#( No promises but I miss writing and want to try to enjoy it again... )

[elleaitch22]

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 13: Learning How to Stay

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: Sorry about the delay y’all! It was a rough week. I saw a bunch of immigrants being round up and bussed off, and it threw me off pretty badly. Chapter is kinda short because I literally couldn’t snap out of it. Anywho, I’m gonna look at your suggestions tomorrow before I start writing Chapter 14. I really wish it was better, but I know Chapter 14 will be lol!! I hope y’all enjoy!! xx Elle

Warnings: Nightmares, low self-worth, PTSD symptoms, anxiety (mild)

Word Count: 3.5k words

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Azzi arrived at Penthouse 8 bright and early on Tuesday morning. She was intentional about her outfit; she didn’t want to be the reason Soleil looked like she wouldn’t fit in on her first day at Four Oaks. The flowy, cream and green pants paired perfectly with the tight, cream tank top. Brown sandals and gold jewelry were the perfect accents.

“Good morning, Azzi. How are we doing today?” Paige questioned, facing the stove.

Azzi sat at one of the bar stools, noting the lack of sunny energy in the room. “Good morning. I was up a few times. He was in a few dreams, freaked me out a little. Where’s Soleil.”

Paige looked at her watch. “Sleep. I’m gonna get her up in a couple minutes, once I finish cooking. Wanna talk about it?” Glance tossed over her shoulder.

“Uh, sure.” She began. “Do you have anything you need help with?”

“You can cut some apples and oranges if you want?” Paige offered.

Azzi was grateful for the task, standing to gather the fruit and supplies. “For the first one, I was in my apartment with Soleil. We were working on homework, I think. He just popped up, saying mean things. I woke up when he said something to Soleil.”

Paige nodded, letting her continue.

“Second one I was there by myself. He was there when I got home, and he started hitting me. And I don’t even know why that happened in the dream; he’s only hit me once.”

“Azzi,” Paige started, covering her hand, “He shouldn’t have hit you at all, and it’s okay if you’re having nightmares about it.”

The brunette nodded, focusing on cutting up the fruit. This is why she was beginning to like the morning meeting. She could air out her feelings and be validated.

“The last one was the worst. Everyone was out somewhere, I don’t even know where. Soleil went missing. Nobody could find her, and he made me leave you guys as a trade.” Azzi finished.

Paige’s hand came to cup the nape of her neck this time, “Azzi, can you look at me?”

Azzi shook her head, hands shaking as she cut the last apple slice.

“Okay. Nothing’s going to happen to Soleil, I promise. She’s always got somebody who would die before they would let anything happen to her. Nika, Ice, Jana, KK, me, you. She’ll be okay.” The blonde’s free hand went to Azzi’s chin, forcing her to look at her. “You are safe with me, Az. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, alright?”

Azzi didn’t say anything, just stared into Paige’s eyes, but she was gone. Physically with her, but mind away.

“Azzi,” Paige called, squeezing the back of her neck a little.

The woman blinked quickly, clearing out whatever was going on in her mind.

“Did you hear me?” The blonde questioned. “Nothing is going to happen to you or Soleil. I won’t let him hurt you, not again.”

Azzi nodded, trying to believe what Paige was telling her. “It’s just hard to remember that when it’s the middle of the night.” She said with a cynical laugh.

“You can always come up here if you need. If you don’t feel safe, or if you just want to talk, you can always come here. I know Soleil would love a sleepover, so our door is always open.”

Pale thumbs rubbed at Azzi’s jaw, reminding her to unclench her teeth. “I’ll remember that. Thanks, Paige.”

The blonde leaves her in the kitchen and Soleil is left with her thoughts.

Would Paige really want to talk about her abuser at 3 a.m.? Did she really want her to come over whenever?

Her brows were furrowed when Paige came back with Soleil in tow. “Rule number two, Azzi.” She said, casually.

She thought back to the rules listed in her journal – she could ask if she didn’t know what to do, didn’t understand what was expected of her.

“Maybe after Soleil gets to school?” Her shoulders relaxed at Paige’s nod.

Soleil sat quietly at the island, something very unusual when she was at home.

“What’s wrong, Sunny Girl.” Azzi said, moving closer.

The girl shook her head and stuck her thumb in her mouth, pout deepening at the question.

“She doesn’t want to go to school. I think she might be a little nervous.” Paige spoke lowly.

Azzi had figured that, as her last experience with a new school wasn’t great. “That’s okay, Lei. We can–”

“We stay here and do school?” Soleil’s eyes had lit up with excitement and hope.

The brunette’s heart dropped to her stomach, knowing she’d be crushing the girl’s dreams. “Well, you’re only going to go to school for the morning, then me and Mo are gonna come get you for lunch, and we’ll come home and finish school! And then your mommy’s gonna pick you up after we finish! Does that sound okay?” Azzi tried to sound joyful with the plan, hoping the anxiety in her voice wasn’t audible.

Big blue eyes locked onto the kitchen counter, face pensive, “If you do my hair, I agwee.”

A tanned hand shot out, “You’re a good negotiator.” A quick handshake and a smile and the deal was on.

Two plates of French toast, chicken sausage, eggs, and fruit appeared before them. “Okay, we have 45 minutes until we need to be on the way to school, so I can go in and meet your teacher, Lei.” Paige walked around to sit on the other side of Soleil. “So, no games or tv this morning, alright?”

Soleil nodded, grabbing both women’s hands. “Dear God,” She started, head bowed. “Thank you fow my yummy bweakfast. Thank you fow my mommy. Please let hew have a gweat day! Thank you fow my Azzi. Please help us have a fun time aftew school.” She paused, voice dropping a bit. “Please help me like my new school and have nice fwiends. In Jesus name, amen.”

It wasn’t everyday Azzi her a child that young pray so well, “Soleil, that was a great job, Sweetheart.” She ruffled the girl’s hair before digging in.

Plates were empty in ten minutes. Paige went to clean up and get dressed while Azzi followed Soleil to her room to help her get ready.

Her heart warmed seeing Soleil in her uniform. “Why can’t I wear my unicorn dress today?” Soleil pouted.

“Because Four Oaks has uniforms. Everyone matches so no one feels left out.” Azzi answered gently. “Do you want me to do something with purple butterfly clips to match your shirt?”

“Yes, please. I want lots of bwaids in the fwont!” She smiled brightly. “What awe we gonna do aftew we get home?”

Azzi scrunched her face like she was deep in thought. “Maybe we can learn about volcanoes and make our own.” She said, parting the front half of Soleil’s hair.

“I wanna make a volcano!” She exclaimed loudly.

Soleil rambled about how they could make the rainbow pretty and paint it pink and add purple glitter since it’s mommy’s favorite. She seemed excited for their after school adventure, energy rubbing off on Azzi.

A knock sounded at Soleil’s bedroom door. “You guys ready?” Paige questioned.

Azzi’s mouth went dry.

Paige was still oh so fine. She wore a neutral outfit. Simple. Loose khakis and a cream linen shirt hung on her frame nicely. Her hair was down today; natural waves framed her face beautifully.

“Yeah, mommy! I’m weady.” Soleil’s voice broke Azzi’s Paige-induced trance. She walked to her mom, putting her had in the larger outstretched one. “If I do a good job, we can have a movie dinner and night.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Drop off went well. Soleil skipped to her classroom, holding her mom’s hand. She showed Paige her desk, cubby, and the book nook while Azzi talked to Mrs. Russell about what happened at St. Paul’s. The teacher reassured Azzi that nothing like that would be permitted at Four Oaks. Mrs. Russell walked her to the door, gentle hint very clear.

Azzi signaled to Paige that they would need to leave. She smiled as the tall blonde knelt, tugged Soleil close to her chest, and whispered something in her ear.

As they walked back out to the car, Paige looked back several times.

“Relax, P. I really think this will be a good fit for her.” Azzi said, laying a hand on her back.

Paige nodded, “I know, I’m just worried.” She sighed. “I know she’ll probably love it, and it’ll be great, but I thought that about St. Paul’s too.”

“Yeah, but this is a new place. They know all about you and your orientation, and they are accepting of it.”

Paige opened the passenger door for Azzi, “I just don’t want this to fuck up her childhood.”

“That school is good. The classrooms have pride flags. And if you don’t like it, pull her out, and I’ll be a private tutor or something. But you have to let her settle, see how the school really is.”

The blonde nodded. Azzi was making sense. She just needed to calm down and see how everything went. Soleil had a lot of people looking out for her, making sure she was okay.

“Alright.” She said. She reached into her back pocket, pulling out a sheet of folded paper. “I have your list for today. But we need to talk about what had you confused this morning.”

“Well, I don’t need an explanation, more like clarification.” Azzi started. “Do you really want me to come up here if I can’t sleep or are you being nice?”

Paige smirked, “I’m trying to date you, Azzi, so of course I’m being nice. But even if I wasn’t interested, we’re friends too. I want to help you, and if that means coming upstairs for a few nights, that’s fine with me.” She cocked a brow slightly. “Was there anything else?”

