#while blasting let me on repeat

[mephisto-reporting]

Don’t Die on Me

About: You’re hurt—badly—wounded while shielding him from danger. As he rushes to your side, there’s a shift in his demeanor; he seems different, more vulnerable beneath his usual bravado. Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are NOT in a relationship. but there is implied mutual attraction. My inbox is open for prompts and requests :) Content Warning: Angst, injuries, mentions of blood.

SYLUS

The sounds of gunfire had finally faded into silence, leaving only the shallow, ragged pull of your breath and the press of Sylus’s hand against your side, trying to stanch the bleeding. You had been hit during the ambush, shielding him from a blast intended for his head—an instinct you couldn't explain, or perhaps didn’t want to.

Sylus's expression was a mask of controlled fury, his jaw clenched as he knelt beside you, his usual cocky, unyielding demeanor giving way to something sharper, darker, and far more personal. He applied pressure to the wound with a fierce intensity, almost as if he could hold you together through sheer force of will alone. His fingers, usually steady and sure, shook faintly against your skin.

“You’re a damn fool,” he muttered, his tone laced with anger and something else—something deeper. “I didn’t need saving. Have you forgotten that I can heal quickly!?.”

You managed a small, pained smile. “Maybe I did it for the fun of watching you panic for once.”

His hand gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face to meet his intense, searching stare. "You really don’t know when to quit, do you, kitten?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it was laced with something raw, something unsteady.

“I thought… I had it under control.” you mumbled, trying for a smile, though even you knew how weak you sounded.

“Under control?” His laugh was short and sharp, a bitter edge in it. “Don’t be ridiculous!” Sylus hissed through gritted teeth, his usual cool facade crumbling. He never panicked—not him, not the man who’d handed you a gun to his own heart just to see if you’d pull the trigger. But right now, he was faltering, his steps uneven as he pulled you closer. His hand, normally so sure, so controlling, was shaking against your side. “You think I wanted you to jump in front of me like that? What were you thinking?”

You tried to catch your breath, his words slipping past you in a haze. You knew the risks of sticking by Sylus, knew that you’d inevitably end up in danger—but you couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. “Had to protect you,” you whispered, voice barely a thread. “I couldn’t... let anything happen to you.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you, his expression caught somewhere between anger and something far softer, something unspoken. “Protect me..?” he repeated, his voice lower, and you could feel the barely-contained fury laced with worry beneath it. He was trying to keep his grip on his composure, but his eyes betrayed him. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he traced the edge of your cheek, the words slipping through clenched teeth. “You’re an idiot, Sweetie. A reckless, stubborn, damnably frustrating idiot.”

His expression twisted, the frustration in his eyes unmistakable, but there was something else too—something vulnerable, barely concealed beneath his usual scowl. You’d seen it before in the softer moments, those times when his hand would linger just a moment too long, or his voice would drop to that rare, gentle murmur. But this was different, more unguarded.

“Sylus…” you whispered, but he cut you off, pressing a hand to your wound. You stifled a gasp as his fingers met the raw injury, his jaw tightening in response, an unexpected flash of helplessness slipping through his mask.

“Quiet,” he muttered, his voice almost breaking. “You don’t get to talk right now.” He ripped off a piece of his sleeve, wrapping it tightly around your shoulder, though his touch was uncharacteristically tender. “This isn’t part of the plan, sweetie. You’re supposed to stay in one piece, just like I ordered.” The usual bite in his voice softened, desperation pooling in his dark gaze.

You chuckled weakly, trying to make light of the situation, but the pain pulled a groan from your lips instead. His expression grew even more intense, the hardness in his eyes melting into a quiet sort of anguish.

“Stop laughing. Stop… smiling like that.” His voice was fraying, edges cracking, a wavering panic he seemed unable to fully control. “You… you have no idea how hard it is not to tear this entire place apart for hurting you.”

The statement caught you off guard, and it must’ve shown in your expression because he let out a shaky breath, his eyes searching yours with a desperation that he’d never let you see before. It was strange to see him so unguarded, the man who played god in the N109 Zone suddenly grappling with the possibility of losing you.

The corner of his mouth twisted, and he tried for his usual smirk, but it faltered. “What would I do without you, hmm? My little hunter, so brave and foolish…” His words softened, and he lifted you as if you weighed nothing, holding you securely against him as he continued on, urgency in every step. “You’re mine, kitten,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

You managed to laugh, the sound weak but genuine. “Then… don’t let go,” you whispered. “Sylus…” Your voice was weak, your head spinning, but you reached up, brushing your fingers along the sharp edge of his jaw. His expression softened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he leaned closer.

“You’re… more trouble than you’re worth, you know that?” he whispered, his voice breaking the slightest bit, but he forced a smirk, trying to hold onto his usual bravado.

“Guess I… picked it up from you,” you murmured, your vision growing hazy, but the warmth of his hand grounding you.

His grip tightened, and his lips brushed your temple, an unspoken promise lingering in the gesture. For once, Sylus seemed stripped of his dominance, his bravado washed away by the raw fear of watching you slip away. His hands shook as he held you, his mask cracking with every ragged breath you took. The man who’d taunted and tested you now held you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable.

“Hold on, Sweetie… just a little longer.” he said fiercely, and in his voice, you heard something you never expected from him—fear. “I won’t let anything or anyone take you from me.”

XAVIER

Xavier’s arm is tight around you, steady even as he fights his own injuries. The blood trails hot down your side, and you can barely see it through the blurred edges of your vision, a dark stain spreading across your suit. Xavier’s face, usually a mask of quiet calm, is set hard with a sharpness that you rarely see. Xavier's hands, usually steady and almost uncaring, were shaking as he tried to press down on the wound at your side. You'd taken the hit for him, jumping between him and that blasted Wanderer with a split-second of hesitation—or none at all. He hadn’t expected it. Neither had you.

Blood soaked through his fingers as he crouched beside you, his face tight with a look you’d never seen. Fear, maybe—though he wouldn’t admit it.

"Why... did you do that?" His voice was low, but it felt like he was questioning the universe itself. His usually calm tone was laced with an edge that made you dizzy or maybe it was the blood loss, hard to tell.

“Instinct…?” you murmured, managing a weak smirk despite the pain slicing through you. “I know, I was a bit reckless.”

“Reckless isn’t... you bleeding out on this floor,” he muttered, pressing harder against the wound, a little too hard, but you didn’t have the strength to complain. “You should have left me to handle it.” His gaze softened when you winced, and he pulled his hand back, immediately brushing away the edge of guilt. Yet the blood still glistened darkly on his fingertips, his gloves, on the floor where you lay.

“It would’ve been worse if it got you,” you mutter, trying to summon even a hint of humor, though the attempt falls flat against the pain.

Xavier doesn’t laugh. Instead, he looks at you, and the deep space void reflected in his eyes almost draws you in. That familiar aloofness fades, and for a brief moment, his concern seeps through, raw and achingly close. He shifts his weight to press you more securely against him, his free hand gently adjusting the strap of your gear as if every second counts in keeping you here, anchored.

“Look,” you managed, reaching up, even if it took everything in you to keep your voice steady, “you’d do the same for me.”

Xavier’s mouth set in a thin line. You’d hit a nerve, that much was clear. Despite the unspoken rule between you two—the sidelong glances, the unsaid things—he wouldn’t entertain the possibility that he would have let you get injured in this manner on his watch.

“You don’t know what I’d do,” he replied, his voice just above a whisper. His words held a weight you hadn’t expected, making you look at him closely even as the edges of your vision began to fade. “And you won’t have to, because I'm getting you out of here.”

He hoisted you up, careful, gentle, though he flinched when you sucked in a breath from the pain. He started forward, one arm cradling you as he moved you through the wreckage of the battle toward the shelter of the shuttle. It was strange, seeing Xavier so unguarded, every step almost too fast as though he feared stopping would break you.

“Stay with me,” he whispers, voice low. You feel his breath, close enough to count heartbeats, to wonder if his pulse is racing like yours. The space between you feels impossibly small, and the silence stretches, vulnerable, bare.

You manage a faint smile, fingers brushing his, a silent reassurance even as the sharp ache of your wounds thrums persistently in your bones. “You know, if I’d known I’d end up leaning on you like this, I’d have come up with something... cleverer to say.”

To your surprise, he huffs a small laugh, his gaze softening. “You always talk,” he murmurs, with a hint of that familiar, boyish charm, though it’s laced with worry now. “Save your strength. I’ll get us out of here.”

You felt yourself drifting, and his voice brought you back.

“Hey,” he said, tightening his hold. “Stay awake. I can’t have you falling asleep on me now—I'm the one who does that, remember?”

His humor was strained, like he was grasping at something familiar to keep himself steady. You let out a soft chuckle, the sound weaker than you meant it to be. “Guess we’re trading roles today.”

There was a moment, somewhere between one step and the next, where he stopped. He looked down at you, his gaze intense. For once, his expression was completely open—his worry and something warmer simmering just beneath.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “Not here. Not now. Not ever.”

You felt a wave of heat rise within, one that made the pain more bearable, somehow grounding. Before you could respond, he resumed his pace, carrying you as if you were the most precious thing in the galaxy.

The world swayed, darkness creeping at the edges of your vision, but you forced yourself to focus on him, on the boyish charm that hid beneath his cool exterior. “Xavier,” you rasped, “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”

“Just keep looking at me,” he replied, his voice steady. “We’ll get through this together. You and me.”

In the quiet of the shuttle, as he set you down and the medics began patching you up, you felt his hand graze your cheek, lingering just a little too long. You dared to meet his gaze, and for once, Xavier’s eyes didn’t look away. They softened, and the smallest hint of a smile touched his lips.

“Next time,” he said, voice warm with unspoken promise, “let me protect you.”

RAFAYEL

The harsh winds of the remote village howled around you as Rafayel’s face loomed over you, more serious than you’d ever seen it. You hadn’t intended for things to get this bad, but the ambush from the Wanderer had been swift and brutal, and you’d thrown yourself between its claws and Rafayel without a second thought. A mistake, maybe—though you could hardly think of it as a mistake, even now, lying on the cold, unforgiving ground with blood soaking your side.

“Damn it, stop being so heavy,” Rafayel muttered, though his voice trembled, barely hiding the edge of panic. You glanced up, expecting his usual smirk, his smug teasing, something bratty, but his face was blank—frustrated, pale, and determined in a way you’d never seen.

“S-sorry to inconvenience you,” you managed through the haze of pain, trying to keep it light. “But I think I lost quite a bit of blood back there.”

Rafayel’s usual smug charm was gone. His carefree expression had twisted into something you couldn’t place—anger, worry, a flicker of panic as he knelt down beside you. He pressed his hands over the wound, and though it was uncharacteristic, there was no teasing, no insults, just an almost frightening intensity. “You… Why did you do that?” he demanded, his voice low and jagged, as though the question alone might tear him apart. “Do you think I’m some helpless damsel? You could have been killed.”

Your breath hitched, and you were grateful that it could just as easily be the pain causing it. Still, you shrugged, or tried to, but your body had other ideas, and you stumbled. Rafayel caught you, his arm firm around your waist as he steadied you. You managed a weak smirk, though the effort cost you. “Guess… I wanted to make myself useful as a bodyguard, for once,” you rasped, feeling the humor fall flat even as you said it.

“Useful?” His eyes, normally filled with a cocky gleam, were sharp with frustration. “Throwing yourself in harm’s way is your idea of useful?” He gave a dry, humorless laugh, his hands applying pressure that made you wince, though he didn’t seem to notice. “You’re dumber than I thought. The one time I actually need you to stay out of my way, and you—” He broke off, swallowing hard, his fingers trembling ever so slightly against you.

“Don’t… act like you care now, Rafayel,” you murmured, half-teasing, though the words came out weaker than you meant.

His face twisted, and you saw a flash of something in his eyes that you hadn’t expected—hurt, genuine and raw, like you’d struck a nerve. “Idiot,” he whispered, and his tone was so low it was almost drowned out by the wind. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get… what?” You were slipping a little, your vision swimming, but you caught his gaze, and for the first time, you saw past his bratty facade to something deeper. He took a breath, his jaw set in determination, and then he did something you never expected: he carefully scooped you into his arms, his hold gentle yet fiercely protective.

“Stay awake, all right? I can’t have you passing out on me,” he ordered, though his voice had lost its usual bite. His words were soft, desperate, as he moved through the bleak landscape, carrying you with a carefulness that belied everything he usually projected. For a long moment, you stared at him, the pain numbing under the intensity in his gaze. This wasn’t the bratty, arrogant god who’d dragged you into mess after mess. This was someone else—someone who, behind the charm and teasing, was scared. For you.

"Idiot," he muttered, his words a tangled mess of relief and frustration. “Why would you do that?” He repeated.

And you almost laughed, wincing through the pain, because wasn’t it obvious?

“Because… I care,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper. It was the closest you’d come to admitting the truth—to saying what had long hovered between the two of you, unspoken, stubbornly denied.

"Just shut up for once,” he whispered, his voice strained, almost a plea. “You don’t… you don’t know what it’s like.” His arms tightened around you, as if holding you close could somehow protect you from the damage already done. “You… throwing yourself in front of me like that—do you have any idea how reckless that was? I didn’t need you to… risk yourself.”

“Couldn’t let the prince of the art world get scratched up… on my watch,” you said, trying to maintain your humor.

Rafayel glanced down, his usual piercing eyes softening, his expression raw. “If you’d died, I wouldn’t…” He paused, his gaze slipping away, the words seemingly caught in his throat. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself,” he finished, barely audible.

You managed to brush a finger along his wrist, grounding yourself, anchoring him to you. “You’ll… still have the sea. And everyone to charm.”

For once, he didn’t laugh. Instead, he looked down at you, and his eyes were so intense, so filled with something you’d never seen before. “None of that matters,” he murmured, his voice raw. He shifted, his hand grazing your cheek, lingering there for a moment too long. “Stay awake,” he commanded, a note of urgency threading through his tone. “You can’t just pass out on me. Not like this.”

You blinked up at him, the sunlight filtering through the clouds casting a warm glow around his figure. “Not… gonna pass out,” you whispered, though it felt like a lie even to your own ears. You could see the worry etched across his handsome face, something raw and unfiltered. “You need me for your—”

“Stop it!” he snapped, but there was no bite in his voice, only a desperate plea. “You don’t get to joke around right now. Not when you’re bleeding out.”

“Rafayel…” you began, but he cut you off, a flicker of his old bravado returning.

“Save your strength,” he snapped, though the edge was softened by concern. “I’ll get you out of here, but you have to stay awake. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you managed to murmur, your vision dimming as the waves of unconsciousness tugged at the edges of your mind. “Not without you.”

“Good,” he replied, and his voice was fierce and unyielding. “Stay alive,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, eyes dark with something he couldn’t bring himself to name. “For me.”

ZAYNE

The world felt hazy around you, pain ebbing in and out of your awareness as Zayne held you steady, his hands pressing firmly yet gently against the wound on your side. Blood smeared across his fingertips, but he kept his touch steady, calculating, his focus a perfect picture of surgical precision.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice level, his eyes fixed on you with a fierce intensity. “I need you to keep talking. Tell me if you’re feeling dizzy or lightheaded, alright?”

You managed a faint smile, ignoring the way your own breaths came shallow and broken. “You’re… really good at this,” you tried to joke, but Zayne only shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line. “You should become a doctor...”

“Don’t push yourself to talk. You’ve taken a nasty hit here.” His voice was calm, almost clinical, but you could see the strain in his jaw, the telltale flicker of worry in his eyes. His hands, however, were as steady as ever, working methodically as he inspected the wound, gauging the damage with the supplies he always seemed to have at hand.

“Think of it this way," he continued softly, his calm tone soothing despite the urgency of the situation. "The wound isn’t too bad—lucky hit. If we keep steady pressure on it, there shouldn’t be significant blood loss. You’ll be fine. But you have to focus on breathing for me, alright?”

He was explaining everything, his voice filling the air like a familiar, grounding hum. His hands, wrapped around the fabric of his jacket pressed to your side, were warm, almost protective. You could feel the faint tremor in his fingertips, but he moved with absolute control, unwilling to show even a hint of panic. His gaze flicked up to yours for a moment, his expression softening despite the tension in his features.

“I warned you about being reckless,” he muttered, his tone more of a gentle chide than anything else. “But it’s not the first time, is it?” The slight quirk of his lips, a half-hearted attempt at a smile, almost made you forget the pain. Almost.

“Couldn’t let you get hurt,” you whispered, fighting to keep your voice steady.

“Hold still,” he ordered softly, his voice low and steady as he worked to stop the bleeding. His fingers were meticulous, his hands steady, despite the fear you could feel radiating from him. He couldn’t afford to let it show, so he did what he knew best: he relied on the calm, clinical precision that had carried him through countless surgeries. "The wound's not fatal, but you’re going to need stitches. I’d say you’ve torn through the muscle here by… at least an inch or two.” He let out a breath through gritted teeth, looking pointedly into your eyes. “I can’t believe you tried to shield me from that Wanderer."

Despite his calm, you could see the fear in his eyes—the same fear that betrayed itself in the tension of his jaw, in the way his hands lingered just a moment too long against your skin, as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

As he applied pressure to your wound, his tone softened, more to himself than to you. “You’re lucky you didn’t rupture an artery,” he said, hands deftly inspecting the injury with precise, practiced movements. “If this were any worse… I’d be looking at a very different situation right now.” His voice wavered on that last note, but his hands stayed steady, not allowing a single tremor to betray him.

“You’re going to be fine, I’m going to make sure of that.” He glanced down at you, his gaze holding an intensity that went beyond the practiced care of a surgeon. “You’re not allowed to play the hero, you know?. And if you’re trying to impress me… then I’d say you’re not required to be reckless for it.”

“Zayne…” you murmured, feeling the darkness pressing in at the edges of your vision.

“Keep those eyes open,” he whispered, his fingers gently brushing your cheek, grounding you in the warmth of his touch. “Stay with me. I’ll… I’ll get you out of here. But I need you to focus.” His thumb gently stroked your temple, his touch tender yet steady as he leaned close, his forehead resting lightly against yours, just for a second, as if grounding himself, too.

You managed a faint smile. “Didn’t know you were the boss of me, doc.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t look up. “Believe it or not, I have plenty of experience bossing you around.” He kept talking, his voice low and clinical, grounding you in the familiar, steady cadence

“You always said I was a terrible listener.” Your voice softened as you felt his hand linger, his thumb grazing your skin in a gesture far more affectionate than necessary.

“This isn’t funny.” He met your gaze then, a look so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. “Breathe,” he instructed, his voice calm and steady, despite the chaos swirling around you.

You could see the fear lurking in his dark eyes, a stark contrast to his composed demeanor. But it didn’t matter; his touch was methodical, reassuring, his fingers steady as they pressed against the injury.

“Zayne… the others—”

“Forget them.” His voice was firm, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of panic as they darted around the shop, assessing the situation even as he tended to you. “I need you to focus on me. You’re the priority right now.”

You could feel the warmth of his hand against your side, but it was not enough to push away the chill creeping into your bones. “But—”

“Enough.” He pressed down harder, and you gasped, but he didn’t relent, his expression shifting to one of fierce determination. “You can’t help anyone if you bleed out here. So please, stay with me.”

The adrenaline coursing through your veins faltered, and all you could think about was how you had protected him—how you had jumped in front of the danger without a second thought. The sight of him, typically unflappable, now uncharacteristically tense, pulled at your heart.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely able to form the words.

He shook his head, an intensity burning in his gaze. “Don’t. You’re not allowed to apologize. Not when you’re the one lying here, bleeding out for me.” He brushed a damp strand of hair from your forehead, his touch lingering. “I’m not letting you leave me. You hear me? We still have so much left to do together.”

You could feel the world slipping away, darkness creeping into your vision, but his voice anchored you. “Hey… Don’t let go.” he murmured, using the nickname he reserved for the most intimate moments. “I won’t let anything happen to you, not again.”

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[seouljazzbar]

GO WITH IT

MARK LEE (이민형)

ABOUT 𓂃 ࣪˖ “have sex with me so I can finish writing this” inspired by this tweet or when mark offers to solve all your problems, it's much better to go with it

WARNING 𓂃 ࣪˖ language, mark is a bit of a slut, 18+ spiderman kiss (you’ll see lmao), allusions to fat cock mark… 😵‍💫, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mark’s name repeated like 78 times (no seriously, it’s up there), reader bent like a pretzel, orgasm denial, this author loves a comma, a pinch of softdom!mark, silly ending

PAIRING 𓂃 ࣪˖ bestfriend!mark x bestfriend!reader

WORD COUNT 𓂃 ࣪˖ 6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𓂃 ࣪˖ a little surprise drop for my favorite neo! i guess it's also a wee bit of a belated birthday gift to him :) i skimmed it for typos and stuff but i unfortunately did not edit it the way i should have, sorrryyyyy hope y'all enjoy! omg also reader's room is yu nabi's from the kdrama nevertheless hehehe

Nobody was busier than your best friend, Mark Lee. Between his job, his vibrant social life, and his weekly family dinners, you were lucky to be offered a slot in his schedule. It was always a yes to Mark Lee. Usually.

