the look on his face reminds you of late evenings on a fire escape was just *chef’s kiss* 🥰🥰

Bucky’s nose bumps against yours, once, twice, as if testing the waters. You don’t think you can breathe. His eyes are so dark when he looks at you, the longing suddenly bursting through the surface, and you realize you’ve both been pretending for far too long. His brows are knitted slightly, contemplative, as if he’s trying to commit you to memory. If he weren’t standing so close, you’d be shaking. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and the words explode into a million butterflies in your stomach. “You did get stuck in my head.” And then he kisses you. The rain stops.

^ AHHHHHHHH 🥰🥰 If only you could’ve seen my immediate reaction to when I read you did get stuck in my head. 🤭💕 I love him, I adore him, what must I do to have this roommate Bucky in my life?? 😩💗💗 I’m so happy they worked things out in the end 🥹🩷🩷

Nika, my dear!!! 🥹🩷🩷 The angst in this fic was so good it had me on the edge of my seat!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼 Bucky was such a sweetheart and a flirty menace, and that combination is deadly to me like I’m instantly in love 🥰🥰 Pining idiots in love is one of my absolute favorites and you delivered that trope beautifully!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼 I went through so many emotions in this fic and I loved every second of it!! 🩷🩷

not even a little

summary: The problem of living with Bucky is that he makes it impossible not to fall in love with him. Even though you could list several hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea. And you have.

pairing: roommate!bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.7k

warnings: pining idiots in love, slightly questionable roomie behaviour, simultaneously the softest and cockiest bucky i've written so far, blink and you miss it throwing shade at iron fist

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: this is my very late submission for kathie's (@pellucid-constellations) love letters writing challenge <3 thank you for this lovely idea, writing this was a challenge indeed but that is, as they say, a me problem. also huge shoutout to @barnesafterglow and @sweetascanbee, this really and truly would still not be done without you. love you both 💛

masterlist | read on ao3

You’re screwed. You know that you’re screwed.

Surely, there’s a rule book for these kinds of situations, and rule number one tells you in big, blinking neon letters that you should absolutely, under no circumstances, not ever fall in love with your roommate. Especially not if he also happens to be your best friend.

And yet.

Trouble is that Bucky Barnes is the type of guy that makes it very, very difficult not to fall for him.

Honestly, you should have known better when Nat had suggested the two of you move in together, that night at the bar right after college, “since you’re both new in town and all”. You’d almost spat your drink in her face when she waved him over to where you were sitting, because there was no way in hell a man called James looked like that.

“Friends call me Bucky, actually,” he’d said, a smirk on his lips that went straight to your core.

Natasha glanced between the two of you with that smug look of hers, and you shot her a warning glare because she knew. She knew from the moment you awkwardly shook Bucky’s hand that he was gonna mean trouble for you, with his leather jacket and his blue eyes and his fucking horrible tendency to be both suave and sheepish within the same sentence.

So how are you supposed to say no after that?

It’s so easy to grow close to him, too. Way too easy. You fall into a routine with such effortlessness it has you wonder how you've ever managed without him at all. Grocery runs after work and movie nights on tired Friday evenings, conversations that would be nonsensical to anyone eavesdropping, dreary-eyed breakfast at 2 p.m. Quickly, it becomes difficult to remember a time in your life that didn’t include Bucky.

Needless to say, it’s a struggle.

Thankfully, you come up with a brilliant plan about a month into your new living arrangement. Or rather, your friends do.

“You should kill him.”

“Darcy!”

“What?” Darcy tucks into her mozzarella sticks. “We’d claim temporary insanity in court, if he’s that hot, there’s no way the jury wouldn’t understand.”

“You’d make an awful lawyer,” Colleen says drily, continuing to pat your head awkwardly.

Darcy raises one impeccable eyebrow. “Got some better idea to save Y/N from Barnes’ death grip, buzzkill?”

“Remember before I broke up with Danny?”

You snort at the visceral shudder that goes through Darcy. “Those were the dark days.”

“Hah.” Colleen rolls her eyes. “Anyway. I wrote down every single time he did something that pissed me off, and whenever I felt myself falling into old habits, I went over the list. Worked like a charm. I was over him like that.” She snaps her fingers.

“And thus, another national holiday was born,” Darcy says, clinking her bottle against Colleen’s. “May we always commemorate Independrandce Day to remind ourselves that bad times don’t last.”

“All the things that piss me off?” you ask doubtfully. “I want my crush to go away, not make my apartment unbearable to live in.”

“Just try it for a while, then,” Colleen shrugs. “If it doesn’t work, you can still resort to physical violence. There’s an open spot in my Thursday class.”

You’re busy Thursdays.

It’s almost surprising how little time passes until you need to take your friend’s advice. You’re just headed into the kitchen to grab a snack before you leave for work when you screech to a halt.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Bucky turns around slowly, having the audacity to look confused even as he’s still holding the bottle. “Having a drink?”

“Of milk?” you say, trying not to actually gag. He’s lucky you’re not a milk-sharing household or you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from going off.

“Gotta keep my bones strong.” There’s a glint in his eye as he says it, too, because at this point he already knows exactly how to rile you up. He loves seeing you explode.

This time, though, you won’t give him the satisfaction.

Slowly, an empty smile on your face, you pull out your phone. Bucky, you are an actual horrible disgusting psychopath, you type with a forced sense of serenity. who tf drinks milk straight from the bottle.

You feel strangely better after that and another deep breath.

“I’m gonna go now,” you tell him a bit too sharply and turn on your heels. You’ll get food on your way.

It quickly turns into a habit. Every time he does something small that would normally set you off, you open your notes app and write it out, instead. It helps at least somewhat to stop romanticizing your situation. Level things out a little.

Because the truth is, Bucky Barnes absolutely aggravates you sometimes, and it’s good to remind yourself of those times when he’s once again wandering around the apartment in nothing but his sweatpants.

“Jesus, Buck,” you say, slumping down on the couch a few feet away from him. “Would it kill you to wear a shirt every once in a while?”

“It’s like a hundred degrees in here,” Bucky whines, not moving from where he’s reading.

“So? You don’t see me strip naked.”

His smile is lazy, but his eyes sparkle with amusement as he turns his page. “I know, and it’s a shame.”

“Fuck off, Barnes.” Your cheeks are on fire and you can only hope he can’t tell. “Nat’s gonna be here in five minutes.”

“Okay,” he says, not moving an inch.

You stare at him incredulously. “Can you please put some clothes on?”

“I am wearing clothes,” Bucky states dryly. “Besides, Nat won’t mind.”

“Dot might,” you mumble, but he ignores you. Not that you expected him to; his on-again, off-again relationship has been a topic of contention for a while now, and not because of you.

Truly, you’ve been doing a lot better lately, keeping a lid on your feelings. Which is why you’re able to look at him and his naked torso and his arms and be completely fine. Really. You pull your gaze to the book he’s holding and frown.

“Is that mine?”

Bucky finally glances at you, looking almost bashful. “You said it was good.”

You blink in surprise. You did say that, but not to him. You remember telling Colleen how much you loved it the last time you were facetiming in the living room while Bucky was perched at the kitchen counter with a bored, absent expression on his face as he silently scrolled through something on his phone.

The fact that he listened makes you choose to ignore that he’s definitely going to ruin the spine if he keeps holding the book like that.

“How do you like it?” you ask, voice slightly higher than usual.

“It’s great.” His smile returns, and you will never be sick of him looking like that, looking at you like that. So content.

The doorbell wakes you from your trance with a start.

Bucky sighs quietly as he carefully places a bookmark between the pages and gets up from the couch, rolling his shoulders. You watch him as he shuffles away to his room without another word, sweat making the hair stick to his neck. It takes you another moment to stand up yourself.

You pull out your phone as you wait for Nat to get upstairs, hesitating for a moment before you open your notes app. The feeling in your stomach uncoils.

***

There are days, despite your best efforts, that you still let yourself hope. Like when Bucky makes enough pancakes for dinner to feed an entire football team and you talk about the book he’s borrowed over maple syrup and jam until it’s eleven at night. Or when you’re out with your mutual group of friends and his gaze always finds yours after he’s made a joke, as if to gage your reaction, as if to make sure to catch a spark of amusement in your eyes.

Other times, like right now, you simply don’t have the time to question your relationship too much.

While the prospect of your upcoming promotion is great, it leaves you with an almost insurmountable pile of work that’s to be done as soon as possible, and the long hours make you putter around the apartment like a zombie. Thankfully, Bucky’s been avoiding you while you’re in this state, spending his days at Dot’s, or at Steve’s. You’re sure he’s told you at some point, but you don’t really remember.

You’ve set up your little work space in the living room, because it’s the only room with proper light in it. Most of your time is spent on the couch, noise-canceling headphones on and trying to focus on what feels like seven different projects at once. You miss feeling the sun on your skin.

As you’re trying to get your eyes to focus on the numbers and nonsensical reports flickering over your laptop screen, you notice movement in your peripheral vision. You flinch, pulling off your headphones, and then blink.

Bucky freezes mid turn, clearly not having expected you to notice him. “Sorry,” he says. “I just got home.”

Your stare remains fixed on the table. Your favorite mug is filled to the brim with tea, placed delicately on the previously empty coaster next to your pile of books.

“You looked like you needed it,” he continues, and your heart swells.

“Thank you,” you mumble and he shrugs.

“Dinner should be here in twenty, if you want some.”

You nod, watching the steam curl when he leaves you to your reports again. Strange, how easy it is to suddenly overthink a cup of tea.

You wait a couple of minutes for it to cool, then take a tentative sip. Your nose scrunches up.

He’s oversteeped it to the point of no return.

Still, you find yourself drinking most of it, because for some reason you can’t bring yourself to just pour it down the drain. It’s like you can’t quite let go of the gesture.

When the week is finally over, you both sit on the fire escape with a drink in your hands and breathe in the cool early night air. There’s undone dishes and at least three machines’ worth of laundry and a thousand other things demanding your attention, but for now, for this one evening, you’re finally content to do absolutely nothing and do it guilt-free.

It’s nice to just sit next to each other in utter silence as you watch the people below hurry along home through the traffic. The streets smell like spilled gasoline and the very last fringes of summer. The sun is setting at a deliciously lazy pace.

Bucky nudges you and points to the other side of the street. You coo as you watch the corgi waddle around the corner, almost itching for your phone to take a picture. Instead, you look up.

The sky looks beautiful, as if someone had softly smudged the deepest blue ink while it was still drying and dabbed the most glorious shades of pink and orange at the edges. A plane goes by overhead, blinking and leaving a trail of gray across the vast firmament.

“You know,” you say, leaning your head against the wall. “When I was little, I used to think these clouds were made of cotton candy.”

Bucky doesn’t laugh, but you feel the smile radiating from him without even turning. It’s like that, between you. Random thoughts are never weird. Only there to be outweirded.

“I used to think the moon was made of cheese,” he offers tonight.

You do laugh, then, short and loud. When you meet his eyes again, they’re the color of the darkest parts of the sky, and the look on his face is indescribable. Almost like surprise. It sends a chill through you.

“What?” you say, and he shakes his head.

A car alarm goes off in the distance, and you avert your gaze again, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Bucky’s phone vibrates with a message, but he doesn’t duck inside like you expect him to. Instead, you both sit there until the sun has fully disappeared, and something seems to settle.

It’s a setback that follows you well into the next year.

“I vote arsen or arsenic,” Darcy says. “You have insurance, right?”

She reaches over to grab your phone, swiftly entering the pincode with that set frown of hers as if she’s trying to hack into the pentagon again.