“Yeah. Do I have to talk about it like we did this morning?” She questioned.

“Not if you don’t want to. It may help though. We could even get you a therapist if you want.” Paige said, handing her the list.

Work on setting up apartment

At least 3 glasses of water before you pick up Soleil

Sunlight for 10 mins

Make list of materials for Soleil’s afterschool

Journal prompt: perfect day

Before they long, they were back at the apartment.

“Have a good day. Morgan will be here at 11 to take you to pick up Soleil. Let me know if you need anything.”

Azzi rode the elevator to her floor, cataloguing all the things she could get done in the next two and a half hours. There was a thin figure waiting outside her door.

Nika.

“Hey girl,” Croatian accent light. “I brought coffee so we could have a little boost while we work.”

Azzi took the cup and brought it to her lips. “Thanks, Nika. I’m happy you’re here, so I don’t have to do everything myself.”

She unlocked her front door, ushering the other woman in.

“Oh, Ice should be here soon, since she was your interior designer.”

“It’s mainly just sorted into boxes for each room, but if we can get the couch, the table for Soleil’s room, and the bean bags set up, I think we’ll be in pretty solid position.”

Nika nodded, “Good, good. While we’re putting the couch together, I can ask you a few questions. “She added casually.

“Okay,” Azzi was more focused on opening one of the eight boxes for the couch.

“How are you liking it here? Like seriously.” Nika went to another box, cutting the cardboard off smoothly.

“I’m doing okay. I’m trying to work through being accepted. And there not being a trap door with every decision I make.” She said.

Nika was quiet, making sure Azzi didn’t have any more to get out. “I know that can be tough. You’re almost rewiring your brain to think a completely different way. You have to teach your brain and your body that you are in a safe space with safe people.”

Azzi’s eyes were wide with surprise. She’d just analyzed everything Azzi had said in thirty seconds.

“Oh, I was a psychology major, Azzi. Know all about how easy it is for words to fuck someone up.” The woman smirked. “You’re already been accepted; you’re our family. Paige let you in. She doesn’t do soft. Not easily. She’s been carved into corners for Soleil. But you? You’re the only one who got past her walls just by… being.”

The last sentence bounded around in Azzi’s head. Paige had really let me into their life and accepted me into the fold.

The two women worked in relative silence. They screwed the little feet on the bottom and sat each piece up. Azzi was happy she picked a couch with a low difficulty, or she’d probably doing homework

“Okay, Fudd. I’ve let you stew long enough for me to ask you the real questions.” Nika said, smirking after. “You happy?” she asked, turning back to Azzi.

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Azzi let out a soft breath, smiled faintly. “Yeah. I think so.”

Nika crossed her arms and tilted her head. She didn’t move.

Azzi’s smile faded a little. “That’s what’s scary.”

Nika sat on the arm of the couch. “Explain.”

Azzi settled onto the floor again, legs folded under her, her iced coffee balanced on the nearest box. “I keep waiting to feel like I’m faking it. Like I don’t belong here — with Soleil, with Paige, in this building. But I don’t. That’s what’s terrifying. Because if this is real, then I could lose it.”

“You think she’d leave you?” Nika asked gently.

Azzi shook her head. “Not like that. I just – I’ve never been this safe. It makes me want to self-destruct a little.”

Nika nodded slowly. “You want to know something about Paige?”

Azzi glanced up.

“She doesn’t do soft. Never has. Not with people. Not even with her parents. But Soleil cracked her open. And you? You slipped in so quiet we almost didn’t notice. And now she’s soft around you, too.”

Azzi’s throat tightened.

“I know you care about her. And Soleil,” Nika said, quieter now. “I know you’d never hurt them on purpose. But I need to know you won’t run when it gets too real.”

Azzi stared at the floor. “I’m not scared I’ll break her. I’m scared I’ll break me.”

The silence stretched between them. Nika didn’t fill it.

“When I was with Grant, I didn’t have anything for myself,” Azzi murmured. “Not a toothbrush, not a key to the apartment, not even a drawer. Nothing that said I mattered. Being here — being wanted here — it’s like holding something fragile. And I don’t trust myself not to drop it.”

Nika knelt down beside her, her voice firm but kind. “Then let us help you hold it.”

Before Azzi could respond, another knock sounded — louder this time. A beat later, the door swung open.

“Please tell me someone’s wearing real pants,” Ice called as she walked in, balancing a tray of pastries and a canvas bag bursting with snacks and what looked like an electric screwdriver. She stopped short. “Oh good. Emotional breakdown first. Building shit after. Love that for us.”

Azzi snorted despite herself. Nika rolled her eyes.

Ice kicked off her boots and dropped the bag beside the bookshelf. “I brought cinnamon rolls and batteries. I’m the handyman of your dreams.”

“God help us,” Nika muttered.

“Exactly,” Ice said, pulling a cinnamon roll from the tray and tossing it to Azzi like a softball. “Fuel up. We’ve got a bed to build and a shelf that needs redemption.”

They got to work, spreading the unassembled pieces of Soleil’s twin bed across the living room. Ice found the instructions, skimmed them for a total of five seconds, and declared them “useless garbage” before tossing them aside.

Azzi tried to follow the manual anyway. Nika refused to hold anything without criticizing its symmetry. Ice ended up on the floor with a power drill and half a cinnamon roll in her mouth, narrating the process like a podcast.

It was chaotic. It was messy. It was joyful.

They argued over whether butterfly decals were juvenile (Nika: yes, Ice: absolutely not), laughed until they cried when the bookshelf collapsed sideways, and somehow managed to string twinkle lights above the bed without anyone falling off the chair.

When the last screw went in and the mattress was lowered into place, Azzi stood back and stared at it.

The room felt different now.

Permanent.

“She’s gonna freak out,” Ice said, wiping her hands on her jeans. “This is a straight-up fairy room. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Azzi nodded, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “She deserves it.”

“You all do,” Nika said. Her voice was quieter now. “This? All of it? It’s good, Azzi. You’re good.”

Azzi blinked fast, not quite trusting her voice.

Ice crossed the room and handed her a small, silly pillow she’d tucked in her bag — pale pink, embroidered with STAY SOFT in sparkly thread.

“For the bed,” she said. “Or your couch. Whatever.”

Azzi took it with a shaky laugh.

“Welcome to the family,” Ice said. “You’re stuck with us now.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The apartment was quiet again. Too quiet. Ice and Nika left five minutes earlier. They had real jobs to do.

Azzi stood in the center of the living room, hands on her hips, eyes skimming over what they'd accomplished. The couch was assembled, the rug was nestled under the furniture, and the coffee table was perfectly coordinated with the rest of the space.

Soleil’s room was complete — a soft glow spilling from under the door where the string lights hummed against the wall. The butterfly decals looked a little lopsided. Ice would say they gave the room character.

Ice did an amazing job.

The silence pressed in.

She crossed to the kitchen counter and picked up Paige’s folded list, smoothing it open on the marble.

To Do:

Work on setting up apartment

At least 3 glasses of water before you pick up Soleil

Sunlight for 10 mins

Make list of materials for Soleil’s afterschool

Journal prompt: perfect day

A flutter of guilt rose. Looking back at the list, her eyes snagged on the first item. The house isn’t finished, and it’s nowhere.

She should be doing more. The closet was still half-full of things she hadn’t unpacked. She hadn’t touched the bag of maternity clothes Paige had bought “just in case.” The hall closet looked like a graveyard of scattered shoes. The crib still needed decorations. She hadn't made any actual lesson plans for Soleil’s electives — today would be mostly improvising.

Grant’s voice rose, uninvited, like oil on water:

“You can’t even finish what you start.”

“You think being good for five minutes erases years of being useless?”

“Everyone loves you until they realize you’re work.”

She shut her eyes. Tried to breathe. Counted backward from five.

It didn’t work.

Azzi moved slowly to the bathroom, flicked on the light. Cool tile under bare feet. Steam still clung to the corners of the mirror from this morning.

She looked at her reflection. Puffy eyes. Paint on her forearm. A small tear in her t-shirt sleeve. She looked… loved.

Her heart was racing anyway.

“You’re messy. You’re needy. No one stays for that.”

She opened the medicine cabinet. No pills, no old bottles. Just sunscreen, a lavender roller, a half-used tube of concealer, and a folded index card she’d taped to the inside of the mirror last week.

She read it out loud.

“You are allowed to take up space.

You are safe now.

You are not too much.

You are learning how to stay.

You are loved.

You are loving.

She touched each sentence as she said it, grounding herself in the repetition.

Azzi closed her eyes and pictured Soleil’s face when she saw the new bed. Paige’s voice saying, “Wear something fun.” Ice handing her that ridiculous STAY SOFT pillow like it was a badge of honor.

“People don’t want a project. They want a prize.”

She stared hard at herself in the mirror. “You’re not a prize,” she said quietly. “You’re not a project. You’re a person. And they love you anyway.”

It didn’t fix everything. But it helped.

She stood there for a minute longer, breathing slow and deep. Her reflection didn’t look so panicked anymore. Just tired. But steady.

In the next room, her phone alarm buzzed.