The last three times Mark had tried to make plans with you were all failed attempts, and the excuses varied each time. There was nothing shameful about the truth, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that your friendship was being thrown to the backburner while you sloppily attempted to get your life together. He knew all about your small business, taking commissions for art prints and ceramics, but he had no idea how much time and effort went into each piece. Besides, knowing Mark he would offer to help, and that wasn’t going to be of service to you in the slightest. 

All you could do was rot in bed, hoping that something would spark your creative mind to no avail. Frustration was starting to take up every corner of your mind— from the nonstop orders that you couldn’t fulfill, to your supplier raising prices, to the fact that you hadn’t had a good date in two years. You were wound too tight to function, and any minute now you were going to start pulling your hair out in chunks.

The sound of the pin-pad at your door let you know that Mark was about to come barreling through. There were so many times that you’d be in strict creation mode, headphones in at full blast while Mark banged at the door pleading for you to answer; when it started to feel like a normal part of your routine, he just requested the code to let himself in. “Yo!”

Except, this time, none of that was necessary. Your headphones were stuffed in their case on the other side of the room, workstation completely untouched with your multiple projects stacked on top of each other. Despite the custom orders piling up over the last two weeks, you hadn’t had the artistic strength to move forward with any of them. The only thing you could do to  buy yourself a little time was to post a message asking for patience and understanding while you navigate some vague emotional hardship. Realistically, though, it would only buy you another week or so before people would start to get angry. 

“Hi.” Perched on a stool near the kitchen island, eyes locked on the cup of coffee you warmed up seventeen minutes ago, you were out of it.

Mark waved a few inches from your face, trying to get your full attention. “Hello? Earth to ___, are you okay?”

You snapped out of it, looking over at your best friend to see that he was dressed for a night on the town. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind right now.”

White, distressed tank top, loose plaid button-up undone, and his sexiest pair of black jeans. The way the meticulous curls fell around his face, looping around his forehead in a way that feigned boylike wonder. He looked oh so delicious, but you would never tell him that— his ego was big enough for the both of you. “Anything I could help with?”

A stifled chuckle barely reached his ears before you cleared your throat, turning toward him with renewed energy. “No, not really.”

Mark put his phone and keys down on the counter, taking a quick intermission to wash his hands before walking back over to you. He’d never been in your apartment in this way before— an unannounced hangout where you’re clearly just a stop along the way, being so underdressed in his presence. He’d seen you in a swimsuit before, but something about a big shirt and underwear felt far more intimate than the two strips of fabric. “This is like the third time you’ve curved me, if you hate me just say that.”

“Oh, you’re so fucking dramatic. I’m just busy.” You shoved at his shoulder, urging him to take a seat so you wouldn’t feel so awkward with him standing over you. He refused cooly, taking a look around your apartment to make sure you hadn’t been aimlessly rotting since the last time he stopped by.

“Even I'm not that busy. What’s going on?”

“I’ve just…” You sighed heavily, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Talking about everything wrong in your life felt far too heavy, too much to divulge to a friend seemingly just doing a wellness check. “I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and I’ve got all these creative blocks that won’t go away and honestly I just need to be fucked like properly fucked to get my juices flowing again but all of the men worth giving it up to are in hiding.”

Mark stood there, mouth agape in disbelief. He did ask, after all. “Woah.”

“Yeah.” It felt embarrassing to hear laid out like that, but there weren’t too many secrets between you and Mark in the first place. Your sex lives weren’t off limits for discussion, and the two of you had plenty of chats that were NSFW in nature. But blurting out how badly  you needed to be railed? That was a new one.

The silence spoke for itself, apparently. You didn’t want to chance a glance up at him, but you knew that you’d have to say something. Maybe something to cover your ass, let him know that you’re well aware how ‘TMI’ that was. Or even—

“I’ll fuck you.”

You nearly choked on air,“What?!” Now you had no choice but to look at him, scanning the twinkle in his eyes in search of sincerity.

“I’m really good, too.” He took a step towards you, eyes never leaving yours as his hands found home in his shirt pockets. This was a side of Mark you rarely got to see— charming, smooth, confident. There were times, namely on nights out, where you’d get a taste of it, watching him chat it up in some dark corner with the prettiest girl you’d ever laid eyes on. But this, being on the receiving end? Watching his eyes drink you in like sweet tea on a balmy Southern summer afternoon? It was enough to make your heart skip several beats. 

“Mark—”

The smile he cracks at you makes you embarrassed for even considering it. “I’m just messing with you, geez,” Heat takes over your face as you try to hide it from him, palms rubbing at your cheeks as your heartbeat tries to find its resting rate. “Although, given that reaction, maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“Shouldn’t be what?”

“Messing with you. Joking, rather. I can definitely mess with you, if you want,” Running so hot and cold in such a short window of time has you shivering under his gaze, scared to make the wrong move and ruin what you’d beg him for. “Hm? Is that what you want?”

The air is thick with anticipation, nothing but the consistent drip from a ceiling leak as the soundtrack to your staring contest with Mark. He was so close to you in all of his Friday night glory, cologne a cloud around you as the heat from his chest permeated your personal space. You were certain that just one taste, just one night in the throes of passion with a curly haired Mark Lee would solve all of your problems. If you closed your eyes, you could picture it— sweaty bodies intertwined amidst the sweltering heat of your studio after dark, the fanning of his breath in your face as he rocks into you, his strong frame caging you into the bed so all you can focus on is Mark, Mark, Mark! His sighs and whines of pleasure flooding your senses so they’re all you can pay attention to, just his voice and his unrelenting pace as he— “___,” The sound of your name on his tongue snapped you out of your lustful haze. “Offer’s about to expire, baby.”

Mark slipped his jacket off without breaking away from you, dropping it carelessly on the floor while your attention wandered to his arms. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, crossing his arms against his chest as he awaited your answer. “You’re serious? This isn’t some cruel prank where if I say yes, you’ll tell me it was just a joke?”

“That’s not my idea of a prank, princess, where’s the fun in that?” Mark licked his lips, a faint smirk taking over. “Look, if you’re uncomfortable, we can pretend this never happened,” His fingers ghost along the side of your face, sweetly making their way to your lips. “But if it were up to me? I’d have you seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment.”

That was all you needed to lunge into a kiss with him, throwing him slightly off guard as you practically tossed yourself into his arms. But his lips were ready for you, steaming hot and sopping wet— just the way you like it. The smush of your lips together so suddenly garnered the sweetest moan from him, just enough to tease you of what’s to come. His arms wrapped around your torso like a claw machine, pulling you so flush against him as though he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. 

Your lips were still tingling as he pulled away to lap kisses against your neck, peppering anywhere his lips could reach. “M-Mark, hmngh.”

It was no secret that Mark had a bit of a reputation in the bedroom, but you never thought you’d witness it firsthand. His hands delved blindly to your legs, hoisting you around his waist so he could move you over to your bed. You almost had a mind to remind him of the three big steps up to your bedroom area, but he was far suaver than you gave him credit for— this wasn’t exactly his first rodeo.

He tossed you on the bed, the slight recoil exhilarating before he was all over you again. “If a proper fuck is what you want…” His kisses had shifted to your chest, lips and tongue sucking in the essence of your skin like he couldn’t bear not to. He was almost more excited than you were, his touch reaching anywhere and everywhere all at once, like he couldn’t get enough of exploring everything you had to offer. It was all starting to feel real as Mark made a move to lift up your shirt and the implication of your best friend seeing you naked caught up with you.

“Wait, wait. We’re gonna see each other naked.”

Mark, with the fabric of your shirt caught in his teeth, stared at you blankly. “Yeah…” 

“Shouldn’t that be weird?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, squeezing at your hip with the hand closest to it. “Maybe, but how do you suggest we fuck then? Through my jeans?” He pulled your body swiftly down the mattress so you could feel how hard he was through your panties. 

“Shut the fuck up, oh, my God.”

“I was trying to before you got all weird and jittery,” Mark made a move for your shirt again, and this time you didn’t fight him on it. The balmy air hit your pert nipples the second they were exposed, and Mark couldn’t stop the gruff  noise that formed in his throat. “Just as pretty as I imagined.” You squirmed at the compliment, cheeks heating up at the sight of him drooling over you. “Like that? Hm? Are you my pretty girl?” 

His lips wrapped around the peak of your breast, tongue swirling to the same pattern his thumb and forefinger followed on your other nipple. “Yes!” It was embarrassing, how fast you succumbed to his commands. He struck with confidence, maneuvering his way around your body like he’d done it before. “I’m your pretty girl.”

“So sexy saying that for me, baby,” Your legs part instinctually to make more room for him, and Mark took that as his sign to shift gears. “You know… sometimes, every now and then, I’d think about you. If I needed a little extra push towards ecstasy, you’d pop in my head. Think about the way you’d look if I got my hands on you. How you’d feel, how you’d taste,” His fingers prodded at the growing wet patch on your underwear. “Gonna let me see?”

Your back arched off the mattress, hands pulling him impossibly closer to you. “Mark, please stop asking, just do it.”

“Mm, say ‘please’ again.”

“Mark!”

His laugh would be even sexier if it weren’t at your expense. “Alright, fine.” Your panties stayed on as his tongue lapped at your folds through them, the flimsy cotton doing absolutely nothing to stop him from devouring you. You jerked at the feeling as his tongue licked a bold strip through your folds, your hands entangling themselves in his curly locs. “You’re so wet, holy shit.”

One quick motion moved your panties to the side, puffy wet lips on full display for his greedy eyes. His eyes sparkled at the sight, mouth watering at the mere thought of getting to taste you. “Smell so good, pretty girl.” He was so hungry and you were the only one who could satiate him. His tongue had a mind of its own, pressing flat against your folds without a second thought, “Taste even better.”

Mark’s grip on your thighs held you in place as he licked you clean, running his tongue against every nerve-ending he could feel for. He pulled them apart just enough to spread you out for him, just enough to be on full display for him. Your taste occupied every corner of his mind as he blacked out in pleasure, lapping up every drop your gushing pussy offered up.

He circled your clit until you saw stars, your squirming uncontrollable as his tongue darted inside of you. “You’re so good to me.”

Mark groaned between your thighs, in love with the praise you were showering him with. There was something about how natural and seamless it was for you to compliment him that turned him on even more, if that was possible. “I don't think I'll ever get enough of how you taste, Christ.”

His free hand slithered up your torso, sinking his thumb into your eager mouth while his continued working at your core. He wasn’t shy, either, licking boldly from your ass to your clit while shaking his tongue side to side. Slurping up every drop that dribbled out of your entrance, twisting his tongue as far inside of you as he could reach. You were dripping down his chin by the time he introduced his fingers, prodding at your glistening hole with just one to test the waters. He took the way you gripped onto his hair as his sign that you were more than enjoying it. “F-feels good, oh, God.”

“Mm, don’t be shy.”

Laving at your clit, he drank up the praises the way he was drinking you up. He only pulled away to fully discard your panties, diving back into center with renewed vigor. “Need more.” You didn’t want to push him any closer to you, scared you’d smother him, but he didn’t seem afraid to drown. He’d awoken something desperately greedy inside of you, and you were slipping further into a haze of pleasure with every passing moment. Two fingers pressed their way inside of you, pumping slowly to get you adjusted before the jerk of your hips told him to pick up the pace. You couldn’t hold still with the way he was devouring you, mouth and hands prying you open deliciously all for his enjoyment. He would die between your thighs if you let him, you’re sure of it.

You had to physically pull him off of you to get him to stop, orgasming bubbling inside of you in record time. “Want you inside of me already.” The entirety of the lower half of his face was a sticky mess of your arousal, from his nose to his chin completely covered in you. “Bro, you need to wipe… that.” Times like these, you were glad that you kept tissues on your nightstand.

“You cannot and will not call me ‘bro’ now that I know what you taste like. How insulting.”

It hadn’t dawned on you that Mark was still fully dressed, sans his plaid jacket-shirt that was curled in a sad pile on the floor. “Is that an order?”

He bit at his lip, eyes darkening as he drank in your bare figure sprawled beneath him. Your hands ran themselves up and down his arms, finally getting a chance to admire his body after all the focus was turned to you. Maybe it was the lighting, the way his hair fell over his eyes, or just the fact that he was the best kisser you’d had the pleasure of test driving— but he looked divine. Halo of light circling his head as he fumbled with his belt, biceps flexing as he lifted the tank top off of his lean frame. Suddenly, he wasn’t your friend anymore; he was something new entirely.

You were so lost in your own adoration of him that you hadn’t noticed he was undressed, pulling you directly underneath him as he kissed at your collarbones. “Where’d you go off to, huh?”

“It’s nothing,” you shook your head, snapping back to reality (which was so much better than whatever was going on in your will they-won’t they fantasy). “Thank you, for this.”

Mark didn’t respond with words, instead opting to kiss you softly, tenderly. Slowly, deeply, passionately kissing you as he lowered himself atop of you. He wasn’t in a rush anymore, pulling you into him like you were made of glass, grinding against your center like you had all the time in the world. Everything was so delicate, like he was savoring the moment for years to come. It scared you, if you were being honest. “Mark? You know you can still kiss me while you’re inside of me, yeah?”

He hummed in approval, connecting your mouths again in a slow, languid kiss, tongues slithering into each other's mouths and twisting messily. You could feel him lining up with your entrance, his hand wrapped around his girth to guide himself into you steadily. Chancing a look down, you tried to hide the way your eyes bulged out at the sheer size of him— he would never let you hear the end of it if you fawned over how huge he was. It took all of your willpower to remain still, your body welcomed him as though it had hundreds of times, the shape of him slotting inside of you like he was made to. His fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head so he could travel to your neck, groaning out his praise against your sticky skin. The absence of his lips on yours made you whine, hands wandering the expanse of his back just for confirmation that this was real. “Tell me how it feels.”

You couldn’t. Months of the worst dry spell you’d ever experienced coming to a head with Mark milking you for everything you had couldn’t be described. All you could do was moan, coiling around him even tighter as he started to rock his hips forward as though he was testing the waters. He was the only thing you could focus on— his scent, his taste, they way his nose pressed right against yours, the feeling of his fingers intertwining with yours against the mattress, the dionysian desire his hips were fulfilling. It was all just Mark, Mark, Mark. “Mark!” His teeth couldn’t resist nipping at your lip, pulling on it playfully before letting go to let his tongues soothe the area.

“I can’t help it, you’re so fun to play with.” He kissed you to make up for the quick dot of pain, relishing in the way you immediately kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm.

“I’m, I’m close.”

He spread your legs further apart to give himself more room to buck his hips, pressing at your thighs as he fucked into you faster. “Hold it.”

“Whyyyy?”

“You asked for the Mark Lee experience,” His thrusts grew pointed, almost exaggerated as his hips drove forward with precision, “and I’m gonna give it to you.”

You could feel yourself teetering dangerously close to the edge, stomach coiled tight and lungs working overtime. The mere thought of being denied your orgasm was getting you worked up— you hate not getting your way. Your legs wrapped around Mark’s waist, locking your ankles together for good measure. If he wanted to play games, you were down for it. “Harder.”

But instead of faster, Mark slowed to a complete stop, hands drifting down to your hips to pin them to the mattress. “Oh, baby, do you think I’m stupid?” He chuckled in your face, shaking his head as the laughter subsided. “That’s a sure fire way to get nothing.”

“Wait, no, please! I didn’t mean it.”

The damage had already been done. His patience with you was wearing thin, and he didn’t take kindly to disobedience. “Have you learned your lesson?” Each second that passed stole a piece of your orgasm away with it, that delicious ball of tension and heat simmering down to a cool pit of nothing the longer Mark held your hips down. Your heart stopped fluttering with urgency, slowing to its resting rate as you dealt with the consequences of trying to outsmart your best friend. “Speak up, baby.”

“Yes,” You hissed out, annoyed that your declaration of needing to be fucked was currently going unanswered. Who is he to deny you of the very thing he promised you? “I learned my lesson.”

It was exactly what he wanted to hear, “God, you’re so sexy when you behave yourself.” 

You rolled your eyes, slapping his chest as he pulled away from you entirely. “What happened to ‘having me seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment’?” 

It was Mark’s turn to roll his eyes, fingers running through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “Up against the wall.” You did as he said, spreading your hands against the wall as you felt him behind you, lining himself up with your sodden entrance. The inward arch felt unnatural at first, but you settled into it as you got comfortable in it. “Look up at me.” Mark was towering over you, quite literally. From this angle, all you had to do to see his face was look up and there he was with that devilish smile. His cock pressed into you as you watched him, the sheer thickness splitting you clean open for him, sucking him in like your pussy had been waiting for him. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Maybe it was the taboo of sleeping with a friend, but your body was on fire. You felt your entire body heating up at the sudden change in his demeanor, switching your flirty best friend to a man absolutely starved. With your eyes screwed shut, you reached a hand out to hold onto his arm, fingers giving it a squeeze, head bumping the bare skin of his chest.

“Fuck.”

You were even wetter than you were while he had you pinned to the mattress, the feeling of being filled by him more electrifying after a brief intermission. He was all over you again and that was all that mattered, walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip that had both of you gasping for air.

“Shit,” he hiss, already lost in the sensation, “so good to me, ___, so fucking good.” He emphasized the last syllable with a gentle thrust that had your nails scratching at the wall. Your orgasm was building back up faster than you would’ve liked it to, considering you knew Mark wouldn’t let you cum so soon after denying you.

It hit you deeply, in all the right places at the right angle. Mark was that good from the start, and you couldn’t believe you’d been missing out on it. If you knew he was this goof, you would’ve ruined the friendship ages ago. “So fucking deep, Mark, keep going like that,” you moaned, just as caught up as he was.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, fucking into you with much more vigor than before, gripping your ass with such force you half expected to see the dents after. You moaned all you had to say, all you had to feel into each other’s mouths. When his velvety tongue enveloped yours you could almost taste the remnants of your arousal and the chocolate muffin he ate right in between sweeping and mopping. The water was still running, hitting part of his back and your leg.

You couldn’t pull away from him even if you tried— he was a part of you now, molded into each other’s bodies until you became one. “Wanna keep fucking you forever,” he groaned, pouring his all into every touch. “Keep you on me forever.”

It threw you for a loop. Keep you forever? Mark was a lot more emotional than he let on, sure, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he meant it in ways other than platonic. You couldn’t even stop him to ask what he meant by that because he was so deep in your guts that you were starting to feel him in your throat. 

“Don’t stop,” you cried out, biting your lip when he hit a certain spot inside you and kept hitting it over and over again— the taste of blood didn’t stop you. “Don’tstopdon’tsopdon’tstop-”  

“Fuck,” he whisper, voice strained and raspy, smacking at your ass before gripping it and bringing you down to meet his increasingly harsh thrusts, the slap echoing throughout your studio apartment. “Wanna fuck you forever, baby.” One hand kept its vice grip on your hip while the other grasped at your neck, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. “Gimme a kiss, pretty girl.” Your lips found his despite the blurring of your vision, a supple lock as he steadied rocking into your core. Kissing him upside down felt worlds away from the first kiss you shared with him, and yet you still couldn’t get enough of it. The hand on your hip slithered up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple as he pulled away from the kiss. “So obedient.”

All the shame had disappeared from your body, the satisfaction of finally being fucked numbing you to his quips completely. His name was on the tip of your tongue, begging to be set free, but the way his hips ricocheted off your ass made you short circuit. Your skin was hot to the touch, goosebumps littering the expanse of your body as your toes curled around the fabric of your duvet. 

“Who knew you were such a dirty girl, hm?” Mark tutted. You hold back your moans, reveling in the sensation of his tip sliding up and down you dripping folds. Interrupting his own rhythm just to get a rise out of you, giving you no warning before shoving himself right back in. 

“Bet this was your plan all along,” You ignore the fact that he technically initiated all of this, too blissed out to snap back at him cheekily. “Dripping all over my cock, fuck.” He’s thinking out loud, eyes locked at the way your pussy invites him in, grip unrelenting with each thrust. He drew his hips back again to repeat the same unforgiving tempo, laughing to himself at the way your thighs shake in anticipation.