“I doubt they cover homicide,” you deadpan.

“Manslaughter, actually” she reads from your phone. “In the first degree. Ow!” She rubs her shin.

“Who are we getting rid of?” Natasha asks, sliding back into the booth next to you.

“No one,” you say at the same time as Darcy says, “Barnes, duh.” You give her a sharp look. She sticks her tongue out at you.

Nat bumps her shoulder against yours. “How long has it been, coming up two years in June?”

“Shut up,” you murmur, taking another sip of your milkshake. “Darce, what are you doing with my phone?”

“Well, I’m done googling, I wanna see if you actually made that list.”

“What list?” Natasha asks.

“Okay, give me that.” You try to grab your phone back, but Darcy snatches it out of your reach quickly.

“Come on, you never tell me these things anymore,” Darcy complains and continues scrolling. “We used to have so much fun! Does he snore? Does he leave his socks all over the floor? I have a need to know!”

“And it’s making you rhyme, too.”

She’s still dodging your efforts to get your phone back while she’s talking. Natasha watches both of you in amusement, eating her cheesy fries.

“Hah!” Darcy exclaims and your heart drops. “I knew it, he seems like the type to break a spine. I can always tell.”

“Darcy,” you say warningly.

She gasps theatrically. “He killed Fernadette? You said it was an accident!”

“Plants die, Darce, it’s not a big deal.”

In the moment of her outraged distraction, Nat plucks your phone from her hands. She scrolls down once, smirks, and finally hands it back to you. “Change your passcode, WikiLeaks.”

You throw the phone back in your bag resolutely, cheeks burning.

Darcy pouts. “I didn’t even get to the good stuff.”

“You know,” Natasha says, dipping her fry into the melting whipped cream on your shake. “Some of this stuff you should probably tell him.”

“It’s fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “I’m fine. We’re both still alive, aren’t we?”

“Only because you’re boring,” Darcy rolls her eyes.

Natasha lifts her glass. “To two years’ survival in June,” she grins innocently at you.

As you clink your glasses together, there’s something in her eyes that makes you feel like you’re toasting an ultimatum.

***

It’s irrevocably over with Dot when Bucky officially breaks up with her the day before Valentine’s, which is a bit extreme even by your standards, and you’ve never liked Dot.

Matter of fact, it would have made the list anyway, but all the more so when he decides to wreck your following evening as well in the process.

Being eternally single, you’d planned a nice, relaxing night home alone with a movie and some takeout to keep you from obsessively refreshing Instagram as a way to torture yourself. Cozy, quiet, totally not alone forever.

Instead, you now have a sullen-faced Bucky to contend with.

“If you’re gonna be moping all night, you can do it in your room,” you finally snap after he’s complained about your choice of food, the candle you wanted to burn in the living room, and how you decided to eat the giant box of chocolates you’d treated yourself to.

“I’m not,” Bucky says mopingly.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously, you couldn’t have chosen literally any other day of the year to break things off with her? There are a lot of them, you know.”

Bucky throws a pile of chocolate wrappers at you. You retaliate with a pillow to his face.

There’s a second for you to laugh at his expression, when he’s still too stunned to react, before the pillow comes flying back to hit you in the temple and you almost fall off the couch with a shriek.

“Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?” Bucky asks, grabbing a pillow in each hand to use as defense.

“Pretty sure that’s a dumpee privilege,” you say, mimicking what he’s doing.

You stare at each other for a second, then Bucky throws one of the pillows he’s holding at your head. It lands on the floor as you block it with your own, taking the unlit candle down with it. You smack another of your pillows at his face.

Finally, there’s a little glint in his eye again. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

“Doesn’t mean she deserves to be dumped on February thirteenth,” you say. The second pillow misses and Bucky’s grin turns feline. Shit.

Slowly, you put one foot on the floor, Bucky watching your every move. You can see the pillow on the floor out of the corner of your eye.

You dart towards it and Bucky throws his second pillow. You duck. Your chocolates go flying to the ground, scattering everywhere. Both of you grab the floor pillow at the same time, struggling for it.

“Dickhead,” you gasp, thinking of your nice ruined chocolates. You twist to wrangle the pillow out of his grasp, but in doing so stumble. Bucky, to his credit, tries to stop your fall, but you only take him down with you, landing uncomfortably on top of each other on the couch.

Your breath hitches when you feel his weight on you, closer to him than you’ve ever dared before. There’s something in the depths of his eyes that makes it very hard to have a single coherent thought.

“Maybe,” Bucky says, and there’s a tiny crack in his voice as if he knows it, too, “I was sick of pretending.”

Time seems to freeze. He doesn’t move, and his face doesn’t change as he looks at you, not really. It’s just Bucky. Just … everything.

You can feel heat rising.

The doorbell saves you from embarrassing yourself further. You can hear Bucky cursing under his breath as you gently shove him off you and hurry to the door, your heart still thundering.

It’s a moment you keep replaying in your mind obsessively even weeks later, as if remembering it as often as possible would change the outcome at all. Would stop your food from arriving at that exact moment, and instead …

Going down that line of thought is a dangerous game, especially now that you’ve seen the freckle next to his mouth up close, delicately placed there like a dimple, like it was painted with the softest brush. It begs to be kissed.

Sam’s voice calling your name snaps you back to the present and you lock your phone, sharply turning on your heel and almost spilling the buckets of popcorn you’re precariously holding in one arm while attempting to balance the nachos with the other.

“Isn’t that a lot of snacks for four people?” Bucky asks, taking some of the stuff off you.

You don’t meet his eye and frown instead. “Why four people?”

“Nat just sent a text,” Sam says, his arm still around Misty’s waist. “Apparently Steve’s got a cold and they’re staying home.”

And with Joaquín still in Mexico and Darcy running so late at work she’d meet you at the bar later, your group of eight had just been reduced to a date with a plus two. Wonderful.

“Did you only get salty?” Bucky asks, already eating as you make your way to your seats.

“Of course not,” you say, keeping the second bucket out of his reach. “But we’re sharing these. Every time I trust you with the popcorn they’re mysteriously gone ten minutes into the movie.”

“Ain’t no mystery about it,” Bucky says. “Gimme some.”

“No!” You sit down between him and Sam. “You can wait until the trailer show at least.”

“That might be hours! I could starve by then!” He looks at you with his saddest puppy dog eyes, and it might have worked on you, too, had you not had this exact discussion several times before. “Please?”

You cross your arms over the bucket so that he won’t just reach over. “Nope.”

Sam grins. “You got a ruthless one there, Buck.”

The lights go down before anyone can notice the slight twitch in your expression.

Bucky does make it all the way through the trailer show before he starts shifting in his seat, softly tugging at your sleeve. You keep staring at the screen.

“Come on, sweets,” he whispers and you swear you feel all the hairs in your neck stand up. You don’t turn your head or move your arms. He leans over until his head is basically on your shoulder, his knee nudging yours, his hand sneaking for the bucket in your lap.

“The popcorn. Stays. With me,” you hiss. You’re tempted to slap his fingers away, but you find yourself completely immobilized.

“You said you’d share,” Bucky says into your ear. His entire arm is pressed against yours now, and it takes everything in you not to tremble. “Just let me have what’s mine.”

You can only hope no one will ask you about any particulars of the movie later on.

***

You don’t expect it all to fall apart so soon after that.

“Well,” Darcy says as the five of you huddle underneath the tiny awning in front of the bar. “I sure am glad I still came out tonight.”

It’s pouring down in buckets, the wind tearing at your jackets, the sky pitch black. The nearest subway station is a seven minute walk away, and you share a total of two umbrellas between you, one of them snatched from the lost and found box at Luke’s.

“Any of us going in the same direction?” Misty asks, opening her own umbrella. Sam takes it out of her hand to cover them both.

“Not really,” you answer, looking at Bucky. “Uber?”

He nods. “My phone’s empty, though.”

“Jesus, why isn’t this working?”

You snort, unlocking your phone without looking and pressing it into Bucky’s hand before hurrying to assist Darcy in her fight with the lent umbrella. “You need to hold it against the wind. Seriously, for someone with two PhDs—”

It finally snaps open, cutting off Darcy’s cussing. Her glasses are already blurred with raindrops.

“Well,” Sam says. “We’d offer to wait with you, but I don’t think this is gonna get better any time soon, so …”

“Just go,” you reassure him. “I’m sure we won’t be long, either. Right, Buck?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and the unexpected iciness in his tone makes you turn around slowly.

You have never seen this kind of look on his face, that coldness skewing his beautiful features into an ugly mask. In his eyes, there’s nothing, not even a trace of the fondness that swirled in them less than a minute ago. Your heart drops.

“Are you alright?” you ask softly.

“Great,” he says brusquely, shoving your phone back in your hand. “In fact, I think I might go on a walk.”

And without a word of goodbye, without a second glance, Bucky walks out into the opened floodgates.

For a moment, none of you can do anything but gape after him in disbelief. He doesn’t turn when you call his name, doesn’t seem to hear it at all. His hair is wet through immediately, sticking heavily to his neck, but it’s like he doesn’t notice the rain, his hands shoved into his pockets as he turns a corner and disappears out of your sight.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asks, and even though you understand why the question is directed at you, it feels like an accusation.

“I don’t know, I—”

It’s then that you glance at your phone, still opened to your notes app, and your stomach plummets again as you read your own angry, frustrated words. I actually hate you, you know that? Hells even wrong with you.

Your vision blurs.

You want to vomit, vomit or cry or both, but there’s no time.

“Take this,” you say to Darcy, pushing your phone and bag into her startled hands before you run. The wind and rain whip in your face, but you don’t care.

You have to find Bucky. You have to tell him that this is all a misunderstanding, a terrible, terrible error.

Youre such a fucking idiot.

Your boots splash water in all directions as they hit the pavement. Slow. You’re too slow. “Bucky!”

This was a mistake. I shouldve never moved in with you.

When you reach the corner of the street, Bucky is long gone.

***

You’re not sure how long you stand there in the rain before they catch up with you, huddling you between them and their two umbrellas until you stop crying long enough to get into the car they’ve called for you.

Darcy climbs into the seat beside you, and by the look on her face you can tell that this time, she’s read the entire thing.

She doesn’t say anything about it, for once keeping her mouth shut as she fishes for your keys and lets you both into the empty apartment. She’s offered to take you to her place for the night, but you shook your head so vehemently at the thought you got dizzy with it.

Maybe he’d come home. Maybe there’s still a chance to clear this thing up.

But his shoes aren’t there when you stumble through the door, and it’s cold in here. As cold as the look in Bucky’s eyes had been.

Darcy forces you into the shower, and when you get back out, there’s a steaming cup of tea waiting in your favorite mug. Of course, she still doesn’t quite understand why that only makes you cry again.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” you whisper as she wraps her arms around you.

There’s a long pause before Darcy says, “He’s got no clue what he’s walking away from.”

You don’t plan on moving from the couch, so you get Darcy to agree to use your bed for the night. She seems hesitant to leave you, even if it’s just down the hall. You stay where you are, half-seated and huddled in the patchwork blanket Bucky’s mom had sent from Shelbyville. It smells like dust and homemade cookies.

The hours seem to tick by ever so slowly, and the only noises you hear are those of the city. You doze off every now and then, for no more than a couple of minutes at a time, your head turned towards the hall.

It’s very, very early in the morning when the soft click of the front door wakes you. The rain has reduced to a drizzle, the first hesitant rays of sunshine glimmering through.

“Bucky?” you call out quietly. His steps halt for a moment, as if he’s not expected you to be here, but he comes in anyway.