Pick up Soleil @ 12:00.

She shut the alarm off and smiled. Time for volcanoes.

[adversaryss]

( Tentatively considering returning to tumblrp... if I do I think I'm going to be clearing out my drafts for now because it's been quite some time. I got kind of burnt out to be honest and spent a lot of time thinking about the type of writing I want to do, so for now I believe I will only be focusing on plotted threads.

I might also be implementing a limit on open threads I have per writing partner because it was all sorta starting to blur together for me. If there's a reply you've been waiting for in particular or a starter you'd still really really like me to reply to, please drop a link in my DMs and I'll see what I can do! Otherwise we can discuss a new thread if you still want to write together. )

[gracieheartspedro]

For Cryin’ Out Loud

pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x fem!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 7.9k

description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!

author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3

For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep. 

The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you. 

It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar. 

The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos. 

When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot. 

In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you. 

He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often. 

“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance. 

You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification. 

You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”

He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”

You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again. 

“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”

He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”

“I can’t, Joel.”

“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”

“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”

“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”

The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”

"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."

"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.

“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”

You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”

"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel. 

“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”

"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”

He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome. 

But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.

"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.

You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.

"I don't know." You manage to say.

Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not. 

Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic. 

He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.

"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.

You nod, "I don't know if I want that."

You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed. 

Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked. 

“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”

You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.

"I want to sleep with you."

Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do. 

He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty. 

"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.

You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. 

Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you. 

You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”

-

Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in. 

The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year. 

A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left. 

Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him. 

“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”

He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”

You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing. 

“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."

Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection. 

"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."

You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”

He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.

But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you. 

You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.

"Do you sleep on your side or back?"

Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night. 

"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."

You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"

Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.

"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."

You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.  

"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"

Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.

Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.

He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.

"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.

You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.

"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."

Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.

"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.

You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.

"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.

"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."

You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now. 

"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."

Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed. 

"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."

He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.

"Go on..."

Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.

"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"

Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.

"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified. 

You mentally slap yourself in the face.

"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."

Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.

"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."

"Yeah, exactly..."

He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.

You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.

Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something.  He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.

"So… ten years and no sex?”

You could seriously, not help yourself.

"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.

"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”

He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town. 

“You just give off the energy…”

“What?”

You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”

“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.” 

You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms. 

But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.

“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.

Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.

You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle. 

You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter. 

It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.

-

When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy. 

You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across. 

His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-

His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles. 

“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”

The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.

“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”

Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.

"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..." 

You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him. 

Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you. 

"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.

Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him. 

He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you. 

“You’re a brat.”

You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly. 

"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"

"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"

"So, you don't believe me?"

"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."

"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.

"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."

"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful. 

“‘Course I do.”

You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him. 

“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him. 

But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.

“I am always nice to you.”

You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”

He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.” 

Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”

“Because I am!”

And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it. 

“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him. 

Why does he already miss your hands?

He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”

“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”

“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over. 

“Whatever, Joel.” 

As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.

Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live. 

He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them. 

You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen. 

“You got pat-”

“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move. 

“Who are you-”

“Jesse.”

He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer. 

“Hey, can you-”

You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time. 

“Can I what?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”

You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor. 

You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond. 

“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking. 

He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”

“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”

You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard. 

The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning. 

“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”

You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.

He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word. 

-

All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here. 

You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him. 

You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt. 

You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals. 

You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off. 

You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water. 

When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”

He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud. 

He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”

You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?

“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”

He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”

You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest. 

But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?

He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore. 

Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point? 

His body was on fire, thinking about you. 

You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you. 

You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud. 

“For cryin’ out loud, woman!” 

You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.

He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”

“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?” 

You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing. 

He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”

Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates. 

“Joel-“

“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. 

“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”

As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.

His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences. 

“Joel, you said we can’t-”

“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”

You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you. 

But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him. 

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.

“Darlin’-”

“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”

It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies. 

You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first. 

His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful. 

“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”

He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back. 

He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time. 

You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way. 

He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans. 

“Joel… I-“

He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body. 

“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”

That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance. 

“Please, Joel.”

He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then. 

You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan. 

“You are divine, baby.”

The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter. 

He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”

“Y-yes, Joel.”

“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”

Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core. 

“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”

He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”

“God, yes.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself. 

His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming. 

You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you. 

“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”

You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress. 

“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.

When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.

“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”

You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”

“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”

He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance. 

“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”

He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”

You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his. 

But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight. 

“Ready?”

Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone. 

“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”

He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”

When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming. 

He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes. 

You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half. 

He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”

You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.

“‘M all yours, Joel.”

He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”

You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.

“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”

“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”

His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile. 

Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.

He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring. 

“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself. 

“I’m more than okay.”

He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.

Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.

Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.

So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking. 

Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to. 

You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose. 

He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”

tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld

[sunbeamlessreads]

Let Him See - Oscar Piastri x Reader One-Shot

❝ He kisses you like he’s waited for permission. And that’s what makes you break. ❞

[oscar piastri x reader]

~8.2k words | rated: E

tw: 18+, emotional neglect, infidelity, porn with plot, smut, possessive behavior, complicated breakup dynamics

lando stopped seeing you. oscar never missed a thing. now the whole paddock knows.

notes: i tried writing in present tense for this, which really isn't in my ballpark. not sure if i loved it, but maybe i'll do more of it later on. i’m sorry i made lando out to be such a dick. i promise ill make up for it!! enjoy! <3

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The McLaren party is elegant in that vaguely overstated way team events always are—polished chrome fixtures, dim gold lighting, and drinks served in glasses that clink too delicately for the kind of tension simmering beneath the surface.

You walk in on Lando’s arm. A black strapless dress hugging you like it was tailored in vengeance. The ruffled ruching along the bottom cascades like spilled ink with every step you take. You planned everything—the heels, the bold red lipstick, the subtle shimmer in the inner corners of your eyes. All for him.

He barely glances down at you.

Lando says something to a passing engineer, nods at a sponsor, then slips out of your grasp as naturally as water slipping through your fingers. No one notices the slight shift in your balance when he lets go. But you do.

You’re left standing beside a bar you didn’t want to be near, surrounded by people who smile too brightly and ask questions you don’t want to answer.

You’re his girlfriend—the public face of a dying relationship neither of you have the courage to end. He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. He’s across the room within minutes, grinning down at a woman in a red backless dress, hand resting low on her spine. It’s a familiar stance. You’ve seen it before. You’ve even been on the receiving end of it—back when he still bothered.

Your chest aches, but you don’t flinch. Not here. Not while people are watching.

Someone asks you if you want champagne. You decline with a polite smile, then excuse yourself—something about needing to take a call, voice breezy, unbothered.

You step out of the ballroom like you’re slipping out of a skin that doesn’t fit anymore.

The hallway is dim and mercifully empty. You exhale, back against the cool wall, and pull your phone out of your clutch—blank screen. No missed messages. No excuses to stay outside longer than you should.

You open WhatsApp. You type a few words. Delete them. Start again. Then stop. You let your head tip back until it rests against the cool wall, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

You wore this dress for him.

You practically starved yourself all day, got your makeup done by the same artist who preps you for photoshoots, shaved every inch of your body until your skin ached—and he didn’t even look at you.

A sharp sting pricks behind your eyes, but you blink it back. Your mascara is too good to waste on someone who hasn’t kissed you in public in weeks.

You shift your weight in your heels. They’re taller than you usually wear—he once said he liked when you looked just a little out of balance, like he had to catch you. He hasn’t caught you in a long time.

The hallway feels like limbo. You’re not sure if you want to scream or vanish. The silence settles over you like a second skin—until it breaks.

“Hey.”

You look up.

Oscar stands a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Brows knit with something like concern—or maybe anger, but not at you.

You straighten up instinctively, “Hey.”

His gaze flicks toward the ballroom, then back to you, “He didn’t even notice you left.”

Your voice catches before it comes out, “He never does.”

Oscar doesn’t speak. He just stays there, watching you like you’re not crazy for feeling the way you do.

For a few seconds, that’s enough.

You look away first. Not because you’re embarrassed—but because his eyes are too steady, too full of something that burns beneath the surface. Like if you look too long, you’ll start crying or say something you can’t take back.

Your gaze falls to the floor, to the veins in the marble tile, to the perfectly manicured hand holding your clutch like it’s the only thing holding you together.

Then, softly—like the truth finally scraping its way up your throat—you speak.

“He does this a lot,” you murmur, “Leaves me at these things. Flirts with whatever blonde he hasn’t slept with yet. Sometimes it’s just talking. Usually it’s not.”

You swallow. The bitterness coats your tongue.

“And I’m supposed to smile through it. Pretend I don’t care. Because we’re McLaren’s golden couple, right? I look good enough on his arm, and he looks better in the photos. Win-win.”

Oscar doesn’t interrupt. He stays where he is, still but attentive, like if he moves too fast you might break.

You don’t stop. It’s pouring out now.

“I tell myself it’s fine. That I knew what I was signing up for. That it’s just how he is. But then I see the way he touches them—like they’re interesting. Like they matter.”