“Wanted this for so long.” You whine, bashful about the confession rolling off your tongue so easily. Mark had always occupied a special part of your mind, but the barrier of your friendship with him always kept you from thinking of him in that way for too long. He’s hot, sure, and one of the most genuine guys you’d ever met— but risking that by dating him felt too stupid to risk.

Mark didn’t keep you waiting for too long, filling you to the brim with one stroke that had your toes curling. You gasp, a shiver running up your spine as he adopts a frenzied pace that nearly knocks you into the wall in front of you. “You’re so fucking warm.”  He can’t help but moan out at the feeling, clutching onto your hips as he pistons in and out of you. Blunt fingers digging into your skin as you let your body fall forward. You felt so full.

“Mark, fuck.” you whine, probably a tad too loud considering how thin the walls feel at night but you couldn’t help it, with the way he held onto you and fucked you like he had never had good pussy in his life. “Faster.”

“Where’d your manners go? Say ‘please’.” He teased, testing your obedience despite knowing you’d obey him. There was just something about knowing he held your pleasure in the palm of his hands, knowing that you’d do anything he asked of you. 

“Please, please, please Mark, need you so bad.” It sounded  pathetic, and it only makes Markn screw his eyes shut as he fucks you harder. All control lost as he watches the drool drip from your mouth down the wall— he was really fucking your brains out.

Mark's rough groans were slowly morphing  into needy moans, the sound causing even more slick to build up between your legs. “Taking my cock like such a good girl.” And you really were, considering you had nothing but the wall to grip onto, you let your body go wherever Mark led it. Each thrust sending you closer and closer to your climax, his dick hitting every single spot that you’re sure you’d see stars.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck.”

“You’re gonna cum? Mm, you can cum. Cum all over my dick, lemme see that pretty face.” You arched inward one last time for him, looking up at the man sending you to heaven and back on a loop. “There you go. Good fucking girl.” Mark smacked your ass sharply, holding onto your ass as he switched his rhythm to harsh, precise thrusts that were sure to throw you over the edge of pleasure. He kissed your forehead as the growing tension in the pit of your stomach snapped, your walls contracting around him in a tight frenzy that nearly triggered his own. He didn’t slow down, though. The clutching of pussy did absolutely nothing to deter him from fucking you with the same rigor, hips just as quick as they were before he finally let you cum.

“M-Mark, I don’...” The aftershocks of ecstasy silenced you in your tracks, the sparks of pleasure like electricity through your bloodstream. “Don’t stop.”

He laughed at the change of your tune, thumb flitting down to flick at your clit. “Baby needs more? Haven’t had enough yet?”

Even with him poking fun at your desperation, you were too drunk on his cock to care. All you could manage was a chorus of fuck me, fuck me, fuck me as Mark held you flush against him. “God, yes, fill me up like that.” Your arousal was dripping all over the inside of your thighs, the sticky slick glistening under the moonlight that peaked through your curtains. 

“That’s right, I’m not fucking done with you yet, pretty girl.” This side of him was lethal. He was insatiable, obsessed with the way your body responded to him, greedy for the way you bent to his every whim. It was such a change of pace from the way he was kissing you in missionary, the way he treated you like a doll that he was afraid of hurting you. “Feel good?”

He was mocking you— of course, it was good. You didn’t have to tell him that for him to know; but feeding his ego was so addictive. The way he’d reward you for praising him was enough for you to fall for the trap every single time. “So, good, Mark, hngh.”

The smack of his hips against your ass bounced off the walls, echoing the depravity that you and Mark were oh so good at acting on. All of your senses on overdrive, the overstimulation pulling at you from every end, you weren’t sure if you could take it all for much longer. Drool slipped from your mouth onto Mark’s arm, the edges of your vision blurring as you could feel yourself bubbling over. “Gonna cum again?”

“‘m gonna cum again.”

He was drunk with the power of controlling you. “Hold it.”

“Mark, I can’t.” You were surprised you were even able to do it the first two times he commanded it, not used to having gratification delayed against your wishes.

“Gonna fill you up and then you can cum.” It only took a few more targeted thrusts before he was spilling his seed into you, an endless leak of evidence of what took place over the last hour or so. Even as his cock began to soften, he made sure to fuck you through it, massaging tight circles into your clit until your legs spasmed. The air was snatched from your lungs, eyes flittering shut in sweet relief. It was only two orgasms, but the build up had really taken it out of you. Mark flipped you over gently on your back, brushing the hair out of your face as you sleepily opened your eyes.

“Look at that. Take a look at the mess we made, baby.” 

He gestured between your legs, a slippery canvas of cum smeared across your most intimate parts. “So much…” You couldn’t stop yourself from gathering some on your fingers, popping them into your mouth for a taste of the two of you mixed together.

Your brain was on fire, neurons alight with the molten sensation that was Mark Lee. Even though you took him up on the offer, you weren’t expecting him to completely change your world. A solid orgasm and a pat of the back, maybe. But now you were afraid that he was your new addiction that you’d never be able to feed. 

You woke up in a fresh sleep shirt to the smell of toasted bagels and coffee. Mark balanced the plates and mugs the best he could as he tackled the steps leading up to your bedroom area. “Mornin’ sleepyhead.”

“What time is it?”

He shoved a mug of steaming coffee into your hands, kissing you on the forehead. “Don’t worry about that. You were exhausted, wanted to let you sleep.”

“Thank you.” The coffee was exactly to your liking, just what you needed after a night of fucking like rabbits. “So, should we talk about… it?”

Blush rose to his cheeks and there was no hiding it, his hair pulled back into a messy bun so his face was on full display. “I mean, only if you want to? I’m okay with proceeding however you want to.”

“You’d be fine staying friends? Never talking about it? Pretending that nothing’s changed?”

He shrugged, “if that’s what you wanted, then yeah.” His attention shifted to his breakfast, eyes zeroed in on his eggs and toast like it was a gourmet meal. “Just don’t wanna make you feel weird about it, you know?”

“Mark?” You placed your coffee and plate down on your bedside table, turning your full attention to him as he continued to avoid your gaze. “What did you mean by all the ‘keep you forever’ stuff then?”

He rushed to try to explain himself, scrambling his words into a whole lot of nothing. “It’s not, like, a big deal or anything. I just get possessive… in bed, sometimes. I’m not a weirdo or anything, I promise.”

None of that mattered to you anyway, your dreams of Mark that clouded your head all night giving you the push you needed to throw caution to the wind. Would it be the worst thing in the world to risk it all with him? One kiss, chaste and sweet, was enough to shut him up for just a moment. “So if I said we should try exploring further, maybe go on a date or something, you’d say yes?”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, mouth falling agape as he searched your face for any signs that you were being facetious. “Y-yeah, yes. If that’s what you want.” He was so bad with his feelings, sometimes— but you were more than willing to be patient.

“Well, good, because that’s what I want.”

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | accidentally confessing their love

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (since its nearing the start of the 2025 season feel free to comment anyone you'd like me to add to my grid posts <3) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested or not) : your f1 driver friend confessing how they really feel for you!! <3

୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff (suggestive if you squint during charles' part...) ୨ৎ : tws : slightly... suggestive ୨ৎ : word count : 3372

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i just feel like this is so cute and wholesome idk something this i need this love

ʚ・max verstappen

the night had been loud.

a red bull team party, music blasting, people laughing, and max was absolutely wasted. you had never seen him like this before, and honestly, it was kind of hilarious. max, the four-time world champion, was currently leaning half his weight on you, grinning like an idiot while mumbling something under his breath.

"max, you need water," you said, struggling to keep him upright as he practically draped himself over you.

"neeeee," he slurred dramatically. "i need you."

you rolled your eyes. "yeah, you need me to call you a cab."

max groaned, tilting his head back. "no, you." his words came out jumbled, but there was something… weirdly sincere about them. his drunken blue eyes stared into yours as he said, "i love you."

you blinked. "what?"

"i love you," he repeated, much too casual for something that insane to say out loud.

you laughed, patting his shoulder. "oh, okay. and tomorrow morning, you’ll love a big headache, too."

max frowned, clearly frustrated that you weren’t taking him seriously. his grip on your arm tightened slightly. "no, no, i mean it. i love you."

"you’re drunk."

"yeah, but i still love you."

"go to sleep, max."

"i love you."

"uh-huh."

—

the next morning, max showed up at your door looking like death itself.

sunglasses on, hoodie up, hair a mess, and a red bull can in hand like it was some kind of magical cure. you let him in without a word, watching as he flopped onto your couch with a heavy groan.

"never letting checo mix my drinks again," he muttered.

you smirked. "you mean never letting yourself mix your drinks?"

max lifted a hand weakly. "details."

you sat next to him, poking his shoulder. "so, do you remember anything from last night?"

his face scrunched in thought. "uh… i remember dancing, i remember lando laughing at me, and i remember… uh…" his voice trailed off as his posture stiffened slightly.

you watched him carefully. "you remember what?"

max’s hand came up, rubbing the back of his neck. "i may have said something stupid."

you raised an eyebrow. "oh, you mean confessing your undying love for me? yeah, i’d say that qualifies as stupid."

he groaned, sinking lower into the couch. "shit."

you laughed. "so, do you want to take that back, or…?"

max sat up suddenly, pulling off his sunglasses so he could look you dead in the eyes.

"no," he said, completely serious.

your breath caught.

max shook his head. "i don’t want to take it back. i meant it."

you blinked, not expecting that. "max…"

"i love you," he repeated, but this time, there was no alcohol in his system, no slurred words, no hazy grin. just him, just max, staring at you like he had known this truth for a long time.

your stomach flipped.

"say something," he mumbled, clearly nervous.

you smiled, your heart pounding. "you really have the worst timing, you know that?"

max exhaled a small laugh. "tell me something i don’t know."

you rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything else, he grabbed your hand, holding it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"just tell me one thing," he said quietly. "do you love me back?"

you squeezed his hand. "i do."

max grinned, leaning his forehead against yours. "good."

ʚ・lewis hamilton

lewis was always grateful for you.

you had been there for everything, the highs, the lows, the chaotic last-minute travel plans, the quiet moments in between. being friends with lewis hamilton meant late-night phone calls when he couldn’t sleep, celebrating podiums like they were your own victories, and grounding him when the world became too much.

and lewis? he never took you for granted.

but it wasn’t until today that he realized why.

—

"you are an actual lifesaver," lewis said, flopping onto your couch with an exaggerated sigh.

you grinned, handing him a cup of tea before sitting down next to him. "all i did was fix your pr nightmare. you act like i just saved your championship season."

he groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "no, because if i had to sit through one more meeting about my ‘social media strategy’ or listen to someone tell me how i should ‘connect with fans better,’ i was going to lose my mind. you handled that mess in, like, five minutes."

you smirked, sipping your own tea. "well, someone had to. you looked like you were about to crawl under the table and never come out."

lewis laughed, shaking his head. "not even joking, i considered it." he took a sip of tea, sighed happily, then looked over at you.

"i love you."

the words came out so easily, so naturally, that it didn’t even register at first.

you just smiled. "i know."

and for a moment, everything felt normal. because this was you and lewis. you had always been close. you had always been affectionate. saying "i love you" in moments like this wasn’t weird.

except this time, it was.

because suddenly, lewis stopped mid-sip, blinking like he had just realized what he said.

you felt it too.

the room got quieter, the air heavier. your heartbeat picked up, and when you looked at him, his expression had shifted…his usual effortless confidence replaced with something more uncertain.

"i mean, uh—" lewis started, clearing his throat. "you know, like… i love you in a friend way."

you raised an eyebrow. "do you?"

he opened his mouth, then closed it. "i… think so?"

you set your cup down, turning your body to face him fully. "because it sounded different this time."

lewis stared at you for a second, like he was replaying the last few moments in his head, analyzing them like a race strategy. then he exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"yeah," he admitted, voice softer now. "it was different, wasn’t it?"

you swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were sitting.

"do you want to take it back?" you asked.

he met your eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "no."

your stomach flipped.

lewis shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours. "you know i meant it, right?"

you nodded, barely breathing. "yeah."

he tilted his head, studying you like he was seeing you for the first time. "and?"

you bit your lip, your pulse racing. "and… i love you too."

lewis grinned, the kind of smile that could light up an entire room.

"that’s good," he said, voice warm, eyes soft. "because i really didn’t want to take it back."

ʚ・george russell

fighting with george russell was exhausting.

not because he yelled, he didn’t. not because he was mean, he wasn’t. but because george had this thing where he had to be logical, had to be rational, had to explain why he was right in a way that made you want to rip your hair out.

and right now? you were both standing in his kitchen, arguing over something so stupid that you weren’t even sure how it started.

"george, i swear to god, you are so stubborn!"

"me? i’m stubborn?" he gestured wildly. "you’re the one refusing to see reason!"

"you’re acting like you’ve never been wrong in your life!"

"because i’m not wrong about this!"

you groaned, throwing your hands up. "oh my god, you’re impossible!"

george scoffed, shaking his head. "you are impossible!"

the frustration was boiling over.

the tension in the room was thick.

and then, suddenly, george blurted out, "i love you, and you make me insane!"

you froze.

he froze.

the room went completely silent.

you blinked. "what?"

george exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "oh, for god's sake," he muttered, mostly to himself, before looking back at you. "i love you. and i don’t know why i decided right now was the perfect time to say it, but it’s true."

your heart was pounding. "you… love me?"

"yes," he huffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "you drive me crazy, you argue with me about the dumbest things, and you never let me have the last word—"

"because i’m right most of the time," you interrupted automatically.

george shot you a look. "see? this is what i mean."

you opened your mouth to argue again but stopped. because, holy shit, george russell just confessed his love for you.

and maybe you were still annoyed, and maybe you still thought he was wrong about whatever the hell you were fighting about, but none of that mattered anymore.

because you loved him too.

you swallowed. "well… for the record, i love you too."

george let out a breath, his whole body relaxing. "thank god."

and then, before you could say anything else, he closed the space between you, cupped your face, and kissed you, like he had been waiting to do it forever.

the argument? forgotten. the love? loud and clear.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos was always shamelessly flirty with you. the teasing, the winks, the ridiculous pick-up lines? flirting was practically his love language. and after years of friendship, you had gotten used to it.

mostly.

right now, he was watching you struggle with a jar of pasta sauce in his kitchen, leaning against the counter with that infuriating smirk of his.

"you need help, amor?"

you huffed, gripping the jar tighter. "i got it."

carlos snorted. "sure you do."

you shot him a glare before twisting the lid as hard as you could. nothing. the damn thing wouldn’t budge.

carlos reached for it. "come on, let me—"

you yanked it away. "no. i can do it."

he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "you are very stubborn."

carlos chuckled but didn’t argue. instead, he folded his arms and waited, watching you wrestle with the jar for another few seconds. finally, with an annoyed groan, you shoved it into his hands.

"fine. do it."

carlos grinned like he had just won a world championship, taking the jar with an exaggerated flourish. "watch and learn."

with one quick motion, he popped the lid off effortlessly and held it up like a trophy. "easy."

you narrowed your eyes at him. "i loosened it."

"of course you did," he said, eyes twinkling. "and you’re so lucky i love you, or i would let you struggle with every jar forever."

silence. the air in the kitchen shifted.

you stared at him, your brain short-circuiting. "what?"

carlos blinked. "huh?"

you took a step forward. "what did you just say?"

he hesitated, his confident expression faltering for the first time. "i said… you're lucky i—" he stopped, suddenly realizing what he had let slip.

your heart was racing now. "carlos."

he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "shit."

"you love me?" you asked, voice softer now.

carlos let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. "i mean… yeah. kind of a lot, actually."

you just stood there, staring at him, completely thrown off by the way he was suddenly serious.

carlos sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "i was planning to say it differently. maybe over dinner, something romantic. not… after opening a damn jar."

a laugh bubbled up in your chest. "this is kind of perfect, though."

he raised an eyebrow. "you think so?"

you grinned, stepping closer. "yeah. because now, i get to say it back."

carlos's eyes flickered with something warm, something hopeful. "you do?"

you nodded. "yeah."

before you could say anything else, he pulled you in, his hands resting on your waist as he pressed his forehead against yours. "you are still very lucky, amor," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. "yeah? and why’s that?"

carlos smirked before kissing you, slow and sweet.

"because now, i get to love you forever."

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles didn’t get mad.

not really. not in the way that others did. he wasn’t the type to yell, to throw things, to let his emotions get the best of him. he carried stress in his shoulders, in the tight clench of his jaw, in the way his fingers tapped anxiously against his thigh.

but right now? right now, he was livid. and it was because of you.

"can you stop being so damn reckless for one second?" charles snapped, pacing the length of your apartment like he was trying to burn off the anger simmering beneath his skin.

you huffed, crossing your arms. "i wasn’t being reckless."

"you could have been hurt!" his voice cracked slightly, and that’s when you realized this was more than just frustration.

you sighed. "charles, i—"

"do you even care what happens to you?" he interrupted, his voice rising in a way you rarely ever heard from him. his hands curled into fists at his sides, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

you furrowed your brows. "of course, i do! but i had it under control—"

"no, you didn’t!"

the words were sharp, cutting through the tense air between you. charles never yelled. he never raised his voice at you. but tonight, something was different.

you took a step closer. "why are you so upset?"

charles let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "are you serious?" he turned toward you fully now, eyes burning with something raw, something you didn’t quite understand yet.

and then, all at once, he snapped.

"i care about you, can't you see that i love you?!"

the words hung between you, heavy and unshakable.

your breath caught, your heart slamming against your ribs as charles stood there, his face flushed, his chest rising and falling like he had just run a race.

slowly, the realization of what he had just said seemed to settle in. his expression shifted, frustration fading into something more vulnerable, something exposed.

he swallowed hard. "merde," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "i—"

"you love me?" you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

charles exhaled, his entire body deflating. "yes." there was no hesitation, no backtracking. just the truth. "i do."

silence stretched between you, thick and charged, the weight of his confession pressing into the space like a live wire.

your lips parted, but no words came out. because what could you even say to that?

charles ran a hand over his face. "i know i shouldn't have said it like that. i know this isn't the right moment, but damn it, i can't just sit here and watch you act like nothing matters, like you don’t matter."

your throat tightened, and suddenly, you weren’t thinking about the argument anymore. you weren’t thinking about the reckless thing you had done, the stress that had led to this moment.

you were thinking about him.

the way his hands were still clenched at his sides, like he was holding himself back. the way his eyes darkened as they flickered down to your lips for just a second, just long enough for heat to pool in your stomach.

"say something," he murmured, his voice lower now, softer, but no less intense.

you swallowed hard. "i—i didn’t know you felt that way."

charles took a step closer, slow and deliberate, until there was barely any space left between you. "you do now."

your breath hitched. "and what happens now?"

his gaze dropped to your lips again, lingering this time. "that depends," he murmured, "are you going to let me show you how much i mean it?"

the air was thick, charged with something electric, something inevitable.

you barely had time to nod before his lips crashed against yours, urgent and desperate, like he had been holding this in for years.

and maybe, just maybe…he had.

ʚ・lando norris

being best friends with lando norris meant you were used to his nonsense.

you were used to his chaotic energy, his terrible dad jokes, his ability to trip over literally nothing, and the way he could never sit still for more than two minutes. you were used to the weird stares he gave you when he was deep in thought, and you were definitely used to the way he sometimes just blurted out whatever was on his mind with zero warning.

but this? this was new.

you were sitting across from him in his living room, scrolling through your phone while he aimlessly clicked through the tv, trying to find something to watch. it was quiet, comfortable, and perfectly normal.

until lando, completely unprompted, stared at you and blurted out, "i love you."

your head snapped up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. "what?"

lando blinked, eyes wide, as if he had only just processed what had come out of his own mouth.

"oh. uh." he cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. "i said… i love glue?"

you squinted. "lando."

he coughed, looking absolutely panicked now. "i meant… i love zoo. the zoo. love the zoo. animals are great."

you deadpanned. "lando."

"i love you." he sighed in defeat, running a hand through his hair. "okay, yeah, that’s what i said."

you stared at him, half amused, half trying to figure out if he was messing with you. "you just…randomly decided to say that?"

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "i didn’t mean to say it! i was just looking at you and thinking about it and then…boom. my brain short-circuited and now i want to throw myself into the ocean."

you bit your lip, watching the way he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the tips of his ears turning red.

it was kind of adorable.