He looks terrible. The rain has molten off the terrible cold mask, but his expression underneath is even worse. He doesn’t meet your eye, doesn’t even acknowledge you sitting there as he walks past you, his dark circles not quite hiding the shattered, matted blue of his eyes.

He doesn’t react to your saying his name again, and the bathroom door closes behind him before you can get up.

You stand there, unsure what to do next, how to make him look at you, talk to you again. You’re still standing there, twisting your phone between your hands, when he comes out of the bathroom again only to vanish into his bedroom without so much as a glance at you.

Two minutes, you decide. You’d give him two minutes to get dressed and sit down.

The eternity of that time span seemingly flies by, and you make yourself move.

“Bucky?” you say quietly, putting your palm against his door.

Of course, he doesn’t answer. He’s not pacing, either, like he usually does when he’s upset, but in this case, you’re not sure if that’s better or worse. Swallowing hard, you open the door.

Bucky’s sitting on the edge of the bed, as if he’s been waiting for you, his head leaning heavy against his arms. He looks terribly small like this.

“Hi,” you whisper, awkwardly. Your face feels like it’s about to melt off. “Can we talk?”

He lifts his head slowly, as if each degree it takes costs too much energy. When he finally looks at you, it almost makes you flinch.

There’s a sadness inside them, mixed with tiredness, that you’ve only caught in your own reflection.

For a long moment, you just stare at each other, before Bucky finally says, “Do you want me to move out?”

Of all the things you expected, this is not one of them. Particularly not with this hoarseness in his voice.

“I want to explain,” you say, taking a tentative step closer.

Bucky huffs a dry breath, pressing the palm of his hand to his eye. “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory that you think I’m the ‘biggest pain in the ass the world has ever seen’.”

You cross your arms in front of your chest to keep them from shaking. “I know I wrote that, but I—Colleen said I should—that it would help.”

“Help what?”

“Make it easier,” you say, so, so quietly, but he still hears you.

“And did it?”

You shake your head slowly, uncrossing your arms. “It pretty much backfired.” You unlock your phone again. “You see, I was supposed to write down all the things you did that made me crazy, but at some point … at some point I started adding the things that made me crazy about you.”

Nothing but confusion in Bucky’s eyes as he stares at you, then at your phone. “What are you saying?” he asks softly.

You close your eyes. “You should continue reading.”

Your hands are trembling so hard now he has to take the phone from your hands to make out any of the words. The silence that follows is unbearable, but you don’t dare look at him. So you talk.

“Like, remember when you went to IKEA with Steve and I couldn’t come with you, so you got me one of those shark plushies and a whole almond cake?” You can’t help but chuckle, even though you don’t feel like it. “I tried reading into that for so long, if it was his idea or if I just got stuck in your mind.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, so you continue, still not opening your eyes.

“Or when Dot used to stay over and you’d make me an extra batch of waffles to make sure I wouldn’t feel left out. Or when we stayed up until 4 to make those Christmas cookies, even though it was September?”

He huffs again. “I broke up with her that day.”

You do look at him, then. “No, you didn’t.”

Bucky’s still staring at the list on your phone. “I brought her the last of her stuff before Valentine’s Day. I don’t think it’d hit her before then, that she could be nasty about it all now.”

His eyes are very blue again when he turns them towards you, clear and focused entirely on you. It’s hard to keep your knees from buckling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

And there it is. The question that’s been haunting you for almost two years now, that’s been unspoken in Natasha’s gaze and in Darcy’s hug, even though they knew the answer.

Because you’re a coward.

“You’re my best friend, Buck,” you say quietly, your eyes burning. “I just didn’t … I don’t want to lose that.”

“Hey.” He stands in front of you before you even notice him moving, his hands cupping your face and turning it towards his. A shuddering breath falls from your lips. “You,” Bucky continues, “could never, ever do anything to lose me.”

“I almost did today,” you whisper and his face falls.

“I’m sorry I ran away.”

You shake your head and he pulls you into an embrace. His hair is still damp, but soft from his shower. He doesn’t smell like city rain, only the way he always does. As if it all had never happened.

And when he finally draws back to look at you with that glint in his eye, hands still loosely gripping your waist, it almost feels like a bad dream.

“So,” he says, and the cadence in his voice makes your heart stutter. You inadvertently move backwards, out of his grasp, and a wicked grin appears on Bucky’s lips. It’s impossible to look away. “She ‘didn’t deserve me’, huh?”

“She didn’t,” you say warily, watching him. He takes a step closer and you retreat.

“At least she never ‘wanted to burn all my shirts’.”

“And how would you know?” He’s still coming closer. “Just because no one’s done it …” You trail off.

Bucky hums. “No one’s ever told me my eyes ‘look criminal in this light’, either. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Bad,” you say, wincing as you bump into his dresser. “So bad.”

He’s very close to you now, his arms trapping you on both sides, towering over you. Your eyes flit between his own and his lips. That freckle.

The look on his face reminds you of late evenings on a fire escape.

Bucky’s nose bumps against yours, once, twice, as if testing the waters. You don’t think you can breathe. His eyes are so dark when he looks at you, the longing suddenly bursting through the surface, and you realize you’ve both been pretending for far too long.

His brows are knitted slightly, contemplative, as if he’s trying to commit you to memory. If he weren’t standing so close, you’d be shaking.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and the words explode into a million butterflies in your stomach. “You did get stuck in my head.”

And then he kisses you.

The rain stops.

thank you so much for reading!! please don't forget to leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed this 💛 if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

[luveline]

please can i rq clark seeing shy!r naked for the first time? :) luv u

fem, 1.3k cw suggestive “Like a sleepover?” Clark asks.

You wince. “Uh, yeah. I guess so.” 

What you’d been trying to propose was your first proper boyfriend-girlfriend night together, but sleepover is aptly childish. Fitting, and it makes you wonder if Clark thinks you’re an idiot. Because maybe you’re supposed to clash into one another after the perfect date and just— just suddenly be staying the night. But it hasn’t come naturally. 

See, Clark’s too polite. Too afraid of pressuring you into things you’d love to do.

His courting has been similar to the sort of stuff you see on mildly inaccurate regency tv shows —he’d one day, out of the blue and completely unbeknownst to you, developed strong feelings for you. A few weeks later he was sharing the news with you like some sweet reenactment of Mr. Darcy —I like you, honey. I– I have strong feelings for you, I want to take care of you, and I need to tell you before it drives me crazy. 

How crazy could he really have been? Still, what were you supposed to do, say no? As awkwardly shy as you may be, the zing you get when Clark touches you, looks at you, says enough. You hadn’t needed convincing. Clark would take very good care of you if you’d deign to let him, and so far… 

“Honey?”

You turn in the mirror. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

You know he won’t ask you to hurry. He probably won’t ask what you’re doing, too scared to startle you. Maybe you’re sneaky shaving or trying to pee and he knows that, so he’s careful. 

You’re trying to get over the way you look in your bra and panties. The bra doesn’t fit you nicely, the panties are too plain. It’s stressing you out, thinking he’ll see you in this bra with the fat of your armpit pinched weirdly and the grody little straps and end up wrinkling his nose. 

“How about I go make us something to drink?” 

“That would be nice!” you call, clearing your throat. “Yes, I mean. Please.”

“Don’t say please. I’ll be right back.”

You frown at your ugly bra and reach behind yourself to unhook the clasps, letting it fall away. That’s not… awful. You put your pajama shirt back on, a dark blocky thing that stops a quarter of a centimetre above your plaid pants. When you move, it shows your skin. 

They’re sort of ugly pajamas, aren’t they? The bottoms have seen better days. 

Your head pounds. 

“Shit,” you mumble, kicking out of your pants. “Oh, no, shit.”

“Baby?”

“Huh?” 

“You okay?”

“Yeah!”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine. I’m just– I just–”

Clark’s footsteps warm the floor outside of the bathroom. You’d left the door ajar unthinkingly, but Clark doesn’t push it open fully. “What’s wrong?” he asks nicely. 

“Clark…”

“What can I do?” 

You shrug out of your stupidly short t-shirt and hold it to your naked chest. “Sorry. Don’t… I just need a minute.” 

A silence bends. It’s nearly the whole minute, when Clark is clearing his throat, still waiting at the door. “You know I’m not expecting anything from you, right?”

“I want to give it to you, though,” you mumble, knowing his keen ears will pick it up. “Just nervous.”

“Don’t be. You’re already the most beautiful girl in the world–” You snort loudly. “I’m serious. I’m not kidding.” 

You sober. Scrunched up t-shirt trembling ever so slightly in your hands, you let it fall on top of your pants and try to be cool. Calm, collected, you channel the steadiness you keep for your most terrified moments. You probably won’t look half as unbothered as you're hoping for, but all you need now is to stop your hands from shaking. 

“You sure?” you ask. 

“You’re beautiful. I’m sure it only gets better.”

“You’re one to talk,” you say, trying to be the teasing, funny girl instead of a tangible ball of nerves in need of coaxing. Clark Kent is the most beautiful guy you’ve ever met, point blank. He can’t understand what it is to look at him and feel like you’re being touched by the sun when he smiles. His little black curls and the wrinkles beside his eyes, his lashes. Prettiest man you’ve ever met. 

“Can I come in?” he asks. 

You cling to the hopefulness in his tone and approach the door. Slowly, you peek out from behind it, hiding the bulk of your chest and your legs. 

You meet his eyes. He’s looking right at you. 

“Promise you won’t laugh,” you say under your breath. 

“Baby, that’s the last thing on my mind.” 

“Promise.”

You feel silly asking, but Clark lets you act this way. Like, he takes you as you are, always, with gumption, like every second he gets to spend with you is one he’d planned on anyhow, no matter what you want from him, or what you want to give. It’s why you can murmur stupid question at him on the ride home (‘cos yeah, he’d still like you if you were a worm), and take his hand at inopportune times. It’s why you asked to spend the night, before he brought it up himself. 

“I promise,” Clark says emphatically. “I won’t laugh at you.” 

You cover your chest with one arm and let the door open. 

Clark lets out a funny breath, and it DOES sound like a laugh, but the look you give him is so wounded that he immediately bites his tongue, “No,” he says, breathless, “I’m–” Clark takes a step back. “Honey, I wasn’t expecting you to be– is– I’m trying so hard not to swear right now.” 

“You can swear, Clark. You’re twenty nine.”

“Such a mouth on you,” he says without any heat. Then he’s quiet, and his fingertips reach for your arm. He brushes the length of your forearm to your elbow, your skin all hot and warm, waiting impatiently for something new. “So soft…”

“My bra was stupid, and my pajamas are so old, and I just– just wanna be pretty, for once. For–” you, you’d have said, if he didn’t cut you off. 

“You’re pretty all the time,” he says, grasping your arm tightly. His eyes flick down to the valley of your chest, the slight curve of your side, your hips, your thighs. His eyes seem darker. The dim lighting must do you some good. 

“Kiss?” you propose. It’s the only way you’re ever gonna be able to move your arm. 

Clark nods surely. Eyebrows kissing in a pinch, like he’s pained, but good pain, his eyes scrunching shut tightly as he ducks his head for a kiss. It’s different from any other kiss he’s given you before, not for want of gentleness. You’re open to him, for this. He’s meeting you halfway, and he’s careful, but he isn’t shy like you are. His lips are sweet and then parting. Tingling pleasure, your hand straying slowly from your chest to hold his abdomen, fingers downward. 

“Hey,” he gasps quietly, almost lost to your mouth. 