Your voice drops, quiet and sharp:

“He hasn’t looked at me like that in a long time.”

The silence after that is loud. Heavy.

You take a shaky breath and force out a dry laugh. “God. I sound pathetic.”

“No,” Oscar says immediately, “You sound hurt.”

You blink. His voice is too honest. Too kind.

It cracks something wide open.

“Of course I’m hurt,” you whisper, “I feel disposable. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s why I don’t leave. Maybe I’m scared if I do, no one else will want me.”

Oscar moves then.

Just a step. Slow. Controlled. Like he’s grounding himself.

“That’s not true,” he says, sincerity and care laced in his voice. 

You lift your eyes to his. His tone doesn't match how furious he looks. Not at you—never at you—but at everything you just said. At every bruise Lando left behind that didn’t show up on your skin.

“I’m tired of watching him hurt you,” he says, voice like steel wrapped in silk.

The breath catches in your throat. You didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect him to say it. Not so simply. Not so seriously.

You fold your arms across your chest, trying to find a shield in sarcasm. It’s the only armor you have left.

“What, you want to make him jealous or something?” A laugh, light and mocking. A shrug, “Go ahead.”

You don’t mean it. It’s a deflection, a defense. Something to push him back before he gets too close to the bleeding parts.

But Oscar doesn’t laugh.

He steps in.

Close.

Too close.

You feel his hand brush the side of your face, gentle fingers slipping behind your ear. He pauses—waits for you to stop him—and when you don’t, he tilts your chin just enough.

And then he kisses you.

Your body locks. Every muscle goes taut.

Your lips are frozen against his, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

But his mouth is soft. Steady. Patient.

He kisses you like he’s waited for permission.

And that’s what makes you break.

You melt.

Fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt, you kiss him back. Rough. Desperate. Furious with yourself for how good it feels. For how long you’ve wanted this, buried it, pushed it down under years of Lando’s carelessness.

Oscar groans when your hips tip into his.

The kiss deepens. His hands grip your waist—hard, grounding. Yours slide up his chest, grabbing fistfuls of cotton like you need to hold on or you’ll collapse.

You hit the wall with a soft thud. He doesn’t stop. You don’t want him to. One of his hands finds your bare thigh where your dress has shifted, the other cradling your jaw.

He kisses you like he needs to prove something. Like he’s making up for every second Lando didn’t touch you.

You moan into his mouth—too soft, too shocked at yourself.

He pulls back just enough to breathe against your lips.

You’re both breathing heavily; you more than him.

Your lipstick’s ruined. His pupils are blown. His chest is rising and falling like he’s just come off a cooldown lap.

Then—voice low, rough, shaking with restraint—he says,

“Room 321. If you mean it.”

And he steps back. Hands still curled like he wants to reach for you again.

But he doesn’t.

He leaves you standing there in a dim hotel hallway, breathless, shaking, lips tingling, with your heart slamming against your ribs and your mind screaming that something just changed forever.

Room 321.

You stare at the number plaque for a moment.

You knock once, and the door opens like he was already standing behind it—waiting.

Oscar stands in the soft glow of the hotel room, still in his suit pants, white shirt rumpled with the top two buttons undone. His jacket’s folded neatly over the back of a chair. His hair’s a little mussed like he’s been running his hands through it since he left you.

His eyes land on your lips first. Then your throat.

Your lipstick is smudged from the hallway kiss. You didn’t fix it. You didn’t want to.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there. Chest rising slowly. Eyes locked on yours. There’s something sharp in his silence—not anger, not regret. Restraint.

You step into the room slowly. The door closes behind you with a dull thud that feels heavier than it should.

He still doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

The tension crackles between you like a tripwire no one wants to step on first.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly, eyes dark.

Your chest lifts, lips parted slightly as you look at him across the room, “Then tell me to leave.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he takes a slow step forward.

You mirror him.

Another step. Closer. Breath catching.

Until there’s no more distance between you.

He reaches out—hesitantly—fingers brushing your chin, then trailing along the line of your smudged lipstick.

“You look like you’ve already been kissed,” he says. 

You breathe, “You did that.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I did.”

That’s when the tension snaps.

The second his mouth meets yours again, everything else dissolves.

It’s rougher this time. Starved. Less like a kiss and more like a confession torn from his chest. His hands cradle your jaw, fingers pressing just beneath your ears like he’s grounding himself in the feel of you. Your arms loop around his neck instantly, your body melting into his like it always belonged there.

His tongue slips past your lips, hot and slow, as your backs bump blindly into the desk behind you. A McLaren cap falls to the floor unnoticed. You gasp softly into the kiss, and he groans into your mouth like it’s killing him not to take more.

His hands slide down your arms, then to your waist, where he grips you tightly—not to push, not to rush. Just to hold. Just to feel.

You don’t pull away when he reaches behind you and finds the zipper of your dress. It comes down slowly, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet of the room. His knuckles brush your spine as he guides the fabric off your shoulders.

You’re still kissing when it falls to your ankles.

Still kissing when you push his shirt off, fingers slipping under the undone buttons, palms brushing warm skin. He shrugs it down his arms and lets it fall with a soft rustle to the carpet. His pants follow soon after, as you blindly undo his belt and unbutton them. 

His hands don’t leave your body. Not once.

You walk backward together, mouths fused, breath short, until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you.

Then he bends slightly and lifts you—carefully, like you might shatter in his arms—and lays you down on the sheets as if it’s an offering.

Your hair fans out against the pillows. Your chest rises and falls quickly. Oscar stands over you for a second, chest heaving, jaw tight, eyes moving across every inch of your skin.

Then he climbs onto the bed and kneels between your thighs.

You watch him watch you, lips parted, body burning.

He leans in and kisses your neck—softly at first.

Then lower.

And lower.

Down the column of your throat, over the swell of your chest. He shifts the fabric of your bra aside, reaching beneath you and removing it gently, with trembling fingers, and kisses the curve of your breast, then bites gently.

You gasp, fingers grasping at the sheets.

He sucks gently—and when he pulls back, there’s a blooming red mark just beneath your collarbone.

Then another. Between your breasts.

Then one lower, over the swell of your ribcage.

He takes his time. His mouth moves down, and you lose count of how many places he claims with his lips and teeth.

You squirm as he shifts, adjusting on his knees to reach lower, pushing the edge of your panties aside so he can press another kiss just above your hipbone—then right at the inner curve of your thigh.

He sucks there, too. A long, slow draw that makes your fingers fist the sheets.

“Oscar—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, voice husky, “Let me leave them.”

Another bite. Another mark, just shy of the place where you’re already aching for him.

“I want him to see every single one of these.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

You’ve never been kissed like this—not for show, not for ownership, but for the sheer need to leave a piece of himself behind on your skin.

By the time his mouth trails back up your thighs, your panties are damp with heat and your breathing’s gone shaky.

Oscar leans up, one hand bracing beside your waist. His other hand finds the waistband of your panties and begins to ease them down—slowly. Carefully. Like unwrapping something delicate.

He watches your face the entire time.

They slide down your legs with ease, and he tosses them aside.

You’re bare for him now—fully, completely—and you’ve never felt so seen.

He kisses your knee. Then the inside of your thigh again. Then finally, finally, his mouth hovers over where you need him most.

You’re already soaked. He groans when he sees it.

“Fuck. Look at you. I’ve thought about this,” he says softly, eyes fixed on where you’re already wet for him. “So many times.”

You can’t answer. You can barely think.

His hands spread you open gently—reverently—and then his mouth is on you.

Warm. Wet. Soft.

The first stroke of his tongue is unhurried, a slow drag from bottom to top that makes your spine arch off the mattress. You gasp, hips twitching, but his grip is firm on your thighs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers against you.

He licks again—long and deliberate—then presses soft kisses to your clit, switching between his tongue and his lips like he’s tasting something he wants to savor.

You moan—high and broken—and he groans back like he feels it.

His hands hold your thighs open, thumbs stroking slow circles into your skin. You’re writhing now, overwhelmed, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly with every passing second.

Your fingers claw at the sheets. You feel it coming, your body locking up—

Until he pulls back.

Your hips lift off the bed, chasing the loss, but his hands still you.

He leans in, kisses the inside of your thigh again—slow and deep—a soft, open-mouthed press that lingers just long enough to leave another blooming bruise.

Then he hovers over you, mouth wet, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re close,” he murmurs, “I can feel it. You’re shaking.”

You nod, lips parted, breath stuttering.

His hands slide up your thighs, grounding you—but instead of returning to where you’re desperate for him, he pulls back more.

“Don’t come yet.”

Your brows draw together, lips twitching in protest, “What—why—?”

Oscar leans in again, hand wrapping around your thigh to hold you open as he presses a kiss just above your aching heat. 

His voice is low, but firm, “Because I want to be inside you when you fall apart.”

The authority in his tone makes you clench around nothing. You whimper as he sits back on his heels, rubbing his palms over your thighs in soothing strokes.

“Please…” you whisper.

His mouth tilts into the faintest smirk—not smug. Hungry.