"so," you said, leaning back. "you love me?"

lando shot you a half-hearted glare. "yeah, obviously."

you smirked. "you love me."

he groaned again, throwing his head back against the couch. "are you seriously going to make me suffer right now?"

"yes," you said immediately, grinning. "because this is hilarious."

lando grumbled something under his breath, still refusing to look at you.

you scooted closer, nudging his leg with your foot. "hey."

he peeked at you through his fingers. "what?"

you smiled, softer this time. "i love you too."

his hand dropped from his face as his eyes flickered to yours. "wait. you do?"

you laughed. "obviously."

the relief that washed over him was instant. his whole body relaxed, and that familiar, cheeky grin of his came back full force.

"good," he said, reaching over to pull you into a dramatic hug. "because that would've been really awkward if you didn't."

you snorted. "lando, it was already awkward."

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar was a quiet kind of chaotic.

sure, he wasn’t as loud as some of the other drivers, but he had his moments…usually when he was sleep-deprived, caught off guard, or in this case, accidentally confessing his feelings through text.

it happened late at night, when you were already in bed, casually texting him like you always did. the conversation was nothing special, just something about the race next weekend, a stupid meme he sent, and your usual back-and-forth teasing.

and then, out of nowhere, a new message popped up from oscar.

oscar: yeah okay but i love you though

your heart stopped.

you blinked at the screen, reading the message once, twice, three times, just to make sure your brain wasn’t playing tricks on you.

before you could even process it, the familiar typing… bubble appeared.

then disappeared.

then came back.

then disappeared again.

you could feel his panic through the screen.

finally, another text came through.

oscar: wait no oscar: i didn’t mean to send that oscar: ok i mean i did but not like this oscar: i am going to jump into traffic

you bit your lip, torn between laughing at his very obvious meltdown and screaming because holy shit, oscar just told you he loves you.

before he could actually throw himself into oncoming traffic, you typed back.

you: so you love me, huh?

the typing bubble appeared. stopped. appeared again.

then:

oscar: erm. yeah?

you grinned, your heart flipping as you typed back.

you: good. because i love you too.

the typing bubble stayed still for a long time. then:

oscar: okay i take it back, this was the perfect way to say it.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[swtnjk]

kuroo with his hothead soccer player gf

the whistle blows. the sun bakes the turf, the bleachers are shaking with cheers, and you’re in the zone on the field. eyes on the goal, jaw clenched.

kuroo lounges back with a smug grin, elbow nudging kenma? who’s got his switch tilted up to shade his screen. “look at her go,” kuroo brags. “absolute menace.”

“she elbowed that girl in the ribs,” kenma mutters, barely glancing up. “love of my life,” kuroo says without hesitation.

it all happened so fast. a defender from the other team blocks your run, twists your ankle, and you go down. not before dragging her down with you, of course.

the ref doesn’t call it. the girl says something too smug, too stupid. you shoot up, telling her to repeat what she said. she says it again, you shove her.

“uh oh,” kenma says flatly. kuroo’s already standing up, hands in his hair like he just witnessed the winning goal and a crash at the same time.

you yell, the other girl yells back. and now the ref’s blowing his whistle and your teammates hold you back. your eyes stay on the girl.

kuroo’s voice rings over the chaos of the audience and the field, “hell yeah, baby! show her who runs this turf!”

kenma’s face deadpans as the security runs into the field, “you’re saying a war crime,” he says. kuroo smiles, “she’s perfect.” he replies, watching you get escorted off the field still mouthing, “say that shit again! everytime i see you—“

you pace around the parking lot, jersey half tucked in, hair messy and water bottle in your hand like it’s a weapon. steam’s basically coming off of you.

like expected, your coach gave you a stupid speech. saying how this is soccer! not a ufc match! and now you’re here, stuck and banned for next week’s games.

kuroo jogs over, kenma trailing behind like he was dragged out of a nap. kuroo looks you up and down like you just walked off a red carpet. one covered in turf stains and rage.

you turn around to him. “you’re glowing,” he says with that dumb lovesick grin. “like a really sexy volcano i wanna jump in.”

you squint at him, “i almost got suspended and kicked off the team.” kuroo kisses your forehead, “you almost fought a girl for saying something to you. that’s my baby.”

kenma a few feet away, looking deeply unimpressed. “you made espn’s twitter. you’re trending as ‘psycho striker.’”

you blink and groan, “seriously?”

kuroo beams, “so proud.”

you’re stuffed in the passenger seat of kuroo’s car, cleats kicked off, legs curled up, still simmering with leftover fight energy. but now it’s leaking out as sighs and sleepy glares at the dashboard.

kenma has his head against the window, sleep and has music blasting in his ears.

kuroo’s driving with one hand, the other resting on your thigh like it’s just meant to be there. “so,” he says casually, “was that a tactical shove, or a rage-induced one?”

you grunt, “she called me a ‘discount striker.’” kuroo whistles low, “yeah, okay. jail.”

you glance at him, and your whole face softens. the tension drops from your shoulders as you lean over and nuzzle into his arm like it’s your favorite pillow.

his neck extends as he parks into the space in front of you guys’ (and kenma’s) favorite diner. he nods and stops the car.

“thanks for coming,” you mumble, voice muffled against him. “you always do.”

he looks down at you with that annoying smile that makes your stomach do things. “well, yeah. somebody’s gotta cheer for my mean girlfriend who plays soccer like it’s mortal kombat.”

you let out a tired laugh, then thread your fingers through his while his hand’s still on your thigh. “i’m really glad it’s you,” you whisper, eyes half-lidded. “… it’s always you. you keep me from going full rage monster.”

kuroo’s heart combusts. he squeezes your hand, all smug and sappy. “baby, you are a rage monster. i’m just lucky you like me enough not to eat me.”

[shortnspidey]

MANCHILD

Rafe Cameron X Kook!Reader || WC: 6.5K

SUMMARY: Being friends with Rafe Cameron was never simple. Especially when that friendship blurred into something more, only his behavior made it impossible to hold onto hope. You grew tired of picking up the pieces, of being his fallback girl while he refused to grow up. You wanted something real, not emotional whiplash. And if Rafe couldn't stop treating your heart like an afterthought, you’d rather walk away than let him break it again.

WARNINGS: Typical OBX themes, cursing, mentions of drugs and alcohol, Rafe (because that man is a warning), mild violence, platonic JJ x reader, angst, fluffy ending

A/N: This fic is inspired by miss Sabrina's new single which has been on repeat for me since it first came out. Hope y’all enjoy! <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ rafe cameron masterlist

The Kildare Enduro was a staple for a reason, more than just a race, it was a spectacle. The air buzzed with the tang of gasoline and dust, the guttural roar of engines rolling across the makeshift track. Cheers echoed from every direction, both Kooks and Pogues, red Solo cups in hand, locals hyped up by the scent of adrenaline and the promise of utter and pure chaos. You hadn’t planned on going.

Honestly, the idea of peeling yourself out of bed and into the heat just to watch overgrown boys play with horsepower didn’t thrill you. Yet by mid-morning, Kiara had shown up at your door honking her horn like a madwoman, and Sarah wasn’t too far behind. Before you knew it, you were shoved in the backseat of the Twinkie, the smell of sunscreen, spilled soda, and JJ's lingering weed filling the car as the windows stayed down, blasting music as the coastline blurred past.

And so here you were, standing off to the side, arms crossed over your chest, trying to act interested as Sarah excitedly pointed out one stunt after another. Dirt bikes shot off ramps like they had wings, tires skidding across loose gravel, riders pulling off reckless backflips and tail whips just to earn a few more cheers, as well as few more bets in their favor. Still, your eyes kept scanning the crowd of competitors. Your jaw tensed every time you caught a glimpse of blonde hair under a helmet.

Every time a voice in your head asked, Is that him? You hated that you were doing this, searching for him. Rafe Cameron had no business being here, but of course that’s what made it so likely. That boy never met a bad idea he didn’t like, and danger? He wore it like a badge of honor. You used to find that magnetic. Now, it just made your stomach twist. You told yourself you were over it. That you were done playing the one he came crawling to when everything else blew up in his face.

Yet, there you stood, heart betraying you in the quiet ways it always had with him. Because no matter how hard you tried to act unaffected, part of you still wondered if he’d show up. If he’d look for you in the crowd like you were always looking for him. And worse, if he’d still expect you to be waiting. Because if there was one thing Rafe Cameron knew how to do, it was running to you when he had nowhere else to go. So instead of looking for him among the crowd, you tuned into Pope’s voice, as he spit out statistics and predictions that barely masked your restlessness.

He was mid-sentence, rattling off about ratios and tire grip percentages like a man possessed, while Cleo crouched low by JJ’s bike, her hands moving with practiced precision. She was focused, wiping grime off the throttle, double-checking bolts, making sure the motorcycle wouldn’t betray JJ mid-race. You envied that clarity, knowing exactly what needed fixing and how to do it. You wished your heart worked the same way. Then it happened, almost as if he knew you had just stopped searching for him.

The sharp, cocky growl of an engine sliced through the air. You didn’t even have to look. You felt him before you saw him. Rafe’s bike was louder than it needed to be, all polished chrome and empty bravado, and when he rolled to a stop a few feet away, the tension in the air shifted. Like gravity decided to pull toward him instead of the earth. Topper, as usual was right there at his side, already sneering in JJ and John B’s direction.

Rafe didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. His helmet was off, tucked under one arm, and his eyes were locked on you, stormy, unreadable, and furious. You scoffed under your breath before you could stop yourself. A sharp, involuntary sound that was equal parts amusement and exhaustion. Of course he would show up like this. Of course he’d find a way to remind you he was always watching. And JJ noticed. In an instant, he was by your side, arm slinging around your shoulders with that boyish ease that only he could pull off without effort.

He gave you a half-hug that you reciprocated, his touch grounding you in that moment. "You won't be mad if I beat your boyfriend, right, Y/N?" He asked, that trademark grin playing on his lips. You rolled your eyes, but smiled despite yourself. His timing was impeccable. "I'm not his keeper, so go ahead, JJ." The words came with a sigh, a little more tired than you intended. But it was the truth. Because you weren’t. You weren’t Rafe’s anything. Not officially. Not out loud. But that didn’t mean it didn’t feel like something.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the sharp turn of Rafe’s head. He was staring at the way JJ’s arm rested around your shoulder like it belonged there. His jaw clenched, knuckles whitening around the helmet in his grip. If looks could kill, JJ would’ve been six feet under. And still, he said nothing. He never said anything. Just played his games, ran hot one night and frigid the next. Made you feel like the center of his universe, then vanished into silence like none of it ever happened. You were tired of wondering if the fire in his eyes meant love, hate, or something in between.

You missed the look Kiara and Sarah shared beside you, one of knowing sympathy. Instead, you focused on the stack of bracelets on your wrist, fingers tugging one higher up your arm as if rearranging them could settle the ache building in your chest. If Rafe Cameron wanted to pretend he didn’t care, then fine. You could play that game too. But you couldn’t deny it, no matter how much space you tried to put between your heart and his, you still felt that same sharp pull every time he was near.

The question was: how much longer could you pretend it didn’t matter?

With one last reassuring squeeze to your shoulder, JJ peeled away, his usual swagger in full effect as he made his way toward the makeshift starting line. He slipped seamlessly into the scene, nodding at John B who stood beside him, his designated backup. The two of them huddled around JJ’s bike, doing final checks while the other racers began rolling their machines into position. The air had shifted. Thicker now, electric with anticipation.

The countdown hadn’t even begun and already your nerves felt like frayed wires sparking under your skin. Your gaze moved instinctively, searching again despite yourself and caught on Rafe. He was standing by his bike, the picture of smug confidence. He looked good. That was the worst part. Too good. The kind of effortless good that pissed you off because he didn’t even have to try. But what cut deeper was the way he moved, purposeful, sharp, stalking toward John B like their rivalry hadn’t cooled one bit. You watched as he gestured with his chin toward you, chest puffed like a warning shot.

You couldn’t hear what he said, but the smug scoff that followed said enough. Then, like nothing happened, he turned away. No glance back. No smirk. No flicker of anything in his eyes as he marched back to his bike and secured his helmet, sealing himself off from the world. From you. Just like always, he pushed, then pulled away. Said nothing, but expected you to read between the silences. You told yourself you were done falling for that routine, but your chest still ached like he had sucker-punched the air out of your lungs without even touching you.

“Yo, JJ, did you build that yourself from a kit?” Topper’s voice tore through the moment like nails on a chalkboard, loud, mocking, and as insufferable as ever. You visibly cringed at the sound. God, how you hated him. JJ didn’t skip a beat. He flashed a grin over his shoulder. “It’s not about the bike, bro. You’ll see.” You watched him mount his bike like he belonged there, like every piece of him was aligned with the machine beneath him. Still, your eyes drifted again, betraying you again.

Rafe, now sat rigid and ready, fingers gripping the handlebars, jaw set tight under the visor of his helmet. His posture was stiff, like he was fighting something. Maybe nerves. Maybe rage. Or maybe, just maybe, the sight of JJ with his arm around you was still echoing in his mind like gunfire. You secretly hoped that was the reason. That way he could get a taste of what you felt every time he was surrounded by women, flirting shamelessly as if you weren’t in the same room and felt the way you did about him. You leaned toward Cleo, dropping your voice low.

“What are the odds that asshole has a mechanical issue?” You asked motioning over towards Topper. Cleo’s eyes sparkled as she bit back a laugh. “Wishful hoping,” She muttered back making you smile. It was a joke. Mostly. It’s safe to say you never wish for anything harder. The starting flags rose in the air. Engines revved. The race was seconds away, and so was the potential fallout. Because no matter how fast they rode, you knew someone’s pride wasn’t making it out of this clean. “Alright guys, listen up!”

A voice called, muffled slightly by the noise of revving engines and the crowd’s restless energy. You looked up to see the woman in charge, stepping up onto a dented cooler like it was her podium. “Race is to the old buoy and back!” She shouted, voice clear now that the engines had quieted slightly. “Other than that, no rules!” That was the part that made your stomach twist. No rules meant no mercy. Not when it came to egos like Rafe Cameron’s. He was the kind of person who didn’t see boundaries, only opportunities to push harder, to hurt more.

And something in his body language told you this wasn’t just about winning the race. This was about making a point. The competitors lined up, front tires angled toward the narrow break between dunes that led to the open beach trail. You caught sight of JJ, already straddling his bike, shoulders rolling like he was shaking off the nerves. John B was by his smacking JJ’s back for luck. The woman raised her hand. The crowd buzzed louder. Your heart beat out of sync with everything around you.

“On your marks!”

The engines howled.

“Get set!”

The world held its breath.

“GO!”

The ground seemed to explode. Sand kicked up in a cloud as tires spun and rocketed forward, engines screaming with unleashed fury. The racers surged down the path, weaving past each other in a blur. All except one. JJ’s bike lurched forward with a weak cough, then sputtered. The rear tire kicked up a sad puff of sand before sinking deeper, completely stuck. The bike tilted slightly, and JJ slammed a palm against the handlebar in frustration.

The rear tire spun wildly, digging deeper into the soft sand. He leaned forward, adjusted, gunned the throttle, nothing. The machine jerked once, uselessly, then sputtered. It was stuck, buried just enough to throw off his start. Your heart plummeted. The rest of the riders tore down the beach, out front, unmistakably, Rafe had taken the lead, completely unbothered by what was happening behind him. JJ jumped off, digging his boots into the sand, yanking the handlebars with a frustrated burst of energy.

The bike rocked, tilted, but he didn’t give up. A second, maybe two, passed like an eternity. Then the rear wheel caught. He was back on in a flash. With one violent twist of the throttle, JJ surged forward, the engine finally catching traction. He disappeared into the chase, trailing behind the rest but gaining speed fast. You stood frozen, heart hammering. Pope said something behind you. Cleo moved toward the track, slow and calculating. Kiara’s hand brushed your arm, grounding you, but all you could focus on was the tightening knot in your chest.

The distant roar of engines echoed against the crashing surf as JJ disappeared into the shimmering heat haze of the beach trail, far behind the rest. But even from where you stood, you could see the determination in the way his body hunched low over the handlebars, elbows tucked, eyes locked ahead. He was pushing the bike hard, harder than most would dare on that terrain. After all he had everything to lose. By the lack of noise, you guessed that some racers had begun falling behind as sandbanks and tight curves slowed them down.

However, out front as announced by the umpires, Rafe cut through the course like a man possessed. He wasn’t just racing, he was performing. Kicking up sand with tail slides, lifting the front wheel into a controlled wheelie, twisting into sharp turns just close enough to the flags to make people gasp. Every stunt was loud. Designed to draw eyes. And it worked. Only, JJ was gaining. Little by little, the distance closed. He blew past two riders stuck behind a shallow tide pool. Skated around another who tried to block him out near the jagged driftwood stretch.

John B wasn’t far ahead, holding steady behind Topper, who rode like the bastard he was, weaving, swerving too close, flinging sand into John B’s path with every exaggerated cut of his back wheel. And then he did it. Just as JJ was narrowing in on them, Topper slowed, only to sharply cut across John B’s lane, nearly clipping his front tire. John B swerved, barely staying upright, skidding dangerously close to the rock-slick shoreline. JJ veered wide to avoid the tangle, engine snarling in protest as he charged forward.

Behind his helmet, you could practically feel the heat of JJ’s fury. The trail narrowed ahead, splitting into two lanes before leading to the inlet: a wide stretch of water, deceptively shallow in places, but tricky to navigate. Most racers slowed down, planning to take the longer arc around it. Rafe didn’t. He sped straight for the edge, lifted his front tire, and jumped, his bike slicing cleanly through the air before landing with a spray of sand on the other side. The crowd screamed, thrilled by the recklessness of it.

But JJ wasn’t backing down. He was last into the turn. Last to the edge. But instead of hesitating, he went faster, faster than he should’ve. You watched, breath caught in your throat, as he hit the lip of the dune and launched. He cleared the inlet. For a heartbeat, he was airborne and then before any of you could blink, he landed hard, suspension groaning as his wheels bit into the sand. And just like that, he was in front of Rafe. You didn’t even realize you were clenching your fists until Sarah gasped beside you, grabbing your arm.

The crowd was deafening, and yet all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears as JJ surged ahead, heading toward the finish line. But Rafe wouldn’t have it. He was right behind him now, tucked in close, too close. The two of them thundered across the final stretch, neck and neck. You saw it happening before it happened. Rafe angled in, subtle at first, then harder. He clipped the back of JJ’s tire with the front of his own. In result, JJ’s bike bucked sideways. For a split second, it looked like he might recover. But it was too late.

Both bikes skidded.

Both riders went airborne.

The impact wasn't catastrophic, but it was violent, bodies rolling, metal skidding, sand exploding in clouds as the two of them hit the ground, limbs tangled, bikes flipping beside them. The entire crowd held its breath. You could feel your pulse in your teeth. Bottom lip caught in between your teeth so hard it drew blood. You heard Kiara gasp as JJ pushed himself up first, coughing. Rafe followed, rolling onto his back, helmet cracked at the edge. Yet the race wasn’t over. Through the cloud of chaos, one rider crossed the line.

Topper.

His smug face tore past the checkered flag as the woman waved the finish. He threw his arms in the air, howling in victory as if he hadn’t just sabotaged half the damn race. Around you, people cheered. Pope shouted something. Kiara cursed. Sarah rushed towards John B. All you could do was watch as JJ ripped off his helmet, face flushed and jaw clenched, standing in the wreckage of what should have been his moment. He didn’t look at Topper. He didn’t even look at Rafe. He just stared at the finish line like it was mocking him.

By the time you and the rest of the Pogues reached him, he’d already turned his back. John B got to him first, hand outstretched, but JJ swatted it away with a sharp shake of his head. Kiara tried next, murmuring something under her breath as she reached for his arm, but he pulled free. He was seething. You stopped short a few feet away, your shoes digging into the sand as you watched the scene unfold from the outside. Eventually, JJ walked off, shoulders rigid, leaving the others calling after him. No one followed.

You stood there, arms crossed and unsure whether to chase after him or let him cool off. You knew him well enough to know that pushing would only make it worse. Still, your chest ached with the need to do something, to say something. But the words stayed stuck in your throat, heavy and uncertain. Before you could move, a shadow passed beside you. Rafe. He walked with a slight limp, favoring his left knee as he approached, dust and blood smeared across his temple. His helmet hung loosely in one hand, forgotten.

You didn’t look at him. Not right away. Not until he stopped a few feet away, gaze heavy on you. You could feel it, like heat against your skin. Slowly, you turned, cautious and guarded, unsure what he’d come to say. His mouth opened as if to speak, but nothing came out at first. For once, the arrogant smirk was gone. Replaced with something that looked dangerously close to regret. He took a breath, voice low and strained. “Can we please talk?” You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure you could.