“Sorry–”

He clasps a hand over yours to hold it there. “Hey,” he says again, “please. I was just gonna ask if you wanted to move. It’s not exactly warm in here.”

“And it’s warmer in your bed?”

He’s smiling as he goes in for another kiss, his teeth against your lips. “‘Xactly,” he mumbles, breathing in hard, turning his head, “you’re such a dream. So…”

His hand slips down your back. You cant your chest toward him, soft pressing into solid, begging to be held. 

Clark drags you into his arms.

“Pretty,” he says.

[rafeslvbug]

RANCHER!RAFE AS A BF..

RANCHER!RAFE..is rich rich. generational wealth and new money. he’s covered all aspects, and amassed so much that after he’s done improving the ranch, buying new cattle etc. he still has more than 3/4 sitting in his bank account. and what better way to spend it than on you? those boots you had your eyes on, utterly cliché and overpriced– he bought them. he takes you to the city with him when he needs to for business, and lets you go on a shopping spree afterwards, holding the bags and out of place, but at least it makes you happy. he doesn’t think he needs new clothes, but will reluctantly accept whatever you pick out for him so long as you buy two more things for yourself.

RANCHER!RAFE..who swears by your cooking, because at least it’s better than his. he had a strict diet of the same steak, or meat he could cook over the grill, then you introduced him to variety. he’d never been much of a fan of vegetables, or whatever it is you slap on his plate, but he’s sure he’d kill for your cooking. he gets extremely pouty when you cook for the other cowboys, though he’d never admit it. he doesn’t need to. you can see it all over his face, and the way he’s slightly meaner to them.

RANCHER!RAFE..who’s obsessed with your thighs. he’s always got a hand on them in the car, or lifting you up by them. he’d gladly give you leg massages, or kneel between them after a long day. through hugs his hand/arm always slips just below your ass, occasionally making you bend back so he can wrap it around your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh. they’re always hickey-marked, and he won’t argue when you wear short shorts, skirts or dresses. he can fight.

RANCHER!RAFE..hates when you make jokes about the time you left. it was truly one of the most miserable times in his life, and every time you make a comment like, “and this is why i left,” followed by your little innocent giggle, he seriously thinks about committing murder. he doesn’t take that topic lightly, and you can’t tell anyone about it. he won’t speak about it.

RANCHER!RAFE..who doesn’t know how to say no to you. you want clothes? yes. you want to learn something you’ll hate? sure. you want him to drive you into the city? fine. the few times he might say no usually mean it’s something serious– even then, though, he can’t handle your pout, and he’ll always try find something to make up for it.

RANCHER!RAFE..who strictly doesn’t speak about his family. he says he doesn’t care to, because he has you now. you’re the only family he needs (and your kids). but one night, he gets slightly drunk, and somehow more sober than he’s ever been. pouring out his secrets to you. you sit, and listen. take care of him. and when he wakes up the next morning, wrapped in you, he knows he has to keep you.

RANCHER!RAFE..who goes along with every odd thing you do. if you decide that both your boots, which have always sat on the left hand side of the porch, suddenly need to be upside down on the right hand side? weird, but he’ll do it. if you say that you couldn’t cook one thing because the desert told you so? he trusts your word (especially since you told him the desert brought you to him– so who’s he to argue with the desert?)

TAGLIST: @angelicameron @yelqze @loverliner @tinythebunni @dollarbillsflying @imliterallysocoolfr @macbaetwo

[reignpage]

Every Witch Way

Synopsis: in which raven shapeshifter!Choso has fallen in the clutches of a witch, who he has grown to resent and desire...or, alternatively, in which Choso yearns for freedom from his cage and comes to learn what that really means Warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs do not interact, dubcon/coercive, cunnilingus, more of a concept than a full pledged fic, dom!choso, sex slave!choso lol, biting, dirty talk — degradation, fingering, some mentions of violence, reader ain't shit, not proofread Word Count: 2.8k

Being a familiar to a budding, but already sadistic, witch is more torturous than it sounds. Choso has no defence, really — he should have known better than to fly too close to the clearing in the woods, should have had the survival instincts to know that when one sees a beautiful woman, alone, in said woods, it usually spells trouble. 

You were picking up some herbs in your garden, black dress rustling about with every movement, and he couldn’t look away from the swaying of your hips as you danced to music only you could hear, strained as he was to listen. 

He had been careful. He swears. His bird form did not move a single inch, didn’t ruffle his feathers even though the itch surely arose, and he certainly never tweeted, never alerted you to his voyeurist presence on a tall branch. Yet, you knew.

Your head snapped up, piercing eyes landing on him immediately. 

That was the first time, strong and skilled he is as a raven and as a man, he ever felt fear. 

But, also something strange, something new, something…dangerous. 

Whilst he watches you flit about in your hut, grinding dried frog legs into dust and simultaneously mixing a purple concoction on the other side of the room, he wonders what monstrosity found another monstrosity to make you. 

Because no normal, loving couple could ever produce a woman with a desire to break a person down from the inside, bit by bit, leaving doors open, letting sunshine through, just to give him a semblance of hope, to make him think if he was fast enough, quiet enough, strong enough, he could find freedom once more. 

No, nothing could be more evil, more malicious and malevolent than when you dance around, naked, letting plush, smooth flesh ripple with every movement, every step. You treat him like he isn’t a man, like he can’t do anything about all the times you touch yourself on your bed, keeping the apex of your soft-looking thighs just out of view of his beady eyes.

If he could break out of his prison, he'd teach you a lesson or two before he went off on his way. He'd spread your stupid legs far and wide, force your dirty cunt to take his length and accept his girth, maybe spit in your mouth to degrade you the way you've been degrading him for a long time now.

If he had it his way, you'd be limp, sore, and bruised.

“Are you thinking naughty thoughts again, birdy?” Your voice is light, teasing, and he feels the urge to poke your eyes out with his beak. 

Trapped in a golden cage in his bird form, you both know he can’t respond with words even if he wanted to. It’s not as if he can shift back into a man in this tiny thing you’ve kept him imprisoned in. No, you often ask him questions that aren’t technically rhetorical, just to remind him of his pitiful position. 

Still, he squawks. 

“Oh?” Spinning around, you give him a wicked grin, running a long nail down the length of a metal bar keeping him from you. “You’re going to deny it?”

He leaps for your finger, missing his target by a centimetre. You laugh. 

“Bad, birdy. Very bad. Is that any way to treat your friend?” When he makes the raven equivalent of a scoff and turns away from you, pretending to pick up a lint from the floor of his gilded cage because it's more interesting, you hum. “Alright, fine, so we’re not friends. I’m at least someone who prepares your worms and seeds for you; ever heard the saying, ‘never bite the hand that feeds you?’”

Choso croaks, sharp and hoarse. 

“Not in the mood for conversation? Fine. Then.... why don't you make yourself useless and come please mama, hmm? What do you say, little raven? I’ll give you an hour of flight time?”

His feathered tail twitches ever so slightly. 

It's unwise. He really shouldn't. Not again. But it'd been a while since he'd stretched his wings since you've been too busy with your spells and potions to feel the biblical need to be cum.

Well, he could always just pettily give you a weak orgasm. Yeah, he'll enact in his own small revenge.

And that’s how he finds himself, once again, lapping up the juices that drools out of your cunt, as a man.

Dress hiked up, panties ripped off and stocking-clad feet resting on his broad back. It’s unfair, unethical, and evil to keep him enslaved for sexual pleasure. A mighty warrior like him – wielding rare magic as a shapeshifter, fighting for justice across the kingdom with his brothers, and keeping balance for all sorts of creatures – is above this. 

Despite that, he flattens his tongue against the entirety of your pussy and scoops up as much of the wetness you’re leaking to swallow it down, suddenly finding himself thirsty. 

You taste sweet, though you shouldn’t. You should taste like swamp water, like a bog monster, or the moss that grows on a bridge troll. Instead, he’s irritated to find, every single time, nectar of the purest form coating his lips and chin. 

“Mmm, birdy, pay some -hah- a-attention to my clit, won’t you?” Saccharine sweet and breathy, you command him through the light moans leaving your deceitful mouth. 

Grumbling under his breath about how bossy you are, Choso flicks the tip of his wet tongue against the throbbing bundle of nerves, applying the right amount of pleasure based on how much louder your whines get. "Like this?"

"Yeah...it's -hgnh!- perfect."

He really shouldn’t give in to your whims. Flying is great. There’s nothing like breathing in fresh air, instead of the ghastly concoctions you brew, stretching his wings to their fullest and soaking in the embrace of the sun as he darts through the trees and above. But one ought to protect their dignity and pride, no?

One shouldn't let spoiled girls like you get their way.

If he dared to, he could manhandle you around and spank your ass raw. Could drive his cock inside you until you're fucked too dumb and stupid to realise he's burnt your precious home down.

Maybe another time. For now, he's quite enjoying how pathetic you sound just from his tongue alone.

Impatiently, he asks, “Are you close? Hmm? Are you gonna cum all over my face?”

Out of practice, his voice is all gravelly and foreign-sounding to him. It's all your fault. Perhaps that’s why he shoves two of his calloused fingers inside your pulsing pussy without warning. With his spare hand, he presses your quivering thigh back and away from suffocating him. 

“Nhgh! N-not so fast fuckfuckfuck!”

With a growl, he reminds you, “It’s not ladylike to curse so just be good and give me what I want already. Come on, scary witch, cum for me.”

Curling those fingers, that gummy spot inside you is played with again and again. Your pleats hug him, twisting and squeezing, and he’s growing lightheaded. All he can smell is you, every breath is filled with your intoxicating scent. He hates it. He hates you. 

How dare you order to him to please you but then squirm from his hold when he's got you right in the palm of his hand?

In warning, Choso's sharp teeth clamp down on your inner thigh. Sharp, dark and beady, his eyes glint, a shadowy beast with his prey in sight. "You wanted this, didn't you? Yes, mistress? You wanted my tongue inside your dirty pussy, wanted to make a mess all over my face because you've hit a dead end in your experiments?"

Mewling, you confess, "Yes, I -mmm, fuck!- I needed you. N-needed a -ngh!- distraction."

"Then don't run away from me."

Back arching and sheets ripping with your deadly grip, you cum with a splatter when he sucks hard at your clit. “OH FUCK!”

“That’s it... Such a good witch,” he mutters right into your hole. “So well-behaved when you’ve got your legs spread, aren't you?”

"Yesyesyesyesyesyes!"

Choso knows the drill – waiting for you to ride your orgasm on his nose, he licks and slurrrrrps! up the mess you made as much as he can. Spoiled thing that you are, you don’t like working with sticky thighs, which is why he’s stuck with you in the first place. "Done?"

Silent, you make no reply to him. You don’t give him the all-clear, don’t wave a hand or make a move to get up. Odd. He gulps down the remaining taste of you. Crawled over your body, Choso inspects your face. 

You’re passed out. 

His brows furrow. Using his hand, the dry one, he lightly smacks your face, jostling you. Lashes flutter. When your eyes open, he sighs. “You need to sleep more.”

Shrugging through the groggy lethargy numbing your body, you pinch his flushed cheek with a drowsy smile. His heart thumps. “You need to stop watching me.”

He wants to remind you he can’t do anything but watch you, but somehow the argument dies in his chest and he pulls the hem of your dress down, straightens up the fallen sleeves and brushes the hair sticking to your forehead. 

“Aw, hey, you have some of me left on your chin.” Unreservedly, you lick up the shiny sheen from his skin, tongue grazing the bottom of his lip. The area tingles, like venom has settled. 

“Mine,” Choso growls before he can really think, and he dives forward to steal back the wetness he’d been hoarding, lips touching lips, and tongue opening up to scour your mouth.