Then he crawls back up your body, leaving another trail of slow kisses across the bruises he’s left down your chest.

“You don’t come without me tonight,” he says quietly against your skin. “You understand?”

You nod, barely breathing.

“Say it,” his tone is demanding, but not impatient.

“I—I won’t come until you’re inside me,” you surrender. 

He moves back up to kiss you—soft at first, then deeper, longer—as he reaches over to the nightstand. You hear the foil tear, the familiar sound grounding the moment in something real. His body shifts against yours as he sits back briefly to roll the condom on, his breath catching as his hand moves.

Then he’s back above you—one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand sliding down to guide himself to your entrance. His cock brushes against you, hot and thick and so ready.

But still, he pauses.

“Are you sure? You won’t regret this later?” he asks, voice quieter now. Not demanding. Not coaxing. Just open.

You reach up, cup his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek.

“Yes. I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

Oscar exhales—one soft, shuddering breath—and presses his forehead to yours for a moment, like he’s soaking those words in.

He sinks into you slowly—not teasing, just careful, controlled, like he’s doing something sacred. His hips press forward inch by inch, stretching you open, filling you fully until your thighs tremble against his sides.

You gasp, clutching his biceps, head tipping back into the pillows, “Oscar…”

“I know,” he breathes. “Fuck, I know. You feel—”

He cuts himself off with a groan, jaw tightening as he bottoms out, “So fucking tight. Like you were made for me.”

He stills inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, both of you shaking with the effort of not losing it too soon. He brushes your hair away from your face with the gentlest touch, his palm cupping your cheek like he’s afraid you might break if he lets go.

“You okay?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, “Move. Please.”

So he does.

The first thrust is slow and deep, rolling through your whole body. His hips pull back and push forward in a smooth rhythm that feels like worship. Each time he fills you, you feel more of yourself unravel, like he’s stripping you bare with every stroke.

He kisses you through it—long, lingering kisses against your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You breathe it against his lips, broken and honest:

“I’m yours.”

He groans, burying himself deeper.

His pace stays steady, grounding—not brutal, not rushed, but deliberate. Like he wants to make this last. Like he needs you to feel it for hours after.

His hand slides down your side to grip your thigh, pulling your leg up around his waist to angle you just right—and when he thrusts again, you choke on a moan.

“Right there?” he pants.

You nod frantically, eyes wide and wet.

“Yeah, baby. That’s it,” He stumbles through his words, deep within his own pleasure, “You take me so well.”

You cling to him like he’s the only real thing in the world, his name slipping from your lips between soft gasps, your body clenching around him, slick and pulsing and completely his.

When your orgasm hits, it’s not sharp—it’s deep. A wave that rolls through you, full-body and consuming. You cry out, and he swallows the sound in a kiss, fucking you through it with soft praise and steady hands.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. I’ve got you.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he kisses the corner of your eye.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, “You’re safe.”

He comes only seconds later, thrusts stuttering, mouth falling open against your neck. You feel him groan into your skin as he grips your thigh and spills into the condom, his whole body shaking with the effort.

And when it’s over, he doesn’t pull away.

He just collapses into you—gently—his chest pressed to yours, his arms wrapping around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his hold.

You lie there tangled in each other, your fingers brushing through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, your thighs still parted around his hips.

Neither of you speaks.

You don’t have to.

You’re both suspended in that quiet stillness—the kind that only comes after something real, something that changes the shape of you.

After a long moment, he shifts slightly, careful not to crush you. His hand strokes your thigh where it’s still curled around his waist. He places a soft kiss on your cheek, then another on your jaw. Then he pulls out gently, drawing a small whimper from your throat.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, brushing his hand down your hip, “You okay?”

You nod. Your voice is still trapped somewhere in your chest, so you let your hand answer for you, fingers curling around his bicep. He disposes of the condom quickly, then returns to the bed without hesitation, lying beside you and immediately pulling you into his arms.

He doesn’t ask if it was good.

He doesn’t need to.

Instead, he cradles you, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other brushing soft fingers through your hair.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “Just… a lot.”

You feel his smile against your forehead. His hand slides up and down your back, slow and steady, grounding.

“Hey,” he says gently after a pause. “You don’t… regret this, do you?”

You shift slightly to look at him. His eyes are wide, open, vulnerable—stripped of all the heat and control from earlier. He’s just Oscar now. Soft-spoken and careful with your heart.

You shake your head slowly, “No. I don’t.”

His shoulders relax.

“Okay,” he says, “Good. I just—I need you to know…”

He hesitates, thumb brushing your side, “This doesn’t have to mean anything. If it was just about him—if it was just something you needed to do — that’s okay.”

You blink. His voice is steady, but there’s a hint of sadness tucked into it. Like he means what he’s saying, but part of him hopes it isn’t just that.

You slide your hand up his chest, over the steady beat of his heart, “It wasn’t just about him.”

His brows lift slightly. You lean in and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t mean anything.”

Oscar exhales—slow and shaky—and you see the tension leave his body like someone just untied a knot that’s been there for months.

He pulls you in tighter. You tuck your head beneath his chin, leg slipping between his, arms around his torso, his scent already warm on your skin.

“Okay,” he murmurs, “Stay?”

You nod against his chest, “I want to.”

You fall asleep like that—in his arms, his fingers tangled in your hair, your body marked with proof of what happened.

Not revenge.

Not just sex.

Something.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

Oscar’s chest beneath your cheek. His arm still slung around your waist. The faint hum of city life beyond the hotel windows. You blink slowly into the early light, your lashes brushing the skin of his collarbone.

He’s already awake.

You can feel it in the way his fingers trace lazy, absentminded shapes along your back. He’s not in a rush. Not trying to move you. Just… there, soaking the moment in.

You shift slightly, stretch, and wince a little—your thighs ache, in the best way. Oscar immediately pauses.

“Sore?” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

“A little,’ you respond quietly.

He kisses your forehead, “Good sore or… need-an-ice-pack sore?”

You snort, hiding your smile in his chest, “Good sore.”

He hums, content. His hand returns to your back. You both stay still for a few more seconds—not talking, not overthinking—just breathing together.

Then, softly, “You don’t have to sneak out,” he says, “You can walk out like you belong here.”

You glance up at him, “I kind of do belong now… don’t I?”

His lips lift into a tired smile, “Yeah. You do.”

You press a soft kiss to his jaw before finally sitting up, the sheets slipping down your body, baring the constellation of love bites he left down your chest. His eyes flick to them, and his smile shifts—pride, possession, a little satisfaction.

“He’s gonna see those,” he says.

“Good,” you echo, voice quiet but sharp.

You find your underwear, pull on your clothes from the night before — everything still wrinkled from the floor. You go to the mirror, fix your hair just enough, and borrow his hoodie. He watches you do it all in silence.

Before you leave, he stands, cups your face in both hands, and kisses you slow. Sweet.

“See you down there?”

You nod, “Yeah. I’ll be around.”

You open the door.

Step out.

And you’re not five steps down the hall before you hear the elevator ding.

You hear the sound of footsteps before you register anything else—then the shift in atmosphere. Heavy. Cold. Unwelcoming/

You turn.

Lando steps into the hallway off of the elevator, coffee in hand, hoodie tied low around his hips, damp curls falling over his forehead like he just stepped out of the shower.

He doesn’t speak right away.

He just stops—eyes locked on you—and stares.

At the heels.

At the wrinkled black dress from last night.

At the hoodie hanging off your shoulders—Oscar’s '81' hoodie.

Then his gaze lands on your neck.

The bruises.

The silence stretches, thick and venomous.

“Wow,” he mutters, taking a slow sip of his coffee, “Didn’t think you’d stoop that low.”

You raise an eyebrow, heartbeat steady, “Funny. I was thinking the same about you for the last six months.”

His eyes flicker—a flash of guilt, gone in an instant.

“So what, then?” he snaps. “You fuck my teammate to even the score?”

You shrug one shoulder, “I didn’t realize we were still keeping score.”

“You really let him leave those on you?” His voice cuts sharper now, bitter, “Is that what you’re doing now? Walking around marked up like a fucking trophy?”

“He didn’t do it to prove a point,’ You step closer, just enough, “He did it because he wanted to touch me. Because he actually looked at me.”

Lando’s jaw clenches,

"You’re still mine.”

That’s when you laugh—not cruel, but quiet. Final.

“No, Lando. I was never yours,” you say with a confidence you didn’t know you possessed, “I just played the part.”

His lips part like he wants to fire back, but no words come.

You walk past him without another glance, heels echoing softly against the hotel carpet. His coffee hand twitches like he wants to stop you—to say something that could undo what he just saw.

But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

The bruises on your neck do all the talking.

The tension hits before you even step onto the concrete.

You’d heard whispers all morning—something about a joint media pen meltdown, Lando snapping mid-question, storming off, Oscar handling it with trademark calm. Nobody quite knows why. No one’s saying anything aloud. But everyone feels the shift.

Especially in the McLaren garage.

The energy is tight. Controlled. Like an engine revving just a little too high.

You move through it like a blade through silk.