So he tried again. Something about the way he looked at you, lost and pleading beneath the cracks in his armor made your chest tighten. He looked vulnerable. You didn’t want to give him this moment. Not after everything. Not after how he'd handled you, or worse, how he'd handled JJ. But you hesitated. And in that hesitation, he stepped closer, his expression softening just enough to remind you that despite everything he was, he still felt something. “Just a minute, please Y/N.” He rasped, motioning off to the side.

It wasn’t a demand. It was a beg. And against every bitter impulse, you gave the smallest of nods. Only a minute. But you already knew, nothing about this was going to be simple. The weight of Rafe’s request lingered in the space between you, unsettling and hard to ignore. You hated how easily his voice slipped beneath your skin, how his presence still sparked something sharp and tangled in your chest. And yet, despite everything you followed him. Behind you, the Pogues watched in stunned silence.

Their gazes pressed into your back. You turned, just once, to look at them. Pope’s brow was furrowed, clearly fighting the urge to say something. Cleo stood with her arms crossed, a hard edge in her stance. Kiara looked like she didn’t know whether to stop you or simply trust your judgment. John B’s jaw practically dropped. And Sarah, Sarah’s eyes held something softer, understanding maybe, but it only made the knot in your throat tighten. You met their eyes hesitantly, almost shamefully.

Then, without thinking, you gave them all a half-assed thumbs up. Was it your proudest moment? Most definitely not. Was it reassurance? Hardly, you thought mentally kicking yourself. You weren’t even sure if it was for them or so that you could reassure yourself. To nobody’s super, they didn’t return it. They just watched as you turned away. Following after the one person you shouldn’t. And all you could think of in that moment was: What could possibly go wrong?

Despite everything in your body that screamed don’t do this, the ache in your gut, the guilt simmering under your skin you followed him. Rafe didn’t look back as he led you down the path, steps heavy against the old wood of the dock. The cheers and chaos of the race faded behind you, swallowed by the sound of the ocean, waves crashing against rocks like a warning you couldn’t quite decipher. The pier was nearly deserted.

Only seagulls overhead and the distant hiss of the wind weaving through rusted rails. But inside your chest, your heartbeat was deafening. Rafe stopped near the edge, dried blood at his temple. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at you. And that silence, it lit a spark you didn’t bother putting out. “Are you going to talk,” You snapped, voice cutting through the quiet like glass. “Or just stand there while I try to read your mind like always?” Your words hung in the air, bitter and biting.

He flinched, barely, but you caught it. His jaw tightened, muscles twitching beneath his skin as his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides like he didn’t trust them not to break something. Or maybe he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you. You waited, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Not just at him, for the crash, for JJ, for the way he looked at you like you were his and nothing at all at the same time, but mostly at yourself, too.

For being here. For caring. For still looking at him and wanting answers when you should’ve walked away the moment he asked. Rafe exhaled sharply, jaw ticking, still not meeting your eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to go down like that.” He muttered, finally. Quiet. Almost like he hated the words as they left his mouth. You scoffed, stepping forward, heart pounding. “You purposely bumped his tire, Rafe. He could’ve gotten seriously hurt. You could’ve gotten hurt too.”

“I know,” He growled, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck, fingers twitching near the fading bruises down his arm. “It just, happened.” You couldn’t believe the words coming out from his mouth. “That’s always your excuse, isn’t it?” Your voice broke, sharper than you intended it to. “It just happened. Like every time you flip the switch between whatever this is and pretending like I don’t exist.” He looked at you then. And for a second, you hated him for it, because he looked wrecked.

Eyes bloodshot around the edges, pain laced in the lines of his face. No smugness. No front. “You are never going to change, are you?” You whimpered, voice cracking as the weight of it all finally broke. Your throat burned as the tears you’d been holding back began to fall, hot and bitter against your cheeks. You didn’t wait for an answer. You didn’t need one. Because you already knew. “You only show up when everything around you’s falling apart. Every time I think you’re about to step up, you do the opposite,” You continued, voice wobbling but unwavering.

“You know how I feel about you. And I thought… I really thought I knew how you felt about me. Yet everything you do just makes it harder to believe any of it was real.” You shook your head, more tears falling, more rage rising. “I deserve better than this,” You declared fiercely, though the tremor in your hands betrayed you. “You act like I’m someone you need, and then treat me like I’m disposable the second things get too real. I’ve been patient, but I’m done waiting for you to figure out how to care about someone without setting them on fire first.”

You swiped your cheek roughly, trying to ground yourself, but the trembling only got worse. “I’m not your therapist. I’m not your outlet. I’m not a punching bag for when you hate the person you’ve become.” You paused, just long enough to gather the last of your strength. “I deserve something real, Rafe,” You muttered, softer now. “Or nothing at all.” You looked up at him, fully, everything laid bare in your expression. “So what is it?” You asked, voice sharp again.

“What was so important that you had to pull me aside for? Or was this just another one of your half-assed attempts to mark your territory like I’m some thing you own?” Your heart thundered as you stepped back, your final words slicing the space between you. “I’m not yours. And you’re not mine. Not like this. So either find the balls to tell me how you really feel, or leave me the hell alone once and for all.” And still, he said nothing. Not a word. Not even a breath. His silence settled over the dock like fog, thick, suffocating.

You felt it in your chest, in your spine, in the way your legs suddenly wanted to give out. You stared at him, pleading, just for something. But there was only silence. And maybe, you thought, that was the answer. Maybe it always had been. Maybe you just had been to blinded to see what was right in front of you. Making the decision for him, you turned to leave, heart pounding so hard you felt nauseous, as your feet moved on instinct, away from him, away from everything.

But his voice cut through the noise in your head, sharp and sudden. “I love you.” You froze mid-step. Those three words. So quiet. So simple. So devastatingly late. You didn’t turn around. You just stood there, eyes wide, body suspended like the breath caught in your lungs. Because those words, they were everything you’d wanted, and everything you could no longer afford to believe. “I know I’ve been absolute shit at showing you how I feel.” You could hear his footsteps now, cautious, like he didn’t know if he was walking into forgiveness or finality.

“It’s just…” He trailed off, and you could picture him, rubbing the back of his neck, biting at the inside of his cheek like he always did when his mind spiraled. “I didn’t know how else to tell you.”His breath hitched. “I thought maybe if I pissed you off enough, you’d hate me. And that would be easier.” You looked over your shoulder, not daring to meet his eyes fully. Just enough to see the shake in his stance. His fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them.

His buzzed hair was damp with sweat, forehead creased in a way that looked older than he was.“You deserve the world, Y/N,” He declared, voice low and raw. “And I’m a selfish bastard. I took you for granted. Over and over again. And even while I was doing it, I knew, I knew the only thing I really wanted was you.” He ran a hand across his face, like he was trying to physically wipe the guilt away. “But I was scared. I am scared. So I did the only thing I know how to do. I hurt people. I keep people away before they can see the parts of me I can’t even stand to look at.” There was a tremble in his voice now.

“Y/N,” He whispered your name like a prayer. “I love you so fucking much it terrifies me.” Your eyes slammed shut. The tears came again, quieter this time. Slower. Your body gave the faintest shudder, as if every emotion you had tried to suppress was clawing its way back up to the surface. Behind you, he stepped closer. Only a few feet away now.“If you give me a chance,” He pleaded, softer now, “I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you. I’ll show you that you were never a placeholder. You’ve always been the thing I’ve wanted most, the only thing.”

Silence settled between you again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was full. Full of grief. Full of longing. Full of everything neither of you had said until now. Your heart beat wildly against your ribs, and you weren’t sure if it was from heartbreak or hope. You could feel his eyes on you. The way he held his breath. Waiting. After a few seconds, not being able to stand the silence swallowing the space between you, Rafe closed the distance. His movements were hesitant, cautious, like he was afraid one wrong breath might send you running.

The waves behind you crashed louder now, as if even the ocean was holding its breath. He stepped in front of you slowly, forcing your gaze up. “Please, baby…” He whispered, voice frayed at the edges. It broke something in you. Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. Rafe Cameron didn’t beg. But now, he stood before you, shoulders hunched, eyes glassy, desperation bleeding into every line of his face. Then he did something you never could’ve predicted. He dropped to his knees. Your breath caught. You blinked, not quite believing it.

His frame folding to the ground in front of you, pride left somewhere far behind on the dock. His hands reached up, trembling slightly, as if asking for permission before he even touched you. You didn't move. Not yet. Your heart thudded in your chest, thunderous and confused. His fingers brushed yours, featherlight. And then he took your hands in his, gently, like holding something he’d already broken once and didn’t dare risk dropping again. “I’m sorry for everything,” He choked out, head lowered, voice cracking around the apology. Tears spilled freely now, not just yours.

His too. His chest heaved with them, quiet and broken as they came. “I’m so sorry for hurting you,” He whispered, his thumbs brushing the backs of your hands like they were trying to erase the pain he’d left behind. “Every time I look at you I feel like I’m watching something I’ll never deserve… but I still want to be better, for you. Because you loved me even when I gave you nothing.” You swallowed hard, throat raw. And still, he didn’t rise. Rafe stayed there, knees on splintered wood, forehead nearly pressed to your joined hands.

Not as a performance. Not to manipulate. But because he didn’t know any other way to show you how completely he'd fallen apart. “I’m scared of who I am without you,” He admitted softly, shame pouring out between each syllable. “But I’m more scared of who I’ve become with you thinking I don’t care.” You didn’t realize you were crying until your tears hit the tops of his knuckles. He felt them. And his grip tightened just slightly, like he knew he’d struck something deep, and couldn’t let go. For the first time, maybe ever, there was no mask.

No bravado. No storm of chaos cloaking his words. Just Rafe. Unarmored. On his knees. Apologizing not because he wanted to be forgiven, but because he needed you to know that he finally understood the cost of loving without care. And he had never wanted anything more than to try again. This time the right way. If you let him. Something in you cracked. Maybe it was the way he said your name. Or maybe it was the sight of him, Rafe Cameron, down on his knees, pride shattered, hands trembling as he reached for you.

Or maybe it was the grief behind his tears, grief for the damage he caused, and for the possibility he’d lost you for good. But instead of falling with him, you reached out. Your fingers curled around his, gentle but firm, like an anchor. He looked up at you with wide eyes, the kind of vulnerability you never thought he’d be capable of showing. There was no mask now. No biting smirk. Just the boy underneath it all, the one who had been quietly begging you to see him, even when he was doing everything to push you away.

You didn’t kneel. You pulled him up. Slowly, like gravity was fighting it, like every inch closer to you was some kind of redemption. He stood unevenly, breath shallow, blinking like he didn’t know what would happen next. He towered just slightly over you now, body stiff, afraid to touch you, waiting. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Because the moment his eyes met yours, everything inside of you exploded. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you kissed him.

You surged forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and crashing your lips into his like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth. The kiss was messy, desperate, teeth knocking and breaths stolen. His hands found your face almost too quickly, like he’d been dreaming of this moment and memorizing how to hold you. It wasn’t gentle. It was full of rage, of pain, of longing. Of everything you never got to say. It was an apology and a confession and a scream all in one.

It was grief meeting grief, and choosing not to be alone anymore. He kissed you like he was starving. Like this was the only thing that could make the noise in his head go quiet. His mouth moved against yours in a way that was both familiar and new, like something he’d craved for so long but never believed he deserved. And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself fall. Fall into him. Into this. Into the chaos of what the two of you were. When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. Foreheads pressed together. Hands still gripping fabric like you might drift apart if you let go.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, over the tears neither of you had noticed were still falling. “Still think I don’t mean it?” He whispered, voice hoarse and shaking. Your eyes didn’t leave his. Not when he leaned in. Not when his breath ghosted over your lips. Not even when the ache in your chest threatened to cave you in completely. You let the silence stretch between you, thick and intimate before your fingers slipped up the front of his shirt again, tugging him closer. A quiet shrug left your shoulders, a smirk ghosting over your kiss-bitten lips.

“Would it be so bad if I wanted to see you grovel a little bit more?” You murmured, voice low, teasing, but there was no venom in it. Just warmth. A flicker of hope laced in exhaustion. He huffed a soft laugh, the first real one you'd heard from him in what felt like forever, and you felt it, the way it vibrated through his chest, into yours. His nose nudged against yours, slow and tender, grounding you in the closeness. “Nah, baby,” He whispered, voice gravel and saccharine, lips brushing yours again but not quite kissing you.

“Believe me, I intend to do that and a lot more. If you’ll let me.” Your heart clenched, hard. Because you’d never seen him like this. Unarmored. Unfiltered. Saying the things you used to dream about when the nights were long and he was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t asking for permission to make things perfect, he was asking for a chance. A real one. And something in you, despite every bruise, every crack, wanted to believe him. Your fingers slid up, into the short strands of his buzzed hair, your touch soft but unyielding.

“Then don’t just say it,” You breathed, brushing your lips over his again. “Prove it.” This time, the kiss came slower. Deeper. No frenzy. No anger. Just the press of two people trying to fit years of ache into one breath. You felt the way his hands gripped your waist, not possessive, but reverent. Like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers again. Like he wanted to memorize the way you felt, just in case this was all a dream. You pressed into him, and he met you there, without hesitation, without fear, just need. Pure, aching, desperate need.

The kiss deepened quickly, turning from tentative to hungry, from apology to confession. Your mouths moved in sync, familiar and foreign all at once, like muscle memory coming alive after years of being dormant. His hands found your waist again, sliding around your back, fingers splaying across the small of it like he was trying to hold all of you at once, trying to ground himself in the one thing he could never get right but couldn’t bear to let go of. He pulled you closer, your bodies flush now.

His breath shuddering as your fingers tangled in his buzzed hair, scraping lightly at his scalp. He groaned into your mouth, a sound that made your stomach twist and your heart race. You felt his vulnerability in every movement, the way he kissed you like he thought it might be the last time, the way he whispered your name against your lips like a lifeline. You kissed him like every second apart had left a hollow in your chest only he could fill.

And maybe that wasn’t fair, maybe it wasn’t smart, but in that moment, it was real. Your lips slowed eventually, but didn’t break. You lingered there, breathing each other in. He rested his forehead against yours again, and you could feel how hard his heart was beating, you could feel how yours echoing the same chaotic rhythm. “I missed you so much,” He whispered against your mouth, his voice breaking with the weight of it.

“Even when I was being the worst version of myself… I missed you. And now I’m never letting you go. Not again.” You didn’t reply. You just kissed him again, softer this time, slower. But no less sure. And when you pulled back, lips swollen, eyes glassy, hands still clutching his shirt like he might disappear, you realized something. You were kissing the boy who came back, broken, terrified, begging for a second chance, and maybe, just maybe, you were ready to let him try.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

[maskedbyghost]

Possessive reader getting a body pillow cover of Simon made for when he’s on deployment for long periods of time and can’t communicate. Like a cat seeing a balloon of itself, man is pissy anytime he’s reminded it exists and gets reader’s undivided attention the moment he’s forced away from them.

You didn’t buy it as a joke. That’s the first thing people get wrong. You weren’t drunk or being ironic or trying to be funny about how much you missed him. You were just pissed off. He was gone again, longer this time, and he didn’t say how long exactly—just said he wouldn’t be able to call often, might not even text for a while.

And you just stood there, nodding like you were cool with it, like it didn’t already burn in your chest thinking about sleeping alone again.

So yeah. You searched “custom body pillow” that night with your jaw clenched and your arms crossed and your phone brightness on full blast, like that was gonna make it hurt less.

You found a site that let you upload any photo you wanted, and you picked that one—him shirtless, sweaty from a workout, giving you the kind of half-smile that made your stomach flip. He’d sent it to you months ago, and you’d never deleted it. Now it was going to be six feet of print pressed up against you under the blankets every night.

And you didn’t tell him. Of course not. You just tracked the shipping, yanked it out of the box the second it arrived, and dressed it in one of his old oversized tees—your favorite. The one he always pulled on when he got out of the shower, the one he always told you looked better on you than on him. It smelled like him. And now so did the pillow.

You laid it down on his side of the bed, adjusted the angle like a crazy person, and stared at it for way too long before you finally turned the light off. It wasn’t even that it made you feel better. You were just so mad you couldn’t have the real thing. If you had to sleep without him, then fine—you’d make damn sure there was no space in your bed left for anyone else. Not even empty air.

He got back weeks later. He didn’t even text that he was on his way—just showed up, opened the front door, and called your name like nothing had changed.

You were halfway through the hallway when you heard him go completely silent.

“Uh,” he finally said, and it was coming from the bedroom.

You turned the corner and saw him just standing there. Bag on the floor, keys still in one hand, mouth half open like someone had sucker punched him. The pillow was still there, obviously. Front and center. Still wearing his shirt. His face was printed life-sized on it.

“Oh,” you said, like you’d forgotten. Like it hadn’t been your emotional support sleep aid for two straight weeks. “That.”

“That?” he repeated, turning to look at you with full-blown betrayal in his eyes. “That’s what you’ve been sleepin’ with?”

“I didn’t exactly have options,” you said, walking past him to flop down on the bed. “You were gone. It was either this or cry myself to sleep.”

“You could’ve warned me,” he muttered, still staring at it.

You snorted. “Would you have stopped me?”

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

He finally tore his eyes off it and looked at you instead, arms crossed. “What, so I leave for five minutes and you replace me with a bloody pillow?”

“I wouldn’t need a replacement if you didn’t keep running off to fight bad guys every other month,” you said sweetly, patting the spot beside you. “Come on, it’s your turn. Might as well take your place back.”

He just stood there, unmoving. “You seriously slept next to that thing?”

“I did more than sleep,” you grinned.

He groaned. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“You jealous?”

“It’s a pillow,” he said, like the word offended him. “I’m not jealous of a fuckin’—”

“I rubbed my face on it every night. Talked to it too. Called it baby. You know, just regular relationship stuff.”

He stared at you, completely deadpan, then looked at the pillow again. “You’re sick in the head.”

You shrugged. “You love it.”

“I love you,” he snapped. “That’s the problem. You get away with this shit.”

You smiled like you’d won something. “You bet your ass I do. And if you ever get deployed without warning me again, I’m printing one of those full cardboard cutouts next. I’ll sit it at the kitchen table. Put it in the shower, even.”

He dragged a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath, and when he looked at you again his eyes were warmer. “You’re insane.”

“You love it,” you said, reaching for him.

He let you pull him toward the bed, finally dropping down beside you with a sigh. You tossed the pillow off to the side and straddled his lap like it was your rightful seat, hands on his chest, your grin smug.

He blinked, breath stuttering just slightly, and you watched the red creep up the tips of his ears as your fingers dragged down the front of his shirt. “You’re not allowed to be hotter than me and then disappear. That’s not fair.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, woman.”

“You missed it,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You missed me.”

“I really did.”

“Good,” you whispered, nose brushing his. “So don’t leave again.”

He kissed you hard, all tongue and teeth. “Make me.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

------------------------------------------

i just can't with these two

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @bunnyxiis

[marvelseries19]

VANISHING POINT

Chapter One - Castaway

Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter Four | Chapter five |

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: The mission was successful, however, your return home will not be as easy as you may believe. In fact, you're not sure you would be able to get back.

A/N: It's been a while since I've been excited about writing. So, here is the first chapter. I hope you like it. I rewrote a few times, but I think this is as good as it gets. I would appreciate feedback on it, and any comments, suggestions, questions, or just conversations about it are welcome. There are some posts that I would like for you to check out, there is some info and ideas that I wanted to let you know. If you saw a typo or something, no, you didn't. Enjoy :)

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries, language, etc.

Word count: 1.2k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The Quinjet hummed steadily beneath your fingertips, the vast stretch of ocean below endless and unforgiving. The ride back to the compound was at least full of beautiful views.

It had been an easy mission, just surveillance on a suspected HYDRA base. It took a week to complete, and now you were on your way home.

You leaned back slightly, exhaling. Just a few more hours, and you would be back home. Back with her.

Your fingers idly reached for the chain around your neck, your thumb grazing over the cool metal of the ring that rested against your collarbone. Natasha’s ring. Your ring.

"So you don’t forget who’s waiting for you," she had murmured the night before, fastening the delicate chain around your neck, leaving a soft kiss at the nape of your neck. You had smiled, shaking your head, but you had worn it beneath your suit every day since.

You were still lost in thought when Control’s voice crackled into the cockpit.

"Quinjet 9, this is Control. We just lost your tracking signal. Do you copy?"