This isn’t usually how your little sessions go, though these days, they resemble this closeness, the pressing of bodies, the exchanging of twitches of lips, and the twinkling of mirthy eyes. 

Why did he do that?

Why did he kiss you?

Why did he suck on your bottom lip and leave it swollen?

And why, oh fucking why, is there a wet mark on a spot on your dress where his unclothed cock hangs, hard and red?

Parting, a strange look settles in your glossy eyes, a mulling or hypothesising of sorts. For a second, Choso worries you might go back on your word, might send him back to his cage in a flutter of onyx feathers. 

But you don’t. 

“Thanks, birdy,” you say, a strained security in the words. “Go and fly. Have fun. I’ll be napping, I think.”

And he’s off. 

It’s just like he’s been dreaming – the way the winds swoosh through his feathers, carrying him up and high, aiding his race through the clouds. From the very peaks of the sky, he can see everything: the mountaintops, the endless sea of green, and the village up north, divided by a river and more trees and hidden away from the hut. 

He dives down, in circles, squawking and hooting. The thrill of being unrestrained, of the sun’s blessing, of limitless expanse, it’s all his.

Burdened as a man by etiquette and responsibility could never compare to the weightlessness and fluidity of flight.

There’s no monarch of the skies, no tax, or toll. Only the innocence of nature from before humans had come to destroy the earth.

Here, where no one can reach him, is home. 

So, why does he keep circling the clearing?

Why does he not search for his brothers?

You’re not outside, keeping a close eye on him. No one’s holding that invisible rope you tied around his ankle; Choso felt its absence as soon as he shifted from flesh to feathers. Surely you know you’ve blundered. Surely you’re aware he can leave and never come back. That you’ll never hide him away in the golden cage again. 

No one will listen to your mumblings, will watch over your vulnerable form at night, fetch your precious herbs or sacrifice a feather to give you a quill, remind you to eat, warn you that whatever foul liquid you’re brewing is bubbling over your cauldron. 

Scorned by the village, unable to find another of your kind, you’ll truly be alone. 

And why should he care?

You’ve been nothing but cruel to him – scratching his head like he’s a dog, feeding him wriggling worms, urging him back to his human form just to ride his abdomen and leaving his cock untouched and leaking. 

Cruel, mean, and deserving of solitude, you would have never made the mistake of forgetting to keep him tethered.

Sitting on a tree branch, just as he did many months ago now, he observes your home, wondering what exactly you’re up to. This must be a trap. A test. Except, you can’t catch him off guard anymore; he’s turned his own power on. Unseen by the senses, you would never know where he is. 

Maybe that’s why you stumble out the door in a hurry, nails biting into your skin, and eyes frantic. 

“Birdy?” You call out. “Where are you? Time's up; you need to come back."

There won't be a reply — you made a mistake, you got careless, complacent, arrogant. Now, you'll have no one to torture, no one to tease, to drive insane. This is how it should have been; he should have kept his guard up, should have kept his distance, shouldn't have gotten curious.

Voice strangely meek, you ask, "Did you really go?”

What is that pinching he's feeling in his chest? 

Choso tilts his head. What kind of sorcery did you dare use on him to have him hesitating?

His brothers are undoubtedly looking for him. They're probably worried sick. He still has many tasks to attend to, things to catch up on, the rest of the world to see. Away and out of reach, he should have flown by now. What in fresh hell is he doing still watching you?

Is he simply starved for female companionship? Was his beastly body feeling frustrated from not having had release? Did he feel like he was owed something?

If that were the case, there’d be plenty of maidens lining up to warm his bed. He doesn’t need you, the selfish lover that you are. He won’t miss your greedy cunt, your heat, scent, the softness of your body, all pliable and welcoming. That smile you give him in gratitude won’t haunt his dreams, he’ll soon forget about the exact shade of your hair, or how your eyes glint in wonder at every discovery. 

Light and with a touch of melancholy, soon your voice will fade into oblivion and he’ll forget all about the fact that you hum in the shower, or when making notes in your journal, that you mumble and drool in your sleep, that you love to watch the stars twinkle as if you wish you could join them. 

Deep in the forest, no one will ever know a witch, who longs for a family, lives alone. 

Just like no one will ever know, a shapeshifter with all the freedom in the world has a heart that beats just for her.

Ah, fuck. 

Tweeting under his breath and shaking his rump, he leaps down and lets feathers blend into flesh until only his bare skin can be seen under the darkening glow of the slumbering sun. A hand running through his untamed, jet-black hair, he awkwardly walks over to you.  

“Birdy!”

A sudden weight falls into his arms. He holds you two upright. With your face buried in his chest, you nuzzle his skin and mutter, “I’m so glad you didn’t leave. I really thought you would.”

“Yeah, me too,” he admits, a little sulky. 

Beaming, you look up at him. “You must have had a great time; you’re positively flushed. Alright! No time to waste, there’s a blood moon in two night’s time and we have much to prepare. Come on, little birdy!”

You’re turning to run back, excited and feeling much lighter now, he assumes, but he doesn’t let you get very far. With a firm grip of your hand, he petulantly says, “My name’s Choso.”

“Huh?”

Louder, he affirms, “Call me Choso. Not 'birdy' or 'little birdy.' If you’re going to keep using me for your own sick pleasures, you should be moaning my real name and not your embarrassing invention for me.”

A bright smile warps your face into something impossibly blinding. 

His heart squeezes so painfully tight it robs him of breath. 

He decides, there and then, that his brothers can stand to be without him for a little while longer. For the good of the citizens in the kingdom he’s vowed to protect, which include you, he’ll make the sacrifice and debase himself for a couple more weeks. 

Only a short while, he swears. And then he’s gone. Really. Truly. 

“Okay, in that case...Hi, Choso. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope we get along.”

Has his name always sounded so heavenly?

Knees growing weak, he has but just one thought in his foolishly empty head:

Shit. 

[heartyluv]

Note: Longest fic I have ever written, my goodness. To my luvly @stargirlygirl who I'm doing this collab with and who has listened to all the ideas I've cooked up and tossed away—I LOVE YOU! Let me let you luvlys jump into this. ✨ Please, if you’d like, —Click Here— for the moodboard!

Warning/Contains: Vampire/Mechanic!Caleb, you’re a reincarnation of his past lover, ANGSTY, you’re grieving the loss of your mother, mentions of lacking the desire to go on without you, you get bitten by him without having a choice (i think that’s it, but if i missed one, please feel free to tell me!)

Word Count: 8.7K

Summary: When Caleb lost you, life held no meaning for him anymore. The only escape he had? He made a business out of it. But is it a trick of the mind when you're presented to him again, alive? The only con? You have no recollection of the history you've shared and now you're here for an interview at his auto shop. He won’t make the same mistake of letting you slip away from him again.

Once Bitten, Twice Repaired

“Hey,” an employee calls as he approaches the working man beneath a ‘95 Chevrolet Camero. “That interview I told you about. She’s here. Waiting out front.”

The intricate undercarriage that's currently in Caleb's face has him focusing with a tunnel vision level of concentration as he takes his time to inspect one more part of the suspension before responding. Only seconds pass until he's whistling with triumph just as he identifies what’s the issue with the dated vehicle.

He rolls out from beneath the automobile with a grin, then pulls himself off the mechanic creeper to stand at his full height.

“She’s eager,” Caleb smirks with a raised brow at the early bird who could potentially be a new employee in the next half hour.

“And excited,” Gideon chuckles. “You want me to bring her to your office or..?”

“Nah, I got it,” he assures, tapping on the trunk as he departs. “But do me a favor and get an order put in for some new shocks and struts for this one right here.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all!”

On a regular day, Caleb had someone else talk with and handle new hires and prospective candidates when the time came. But seeing as the girl that Gideon told to come in had arrived sooner than instructed, he actually wanted to greet the face behind the overachiever himself.

Being the owner of an auto shop, the 6'2 motor enthusiast preferred to be where his interests were. If you asked him, he wasn't too fond of the technicalities, but running his own business made keeping his identity hidden an infinitely easier task.

His love for cars is a bone deep infatuation that's lasted for as long as he can remember—which is funny to think about for someone with a significant number of years on his belt compared to the average life expectancy of anything “normal”.

The double-edged sword of living as long as he has to watch their creation and evolution into the machines they are today, has been a journey that's given him a meek light through the never-ending dark tunnel which harbors a past too painful to reminisce on.

It's exactly why he doesn't. Or at least tries really hard not to, anyways.

Pushing past one of the doors that separates the waiting area from the garage, he nods to the receptionist. As he looks around the room though, there's only one person present and it’s not who he’s looking for.

"Gideon said there’s a woman here for her interview?" he questions the older lady sitting in the office chair.

"Mhm," Gladys nods. "Should still be here since she only stepped outside a minute ago."

Caleb's lips pout in thought with a slight tilt of his head. Stepping into the early rising sun that's fairly tolerable compared to what it can be later on, he stands root in one spot in search of the lingering mortal.

It consumes only milliseconds of his time before he sees who he presumes to be her, sitting on the ground to the left with a baby kitten in her lap.

"Oh, you sweet little thing," you coo. "It's okay, I got ya."

He freezes. There’s no way. Not a chance.

"You're shivering bub, my goodness. I'll talk to boss man and see if I can keep you warm while we chat. It's not unprofessional, right? In fact, I think it's showing how resourceful I can be." Your titter that follows has the vampire beside you tripping the fuck out.

You sound exactly like her. Your laugh is eerily similar. And when you look at him...

"Oh!" you chirp, quickly standing with care to the animal that's as small as your palm when you realize his presence. “Sorry! This little guy was meowing like crazy while I was waiting and I couldn't leave him out here like that."

He can't move. He doesn't want to in fear that if he makes any sudden gesture, you'll fade into thin air like a mirage. That he'll blink and nothing will be there but the memory of the universe once again stabbing him with a knife curated of nothing but sick jokes.

"Um, Sir?" you step closer with worry. "Everything alright?"

The same nose, the same curve of your lips, the same light that twinkles behind your irises—you were a carbon copy of the woman he failed to protect over a century ago and had the unending life he lived to thank for the fact that he couldn't join you.

Vampires are incapable of taking their own lives. Not only a rule that's been set in stone for longer than he's been alive to protect the population of his kind, but the genetic makeup of one wouldn’t easily allow it.

And believe him when he says he’s tried.

No matter what one's mind may want, the vampiric influence held more dominion.

So, when he came home after hunting to see you dead on the kitchen floor of your small cottage years ago from your heart condition claiming you faster than he could comprehend, he was cursed to live on without you what he presumed would be for eternity.

But there must be something that now pities him or finds his everlasting grief comical to put you before him once more.

Bubbly, cheerful, and all the more beautiful. Seeing you again for the first time is enough to make him as sick as his last.

"Should I call someone?" you mumble, walking around him to run inside and ask for some back up for the statue, but a firm hand wrapped around your wrist stops your venture and startles you.

"Tomorrow. C-Can you start tomorrow?" he spoke lowly, his violet eyes unable to look in your direction as they stared at the concrete out of uncertainty of what he'd say or do.

You even felt like her. You are her. And he needed a small amount of separation to correct his behavior before he could determine what it took to keep you. He wouldn't lose you this time.

You gasp. "I got the job?!"

He nods sharply in an attempt to control his instincts. "Seven AM."

Realizing he's still touching your smooth skin, he drops your appendage like it's made of flames.

And when he regains the little sense he has left, Caleb storms back inside without another word and leaves you in the desolate parking lot.