Sunglasses on, McLaren pass hanging low on your chest. Hair neatly pulled back, hoodie zipped halfway. You tried to cover the hickeys— light foundation along your collarbone, you hadn't expected to need color corrector on this trip—but Monaco’s heat is unforgiving. The bruises are starting to bleed through the coverage, soft and red and obvious.

You don’t adjust your zipper.

Let them wonder.

As you step through the divider into the team area, a few heads turn. You're familiar enough to them. People don’t stare—not directly—but eyes flick. Conversations pause. It’s subtle, but you’re used to it by now.

Oscar’s standing just to the side of the media tent, debrief notes in one hand. He looks up the second you appear—and though his expression doesn’t change much, you catch the tiny lift at the corner of his mouth. Just for you.

He doesn’t come to you.

You don’t go to him.

Not yet.

You pass close enough that your arm brushes his, and the heat between you sizzles like something private. He doesn’t look, doesn’t touch.

But he says, quiet enough for only you to hear, “He cracked.”

You smile faintly, “I heard.”

“They asked about quali, he said something about ‘teammates knowing their place.’”

You raise a brow, amused, “Classy.”

“Zak pulled him out. Press has no idea what the fuck he meant,” Oscar says, with a hint of boyish triumph laced in his voice. 

“But you do.”

He doesn’t answer that—just smiles again, a little wider this time.

You walk past him and take your place in the viewing area beside one of the engineers. From across the garage, you feel Lando’s eyes land on you. Just a flicker.

Just long enough.

He sees the bruise peeking above the collar of your hoodie. The faint outline of teeth just beneath your jaw.

He looks away.

You don’t need to say a word.

Oscar already said it for you—with his mouth on your skin, with his name on your lips, with every mark he left behind.

Qualifying starts, and Monaco doesn’t give anyone room to hide — not on track, and definitely not off it.

From the team pit wall, you watch it unfold through tinted lenses, headset perched loosely around your neck.

Oscar’s smooth. Fast. Calm through Sector 1, surgical through the hairpin. Lando’s twitchier. Overcorrecting. Radio sharp. He goes wide into Turn 12 and mutters something that gets bleeped on the live feed.

The garage knows.

Everyone knows.

Even the engineers are glancing at each other between data runs. The tension hasn’t lifted—it’s just gone quieter. Deeper.

Zak walks past you once, then again, and doesn’t say anything.

You don’t move.

Oscar finishes P3. Lando P7.

When Oscar’s lap time flashes on the board, there’s a flicker of something like satisfaction in the way he lifts his visor. He doesn’t celebrate. Doesn’t gloat. Just pulls back into the garage like he’s done his job—and knows you were watching.

You head toward the back hallway after the session ends. Quiet space behind hospitality, where the drivers come through before facing the press.

You’re leaning against a wall when you hear the voices before you see them.

Lando’s.

“Why don’t you tell them what you were really thinking on that last lap?”

Oscar’s.

“Excuse me?”

Lando’s.

“You wanted to beat me. You needed to. Don’t act like this was just another quali for you.”

Oscar’s voice is quieter, cooler, “Every quali, I want to beat the guy next to me. That’s the point.”

Lando laughs, sharp and joyless, “You think you’ve won something, don’t you? Some prize of a woman?”

You step into view.

They both go quiet.

Oscar’s eyes flick to you first—not surprised, not smug. Just aware. Present.

Lando sees the faint hickey blooming again, the one the foundation couldn’t fully hide, and his jaw ticks. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to.

You tilt your head, “Everything alright?”

Oscar looks at Lando for half a second longer, then turns to you.

“Yeah,” he says, calm and even. “We were just clearing the air.”

This earns him a glare from Lando. 

You smile at Oscar, brush your hand lightly along his arm as you pass.

Lando stays frozen.

It’s dark when you find Oscar again—rooftop level, away from the noise. He’s leaning on the railing in his McLaren hoodie, watching the city lights flicker over the water.

You slip in beside him.

He doesn’t look away from the skyline.

“He’s pissed,” Oscar says.

“He’ll stay pissed,” you admit quietly.

“He’s not just mad about it being me,” a beat, “He’s mad because he never thought you would leave him.”

You nod, fingers grazing the edge of the railing, “He never thought I’d let anyone else touch me.”

Oscar turns to you then. The tension’s gone now, burned out somewhere between the lap and the hallway. He notices you shivering and removes his hoodie, handing it to you without a word.

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” you respond, more assurance in your voice than the last time he asked. You turn fully toward him, “Do you?”

He just looks at you—steady, thoughtful, something softer than anything he’s shown all day.

Then he shrugs one shoulder and smiles faintly, “Not even a little.”

You lean in.

Kiss him.

The kiss is soft—nothing like the one in the hallway, or the ones from last night, hot and breathless with desperation. This one is calm. Confident.

Yours.

Oscar’s hands rest lightly on your waist, the cool night breeze lifting strands of your hair between you. Monaco glitters below, impossibly golden. You kiss him once. Then again. Slow. Unrushed. Like no one’s watching.

Except someone is.

You don’t notice it at first—the small mechanical click behind you. Subtle. A shutter. A camera lens adjusting to the low light.

By the time you pull back, it’s already done.

Oscar’s head lifts just slightly, eyes narrowing toward a corner of the rooftop—barely visible through a line of glass. Not press-official. Paparazzi freelance. The ones who sell exclusives when the media team’s off-duty.

“Shit,” Oscar mutters under his breath.

You turn, eyes locking on the shadowed figure just as they duck behind cover.

Too late.

“Think they got it?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Oscar nods slowly, expression unreadable, “Yeah. They got it.”

You exhale—not panicked. Just… bracing.

Because the image will drop. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. You in his arms, mouth on his, Oscar’s hoodie on your shoulders, his fingers curled around your waist like he’s holding something that matters.

It’s not a rumor anymore.

It’s not a whisper in the paddock hallway or a locker room assumption or something Lando only suspects.

It’s proof.

The photo drops sometime after 2 a.m.

It’s soft. Intimate. The Monaco skyline blurred behind you, Oscar’s hands gentle on your hips, your lips brushing his in a kiss too tender to be casual. You’re wearing his hoodie, your body leaning into his like you belong there. The headline spins fast, and the image spins faster.

“Piastri and mystery girl— late-night kiss confirms more than paddock rumors.” #MonacoGP #OP81 #McLaren #F1WeekendRomance

By the time the sun rises over the harbor, the image has circled the globe. Instagram reels. Reddit threads. Private group chats with McLaren team tags. 

Some know who you are. Others ask. Everyone guesses.

No one’s surprised.

Not even Lando.

He sees it around 6 a.m. His phone buzzes with the notification, a WhatsApp ping from someone in media: “Bro…?”

He clicks it, thumb slow, still groggy from a half-slept night.

The image fills his screen in just about a second flat.

And for a second, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

Then it hits—slow and thick, like cold water spreading under his ribs. He stares at the photo, eyes scanning over the curve of your smile, the way your fingers curl into the back of Oscar’s shirt, the undeniable ease in your body.

You look happy.

He hasn't seen that look on you in months.

The worst part is how quiet the fury is—how it doesn’t come out loud, how it just sits there in his chest.

He doesn’t throw the phone.

He just stares, jaw tight, thumb hovering above the screen like he could rewind the moment and undo it.

But it’s already out.

And nothing will unsee it.

The paddock is different that morning. The kind of quiet that’s not actually quiet—just loaded.

Oscar walks in calm. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t shrink. He gives one quick nod to Zak, another to the comms lead. Then walks into the garage like he hasn’t just become the most searched man in F1.

Lando’s already in the back, zipped into his fireproofs, eyes locked on the telemetry like it might give him something to hit. When Oscar appears beside him in the media pen, the tension is immediate—even before the interviews start.

“Oscar,” one reporter says, half-laughing, “you’ve been trending all morning. Surprised by the attention?”

Oscar’s lips tug into a polite half-smile, “Not particularly.”

“Balancing a fast lap and a fast… personal life?” someone else jokes.

He doesn’t miss a beat, “One lap at a time.”

Lando laughs then—too sharp, too loud, “He’s got more than enough time to focus on everything else, clearly.”

The PR handler stiffens. The reporters go quiet. One camera clicks. Someone tries to move the topic on, but the moment lands.

Oscar doesn’t react. Just folds his arms across his chest, gives a small smile, and looks straight ahead.

You hear about it an hour later.

And when you enter the garage, it’s like parting smoke. The space tenses. Heads turn. No one quite meets your eyes, except for Lando —a glance, sharp and quick, from across the space.

He looks away.

Oscar doesn’t.

You find him standing near the screens, headset tucked around his neck, one hand in his pocket. He sees you and offers the smallest, softest smile.

You pass close. Don’t touch. Don’t stop.

But your fingers graze his as you go.

He breathes like it’s the first time all day he’s been allowed to.

Later, after the final briefings wrap, you find him alone behind the paddock—tucked into a quiet service alley, the marina glittering beyond the concrete walls.