Your brows furrowed. That’s not good.

"Yeah, I’m here. Everything looks fine… But let me check." Your fingers moved swiftly across the controls.

"Check your navigation relay. We’re showing nothing on our grid." A knot of unease formed in your stomach.

"Navigation relay is showing an error," you reported, your voice tight. "Stand by. I'll reboot—" The comms crackled, then cut out.

Silence.

Your stomach dropped.

"Control, say again? I'm losing you—repeat last!"

A new sound sliced through the cockpit—a shrill, piercing alarm.

Your radar flashed red. Missile lock. Your blood turned to ice.

"Shit—"

The first blast struck the Quinjet’s side. The impact threw you forward, your head slamming against the seat as the ship lurched violently. The left engine flared and failed instantly.

Alarms screamed. The Quinjet spun into freefall.

"Unidentified hostiles—taking heavy damage! Engines failing—I’m going down!" You shouted into the comms, straining to regain control.

"09, respond! What’s your location?! Agent Sloane, respond!"

You gritted your teeth, forcing your shaky hands over the controls, trying to reroute power. But the ship was already lost. The only thing you could do was brace for impact.

Your fingers clutched the ring against your chest.

Another explosion. The world blurred.

The ocean rushed up to meet you.

And then... Nothing.

—

The tension in the command center was thick enough to suffocate. Maria Hill stood with her arms crossed, eyes locked on the central monitor where Quinjet 9’s tracking data had once been.

Now, just static. Nick Fury stood beside her, his jaw tight, watching the same feed with unreadable eyes. Agent Dawson swallowed hard, headset pressed to his ear as he scanned multiple screens, waiting for anything-any sign of life.

Then—a red alert.

Dawson’s heart dropped.

"No, no, no..."

He straightened, turning toward Hill and Fury. His voice was steadier than he felt.

"We lost Quinjet 9."

Hill’s eyes narrowed. This couldn't be happening. "What do you mean 'lost'?"

Dawson hesitated. "No comms. No signal. No trace. It’s just... gone. We don't know where it is."

Silence.

Fury exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. "Shit."

A muscle in Hill’s jaw twitched, but she gave a curt nod. "Start a search. Now."

Dawson hesitated. "Are we letting Agent Romanoff know?"

Fury and Hill exchanged a look.

Hill's voice was quieter now, almost resigned. "We'll tell her soon."

But Natasha Romanoff was already walking toward them, worried about not being able to contact you.

And the moment she saw their faces, she knew something had happened.

—

The first thing you felt was pain.

It dragged you from unconsciousness, a dull, throbbing ache that rolled through your entire body in relentless waves. Your head pounded, the world tilting dangerously even though you weren’t moving. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filtered through the ringing in your ears.

You forced your eyes open.

Blurry at first. Then, sharper—too sharp. Sunlight burned against your retinas, forcing you to squeeze them shut again. You tried to shift, but the moment you did, agony tore through your right side.

Your breathing hitched.

Ribs—definitely broken. You pushed through the pain, blinking against the light, taking in your surroundings.

Sand. Golden, coarse grains clinging to your skin. Your tactical suit was torn and streaked with blood and seawater. You were half-buried in the surf, the edges of the tide touching your boots. Further up, debris from the Quinjet was scattered across the beach—twisted metal, shattered glass, pieces of what was once your cockpit.

Shit.

You bit back a groan as you tried to sit up. A sharp, white-hot burst of pain shot through your right shoulder.

Dislocated.

Gritting your teeth, you cradled your arm against your torso, barely holding back a scream. Your ribs protested with every movement, but you had to keep going.

Your left hand found your chain, fingers fumbling until they closed around the ring.

You exhaled shakily.

Natasha.

She had no idea where you were. No one did.

The Quinjet had gone down off-radar. You had no comms, no signal, no way of knowing if anyone was even looking for you yet.

You’re on your own.

For now, at least.

Your forehead throbbed, and when you reached up, your fingers came back slick with blood.

You checked yourself over as best you could. Right shoulder, dislocated; ribs, at least two broken; head, bleeding, probably a mild concussion; and finally your legs, sore but not broken. Good. Small victories.

Breathing through the pain, you forced yourself to move. You needed shelter. Water. Some kind of plan.

But first—the shoulder.

You swallowed hard. There's no way around it. It had to go back in.

You found a rock near the treeline, rough and sturdy enough for leverage. Your breathing was ragged as you planted your feet, braced your body, and slammed your shoulder back into place.

White-hot pain was felt behind your eyes, swiftly dragging you into darkness. Resetting your shoulder—or other joints—was nothing new, but never under circumstances like these or with this many injuries.

The agony was too much for your body to handle. So to protect you, it shut off.

—

A few months ago

"You’re fidgeting."

Natasha’s voice was amused, but there was something softer in her tone, something fond.

You rolled your eyes, stuffing your hands in your pockets. "I don’t fidget."

She smirked, stepping closer, the city lights casting a glow on her freckled cheekbones. "You do when you're nervous."

You sighed, exhaling a shaky breath. It was a stupid thing to be nervous about. You’d faced assassins, HYDRA, and alien invasions, but somehow, this moment felt more terrifying.

You pulled the ring from your pocket. A simple band, strong, unyielding.

Much like her.

Natasha’s breath caught.

"I know we never really talked about it," you said, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "And I know we’re both terrible at normal, but—"

She cut you off with a kiss, her fingers curling around yours, closing them over the ring.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely a whisper.

"I was waiting for you to ask."

—

You were jerked back to reality by the sharp, relentless pain in your ribs and shoulder, the ache grounding you in the present. But the memory of your marriage proposal still lingered, a warmth that cut through the agony like a lifeline.

You flexed your fingers. It worked.

Barely conscious, body trembling, you let your fingertips brush against the ring resting against your chest. A reminder. A promise.

And with that, you forced yourself to your feet.

[bbluefllame]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 .ᐟ

synopsis: college au texts (& small hcs) with the girls + tropes<3

characters: jinx, vi, caitlyn, sevika

notes: SHE'S BACKKKKK!!! sorry for being gone for so long #igotintoleagueoflegends(thegame.), regular posting will be back !! other than that, sevikas part was my fave bless.

vi. + fake dating (also biker! vi)

- how this whole fake dating thing started was through a hook up actually!!

- both of you got shitfaced & you two were already friends, so after vi saw Maddie with caitlyn she was like "nah fuck it I'm gonna get her back!!" (classic, sigh.)

- this is random, but she's actually a really good cook (in my head) and she's probably made some fire meals 4 you

- for some reason.. she gives me xxxtentacion listener like she loves "I don't even speak Spanish lol" in this au but when she's emo over cait, bring out the sad! and shit like that 😭

- her ass would be on the ground staring at the ceiling, sad! blasting, and her roommate would be like SHUT THAT SHIT DOWN!!!!!

- avid marvel rivals player, loves luna snow no questions.

- don't ask why she texts like that she js does 😔

- she goes "this is for you" before scoring in a game and trips while running and falls on her face instead😭

- she is nawt NAWT!! a womanizer(?) fuckgirl(is that the female equivalent?????) idgaf what ppl say, sure she flirts occasionally but she's super loyal if she's in a rs, she's an awesome gf !!! we love vi in this household!!!!

jinx. + childhood bsfs 2 lovers

- matching pfps & bios on tiktok and insta I'm telling u. it'd be smth like "sniper, sniper, sniper" then "wifey, wifey, wifey"

- random hc cs yay, vi probably accidentally killed her pet hamster when they were kids and you had to comfort her cs her ass was crying for HOURRSSSS. there was a funeral for it with a tiny casket. (it died cs of the microwave beeping when vi's instant noodles were done)

- one of those ppl who gets high grades without trying, don't ask her grade unless you wanna feel hurt cs she js says "98" while being hungover.

- her music taste is so all over the place but I'm so certain she sticks to loud music!! she gets sleepy if it's calm😭

- engineering major no doubt abt it

- doesn't know how to cook but not cs she can't, it's bcs she doesn't want to

- she probably asked you out in a cutesy way like imagine after ur bday you're watching the stars tg and she's like staring at you w hearts in her eyes and she js says "I love you" and you're like "awww I love you too!!" cs ur bsfs, but she then repeats it "no like I LOVE you" and ur like woah.. then u start to makeout or whatever w stars in the bg, end scene!!

- genuinely the best gift giver ever, everything's homemade and made w love 🙏🙏 i lauv her sm😔😔

caitlyn. + academic rivals (+ forced proximity)

first pic isn't rlly connected to the rest, js to show their rs

- after the project you two actually got alot closer, you could even say FRIENDS 🤯, there is still competition but it isn't like as bad as before, it's more so "Haha, I got higher." "wtvvv 🙄 I'll buy u ice cream 😔"

- sevika was the prof btw, she wanted to fuck with u guys 🙏

- archer cait. that's all I gotta say. (also equestrian u can't tell me other wise)

- HEAR ME OUT! imagine she invites you to her archery training & during it ur like, "Can I try?" she says alright and then when you're holding the bow she goes behind you and starts fixing how ur holding it, then she wraps a hand around ur waist and brushes it off as "oh your posture was incorrect" when she lets go.

- moving on, I imagine her having a doll collection like don't ask why but she collects monster high dolls. (please ask her about every single doll, she'll proudly infodump)

- when u get closer to her she's alot less formal, its very cutie of her !!!

- has a fitness tiktok account and she drinks apple cider vinegar daily (NASTYYYY IDGAF IF ITS HEALTHY!!!!).

- modern au cait is like a cat in my head, idk she's js so cutie in it please give her love that's it😔

sevika. + grumpy x sunshine (professor! sevika)

- her students try to tease her when she smiles at your notes, she shuts them down so fast it's scary. her expression goes from 😊 to 🤨, then they stfu and go to their seat.

- only person who teases her and gets away with it is jinx I fear.

- you and sevika have a nightly routine of dancing together (she's so soft w u don't play w me.) her fave song to play is love by Keyshia Cole (ARGUFJWHFIWJ 😭😭😭😭😭)

- regular gym goer, she has an insta she barely posts on besides the occasional video of her hitting a new record while her students comment "omg MISS SEVIKA!!!!!" then she blocks them when she sees the notif.

- doesn't trust anyone to cut her hair besides you cs apparently you js do it better, her words, not mine! 🤷‍♀️

- one of those, mean to everyone besides you, types (minus isha and jinx cs those r FAM!)

- loves reading idk I js get that vibe from her, after a long day, she opens her kindle (that she got from you as a bday gift) and relaxes.

- first time her students saw you, they glanced at both of you like a million times before it registered you were together, cs how'd she end up with such a sweet cutie!!

- they ask her a billion questions and she's like "I don't talk about my personal life, end of story."

- she's trying to quit smoking for u trust 😞 it's js hard but she's getting there!!

- she loves u so dearly please never let go of her.😔😔

sevikas part was too long I'm sorry 😭 ...there were gonna be a couple NSFW hcs for her but 5 minutes after I wrote them I got food poisoning so I was like "I'll die if I post them."😔😔 anws hope u liked these

[natalievoncatte]

Lena crouched down and carefully undid the buckle, pulling the watch from Lex’s limp wrist. His cold hand fell to the floor with a soft flopping sound and his eyes stared at nothing, unfocused and dull. Lena had once read that a dead man stared as if trying to solve a complex problem, but Lena did not see metaphor in her dead brother’s eyes. She saw only an absence that was a presence, a nothing that was somehow something.

Lex finally had his father’s eyes.

The gun was still heavy in her hand, her palm and wrist tingling from the force of recoil, ears still ringing from the blast. A single hole marked the center of her brother’s forehead; the meat of his genius was splattered across a bank of screens all playing surveillance footage of Kara performing inhuman feats.

(Two to the chest, one to the head, he had taught her, teaching her to repeat the mantra as he held her wrist to guide her aim as she took her very first shot)

The world was starting to come back, sweeping in. She couldn’t be here. She’d have to figure out what to do with the body and the evidence. She had to get out.

The interface on the watch was simple enough. The portal flashed open and she stepped through into her apartment. That could be convenient.

The watch crystal was dotted with her brother’s blood. She threw it and it skidded across the kitchen counter and it fell on the floor. She looked at the weapon in her hand. She would have powder burns.

Looking up, she spotted her reflection in the stainless steel of her fridge, blurred but real. There was red on her.

Lena never wore red.

There was more than she thought. She was covered in blood. In a panic, she ran for her bedroom and began shedding clothes on the tile floor of her bathrooms, wrapping the gun in a towel before throwing it on the bed. Stupid, stupid. That revolver was registered to her in Metropolis, and like all guns sold in-state, the police had a spent shell casing from it, fired and then stored for police records before it was sold.

Fuck.

Hot water blasted her skin. She let her hair fall down around her shoulders in wet locks like streaks of ink smeared across her pale skin.

(Why must you be so pale? You look like a dead fish.)

(That’s enough, mother. Leave Lena alone.)

She wasn’t sure when the tears started, or when she began to sob. She scrubbed at herself with a wash cloth and soap until her skin was raw and beet red. She was still sobbing when she stumbled out of the shower and threw on a robe, choking back tears as she sat on the edge of the bed.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand, but who to call?

Not long ago she’d have called Kara, or perhaps her sister. She could have called Nia or Brainy but they had all fucking lied to her. Even James. James knew while he was… while they…

It was Kara. Kara has asked her boyfriend to spy on her, questioned her motives.

Kara… Kara had lied most of all.

She stared at the phone. There was Sam, but Sam was away from all this madness, busy with her work and her daughter. Lena would just be a burden to her.

She stared at her list of contacts- the only people she knew outside of her employees and associates were in Kara’s circle, except for Sam…

…and Jack.

Lena jabbed the call button and waited.

It rang, rang, rang again.

Finally, he answered.

“Lena?”

“Hello, Jack.”

“I must say I’m surprised- it’s rather late, and we haven’t spoken in a while. What’s on your mind?”

“I shot Lex in the face,” Lena said, shocked by her own hollow, distant voice.

The line was silent for too long a beat.

“Dear God, you’re serious.”

Lena choked out a sob.

“I had to, Jack. She was never going to be safe while he was alive. He almost killed her this time. He would never let her live if he knew how I feel.”

“Lena, darling, please, you’re not making sense. Look- I’m booking a flight out there now, but please, stay calm and try to tell me what happened.”

She didn’t know where to start, so she went back to the beginning, when she had learned how to trace Lex’s portals and followed him back to his lair.

She stopped herself before she gave it away.

“He showed me Supergirl’s real identity. He had proof.”

“I see.”

“I… she…”

“It doesn’t matter who she is. It hurt you, I know that. Listen to me, Lena- I’ve charted a flight and I’ll be there in six hours. Where is the gun?”

“I have it here.”

“Unload it, please. Let me know when you’ve finished.”

Lena flicked open the cylinder and dumped the shells into her hand, three spent and two unfired, then closed it again.

“Now, lock it up.”

Once it was in the safe she said, “done.”

“Now I want you to lie down. Stay in the apartment and wait there for me, I’ll be there presently.”

For once in her life, Lena did as she was told. Somehow, she fell asleep and didn’t wake until she heard the intercom buzzing.

Without thinking she pulled on sweats and a Midvale High Mathletes sweatshirt.

Kara’s.

When she opened the door she found a haggard Jack Spheer on the other side. He was a little older, beard salted with gray, but he was still him.

He swept into the apartment without a word, found the liquor cabinet, and poured drinks.

“Talk to me.”

Lena sat down and downed her two fingers of scotch in one motion. He poured her another.

“Kara Danvers is Supergirl.”

“The Kara Danvers? Your reporter friend? Your best friend?”

He took a drink.

“Your crush?” he added.

Lena stared at him. He met her gaze levelly.

“What you said on the phone before I left. That he would never let her live if he knew how you felt.”

Lena’s throat felt like sandpaper. She took another drink. It didn’t help.

“She’s not… I’m not… I don’t…” The words would not take shape. “She lied to me,” Lena finally choked out. “She did something I shouldn’t forgive and she used her double life to play both side against me. I don’t know what part of our relationship was real now.”

Jack studied his drink for a long time. He picked up the bottle and pretended to read the label.

“The last time we spoke she seemed quite taken with you. I assume that Lex knew all of this, or most of it.”

“He knew the broad strokes, I’m sure. I think he hoped that if he showed me, I’d join him.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” Lena said, in a tiny whisper. “I killed him.”

“Your brother is dead.”

“Yes.”

He poured more drinks, another round for both of them.

“Tell me about him.”

“You’ve heard all the stories.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Lena considered that for a moment, then began talking, rattling off whatever popped into her head. She started with the first time she ever met her brother when he and Lionel had come to Ireland to take custody of her, then began jumping around in time from the treehouse he tried to build to the time he told Lillian he’d kill her if she hurt Lena to his college graduation to when he declared to her that he was going to kill Superman, as if it were the most obvious thing to do.

Eventfully she ran out of stories, and they were running out of scotch. There was enough for one more glass each.

It was The Next Day by now, and mid-morning sun filled the penthouse.

“Are you ready to tell me about her?”

She was. Lena began with the first time they met- the mousy little wannabe reporter who followed Superman into her office as he posed as a reporter, how the Man of Steel himself seemed unimportant compared to Kara, how even then her heart fluttered and she felt a hot pressure low in her hips and Kara seemed to feel spending too.

She told Jack all about it- not just Kara but Supergirl too, about the plane and the office full of flowers and the lunches and brunches and movie nights and how this woman had burrowed into her life and made a home there and gave a home in return, about all the times she had saved Lena’s life.

Again the words ran out.

“Do you want my advice?”

“Yes,” said Lena.

“Talk to her. The woman cares for you deeply, that much is clear. Talk to her and see where you stand.”

“But,”

He raised a hand. “I’m telling you this because I think you’ll listen to me. You want my real advice?”

Lena swallowed. “Yes.”

“Your psychopath brother is gone. You own and run a Fortune 50 company. You’re on a dozen lists, 30 under 30, most influential women… you have virtually unlimited wealth and, if I dare say so, a woman who loves you.”

Lena sucked in a breath.

“Take the money, take the girl,” said Jack, “and live your life.”

She looked down at the empty glass, feeling the cold austere minimalism of her stark penthouse around her, and the tears began to flow anew. She wrapped her arms around herself and didn’t flinch when Jack took her in a bear hug.

“I want what’s best for you, and right now I think what’s best for you is ignoring that little voice in your head that’s telling you to blow up your life because you think you can’t be happy.”

“I knew,” Lena finally admitted. “I knew the whole time. I knew she was Supergirl and I knew I was in love with her.”

Lena wept softly on his shoulder for a time. He ended up staying the day and slept on her couch before leaving to return to Metropolis.

She was still wearing Kara’s sweater when she made the call.

“Lena? Are you alright? I was worried about you,” Kara said.

“Please come over,” Lena whispered. “I need to see you, Kara. You can come in through the balcony. The door is open.”

There was a too-long pause, and then the double impact of Supergirl’s boot heels on the concrete.

[graciedollie]

I will get on my hands and knees Js for you to do a Abby fanfic

(mostly an older Abby and a younger reader NOT YOUNG YOUNG) lowk want it to be angst something along the lines of p: Abby and reader hook up, Abby feels guilty, and leaves reader (possibly a part 2 could be added😏) (also NO RUSH AT ALLLLL get to it whenever you can Ik ur a busy women.. bye pretty 💗)

SO TELL ME YOU LOVE ME, ONLY FOR TONIGHT

WARNINGS: older!abby x younger!reader, reader is implied as fem!, abby is in her 30’s, reader is in their 20’s, implied drinking and smoking, mention of break up (r! experienced), reader has attachment issues, 18+ content!! cunnilingus ( R! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), ABBY GOT A SLEEVE TAT (👅👅)marking/hickies, praise & a sprinkle of condescending! abby, smut with angst :(, ghosting/leading on, self-doubting. (part 2?? girl who knows.)

11:34 pm…

It’s that time again.

You found yourself right back where you said you wouldn’t, but here you are—drinking continuous shots of liquor, letting that strong taste burn your throat at the familiar club, Tipsy Ups. The building was packed as the crowd roared along with the booming music of the weeknd—blasting in your ears.

Your eyeliner and eyeshadow was smudged, along with your lipstick—making you look like a total mess. You felt like utter shit but oh well, you always did anyway. That’s why you always came here. Neevah, the bartender that always saw you in the exact same spot exactly at 11:34 pm, smirked at you as she took your cup to refill it once more. “Funny seein’ you here. Thought you said we wouldn’t see each other again, huh?”