Gladys knew better than to inquire about what happened when he passes her, seeing as she watched enough to create her own assumptions courtesy to the see-through glass door.

Gideon looks back and forth behind his buddy as if you'd be hidden by the brooding male when he steps into the working area.

"You look... I don't even have a word for it. Where is she?"

His thumping steps don't stop on his retreat into his office as he gruffly responds, "She's my responsibility."

Whatever was your side the day you secured the first job you applied for after making your big move, it was an accomplishment well deserved and would be the kind of luck you'd be holding onto going forward in all your endeavors.

Finally, things were looking up after your mother had passed away. It took you some few years to get back into the groove of life, but growth and grieving weren’t linear, and that was okay.

That’s the mentality you’ve been trying to instill to give yourself grace for being so stagnant and admittedly lost for all this time. But where you are now is what matters, not the rock bottom that you grew too comfortable in.

Securing a job that would temporarily keep you sane as you adjusted to your all new everything was important. Not only would your pockets and bank account see profit, but perhaps your heart would benefit all the same and not ache as much being surrounded by the things you and your mom used to spend countless hours gushing about.

Cars were her world and when you were made an addition, naturally the same would apply from being raised solely by the automotive expert. Not only were you thankful for the skills and the memories, but they let you keep a part of her anchored to this world that could never slip away as easily as she had.

Hitting the jackpot and finding a position online for the decently popular location was pretty cool. It was close to your new apartment, the pay was good, and the expectations matched your criteria.

This is what progress looked like.

The smile on your face couldn’t be shaken as you approached the doors that have brought you genuine joy to see for the last two weeks. In fact, this entire building, it's been a consistent reminder of what you were working to achieve in the long run.

Starting up your own establishment in a world of cars is a dream you and your mom were always meant to reach before something took her as if it needed her more than you did. Now that your head was back in the game, that vision would be coming into fruition if it was the last thing you did to honor her.

“Morning, Gladys,” you greeted in passing.

“Mornin’,” she replied as her French tip nails tapped along the keyboard.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you playfully shove Gideon’s as he fishes for something in his toolbox and he chuckles.

“You better not have that thing in there.”

“That ‘thing’ has a name, jackass!”

You opened and looked into the oversized tote, surging with love because of the gray fluff ball that you’ve been bringing into work with you ever since you found him. Keeping that luck held tight wasn’t an exaggeration and you were convinced this little dude was your charm.

“Isn’t that right, Muffler?” you coo, reaching a finger in to scratch his chin as he meows with what you hope is joy. He’s been as loud as a damaged part no matter what you did, and you wouldn’t change that for the world.

Everyone you pass is greeted with waves and whispered hellos on your way to your “mentor”. He's deep in the engine bay of a pretty metallic army green pickup truck, his back muscles rippling beneath his white tank top as he leans into the complex area.

“We’re reporting for duty Mr. Xia, sir!” you salute, the image of Muffler doing the same in your head enough to make you snort.

After his freezing episode and you came into work the day after, he made it a point to apologize immediately, but didn't attach an explanation behind it.

And you didn’t really need one despite your curiosity.

Being given what you received without hesitation, even though you didn't understand why, was not a victory you'd question.

He's loosened up quite a bit in your brief time here, too; making a few corny jokes that you’d never admit was actually funny, testing your knowledge from time to time like a pop quiz, and sticking by you every step of the way in your adjustment to the new environment.

Though for some reason, he refused to look at you. If he did, it was never for long—almost as if letting the gaze that you couldn't help but be drawn to when you caught it, was forbidden. Too much.

There was something inside of you that wondered if his strange reaction the first time you met had a deeper reason you didn’t understand.

“Lookin’ at this—think you could you tell me what's wrong?"

He doesn't have to look to know you're there. Past all the drilling and heavy machinery, your arrival was made known to him five minutes before you even opened the door.

You believe that ability is a keen talent rather than a natural skill, as you’re unaware of the true nature of the blood drinking mechanic who’s gained such a power through his transformation. It’s why you grin with such impress at his never-faltering accuracy.

"Of course I can."

Caleb tries not to buckle under pressure when your sweet perfume and the intoxicating aroma of the delicacy pumping through your system consumes his heightened senses the moment you lean in close. The urge for his fangs to bare is most difficult to keep at bay when he briefly eyes the vein that trails into your navy blue jumper and past the top of your breasts.

If he could sweat, he’s sure he would’ve made a puddle by now.

Although your scent is nowhere near identical to what it once was, this is the most inebriating it's ever been. With a tensed jaw, he works to keep his control before he makes a mistake that would cost him everything he’s intending to do.

He's been training you since day one—if you wanted to call staring at you while you asked him questions and he'd respond with a head movement a little too late—training.

In truth, your knowledge and expertise impressed the vampire who couldn't understand where you came from, but the fact that you seemed to carry zero memory of him and your past? That perturbed him even more.

You talked with him like this is the first time you and he have ever spoken. Like he didn't know what you felt like from the inside, like he didn't know all your ticks and all your favorites.

But perhaps this was the first time, because not too many of those things seemed to apply anymore to the somebody that he used to know, and he was unsure about how to juggle that fact.

You liked coffee instead of tea, preferred the hot summers over frigid winters, you were boisterous and out there instead of quiet and reserved.

You were different. But was it betraying you to like this you all the same despite the changes?

"There's nothing wrong,” you answer after your once over.

He smirks. "You sure?"

"Positive.” You’re smug as all hell and he likes it.

You pull Muffler out and giggle as he licks his nose from eating the dry food you left in there for him to snack on until you got him settled in Caleb’s office.

"Isn't that right, Muff?"

He looks between you two, silently admiring the position it holds in your hands. After you came in the first time with the noisy feline and begged to be able to bring him in on the daily, he should’ve said no. Anyone else, he would’ve—not a second wasted in his swiftness to decline.

But with you? How could he?

"Yeah?” Caleb folds his arms and leans against the vehicle. “Enlighten me. What makes you say that?”

"Well." Petting Muffler, you continue. "My mom used to always say, 'The difference between a mechanic and an artist is that a mechanic’s work needs to be perfect every single time.'”

"Ayrton Senna," Caleb nods in appreciation for your quick wit quotes.

"Look at youuu. But yes, exactly. And that means we can't afford to make a mistake, not with things as important and as intricate as this. Liquids are full and in their designated compartments, belts and sensors are in tack. No rusting or misplaced parts in sight. Yeah, this is good to go."

The immortal grins cockily. "Interesting. Now,” he gestures to where you presume the keys to be. “turn it on."

Your eyes widen. "Wait! That isn't fair! You didn't say to check it while it's running!"

“A mechanic’s ingenuity comes from their willingness to look beyond the obvious—”

"—for solutions.’ Steve McQueen, yada yada," you groan, tossing your head back in defeat. "I hate when you're right. Mom is rolling in her grave right now."

"She was important to you." Not a question, but an unveiling that similarly hits too close to home.

"My world," you correct with no malice in your tone. "Everything I've been doing since I came here... It's so I can give us what we should've had the time to do."

"I'm listenin’," he nudges your arm after you grow silent, using playfulness to break your walls down so that he can make his way in and determine what he may or may not need to do.

"I shouldn't be trauma dumping on my boss."

He shrugs. "You call it trauma dumping. I call it talking to someone who... understands."

You whip your head in his direction, Muffler purring like a motor on his journey to the land of sleep just as you halt his head rubs.

“You’ve lost someone, too? I mean who hasn’t though, right..?”

“I’ve lost a lot.” He focuses on the dirtied floor while you move beside him to lean like he does.

You frown when you see the clear disturbance in his face. “I’m sorry, Caleb.”

If he had a heart that gave him life, it would’ve been pulled from his chest and put in your hands so you could watch how fast you make it beat.

I’m sorry, Caleb.

To him, you're indirectly and unknowingly apologizing for leaving him when it was never your fault or intention. Hearing that brings him an odd sense of closure. And determination.

Because there’s no need for you to be sorry. You just have to stay this time and he aims to make sure that happens. He won’t allow for the same mistake of letting mortality be your weakness.

“Whoever they were, I’m sure they added so much to your life.”

He chuckles wryly. “You have no idea.”

“Do you miss them?”

“It’s all I do. At least, all I did. Now? I… I think I may have something, someone, so different and new to not replace what I had..”

Carefully you watch his sharp jaw tick, and his thick neck move as he turns to face you, giving you his eyes for longer than the milliseconds you’re used to.

“But to give me the chance to make sure I never lose it again.”

You stare into his orbs with so much familiarity and understanding as if there was a time where they were what you’d called safety. Refuge.

It should freak you out to think like that, but instead, this is the most grounded you’ve felt since Mom. That bizarre reality is what makes you break the connection with fluttering lashes and watery eyes.

“I’m gonna make this right. I promise,” he whispers, and before you can try and decrypt if that was something dedicated to you or a declaration meant for the universe, Gideon calls out from across the garage.

“I’m this close to throwing a wrench and you’re lucky if I miss! Enough slacking!”

Honestly, you don’t know who he’s talking to, but it still applies to you and Caleb, even if he is the boss.

Blushing, your focus is pulled away from the hankering vamp and placed upon your sleeping kitty.

“He’s right… Thanks for the talk. It was…” you shake away the initial words on the tip of your tongue.

It was needed. It made me feel. It’s something I need more of.

“I’ll get to work.”

He watches you briskly walk to his office to get Muffler set up before your shift.

While he doesn’t exactly know what just happened between you two, he’s giving the glory to chance, that the subtle exchange of shared experiences created a resonance that has broken an invisible layer.

What’s certain? He’s taking advantage of it.

“I have no business doing this,” you chastise yourself silently just outside Caleb’s office. “I need to be bringing Muffler home. It’s way past his bedtime. And it's kinda late. But it’s not… like it wouldn’t be weird if I asked, right? It’s a boss-employee thing. Something to—”

Your back-and-forth external monologue is interrupted by the door opening in front of you and out walks the man who's been running circles in your mind ever since that enigmatic conversation last week.

Caleb didn’t miss how you redirected the exchange you were sharing toward him after he asked you about your unspoken plans. Skillfully, you placed the attention onto him so that he'd speak on the things that have brought him his own anguish rather than opening up about yourself.

But little do you know, biding his time and relearning the woman you are now, has been a monumental asset that's gotten him further than he could've imagined.

It's how he's already earned your trust in the month of you being here and why he's gained a definitive understanding of how to dismantle those barriers so that he could be the one to replace them and protect you instead.

The more he became familiar, the more prevalent your need to have a sense of control over the arbitrary system of life, became. You needed to be the one to open up on your own time, not when it was asked of you.

Cut to you talking yourself up into inviting him over for dinner for the last fifteen minutes to prove that accurate assessment true.

Of course, you wouldn't know that he has been listening to every single word of your contemplative banter or that he was internally begging for you to not withhold the request he knew you were hesitating to ask.

Who you are made sense for someone who lost the only person who gave them love, stability, and comfort in this lifetime (so far). You were like an open book already. But for Caleb, being the ever-greedy man he has always been, he wanted access to your glossary, cliff notes, and all the things in between.

Whatever higher power above has returned you to him, he would make them proud and be the one to refurbish you from all you’ve lost.

So please, please ask him so he can tell you yes!

While he harbors all the information and memories that you don’t and was certain about your universally aligned connection, you on the other hand, were mystified.

Besides the fact that you had what could be labeled as a very unprofessional attraction to your boss, it wasn't just a physical thing. Oddly, he brought you a semblance of normality that stumped you no matter how you tried to come up with a logical explanation.