He doesn’t hear you approach. Just stands with his back to you, hands braced on the railing, still in his gear. His shoulders rise and fall in slow rhythm.

You stop beside him.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, “So,” you murmur, “that’s one way to go public.”

He huffs a laugh. “Guess we don’t get to control the timing.”

You glance sideways at him. “Regret it yet?”

He finally looks at you — eyes soft, voice quieter than it was all day, “Not even a little.”

You nod slowly, “Me either.”

He exhales, like that’s what he was waiting for.

“It’s going to be loud,” He warns

“I know.”

“He’s not going to take it quietly,” Oscar adds. 

“He’s not my responsibility anymore.”

Oscar studies your face — the calm in your expression, the steadiness in your voice — then lifts a hand to your jaw, thumb brushing gently beneath your cheekbone.

“If it gets messy—” Oscar starts. 

“We’ll deal with it,” you reassure him with a confidence foreign to you. 

He nods once.

"Good luck out there."

The Monaco sun glints harshly off the harbor, but the air inside the McLaren garage is colder than it should be. Everyone’s already seen the photo. The photographers couldn’t have asked for a cleaner shot.

No one says a word about it — not to your face. But there’s something in the silence. The way engineers glance between Lando and Oscar before looking away. The way a strategist clears his throat before relaying sector data like he’s afraid it might ignite something.

You stay quiet. Poised. Present in the garage like you’ve always been. Just another figure with a headset and a McLaren pass. Except now, yesterday's bruises aren’t just hickeys—they’re headlines.

Oscar’s composed during formation laps, fully in the zone. Lando, on the other hand, can’t seem to keep still. His fingers twitch on the wheel. His visor drops early. And when he lines up behind Oscar on the grid, his car nose to the back of the #81, the message is clear:

He’s not racing for position.

He’s racing him.

The lights go out at the start, and the tension snaps taut.

Oscar gets off the line clean. Fast. Aggressive, but composed—the kind of driver who cuts through chaos like he’s above it. He settles into P3 behind Leclerc and Max, calm radio calls rolling through your headset.

“Tyres feel stable. Brakes coming up nicely.” His tone is smooth. Professional. Locked in.

“Copy that, Oscar. You’re looking good. Just manage the gap.”

Lando, meanwhile, is chewing through the field from P7, but he’s not driving—he’s fighting. And it shows. He’s too heavy into the Nouvelle Chicane. Nearly clips the barrier at Mirabeau. Gets squeezed by Hamilton going into the tunnel and screams down the radio like it’s personal.

“Is anyone actually gonna call shit today, or should I just punt him off the fucking track?”

“Lando, stay focused.”

“Oh, now you want focus. Should’ve told golden boy to stay out of my way in quali.”

Twenty laps in, Oscar’s holding steady in third with tire wear perfectly balanced. Lando’s muscling his way up to P5, then P4 after a gutsy dive into Sainte Devote. It’s impressive. Chaotic. Pure Lando.

“Tell him if he’s going to block me, he better commit to it. This half-ass defending doesn’t help anyone.”

The pit wall tries to smooth it over.

“Copy, Lando. Maintain focus. Oscar’s running clean.”

There’s a beat of static. Then Lando again.

“If he wants to play team leader, he better drive like it.”

In Oscar’s car, there’s only quiet. Steady updates. Clean cornering. No rise. No reaction.

Just sector after sector of control.

But it’s Oscar who makes it look effortless.

Final laps tick down. Lando’s close—closer than he’s been all weekend—but not enough.

You watch the checkered flag fall from the garage viewing area, headset still clutched in one hand, heart thudding in your chest. Oscar crosses the line second—a solid, beautiful finish. No mistakes. No drama.

Lando follows in fourth.

The crowd roars. The team celebrates.

But inside the garage, the energy is split.

Half the crew glances toward the monitors. The other half glances toward you.

No one says anything.

But the silence speaks volumes.

The garage claps for Oscar’s podium. It’s not dramatic. No confetti. But the applause is sincere. You stay tucked to the side as he peels off his gloves and helmet, curls damp and jaw clenched with adrenaline.

He doesn’t look for you.

He knows you’re there.

The podium happens in a flash champagne, interviews, cameras. Oscar is graceful. Deflecting the kiss photo with a shrug:

”I try to keep focus on track. Everything else…” He shrugs. “That’s not what wins points. I let the track speak louder than the tabloids.”

Clean. Cool. Unbothered.

Lando’s post-race media scrum doesn’t go as smoothly.

His smile is too tight. His answers too short.

“Happy with your pace today?”

“No.”

“Anything you’d like to say about team dynamics?”

“I think a few people need to remember who they were before the cameras showed up.”

You’re not sure if it’s coincidence or fate. Lando's leaning against the wall near the back of the hospitality area, arms crossed over his chest, fire suit still half-zipped, sweat drying on his neck. The air between you tightens instantly.

He sees you before you speak.

“So that’s it?” he says, voice low, mocking, “You get your moment? Photo hits the press and suddenly you’re Piastri’s girl now?”

You keep your voice even. “It’s not about the photo.”

“No?” His eyebrows lift, “Looked like it. Looked like perfect timing, actually. Right before race day. You really going for the full storybook arc, huh?”

You cross your arms, matching his stance, “You think I planned that? You think I wanted to be caught?”

He snorts. “Certainly didn't stop.”

You step closer.

“You didn’t stop sleeping around. You didn’t stop ignoring me. You didn’t stop until I was already gone.”

His mouth twitches—not a smile. Something bitter.

“And you think Oscar’s different?”

“I know he is.”

He studies you then. Really looks. Like he’s trying to find the part of you that still belongs to him. The part he can poke and prod and control like he used to.

But it’s not there.

His breath stutters. He looks away—jaw tight, hands clenched.

There’s movement behind you.

Lando glances past your shoulder—posture tensing.

Oscar stands just beyond the corner. Silent. Watching.

But he doesn’t step in.

He meets your eyes—not Lando’s—and with one subtle nod, he turns to go.

Because he trusts you to handle this.

Because you needed to take this one yourself.

You find Oscar later by the hospitality coffee station, half-dressed down from his suit, fingers curled around a water bottle, his race boots unlaced. The crowds have thinned. The crew’s winding down. But he’s still here—waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“You saw?”

“I heard,” he says. “Then I saw.”

He studies you.

“You handled him.”

You nod, then smile faintly. “So did you.”

Oscar lifts his water bottle and takes a sip.

You step closer. Not rushed. Just enough.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“For what?”

“Not stepping in.”

“Didn’t need to,” he replies, “I knew you could handle him.”

You lean into his side, your hand resting on his chest. His arm slips around your back like it’s instinct.

There are still cameras around.

Still whispers.

Still fallout coming.

But for now, it’s just the two of you.

Still standing.

FROM PADDOCK DARLING TO PIASTRI’S MYSTERY GIRL: MONACO GP’S MOST TALKED-ABOUT WOMAN

Well, well, well. Things are heating up in more ways than one at McLaren—and this time, it’s not just on track.

In case you missed it (though how could you?), Oscar Piastri made headlines this weekend for more than just his flawless P2 finish in Monaco. The 23-year-old Aussie was spotted sharing a kiss with a woman who—until recently—had been very publicly linked to his teammate, Lando Norris.

Yes. You read that right.

The viral photo, snapped late Saturday night on a rooftop terrace above the Monaco paddock, shows Piastri in what can only be described as a very cozy moment with a mystery girl who fans quickly identified as Lando’s longtime (but reportedly estranged) girlfriend.

Wearing his hoodie. With his hands around her waist. And what appear to be love bites peeking out from beneath her collar.

(We zoomed in. Don’t act like you didn’t.)

The woman once seen at every race on Lando Norris’ arm is no longer just a grid-side accessory—she’s made it very clear whose garage she’s in now. And it’s not Norris’.

Neither Oscar nor the woman in question have made an official statement, but the body language has said plenty. The pair has been spotted multiple times, hand-in-hand, unabashed.

While reps for McLaren offered no official comment on the photo, the tension in the garage during Saturday qualifying spoke volumes. Sources inside the paddock describe Norris as “visibly short-tempered,” with one engineer claiming he was “racing like he had something to prove.” As for Piastri? Calm, composed—and, if we may, focused.

He brought home P2.

Norris? P4—and reportedly less than thrilled.

Let’s not forget: this isn’t the first time Lando’s off-track antics have made waves—rumors of infidelity have followed the Brit through the past few seasons, though they were often brushed aside by his ever-loyal girlfriend. Until now.

While nothing has been confirmed (yet), it would certainly appear that she’s Oscar’s now.

Whether this unexpected romance will fuel drama or just give Oscar a boost on track remains to be seen, but one thing’s for sure: we’ll be watching.

Very closely.

Stay tuned. The summer break’s never felt so far away.

© Copyright, 2025.