“Very funny, but seriously, this is my last time comin’ here.” Your words slurred over as you glazed over at her with glassy eyes, feeling how your heart felt heavy. It was a month since the break up of your relationship of 3 years—the one relationship that you felt completed in, but made you crumble to pieces when it ended.

‘You deserve more than me’

But yet she couldn’t change for you.

The words repeat in your head like a broken record.

A record that you want to smash.

You needed some air. Like now.

Your legs drug you to the balcony—the only place that wasn’t semi crowded with individuals eating each other’s faces off or sharing the most insane comments. Why on earth would you want to hear someone talking about who they’d turn the stranger—they just met—every way which loose while your heart was so heavy, you felt it in your stomach.

Burning with the stomach acid.

It made you sick.

Glassy eyes gazed over the city as you leaned over the railing, letting your mind painfully wonder into the space that you never wanted to go back to. You been through break ups before, but this one stuck like a thorn in a sore wound on your ass. The same thorn that always stung whenever you tried to pull it out.

Every. Single. Time.

Tears started to prickle at the corner of your eyes, returning that familiar stinging pain once again. Your hands gripped at the railing, tight enough to make your fingers hurt. You don’t know what went wrong. Was your love too much for them? Was you not good enough for them to stay? Or did they just simply grow bored of you?

This was not a fun night.

God you needed a smoke right now.

Sniffling as you wiped away the streaks of runny mascara and tears, you rustled through your purse for your usual smokes, but seems like you left them back at home on the counter. Again. “Fuck me..” You cursed harshly under your breath, letting out a huff as you rubbed your face with such annoyance.

“Need a smoke?”

The voice caught your attention as it held a nice low, sultry tone to it—making you finally look over to your side. You nearly felt yourself gag at how gorgeous this women was. She wore simple black pants fitted with a belt and a black shirt that hugged her chest and highlighted her abs—especially her biceps.

Her biceps.

They were sculpted to fuckin perfection.

And—was that a sleeve tattoo?

Oh.

You could feel the soberness taking its affect already just by looking at her.

She definitely seemed older. Maybe mid 30’s or so?

You didn’t care.

Not one bit.

Shaking your head as you realized you were just oogling shamelessly at this gorgeous woman before you, you smiled at her with a stupid grin as you nodded. “Oh—yeah! Yeah, I could use one, please..”

The woman stared at you for a moment before a sharp grin tugged at her lips, chuckling lowly as she shook her head while handing you over the cigarette. Once you placed it in your mouth, she lit the cigarette for you with ease, but it was the way her eyes glazed over you blazed something inside of you.

You needed to have her before the night ended.

“Names Abby. You seem to be havin’ a shitty night. Hate to see a pretty girl like yourself be upset..”

Your eyes glanced over at her as her words caught your attention, watching her closely as she leaned over the balcony while taking a decent puff of the cigarette before looking over at you with a small smile.

“ Names [ ᥫ᭡.] It’s just…just a shitty night. You must wanna know what’s eating me, huh?” Your voice rasped lowly as you placed your hand on your hip while taking another hit of the cigarette, raising a brow at her as you leaned against the railing as she did. She just shrugged and smirked once more, taking another hit before speaking to you in a low tone. “I don’t mind listening..”

“Well, for one, I left my damn cigarettes at home, so that wasn’t fun. I had a shit day at work—dealing with real incompetent people— and not to mention, I’m still dealing with that fact that I got… dumped by the one girl I loved about 3 months ago…” Your voice died down as you felt that lump in your throat, signaling that familiar feeling that you resented ever since that unfortunate moment.

The woman seemed to notice it and a sympathetic expression graced her face as she flicked the cigarette over the balcony, sliding closer to you, but never touching you. She was just being respectful. “Seems like she meant a lot..”

“She did…but someone else meant a lot to her too for her to cheat on me..”

Her eyes softened as she realized the tears that started to prickle at your eyes, making her heart ache at the sight of such a sweet girl as yourself get done like this. She sighed lowly as she gently wipe away the stray tear from your cheek, searching in your eyes as your eyes met. “You didn’t deserve that, pretty…”

You felt yourself melt into her touch unexpectedly, relishing the warmth in her calloused hand that were also adorned with a nice hand tattoo. Your heart felt so heavy as you thought back to the devastating loss, but the way she gazed at you with such sympathy made it feel a little less shitty.

“I just…I don’t know, like I fuckin hate her for it, but I can’t stop thinking about us.” Your voice cracked with emotion as you tried to explain to her, but it was poorly explained. However, she knew how much it hurt you. It upset her to see you like this—sitting here, ruining your mascara, and having a shit night. “I just wanna forget about everything for fuckin once..”

“Maybe I can help, hm?”

༯

“Fuck..”

You don’t know how in the hell you ended up back in your apartment, in your bedroom, with Abby’s lips all over yours—practically eating your face while as her warm hand ran over your body, leaving sparks of fire on every inch of you. It felt so good, you didn’t want her to stop.

Seems like she definitely knew with the way you were gripping her shirt tightly and letting the small whimpers and panting fall from your plump lips. She pulled away from the heated kiss, taking this moment to gaze at your disheveled state. “God you’re so pretty…how could anyone give you away like that..”

Her words sparked a fire in your abdomen that was increasing becoming more intense, squirming in your spot before she pulled you to her lap as she started to suck and bite at your neck. Your eyes fluttered with such bliss as her tongue drew circles over your pressure point, eliciting a soft whimper from your mouth so easily.

You could feel the way her hands roamed from your waist to your hips, moving you back and forth against her sculpted thigh so skillfully. The motion did things to you as it was perfect, feeling the way your panties started to soak even more just by the mere friction. “Seems like she likes it too, hm?”

This woman was going to be the death of you and you just met her.

“Please…” That was all you could conjure from your mouth besides a whimper, scratching slightly at her shoulder as you rocked your hips along with her guidance. She pulled back from your neck with a heavy breath, gazing at you through her thick lashes with those pretty blue eyes. “Please what, pretty? Can do better than that..”

Your breath hitched in your throat at her words, realizing she was not going to let you go that easily. Taking a deep breath, you leaned further to her as you gave her your most pitiful eyes—the ones that would’ve made anyone give you the utter world. “Please…I need you. Just make me feel better..”

“That wasn’t too hard, now was it, hm? Don’t worry, baby..” She murmured lowly under breath as she slowly pushed you back into the pillows, slowly starting to kiss down your body as her eyes never left from yours.

“Gonna take real good care of ya..”

༯

Clothes were scattered. Warm, calloused hands were roaming over your thighs. Plump lips graced your inner thighs with such sweet kisses that you thought you were being pampered by an angel. You needed this so bad.

And she knew it.

Her peering eyes gazed up at you over the valley of your stomach and breast, feeling the way her lips trailed over your inner thighs to leave sweet kisses and occasionally leaving a pathway of marks. Your breath hitched in your throat each time as you felt her teasingly place a kiss to your bare clit, making you nudge your hips closer to chase her mouth. “Abbyyyyy..”

“You’ll take what I give you. Enjoy this, baby. Be patient.” She scolded you softly with a warm chuckle, shuffling on her stomach as she rubbed her hands over your thighs before fully wrapping her arms around your hips to pull you closer. You were about to protest against her words, but that replaced with a gasp as you feel her warm mouth engulfing your cunt. “O-oh fuck..”

She hummed at the taste of you, moaning at the musk smell and taste—feeling the way you melted on her tongue like you were a delicate candy. Her hands rubbed over your sides gently as she continued to lick over your pussy, occasionally flickering her skillful tongue over your puffy clit; eliciting a soft whimper from you each time and she couldn’t get enough of it.

You sounded so pretty for her.

Just for her.

Your fingers combed through her hair slowly, feeling loose locks from her braids coming undone loosely. Your hips slowly moved in pace with her mouth, slowly working you closer and closer to that sweet edge. You couldn’t help the broken moans that would fall out of your lips, especially the ones that were mixed with her name.

Abby was all for it, honestly, she wanted to hear more of those pretty noises. Her eyes gazed up at you through the hill of your thighs and over the valley of your stomach, watching your every expression—the way your eyes fluttered, the way your nose scrunched up, and the way your mouth hung open with such sinful noises. It was all perfect for Abby, she felt like she didn’t even wanna stop even after you came.

Sitting up slightly, she pulled you closer to her by your thighs before slipping a hand between your thighs to smear the wetness over your folds—making you whine. Her mouth pulled away from your cunt as she slowly pumped in a finger, slowly and steady—watching the way you melted.

“Mm, Abby…fuck—s-so good..” A soft mewl escaped your mouth as you bucked your hips up to her, craving more of her fingers to fill you up. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you were so desperate, continuing to slowly pump her fingers in you as she leaned down to suckle at your neck to leave the pretty marks all over the delicate skin.

“Yeah, I know, baby…feels good, hm?” You couldn’t give her. a proper answer except a quick nod, but Abby didn’t want that. She tapped your jaw gently to get your attention, adoring at how glazed over your eyes were just from a little of attention. “I said it feels good, yeah? I know you know how to gimme a simple answer, baby, hm?” Her voice had a sweet tone to it, but it was obviously that she was mocking with the way you could barely give her a coherent response.

“It feels good—s-so good. Please…I need it—need more, please.” Your voice was nearly a soft whisper, but she could hear your desperation. “There’s that pretty voice I love…I make you feel so much better than her, don’t I, baby?” She whispered lowly in your ear before placing a kiss behind it, making you shudder as you moaned out the most pathetic ‘yes’ you ever heard from your own mouth.

But you could careless.

All you wanted was to cum.

So fucking badly.

Her mouth left kisses above your ear, down your jaw, and on your neck—marking you completely. Your eyes were nearly in the back of your skull with how far rolled back they were. You were completely drowning in pleasure. It didn’t take long for that pleasure to come crashing over your body, letting out a broken sob as you felt the gush coat your thighs and possibly soak your sheets.

A small groan escaped her mouth as your arousal dribbled down on her fingers, feeling the way her own clit throb against her boxers as the obscene squelching filled her ears so wonderfully. She kept going till you whined about it ‘being too much’, chuckling softly as she slowly retracted her fingers to suck the rest of your essence from her digits.

“Taste good as you sound…”

Since you already a little drunk and tired, the heavenly orgasm put you sleep quicker than you expected. Abby didn’t seemed to mind that though. She happily cleaned you up, changed your clothes, and placed you into bed before leaving some painkillers and a bottle of water on your nightstand.

And away she was gone, but something in Abby didn’t go away.

When you soon awoken from your sleep that morning, you woke up with the most horrid headache you ever experienced. Groaning in pain, you looked around before your eyes landed on the laid out painkillers and bottle of water. Your brow raised in curiosity but shrugged it off as nothing, taking down the pills with water.

Soon as your headache slowly went away, you were quickly reminded of what went down last night. The night was etched into your brain. You quickly realized that you gave her your number and decided to text her. Just to see if she’d respond or whatever….hopefully.

It was worth a shot.

You:

Hey! I really enjoyed last night! I'm so sorry if I had passed out on ya last night a it was rough night. Also thanks for setting me out the painkillers, they helped a bunch :).

Abby:

Oh hey. Yeah it's no worry tbh. I enjoyed last night too :) you seemed like you needed to let loose for a while anyway.

Yeah I did and you helped a lot actually :) Are you like doing anything this weekend or something? Maybe we can like go out for a coffee or something? My treat :)

Oh um...actually I'II be busy that day.

Oh, that's ok! Maybe another time :)?

Lister, you seem like a really sweet girl and all, but I don't know if I can do that anymore. I'm not saying last night was a mistake, but it's just that I'm older than you. Old enough to possibly be your mother.

But I figured you really liked me that night

I do, but it's hard for me to explain. I just can't do this anymore with you. You seem like a sweet girl and all, but after last night, I couldn't help but feel guilty. You're probably not ready to be with someone like me anyway..

But all the stuff you told me last night tho? I mean I at least wanted to get to know you more instead of leaving it like that. You can just leave me like this Abby.

I'm sorry, but I just can't.

Wait can we at least talk about this? Please?I know it was a simple hookup, but it feel so much more than that. Please don't leave me like this

Abby please answer.

All those messages were ultimately left on read and that’s the last you ever heard of her. Yeah, you were overreacting kind of, but the way that moment was shared—it was so much more to you. You felt so stupid for getting attached to a person who you just met that night.

No wonder why you always felt so unlovable.

You loved too fast for your own good.

how y’all feel about this chat…??

taglist 🏷️: @lovergirl-co @abbysdollie @tqlepatia @madewithsilk @lambcultist @littlelovelunette @dear-mimii @supalcina @bumbling-a-bee @cmentary @justhereforsubsevika @vleflain @vesperassh @madsxh1022

[bubybubsters]

One Night Stand

summary: You want a one night stand with Azriel but you’re interrupted and Azrile doesn’t do girls he knows the name of

a/n: idk i actually got outta my writing slump because of @thelov3lybookworm saying smth about exams being stressful so i was gonna write smth fluffy and yeah it didn’t work out lol but…

masterlist

dividers by @uzmacchiato ty ty

When you first got the invitation to Cassian’s mating ceremony, you weren’t planning on going. Not because of anything bad, in fact your relationship with Cassian had always been wonderful, he treated you well and the two of you always found a reason to laugh. But it was never a deep relationship, you didn’t talk to eachother, in fact, you hardly knew anything about him. Your breakup had been mutual after he’d broken down in your living room, crying about things you didn’t even know he was a part of. The two of you had realized you probably weren’t right for eachother and became friends. You had monthly dinners to catch up and a wave when out on the streets.

So how did you end up here, lips pressed against the infamous shadowsinger and your former lover’s brother? 

You honestly had no idea. One second you were clapping politely as confetti fell from the sky, and the next, you were intoxicated and pinned against the wall of a random study by the most feared spy in Prythian. You weren’t even sure you’d exchanged names. And despite the rumors surrounding his love life, you felt like someone special as his hand stroked your cheek.

“Shadowsinger…” 

“Azriel,” he breathes against your lips. “Call me Azriel.”

You repeat his name softly, over and over as he kisses his way down your neck.

The study door opens and slams closed as way of announcing the entrance of two people. The two rulers of the Night Court, to be exaxt.

You, Azriel, Rhysand, and Feyre all freeze, varying shades of astonishment on each face. You let out a laugh, slightly tinged with a maniacal tone, “This is so stupid.” 

The High Lords’ lips twitch before he lets out a booming chuckle. 

Feyre and Azriel share a look, slightly embarrassed yet mildly entertained. But Azriel recovers quickly and places a hand on your back, “Wanna go back to my place?”

Feyre stares, “How are you still horny?”

He shrugs, “Been in the same room as Rhys while fucking before so it’s kinda like a blast to the past.” Rhysand’s face twists into a grimace.

You laugh. “You know, I really like you, Azriel.”

“I’m afraid to pass judgment before I know your name, so, please, do tell?” 

“Y/n.” You inform him with a soft smile.

They all stare at you. 

Azriel’s eyes widen, “You’re Y/n.”

Rhysand blinks. “Oh? You’re not quite how I imagined you.”

“Really?” Feyre asks, glancing at her mate. “This is exactly how I’d imagine her.”

“Pardon?” You’re suddenly nervous. 

“Cassian told us about you,” Azriel grumbles. His shadows swirl around him and he’s stepped back- away from you. 

You frown. “What in the world did he say?” 

Rhysand steps forward. “Just that you were a good form of release.”

You choke. “Come again?”

“That’s what he said.” Feyre grins at you.

A smile stretches across your face. You like her. “So the entire inner circle knows that I’m a good form of release?” You grin. “Personally, I would say a ‘perfect form of release.’”

Azriel’s brows raise. “Unfortunately, only Cassian can attest to that so we’ll just have to take your word for it.”

“Oh?” Mock disappointment fills your voice. “What about you? Thought you were still horny?”

Feyre’s lips twitch, Rhysand stifles a laugh.

Azriel blinks. “I know your name.”

“Glad to know you have ears.”

His eyes twinkle, “No I mean, I don’t fuck anyone I know the name of.”

“Why not? Makes it more enjoyable, you know?” You slink closer to him. “In between the moans and whimpers, you could slip in a name once or twice. Really helps a girl out.”

Azriel raises a brow. “Really? Maybe I’ll try it.” Your eyes light up triumphantly. “Y/n/nn.” He stretches out your name, speaking through a moan. His tone is soft, slightly amused, and extremely suggestive. “There, tried it. Whatcha think?”

Your mouth hangs slightly open as you come to the realization that Azriel has the sexiest voice known to man. “Ye- Yeah. Think it helps.” 

Azriel smiles, teeth flashing. “I know.” He sends a pointed look downwards, “I can smell just how much it helps.”

Your brain explodes. We’re talking downright combustion, bits of brain cells flying around with no place to go in your skull. All you manage is a small, “Oh.”

“I don’t think this was something we were supposed to witness,” Feyre mutters to Rhys.

His violet eyes sparkle, “I’m inclined to agree with you, darling, however I can’t help but be curious how this will play out.” You and Azriel stare at him, faces completely deadpan. Rhysand raises his hands. “My bad, let’s go darling, they don’t want us here.”

The second the door closes you both burst out laughing.

Yeah, you really do like this guy.

azriel taglist: @profound-imagination @lilah-asteria @stargirl1714 @hieragalbatorixdottir

ask to be take off or onto the taglist

[i5uckersblog]

Ain’t Your Girl pt.1

Summary: They grew up together, but the twins left her behind. When the Klan attacks her, they realize too late what they lost.

We grew up together—me, Smoke, and Stack. Always running wild, always together. Our mothers were best friends, so we were, too. I thought I’d always have a place with them.

But as we got older, I became a shadow, a ghost trailing behind them while they chased after Annie’s sugar-sweet smile and Mary’s low-cut dresses.

It was like I didn’t even exist anymore.

And it killed me inside, but I kept quiet.

Until the night the Klan got me.

⸻

I was walking home after sundown, arms full of groceries, tired as hell and cursing myself for staying out so late.

That’s when I heard the tires crunch on the gravel behind me. Heard the low, ugly voices calling me names I wouldn’t repeat if God Himself asked me to.

I ran. I tried. But they caught me. Dragged me off into the dark, their fists like bricks, their boots like fire. I remember the cold bite of the dirt on my cheek, the smell of smoke and blood, the sound of my own ribs cracking.

I screamed for help, but nobody came.

Not Smoke.

Not Stack.

Not the boys I thought would always protect me.

⸻

It was old Miss Hattie who found me.

The next morning, out by the church, she saw me lying there—barely breathing, half-dead, looking like something a dog dragged in.

She screamed so loud it shook the whole town.

Smoke and Stack were at the juke joint, all smiles and slick words, probably throwing dice with their arms around Annie and Mary when they heard her wailing.

The news hit them like a shotgun blast.

“That girl—your girl—she’s been hurt bad. They beat her near to death!”

They ran.

Stack’s voice cracked when he asked where.

Smoke’s hands were bloody from punching a wall before he even saw me.

But by the time they reached the porch where Miss Hattie laid me out, it was too late for all that.

They stood there—two boys who used to mean everything to me, staring down at the mess of a girl they left behind.

Stack whispered my name like it was a prayer. Smoke just looked at me, eyes dark and hollow, like he could see every damn thing he’d done wrong.

But I didn’t look at them.

Didn’t want to.

Let them feel it.

Let them choke on the weight of it.

Because I wasn’t theirs anymore.

Not their sister.

Not their friend.

Not the girl who waited around while they chased after every pretty face.

I was done waiting.

[very-merry-birthday]

🍓 Screwdriver 🍓

Summary: Kidnapped and missing the Winchesters.

Warnings: Torture, Injury, Hurt with minimal comfort.

---

"I'm a cowboy!" You sang out, your voice strained and tired "On a steel horse I ride!"

You dangled from your restraints, the metal handcuffs digging into your wrists, tight. All you could focus on was the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth, your head pulsing.

"I'm wanted dead or alive! Wanted dead or alive!" You wanted to succumb to the unconsciousness, it would be so easy to relax back, let your eyes shut, sink into the black-

"I'm a cowboy! On a steel horse I ride!" You jolted yourself back awake. Having forgotten the verses hours ago, sometime between having your nose broken and the knife to your shoulder, you were stuck on repeating the chorus to keep yourself awake. You pictured it blasting out of the Impala, Deans voice loud over the music. Your hoarse voice was nothing compared to the way he used to sing it but it was the best you could manage.

You heard the lock on the door click and watched as it swung open wide. You sung out to the figure in the doorway. "I'm wanted dead or alive- dead or alive-"

The demon stood still, unfazed by your display of disruption. You looked down at the screwdriver in his hand, no doubt the next source of your pain.