There was none. Not that you could think of in your hours of trying.

You couldn't understand why you seemed to be so tethered and drawn to him, but the reincarnation of your soul? That did.

You found yourself wanting him near, craving his opinion and the sound of his voice, even wanting to hear him ramble for hours about all the same automotive knowledge you already knew.

"You alright, pips?" he smiled.

Get your head in the game.

"You're really sticking with that nickname, aren't you?"

"What? You don't like it?"

"It feels like an insult."

"I'd never insult you."

"You insult Gideon all the time."

"You're not Gideon though, are you? Besides, he deserves it."

Their aggressive but humorous jesting throughout the day never failed to make you and everyone else hysterical. You always wondered how Gideon got away with talking to his employer the way he did, but the clear bond between them was more than enough of an answer.

"Sometimes," you agree.

"You've got somethin' on your mind." He shuts the door and locks it. "Care to share?"

"How do you do that?" You follow him around as he checks on everything once more.

"Do what?"

"Always know what's up with me. It's so trippy."

"I've had a... good amount of time, I guess." (Just a few years of being your other half as experience, no big deal.)

"I guess," you parrot, smiling like a doofus when he winks at the noticeable heated rush of pink to your cheeks.

Shaking off the reluctance, you blurt out what you wanted to propose before you can further convince yourself that you were a fool for even thinking about it.

"Do you—Would you want to come by my place… for dinner?"

Caleb stops where he is, and you regret it instantaneously.

"Shit. Okay, hold on, please don't fire me. I only wanted to thank you for making my time here so gratifying and—Alright, maybe I should've invited you to a restaurant or something so it's more appropriate and palatable, but we always get off late, Muffler needs to be brought home, and I didn't—"

"Pipsqueak," he interrupts your tangent. If only you knew he was all in the second you made it a consideration. "I'd love to."

"Come on in," you gesture, and the contement that washes over the man who already knows your layout, is otherworldly.

Being able to walk freely in your space without sneaking and keeping silent is way easier than waiting until you were showering or sleeping to climb in through a window to snoop around.

Yes, he has followed you home and invaded your privacy, as well as rummaged through your things without your permission.

And yes, he took one of your shirts and a pair of (dirty) panties with him for safe keeping to... hold, on the nights he missed you more than he could reason with.

It was fine, though. Look at how close you were! Already inviting him in with no qualms about it.

Muffler was the worst guard cat he's ever seen, though. He’d meow cheerfully at his feet in each room he followed the invasive man into on the nights of his trespassing, but Caleb chalked it up to still being so young and familiar with him from all the hours inadvertently spent together.

He had your kind heart to thank for such a companionship that works in his favor.

"I know you said you weren't hungry, but I'm still glad you came by. TMI, but I'm pretty much alone now and it's been difficult making friends since, well, you know. I’m really thankful, is what I’m trying to say.”

Obviously, he couldn't eat what you were going to prepare and worried telling you was going to make you change your mind. But that didn't deter you at all after he promised that he had a hearty lunch and didn’t mind stopping by if you were still open to it.

You were shocked because you swear you've never seen him or Gideon for that matter, eat anything. Come to think of it, you’ve never seen a lick of sweat fall from the two consistent hard workers, either.

Diet plans? Botox? You didn’t judge. Maybe you could ask about that another time.

Caleb made sure to drink some blood bags five because look at the size of him that he gets from his close friend Zayne who walks the same vampirism “lifestyle”. The preventive measures would guarantee that he wouldn't be ravenous and endanger you from being possessed by an insatiable hunger he couldn't trust himself to control around something so incredibly enticing.

"If there's no one else you think you can turn to, I'm always going to be there, you know?" he added.

You don't have anything proper to say to that, so you simply tip up the corner of your mouth in response and get Muffler settled before cooking yourself dinner.

Caleb sits at your cute kitchen island and has small conversation with you as you busily move around while simultaneously analyzing all the things he's already memorized about your home-in-progress.

All the while, your mind is flooded with the notion that this feels so… right? That you wouldn’t necessarily mind more nights like this.

Nip it in the bud, sista. This is your boss.

Once you're finished and have a simple plate of chicken breast with the starch and vegetable of your choosing, Caleb sits at the small table across from you.

"Good?"

"Mhmm," you nod and cover your mouth as you chew the piece you consumed. "It may look simple, but this was one of Mom's favorites. Chicken breast is so versatile, you know? And we'd always eat late after working on whatever project we were obsessed with at the time. Chicken tacos, quesadillas, or a salad—it was always so different even if it was the same cut of meat or meal."

"Mm..” he hums. “Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but your mother sounds like your sole drive for everything you do." He rests his chin in his palm, watching you eat and waiting for you to give him what he's looking to get answers to.

"She is. I mean, I'm working this hard and doing it all on my own to get the garage that's been on our radar since I was like five. I owe that to her.”

Bingo.

"You wanna go into business for yourself?"

"Our plan was to move up here together and buy the property she had her eye on for all these years... but the cancer had other plans."

His eyes narrow in thought. "And if that doesn't work?"

You stop mid chew, looking at him with a newfound carefulness.

"Why would you say that?"

He sees the offense mar your normally enthusiastic visage and quickly activates damage control.

"I don't mean it offensively, pips. Just a question I'm asking as someone who knows the difficulties that come from starting his own from the ground up."

"All I've done is have anxiety about the what ifs and the potential losses. I don't want to be controlled by that anymore. I can do this."

The memory of what your life together once was, the times in which you'd say something almost identical, rings in his mind like a raging alarm.

Through all his concerns that pertained to the fragile state of your heart before it showed you how necessary it was for you to worry; you always brushed him off. Always tried to act like you were stronger than something you would never have control over in a world of underdeveloped medicine and healthcare.

He'll never forget how you consistently rejected his urgent propositions to turn you, to make you like him and rid you of your condition to live with him pain and worry free for eternity.

But you refused to take what you deemed "the easy way out".

Your determination to conquer it on your own like your father had been doing at the time, made him admire you and your resilience.

That admiration was buried the same day you were.

He willingly let that be your demise when he should’ve taken matters into his own hands regardless of how many instances you assured him that you were doing everything right to give yourself the best chance.

Look where that decision left him. If one could have a play by play of the timeline of his pain and despair, you would've seen what it did.

What's to say this same negligence being shown towards your aspirations wouldn't do the same now?

The thought of you trying to leave because something didn't pan out how you anticipated. Or of you letting your pride be your downfall with the potential of being so overcome by another monumental loss directly connected to your last to the point that you try to leave him entirely—again...

No. He wasn't enabling another repeat of anything remotely similar.

"There’s no shame in asking for help, pipsqueak. I can be that for you. Why don't you let me—"

"I don't need your help, or your pity!" you cut off defensively.

I don't need your help. I don't need you.

I don't want you, Caleb.

He's blinded by irrationality. You do need him. You always have. You always would.

"If you don't, then who else but me do you think will be there? You said it yourself; I make things easier for you, don't I?"

Quickly you've completely lost your appetite and what was once a good idea has surprisingly turned sour.

"Me," you emphasize, index finger pointed to your chest. "I've always had my own back through all this. I did it on my own! Who do you think you are, Caleb?"

He wants to tell you. So badly has he thought about it putting it all on the table.

I'm the man whose soul you governed. I'm the vampire whose existence you welcomed and accepted. I'm the immortal who barely recognizes who you are now, but I don't want the old version—I want the one I've been regifted to love me just as you once did.

I’m the only person in the entire world that you once depended on for everything and I couldn’t even do that right.

Besides the likelihood of you believing him being lower than hell, comparing you to what only he recalls is a mistake he can't afford to continue making. Not when it begins to impact the building relationship he was fortunate to have now.

"I'm sorry—"

"You should be," you scoff. "Do you know how many times I’ve been “warned”, told about the negatives? The likely failures? Why can’t anyone be happy for me? Why can’t anyone just… celebrate or congratulate, or-or just encourage, without trying to make me feel like I’m inherently doomed!? I’m not some ticking time bomb of disaster!”

He doesn’t have anything to say, but his silence speaks volumes.

“And you know what? I-I think… I need you to leave. Before I say something I'll regret."

Listening to you now is the last thing he wants to do, but it's what he has to if he wishes to not further ruin what he's doing a damn good job of doing already.

With a heavy mind and an ache inducing blunder, his night with you steered in the complete opposite direction than he expected and is concluded by the loudest farewell of a slamming door to his back.

He already made you a promise and though you’re oblivious to the fact, your fate with him has long been sealed.

"Like I just got this car from my father a couple months ago for my birthday right, but my grandad has been freaking me out about some transmission thing! So, I'm worrying and thinking 'Maybe I do need to get this looked at, just in case' and that's when I looked up some good mechanics nearby and you guys popped up, your reviews were pretty fire, so I figured maybe—"

The frantic fast-talking customer abruptly stops her tumultuous rambling to catch her breath, grumbling to herself about how she needs to remember her breathing exercises with a woosah and a countdown from ten.

"I'm just really hoping you can help me understand what I need to be panicking for," she finishes, her cheeks patchy with red from the mix of the warmer temperature and hysteria.

You smile understandingly at the young teenager who's brought in her 2017 Volkswagen Jetta in a frenzy just as the shop was closing up for the day.

It's always nice to see people seek out knowledge about the things you're passionate about because you get to unleash that inner nerd, but not when it has them is such disarray.

"You have nothing to be panicking for," you assure with a hand to her arm in solace. "I'm almost certain that your grandad is concerned about manual transmission. See, Volkswagens are equipped with something called Tiptronic transmission and what that does is replace the manual one. Back then, if you shifted your gears incorrectly, your vehicle could suffer from that mistake and maybe even your pockets if the damage was bad enough. Now? Tiptronic is sort of fused with automatic, so in the event that you make such a mistake, your car will recognize and correct it for you to prevent any damage to the transmission."

The redhead nods in understanding and huffs out a breath of relief. "So I'm like, not going to screw it up right? I'm not driving in some death trap?"

"Not at all," you chuckle. "It's a hybrid system. What it does is offer you convenience, so you won't even notice. But it's still wise to learn and understand your gears by heart and the overall functionality of your car. Even if something may not be utilized, a good and conscious driver knows how to operate all of it effectively."

She closes her eyes like she's just found peace. "You actually just prevented an impending spiral, oh my gosh you don't even know. I thought I was going to have to miss out on my trip this weakened because my dad screwed up!"

"Next time, just give us a call about any questions that we may be able to answer over the phone so you can save yourself the trip! But yeah, we ran you a diagnostic for your peace of mind and everything is up to date and in the right order, so you're good to go."

The now tranquil teen offers you several thank yous before gleefully getting into her driver's seat and carefully peels out of the parking lot.

With another busy day coming to a resolute close, you look around the mostly empty garage besides a Gideon who throws you a thumbs up for your explanation as he gets ready for closing after the hustle and bustle, and an attentive Caleb wrapping up an oil change.

It's been four whole days since your bout that ended up with you kicking him out. And you were wrong about what you did and the things you said.

Dead wrong.

But you were positively livid to hear another voice questioning you like you weren't capable. Admittedly, that's where you made your first mistake.

Caleb wasn't just another voice, and he wasn't knocking your capability to achieve. He cared, and instead of letting him do that and listening to his logical concerns, you surrounded yourself with titanium and pushed him away because of your egotistical stance of self-sufficiency.

It wasn't your wish to sound so bitter and guarded. It was a defense mechanism from all the discouragement rained down upon you no matter who you once trusted to share your dreams with.

"You're already moving across the country. I know the house didn't sell for that much to afford living expenses and a business."