"Do you like my singing?" You smiled at him, blood dripping out the corner of your mouth. He stepped before you, grabbing your jaw tight in his hand, pain radiating out. You coughed out a thick wad of bloody saliva, no longer able to keep up the pretense of apathy.

"You better shut up unless you're answering our questions." He pushed the screwdriver deep into the cut in your thigh and you let out an animalistic scream.

"I don't- I don't know what you're talking about." You panted, your face wincing in pain.

"You tell me where the Winchesters' bunker is, and I'll finally let you die." He twisted the screwdriver again, and black spots flooded your vision.

"I don't- I don't know any Winchester- or a damn bunker-"

"Stop lying to me-" he smiled a sadistic grin and pulled the screwdriver out, "I'm having far too much fun here."

The sound of wet blood hitting floor filled the room. "I'm a cowboy-"

He slammed his elbow into your temple, and you let your mind collapse.

--

Dean. His gorgeous green eyes looking back at you in the rearview mirror, the music blasting out on the speakers as the Impala sailed down the road. Bon Jovi could barely be heard over Dean's voice. He tapped his brothers shoulder in the passenger seat, coaxing him to join in the singing.

You sighed, letting the cold air hit you. This felt good, it was good to be back with them- why had you ever left.

But the pain you felt in your leg- where was that coming from. You looked down- no cuts in sight. And your head- god your head hurt. Copper. Copper filled your mouth. Thick. You tried to shout, get the boys' attention. But you couldn't. Something wasn't right.

--

You jolted awake, the tapping of blood on the ground had subsided, suggesting you'd been out a while.

You pulled you head up, eyes desperate to close again, focusing on the handcuffs above your head. You tugged at them, your bruised purple wrists worsening in pain, and let out a small yelp. If you could get them off- days you'd spent trying already- you could finally break free. At least then they'd have to kill you, you'd given up hope of full escape.

A man cried out from outside the door, what other poor soul had found their way in here.

You closed your eyes again, the pain filling your body too much to bare. You felt the agony from your swollen wrists radiating through you, through every muscle, every bone, every nerve. Your head hung low, your jaw feeling like it had been shattered into a million pieces, no longer real. Your voice was horse and meak, no louder than a whisper. "I'm... a cowboy..."

The door swung open, a man standing panting in the open space. You barely let your eyes open, not wanting to see what pain was about to be inflicted on you. You couldn't understand the image in front of you. It looked so normal. So familiar. So...

Sam.

He ran towards you, his face ragged with fear, immediately breaking you down from your binding and grabbing your body so he could lower you to the ground. You couldn't speak, you could barely even blink, all your emotions shown through the darting of your eyes across his face, trying to take in what was happening in front of you.

"...Dean..." you managed to croak out, not even truly understanding what you were saying, just knowing you had to say it.

"He's just outside, he's coming, we're here, we're here."

As if being manifested, Dean rushed in only moments later, sliding down next to you, his eyes immediately wet, his hands shaking as he went to cup your cheeks. You couldn't hear what the two men were saying, only watching as their mouths moved, muffled sounds coming out, clearly they could understand each other.

Then he looked back at you, carefully moving your hair out your face, his fingers pulling away covered in blood, "We've got you, darlin', we've got you."

[fantasticfourthwingimagines]

Right There All Along Pairing - Ridoc Gamlyn x Reader Summary - You're enjoying listening to your friends have some fun by the river when Ridoc decides you're too far away from him. Word Count - 900+ Warnings - None! Pure Fluff.

In the background, you could hear the sound of your friends having a blast. Rambunctious laughter, clinking bottles, Sawyer, who had a surprisingly decent singing voice, and all perfectly slaughtered on alcohol. 

Not you though. After everything that had happened in your childhood, it wasn’t your thing. Still, you wanted to be close to them, to him, so instead you found yourself here, by the riverbank, watching the moon ripple across the surface of the water. 

Until someone plopped down beside you. 

“Hey.” 

You didn’t need to look. Your body always seemed to know when it was Ridoc. He somehow managed to make you relax and tense at the same time. Like your muscles sighed in relief knowing he was here, while your skin sparked with the hope that he might touch you. 

When he did, his shoulder brushing against yours, you turned to look at him. “Hi.” You said, trying not to grin too much. 

Ridoc looked like someone who had lost a mild fight with gravity. His wavy hair was sticking up in multiple directions, like he’d been raking his hands through it, and his shirt was half untucked. His eyes though, bright, mischievous, and a little glassy, were locked on you. 

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, and you had to bite back a giggle as he leaned over to put his head on your shoulder. “I missed you.” 

Your breath caught, just for a second. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, no idea what those words did to your heart. “I was like ten feet away, Rid.” You said, but your body betrayed you, curling even closer to his side like it had missed him too. 

“That’s eleven feet too far.” He mumbled.

 Your heart absolutely melted. 

Honestly, you agreed. If you could, you’d be plastered to this man’s side every moment of the day, but you didn’t want him to think you were clingy. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, with the most stupid, giddy smile on your face. 

“It’s pronounced Ridoc actually,” He said, moving away from your shoulder so he could give you a mock-scolding look, “and as my girl, you should know that.” 

Your whole body went still. 

My girl. 

You blinked at him, lips parting slightly. He’d never called you his girl before. Not like that. 

“Your girl?” You repeated, your heart starting to race. 

Ridoc paused, the grin slipping as he seemed to register what he said. His ears turned a little pink. “Well I mean there’s probably a better word for it . . . You’re more than my best friend. I feel like you’re just . . . mine.” 

His words shouldn’t have made sense, but somehow they did. They made all the sense in the world. Ridoc was way more than a best friend to you. He'd taught you how to breathe again. He'd taught you how to laugh even when the world felt impossible. He’d made you believe in yourself more than you ever thought possible. He was the bright sun coaxing you out of your darkness. In such a short time, he’d become everything to you. 

However, you couldn’t help but wonder how he felt. Did he see you the way you saw him, or were you another light in a constellation of people who loved him? “Are you mine?” You voice barely a whisper, coated in hope and insecurity. 

He said your name, smiling that crooked, heart wrenching smile as he reached up to brush a stray hair from your face. “I’ve been yours since the parapet. I’ve just been waiting for you to play catch up.” 

That long? He couldn’t have . . . But there was nothing in his eyes but sincerity (and a little bit of alcohol). “Ridoc,” you whispered his name, and all of the sudden, he was right there. So close that if you tilted your head your lips would brush. 

“I want to kiss you. And not because I’m drunk-” Ridoc said before you could say anything. “I want to kiss you because I’ve been dying too for months. Every time you look at me like that, like I’m worth something, it makes me want to lose my damn mind.” 

Your heart felt like it had dropped into your stomach. Butterflies flooded your chest as he looked down at your lips, and then back at your eyes. The heady scent of him, a warm breeze on a summer afternoon, orange and cyprus, flooded your senses, and your hands, seeming to have a mind of their own, found their way to the sides of his jacket, fisting the fabric like it was the only thing grounding you. “You can.” You whispered, breathless. “I want you too.” 

His nose bumped yours, soft and tentative, and your breath caught as your eyes fluttered shut - 

WHOOSH. 

Then there was a gust of wind, the beat of wings, and a cascade of cold water rained down on you both. 

“You dick!” Ridoc shouted, jerking to his feet. You jumped up to, grabbing his waist to steady him when he swayed. 

Above, Aotrom flew off with a delighted chortle. 

Ridoc jabbed a finger in the air after him. “I’m going to get you for this!”  

You started laughing, soaked and breathless, your heart still racing from the almost. “You do realize you two are the same person, right?” 

“I would never interrupt him when he was about to start making out with his dream girl!” Ridoc yelled after him, still glaring. 

This man was going to give you a complex if he didn’t stop with the compliments. “Oh we were about to start making out?” You teased, ignoring the second part of his statement. 

“We were.” Ridoc said, without missing a beat. “But hey, this just builds anticipation for the next time.” 

The smirk he gave you should have been illegal. 

You bit your lip, already imagining when the next time would be and praying to Dunne nothing would stop it.

[luvrlou]

Out with the Old, In with the New?

Pairing: Henry Hart x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, Violence

Summary: When a certain supervillain returns to Swellview an old face pops back up.

A/N: just cause henry danger seems to making a comeback

Word Count: 1.8k

"Ray?" Henry's voice causes the man to jump and turn around.

He squares up to Henry before his brain computes who it is, and then he stands normally, "Henry, you can't do that!"

"Hmm?" He hums, staring at the man.

"Henry, you can't do that!" Ray repeats again in the same exasperated tone.

Henry makes a confused face, "I can't say your name anymore?"

Ray rolls his eyes before sitting down on the couch, "so what do you want?"

Henry takes a seat next to him, "you never talk about the sidekick you had before me, I'm just curious on who he was."

"Well first of all it was a she."

Ray dramatically looks off into the distance, his sidekick giving him a baffled look before shrugging and joining his gaze into the distance.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You and Ray were playing a very serious game of foosball when Schwoz started shouting for your attention.

"Guys! Guys! I found him!" He shouted, frantically flailing his arms in the direction of the many screens on the wall of the man cave, this immediately pulled you and Ray's interest from the game at hand to Schwoz.

"You found Doctor Rotten?" You sprinted over to the control panel.

Ray swiftly followed, "we've been trying to track him for months!"

Schwoz went on to tell you about his whereabouts while you and Ray mentally plotted your attack.

"Well let's blow some bubbles-" Ray began.

"-and give this doctor a taste of his medicine!" You finished his sentence.

Once you transformed you guys ran to the tubes, "I see what you did there." Was the last thing Ray said before you both disappeared up the tubes.

Once you guys got to the location that Doctor Rotten used to conjure up his evil experiments it wasn't an easy fight, well you wouldn't know, as you were immediately injected with some concoction Doctor Rotten had made.

"Y/N are you okay!" You heard Ray shout as you came back to consciousness.

You stirred before groggily speaking, "Ray? What happened?"

"That rotten son of a bitch grabbed you and injecte-" he began before he was cut off by you screaming and squirming around on the floor. He ran to your writhing body and held you down to the ground firmly.

"It feels like fire is running through my veins!" You screamed, whilst trying to catch your breath.

Ray scanned the room frantically trying to see if there was anything that even resembled an anecdote for the horrific condition you were in.

"Ray help me!" You yelled out in a pleading tone."

"I'm trying kid! I really am!" He shouted back, attempting to reassure you.

Then he spotted a large button, he hoped it would somehow stop the pain you were in. It was his last resort.

Ray jumped up and ran towards the big red button and smashed it down. He stood back, slightly confused at the button doing nothing. That was until...

An explosion.

Half of the building exploded, luckily not the side you were both on, although you still were severely impacted by the blast.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When you woke up you were lying on a bed in the middle of the man cave being towered over by Schwoz and Ray, both with very concerned faces.

"Guys... what happened," you tried to sit up before being quickly shoved back down by both men.

"You are not fully healed yet Y/N!" Schwoz frantically mumbled.

This made you instantly sit up, "Not fully healed yet!" You shrieked, "What do you mean not fully healed yet?"

Both men stood back whilst sharing almost scared looks, mentally deciding if they should tell you.

Then Ray spoke up, "well... we went to take down Doctor Rotten, you made a great pun by the way before we left," you jokingly winked as he said that. "Then we got there and he grabbed you and injected you with some liquid that made your blood red hot."

You nodded, "and then?"

Schwoz quickly spoke up, "Ray pushed a big red button and it made half the building explode!"

"What? Ray! A big red button really?" You shouted.

"C'mon! It didn't have any 'don't press' signs!" He attempted to defend himself.

You shook your head in disappointment, "Ray almost every red button... means an explosion!" Your voice got louder with every word until you were yelling once again.

"Well, you're still alive!" He shouted back.

You took a deep breath and spoke again, "did we at least catch him?" Your question made Ray look away in embarrassment, "we caught him..." you gritted your teeth, "right?"

"No..."

This caused you to yell again, "you didn't catch him!"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Ray's memory was cut off by Henry, "Hello? Can you tell me now? You've been staring at the ceiling saying nothing for 10 minutes."

"Oh right, yeah sorry! She moved to Brooklyn after a mission that went very wrong." He told him.

"Oh... did she have any powers?" Henry further inquired.

This made Ray smile as he reminisced, "yeah she could talk to people through her mind. Was pretty cool, except for when she would tap into your head and just scream as loud as she could."

The pair were cut off by Schwoz running through and yelling at them, "he's back!"

"Who's back?" Ray replied, jumping up off of the couch, Henry following his actions.

Schwoz sat down and started clicking random buttons on the control panel until the screens turned on showing footage of a tall man holding a vial of a bright purple liquid.

"Doctor Rotten..." Ray sneered, looking closely at the screens.

Henry followed him, a confused look on his face, "who now?"

"He's the one who nearly killed-" Schwoz spoke before Ray shouted.

"Don't say her name!" He yelled, "she doesn't get to be known as the one who Doctor Rotten nearly killed."

"Okay..." Schwoz grumbled, "he's at Swellview lab."

Henry and Ray quickly changed suits and went up the tube. They arrived on the roof and walked towards the mancopter, Ray started to flip the switches to turn on the helicopter before something caught the attention of the two guys.

"Fighting Doctor Rotten without me?"

They were both caught off guard by the girl who was walking towards them. Especially Henry, this unknown girl was his age and gorgeous.

It was you.

"Y/N what are you doing here?" Ray questioned, very confused yet concerned.

You smiled widely and walked over to him, "I've been trying to find this bastard for years, ever since we lost him, and now I want him gone for good."

Ray nodded in response before wrapping his arms around you, "I'm so glad you're okay."

You hugged him back, smiling widely at the fact you've been reunited with your old best friend, "I'm happy to be back."

"Right, guys! We don't have time for hugs and talking, we have a criminal to catch!" Henry spoke sternly, seemingly envious of the bond between Ray and his old sidekick.

"He's right! Let's go give this doctor a taste of his own medicine!" You exclaim, walking towards the mancopter.

"That line gives me bad memories Y/N!" Ray shouts after you while he runs up to the mancopter.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Sticking to the plan you walked into the lab first, "Well, well, well look who it is... Doctor Moldy." You snicker at your own joke as you walk.

"It is Doctor Rotten-" The villain shouts before realising who you are and smirking, "well hello little girl, here for another round of fire blood?"

You smile back and stop in front of him, "I think it's your blood that'll be on fire."

On cue both of the other heroes break into the lab, coming up behind the evil man, who was preoccupied talking down to you.

Little did he know that in approximately 30 seconds he would receive a punch to the back of the head from Captain Man. Unfortunately, he didn't go out like a light, he was much stronger than anticipated so he immediately turned around and started trying to attack Captain Man.

You and Henry both seem to migrate to the side of the lab, watching the fight go down, "he's surprisingly good," Henry assessed.

"Who knew some 60-something bald man could take the Captain Man," you nodded before looking over to his new sidekick. "You're not jealous of me and Ray are you?"

This caught Henry off guard, "not at all! I understand that you guys had a close bond," despite seeming fine, his tone of voice told a different story.

"Trust me as soon as Doctor Rotten is gone I'm out of here, you have nothing to worry about. Now I'm gonna make this guy regret he was even fucking born." You smile and pat Henry's chest before sneaking over to the table with syringes full of glowing liquid splayed out.

At this point, Doctor Rotten is having to take on both Kid Danger and Captain Man. However, you have just found what you assume is the same poison that you were attacked with all those years ago.

To distract Doctor Rotten you tap into his brain and start to scream which causes him to grasp the sides of his head and drop to his knees. You happily saunter over to his distraught body and lean down.

"Payback is a bitch," you whisper, pushing your face against his before stabbing the syringe into his neck and injecting the fiery liquid, causing him to instantly pass out.

"Well, jobs done! Let's get back to the man cave girl and boy." Ray says while clapping his hands.

"About that Ray... I'm not coming, I'm going back to Brooklyn." You smile bittersweetly, "it was amazing fighting crime with you again, but it's not my place anymore."

This caused Ray to frown, "c'mon Y/N just for old times sake."

Henry suddenly felt quite bad for you both, and for feeling jealous. "I would love for you to come hang with us until your flight." The blonde smiled at you.

This made you smile and roll your eyes, "I guess I can come down for a few hours."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After hours of reminiscing, talking and many games of foosball Ray decided he was going to head to his bed.

"Shouldn't you head home?" You asked Henry as you stood up off of the couch.

He shrugged and stood up with you, "I told my mom I was staying at Jasper's tonight."

You laughed in response, "a rebel? I like it."

"Oh yeah?" He chuckled, scrunching his face at you.

"Yeah, you're cool Henry, I see why Ray likes you." You spoke softly and tilted your head.

This caused Henry to flush lightly, "you're really cool, Y/N."

"I think you should come to Brooklyn sometime," you walked closer to him, "come visit me sometime..."

He nodded, "sounds good, I'll be there," he mumbled, now realising the close proximity between you both.

"Sounds like a plan," you whisper whilst placing your hands on his shoulders.

As if on command his hands landed on your hips, "I think you're really pretty.

You grinned and leaned closer to his face, his breath fanning over yours, "and I think you're perfect."

He slowly lowered his head and let his lips meet yours.

[adddddiiii]

congrats on 300 followers addi!!!!!

can i request jason todd with the prompt "I don't know if I should be impressed or concerned."

Damage Control

Author's Note: thank youuu! I hope you like this 💗

Contents: Jason Todd x reader

Warnings: explosions, mentions of crowbars and blood, injuries

Jason landed on the rooftop in a smooth crouch, boots hitting the gravel with a soft crunch. He’d known something was off the second your tracker stopped moving. Then the explosion happened. Big, messy, loud.

Now you were crouched near the edge of the roof, half-hidden by shadows, your hoodie torn at the sleeve and soot smudging your jaw. Your breath came fast but controlled. Behind you, the east wing of the warehouse was still belching smoke.

Jason stopped a few feet away, eyes scanning the scene. “You know,” he said, voice low but sharp, “I specifically told you to wait for backup.”

You didn’t turn around. Just muttered, “They were moving the shipment early. I didn’t have time to wait.”

“So naturally your next thought was blow up the entire goddamn building?”

That made you twist to look at him. Your eyes caught the city light just right — defiant, sure of yourself, a little wild in the way he always secretly admired. “It was a controlled detonation.”

“Controlled?” Jason repeated, glancing over your shoulder to where two vans were fully engulfed in flames. “That looks like Gotham’s fireworks finale.”

You stood up slowly, stretching out your back like you hadn’t just fought half a dozen smugglers and sabotaged a weapons drop. “I contained the blast.”

Jason stared at you, exasperated. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or concerned.”

You gave him a crooked smirk. “Both. Preferably in that order.”

He shook his head, chuckling despite himself. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“You love me,” you corrected, finally brushing past him. Your steps faltered, just slightly, and that’s when he saw it. The way your left hand hung a little limp. The blood.

“Wait- you’re hurt.”

You looked down like you were just noticing it for the first time. “Oh. Yeah. Crowbar to the knuckles. He’s not getting back up though.”

Jason swore under his breath and closed the distance in two strides, tugging your hand gently into his gloved ones. “God. You split it open.”

“I’ve had worse,” you said breezily.

He gave you a look. “That’s not the point.”

With one arm still protectively around your waist, he tugged you toward his bike parked in the alley below. You didn’t protest.

Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting on the counter in his safehouse kitchen while he rummaged through the first aid kit. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind a steady ache in your hand and a hum in your chest that only ever came after close calls.

Jason returned with a washcloth, peroxide, and gauze. His mask was off now, jaw tight, eyes softer than his voice had been earlier.

“You gonna lecture me again?” you asked as you watched him wet the cloth.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Be gentle with the knuckles,” you said with a teasing lilt.

Jason looked up. “I always am.”

You smiled faintly. He began cleaning the blood, his hands confident but careful, like he knew exactly how much pressure would hurt and how much wouldn’t. The silence between you stretched, warm and steady. It wasn’t awkward. It never was with him.

When he finished wrapping your hand, he didn’t move away. Just leaned in slightly, his knee brushing yours. “You scared me tonight.”

You blinked. “I’m okay.”

“I know.” His thumb brushed your wrist. “But next time… let me come with you.”

Your voice was soft. “Okay.”

Jason tilted his head, just a little, and his eyes flicked down to your mouth like a thought had occured to him that he hadn't yet said out loud. But you were already leaning in when he whispered, “Still not sure if I’m more impressed or concerned.”

Your lips brushed his. “Guess you’ll have to kiss me and decide.”

He did.