"Something like that is usually passed down from generations in terms of seeing substantial profit... You sure?"

"You're still grieving, friend. I think you're rushing this."

"If your mom hadn't been able to do it, what makes you think you're going to do different?"

Rather than checking all the naysayers, you'd freeze and feel your nose burn with sorrow.

All the anger and frustration that's been pent up was given to him instead of being properly dished out to the ones who really deserved it, and you were riddled with guilt because of that.

He's shown you kindness, given you care and liberties to do things no one else would. He made you feel like you again, yet you liquidated a moment you could've taken to experience sincere congeniality because of your unresolved issues.

The shame kept you out of work the day after, the matter only worsening as you ignored and steered clear of him for the last three including today. You've been so avoidant that you haven't even been bringing Muffler in, and that's what solidified your position with the troubled vampire.

It's a revelation you weren't too sure how to cope with, but you missed him.

You missed him so much that when you didn't get your good mornings and stupid pop-up questions, all you wanted to do was go home and wallow in your stupidity and useless pride.

But it's high time for you to swallow it and take charge like the adult you were.

You walk over to him with a twisted face full of irresolution. There was no script written out in your mind about what you'd say or how you were going to make amends, but you were hopeful that he'd understand in your attempt.

"Hey," you whisper, twiddling your fingers to keep yourself busy until he responded as you stood beside him.

"Pips... hey" Caleb answers, not taken aback at all by your sudden appearance. Identifying you without fail is a favorable advantage when he can't hear you mutter about all the things being pondered in that turning cogwheel of a brain.

He was unable to hear you make the eventual decision to speak with him because for the first time since you've met—even when you were alone in your home—you were hauntingly silent, keeping all your thoughts in the safe space behind your skull.

To say that he yearned for you was an understatement.

Your smile, your stories, your voice—they were irreplaceable just as much as they were unobtainable. And sitting on the floor of your bedroom at night while you slept as Muffler purred himself to sleep in his lap wasn't cutting it anymore.

"If you had the time, I was wondering if... if we could talk—"

"Yes," he cuts you off unintentionally. "Sorry... Yeah, I'd like that. Please."

Nodding at his eagerness that you struggle to refrain from giving a reaction to, you eye his sexy hands that he cleans with a nearby rag before calling out to Gideon to keep an eye on everything until he returns.

Crossing the threshold into his office, you roll up the sleeves of your flannel and try calming your jittery hands that don't have a clue what to do with themselves.

Once you turn to face him, he can't explain why he anticipated for you to be calm and orderly, but instead, you begin to spill your guts like there's a time limit that will come with consequence if you're not finished in time.

"First of all, I'm sorry. So sorry. My anger was misdirected, and you didn't do anything wrong. Instead of taking your advice with discernment, instead of understanding where you were coming from, I boxed you in with all the other people who never cared about me. A-And I don't know if I've ruined the dynamic we have outside of what we are as two people who work together, but I want to fix it if I have."

Your breath shudders as you prepare to reveal what you've been feeling but were too scared to say out loud because of the ramifications that may tag along.

"Caleb, I know you might think I'm crazy or some mourning mess with attachment issues when I say this, and maybe I am. I just... I don't have anyone else, a-and I can't do everything on my own like I thought. I feel like I need you... but I'm not your responsibility and neither is my trauma, but I can't..."

Your words begin to drone out and it's not because he wishes to disregard what you're laying out for him.

It humors him... because he knows all of this already.

I feel like I need you.

Once again has he become an extension of you, this time so much so that he can feel the restraint he's been wrapping himself up in, release him with every word you articulate.

Caleb is drawn to you like the stars that stick to the sky, done with the waiting and the cautiousness, and slams his lips onto yours as he cups your jaw hungrily in his hands. You're nearly knocked to the floor by the sheer force, but the desk you clatter against braces the fall.

His lips slowly massage yours like a starved man being free from the shackles of famine, a primal satisfaction taking hold of him when your hands slowly find purchase in his locks and you moan into his mouth.

You wanted him? He was already yours.

The smell of all the blood fueling your healthy palpitating heart makes him feel like he's growing dizzy and the headiness of the arousal that he senses gathering in your shorts begins to...

Hold it. Hold it!

But the vampiric dominance conquers his long forgotten humanoid instincts, overriding his attempt to repress his true identity.

This was happening now, then. There was no need to hold off anymore. He had all he needed with the perfect opportunity to take it.

Patience didn't exist anymore. You would have dozens of lifetimes in unity for that.

From the beginning, getting you in a position like this was the final play before he gave you an irreversible hardship that he would pledge an undying oath to guide you through.

Caleb vowed to stop you from abandoning him again and the desire to fulfill that is what draws his fangs out.

For the first time in a long one, all the control he had once mastered after decades of being a creature in hiding, is being revealed before you can realize.

The fact that you're pressed to him in a closed room like an unwary sheep left to the slaughter, precedes you as you lose yourself in the slip of his tongue past your puffy lips and the feel of his strong hands imprinting on your waist.

But don't mistake his devotion to you, what he's about to do, as punishment.

He'll teach you everything. He swears it, cross his useless heart and hope to die.

He'll kill for you when you're scared to do it, please you when you need him to. He'd go hungry if it meant making sure all your newfound needs were satisfied.

It's the least he could do for the only man who'll ever be allowed to love you and is about to strip you of all you've ever known to give you something that you will make better together.

Taking care of his eternal beloved was always his purpose. You came back to him for a reason.

And what an unknowing angel you were to give him the opportunity to succeed this time.

His kisses trail down your neck and a nip to your flesh offers an unusual blend of pleasure and a pain you can't quite say mixes, but overrides.

"I've waited for you for so long..." he whispers, licking up the length of your neck and grunting when you whine and press your breasts to his hard chest.

"You're so dramatic," you grin foolishly as you pull back. "It's only been like four days—"

Your eyes widen and your already elevated heart rate steadily reaches heights that only makes his thirst for you edacious.

"Caleb...?" Your tone pitches with concern and perplexity. "What—"

"I remember when you used to be mesmerized by me." He angles his head, observing you and the way your throat works to swallow your timidity. "Do I scare you now?

The sight of his pointy and sharp elongated canines makes you incapable of responding. You have to be dreaming. That's the only way for what you're witnessing to make any sense.

"How did you—I don't understand..."

"You will, pips. I promise you will. I won't make it hurt as much as it hurt me. I always protect you, you know that."

"Hurt?! This is not... What the fuck are you talking about?! I don't know...w-what is wrong... with you?"

"...If I told you that I've always been this way? The times you trusted me with our Muffler, the lunches you'd eat in here because I eased your rampant mind, every instance you laughed your pretty little head off because of the things I've said. Oh, honey... I was this, hiding—waiting."

His hand trails up to grasp your throat with zero pressure applied, taking a moment to inhale you deeply.

"Before you, before the materials that keep this building together, I have walked this Earth for a long, long time. But I haven't been able to live without you."

A devoted kiss to your jaw. "You remember... I've told you that I know what it means to lose."

Another. "I watched my biological family be murdered by the same beings that turned me into what they are. They used me, materialized me in their war against the humans. I was a killer, unstoppable. But when I had a deliverance, a liberation, come into my life to show me how much control I had over my own fortune with the power I possessed... I was accepted without an ulterior motive—loved. I was in love. Pips, I held onto that with both hands. Until I was stupid enough to let it slip."

Warm tears pour over your waterline and down your cheeks as he shushes you sweetly to calm your worries. "You're not afraid of me. You're afraid that you're not."

His mouth falls to the crook of your neck. "I don't want you to fear us. I just want you home."

A sharp and painful stab is impaled into the side of your neck as a forceful pressure is pushed deep the more your blood is being extracted from every vein and artery that will no longer need the crimson to function.

You cry out clamorously from the burning ache taking over your body and muscles when you cling to his biceps.

Were you pulling away or succumbing to this? You couldn't comprehend.

No sobs can escape the more the decadent fluid spills into his mouth and makes a mess down his chin while it stains his top that was once only dirtied by grease.

His venom rewires your system to welcome the change, to embrace who you will become as you fall slack. He continues to consume even when your brightened skin grows pale the longer you're drained until you're completely immobile and unconscious.

Caleb holds you up by the back of your head to savor every drop, growling with delight just as he finishes. With inhumane speed, Gideon shoots into the room, his fangs presented and posture ready for a fight.

He drops his guard as he watches his comrade from all these decades, claim you until you have nothing more to give him.

Pulling back, Caleb licks away the trickle trying to escape and kisses your forehead as if seeing you like this pains him.

"You'll forgive me when you wake up, pipsqueak."

He keeps his eyes trained on you at the same time he commands his addled friend, "Bring the car around back."

Gideon looks at your comatose form then does as he was asked with harboring questions to be asked later.

Careful of your fragile state, Caleb effortlessly carries and places you atop the plush armchair you liked to sit and eat your sandwiches on.

He's done exactly what he wanted to. You are where he has always envisioned. But when you wake up, is he prepared for what you may say or do?

Your maker will want you to know that you're not isolated, that everything isn't over.

You will get your mother's garage, you will cement her legacy into this planet, and you will do it with him. But he wasn't too certain that he'd be the proper voice of reason or the one you’d initially want to hear.

So, he decides on the best alternative solution.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket and with eyes flipping between you and his screen, it takes him two scrolls before he presses the contact and call button of the person he needs to reach.

One ring. Two. Three. Four… Damn.

"Yes?" the voice answers impassively, thankfully before he was forced to try again until he got a response.

"Zayne," Caleb starts, wiping his mouth from the messy consumption. "You got time to offer some friendly advice?”

“I have two minutes.”

Caleb offers a dry chuckle. “Tell me, what was the first thing you did after you... turned your wife?"

Silence. An uncomfortable one. Lengthy.

"What have you done?"

"Something I was supposed to do."

"If you've made an intentional decision that you're confident about, why do you call me with vexatious riddles? Whatever it is, is it not what you wanted?"

Pressing his lips together, he leans down to brush your untidy hair away to see you without any obstruction blocking a view so captivating.

"It is. But I'm not entirely sure if I can say the same for her. Not yet."

"Her?" Zayne questions in slight alarm. Caleb feels like he can already hear the thousands of questions he wants to ask and points he's dying to make all professional like.

He's thankful that he keeps it short.

"Bring her over before she wakes and does something mindless without properly understanding what she is."

"Done. Will your wife be there?"

"And that matters why?" But Zayne doesn't even give a moment long enough to answer.

"Do as I've instructed you and we will go from there. Do not waste any more time. She needs to be controlled and monitored for her first feed."

Hanging up, your soulmate hurries to sweep you into his arms and fixates on your lifeless face in silence on his way outside. Caleb haphazardly explains to Gideon that he needs to hold down the fort for some time before either of you return and while he wants to inquire more, he knows that now is not the time.

You're placed in the backseat as he maneuvers you until you seem comfortable enough for the long ride and throws one of his sweaters over your body out of habit from all the nights he would do the same in your bedroom with your blankets.

He kisses your chilling lips when he's done and grins faintly.

"I'm gonna get Muffler for you. Our family sticks together. Always.”

Climbing over you, he presses your foreheads together before he gets ready to get behind the wheel to make the way toward your new future.

"I told you, pips. I promised I would make it right."

A/N: I’m nervous as all hell to see what anyone is going to say LOLLLL!!! Writing this was admittedly a challenge. It forced me to really lock in over the last week and I think I really needed that in an effort to improve my writing. Hours upon hoursssss I spent, so I can only hope with fingers crossed🤞🏽. I luv you. MWAH!

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