[loverindeepspace]

Come Back To Me // Multi x Reader

Hey, I'm back with some angst, just for you guys! This one is for all of the lads boys. Concept: You end up in hospital, they wait by your side for you to wake up. Tags: Angst, hospital, mentions of injuries, so much yearning, mentions of blood, might be a bit OOC, all the nicknames. Wordcount: 450-500 words each Masterlist

Writing under cut bc it's long, enjoy

Xavier

The breath he lets out is shaky, vulnerable, as he presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Perched on the chair next to the bed, his eyes stay focused on your face, the steady rise of your chest, and the bandages decorating your body. 

“You must be sleeping well, you need the rest. You’ve been overworking yourself lately, you know? I’m supposed to be your partner, why didn’t you call me?” His words are barely audible, gentle, yet heavy. Nearly as heavy as the pressure weighing down his chest. 

His heart dropped the moment he received that call, the drowsiness from his nap disappearing in an instant. He was rushing into the hospital before the phone call even ended, there was no second to waste. Blood rushing through his body was the only thing he could hear, as his chest constricted in a barely hidden panic. You have to be alright. Please be alright. 

The moment his eyes fell on you in that hospital room, hooked up to a multitude of wires and machines, his knees nearly buckled. Bandages peeked through the gown on your body as you lay there, still as a statue, still as a corpse. The only thing indicating that you were still here, still alive, was the rise and fall of your chest and the steady beep, beep, beep of a nearby machine. 

His hand gripped yours tighter as he pressed his forehead against your fingers, trying, yet failing, to steady himself. Gone was that calmness of the experienced hunter, instead replaced by a shaky emotion he hasn’t felt in a long time. Fear. He couldn’t lose you again, not like this. He would not survive losing you again, just like he did all that time ago.

“You said you wouldn’t leave, so please, please, come back to me.”

Time seemed irrelevant as the day passed him by, nothing snapping his focus away from you, waiting for you to open your eyes. Your beautiful eyes, the ones that sparkled with joy, a fondness, when you looked at him. He yearned to see that bright smile, the same one when you ate your favourite food, when you won a plushie in the claw machines, when you were up to no good playing pranks on him. The sky outside darkened rapidly, the rush of the hospital settling down into a quietness that was somewhat unsettling. Xavier was yet to move from your bedside, only allowing the nurses to check in on you now and then, refusing to go home even when visiting hours end. 

“Open your eyes when you’re ready, I’ll be here when you wake up, I’m not leaving you ever again. I love you, my starlight. When the morning comes, I hope you’ll be here with me again.”

Rafayel

“Miss Bodyguard, how are you meant to protect me when you’re asleep in hospital? You need to take better care of yourself.” There was a teasing facade in his words, desperately trying to cover up the weakness in his voice. His back was starting to hurt as he leaned forward in the uncomfortable hospital chair, he hadn't eaten or drank or slept in days, but none of that mattered. Not when you were still not waking up, no matter how much he called for you. His hand moved towards your face, brushing away the hair swept across your forehead. 

“You know, you promised me you wouldn’t make me wait again, and yet here we are. Open your eyes cutie, I want to see that beautiful smile again.”

When he heard you ended up in hospital, he immediately dropped everything. The painting he was working on? Forgotten. The art show he was meant to attend? Ignored. The meeting with an investor? Cancelled. There was nothing else on his mind apart from making sure you were okay, that you were alive and coming back to him. When he heard you were unconscious, and not likely to wake up any time soon, he nearly couldn’t make himself take a step through that door, hesitating just long enough to prepare himself. But he wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t prepared for the fear and worry that engulfed him when he saw your form, laying still, unmoving, on the blue sheets of the hospital bed. Even approaching you was a challenge, his legs too shaky to move steadily, and when he finally got there, he had to blink away the tears that welled in his eyes. The paleness in your skin made his brow furrow, his hand coming to rest on your cheek, caressing it ever so gently.

“I told you before to come back to me, safe and sound. Human promises sure are fickle.” His voice broke before he could finish getting his words out as he lay a soft kiss on your forehead. 

He immediately upgraded your room to a private one, ensuring the care you got was top notch in hopes that it would make you wake up sooner. Not once did he leave your side, jumping up at ever twitch of your fingers, at every noise that left your lips. But your eyes didn’t open. He talked and talked, filling the silence, maybe his voice can guide you home, guide you back to him.

“I’ll decorate the cast when you wake up, just tell me what you want me to draw.” 

“My heart is in your hands, Cutie, you have to come back and take care of it.”

Zayne

“You said you’d be careful, and what do you do? What will I do with you?” The sigh he let out was heavy as he put your medical charts down, a hand moving to caress your head, moving the hair from your face. To anyone looking in, he would seem nonchalant, almost cold, but the storm raging inside of him as he gazed on your form was unrelenting, his heart shattering as he redid the bandages on your body. He refused to let any other doctor take your case, he trusted himself enough to provide you with the best care, no matter how much it hurt him to see you like this. He was your doctor after all. And your partner. You could rely on him to take care of you when you needed it. 

“You always scold me when I’m injured, and yet I can’t bring myself to scold you for being this reckless. Seeing you like this, it makes my heart ache, so please wake up, come back to me.”

He was already working when he got the notice that you were on your way in. He intended to carry on with his work, finishing it quickly so he could take care of you. That is until he found out that your condition was critical. He dropped everything, reassigning other staff to cover his patients, so his focus could be entirely on you. They tried to stop him, he was too involved to have a clear head, but he refused, knowing that everything he worked hard to achieve was so that he could take care of you. To help you. And help you he did, no matter how much his hands threatened to shake, no matter the fear that gripped his heart, he still trusted his skill. His only thoughts were to save you. When you were finally stable, he still refused to leave your side. You were more important than any work he had, more important than anything in this world. 

“I can’t do my work when all I can think about is you, here. The only time you should visit the hospital is for your checkups and to see me. Not like this. I’ll make sure you recover quickly, so rest until you’re ready to open your eyes.

Days later, you still didn’t wake up. He kept an eye on your vitals, taking up doing his reports by your bedside. The other staff brought him food, trying to coax him out so he could get some sleep, but to no avail. He talked to you too, when he needed a break, holding your hand, his thumb gently swiping across your knuckles.

“The cafe I told you about has just announced the new dessert menu, I’ll take you there when you wake up. So wake up quickly now, my love.”

Sylus

His fingers worked to soothe the furrow in his brow as he leaned on the chair by the hospital bread, his eyes softening as he analyses the bandages wrapped around your body. The sigh that leaves his mouth is heavy, tired, as he moves to sit in the chair by your side. Silence surrounds him as he works through the unease settled in his chest.

When he found you in that field, his heart might as well have stopped. Mephisto reported what had happened, how you collapsed after fighting off several wanderers, killing the last one before passing out, blood seeping from your wounds. He had never moved faster, racing the streets on his bike, until he had you in his arms. He didn’t think twice about bringing you back to the N109 zone, calling on the best doctors he knew to his door, ensuring you were in the best care. He observed as they worked, scrutinizing their every move, a darkness surrounding him. The doctors, to their credit, worked quickly and efficiently, stabilising your condition, lest they upset the leader of Onychinus. Once he dismissed them, he sat on the edge of the bed, placing his hand firmly on your own.

“Sweetie, no matter how strong you are, I wish you would allow me to help you more. Rely on me, I’m at your beck and call, you know this.” 

He did not move from the room, making sure you were comfortable, that your bandages stayed clean, and that he would be the first to know when you finally woke up. The uneasy feeling never left, and he was sure it wouldn’t until he saw your soft smile and your striking eyes. He desired to hear your laugh, to be on the receiving end of those teasing comebacks, to hold you. You were right here, yet you felt so far away when you slumbered for so long.

“I’ve always allowed you to come and go as you please, but this time, I ask you to come back to me, Kitten.”

His fuse was short in the days that you slept, on edge with everything and anyone who tried to distract him from being with you. He slept on that chair by your bed, had Luke and Keiran run his errands, and took no nonsense from anyone. He couldn’t get settled no matter how much he tried. With yet another sigh, he stroked your hair, traced your features, a gentleness he held towards you that contrasted drastically to how he’s been with everyone else.

“You are my one weakness kitten, but you’re also my strength. You make me want to be better for you. We were destined to meet again, the curse is gone so don’t leave me now.”

“I adore you, my dear sorceress. You chose to stay by my side, so come back to me.”

Caleb

A darkness had settled in his eyes as he examined your form, fear and guilt gripping his heart. He couldn’t move, not even an inch, as the grip on your hand seemed like the only thing keeping him from losing it completely. His eyes were already red, the burning behind his eyes was almost painful, but he shed no tears, he refused. Because you were still here, you were still alive. 

“Pipsqueak, come on, open your eyes for me.” His voice was small, broken, the pain coursing through his body shining through his words.

He didn’t even have time to think before he was rushing to the hospital. When you didn’t arrive to meet him as intended, worry started to bloom. He tried your phone several times just to be sent to voicemail, he knew something was wrong when he was sent to voicemail. He quickly found out, through less than legitimate means, what had happened, and he moved quickly, his mind racing. He rushed through the white halls, bursting through the door to your room. His breath caught in his throat as he took you in, the bandages that decorated your head and body, the bruises peeking from behind them. The stillness of your form brought a panic to him, memories he yearned to forget surfacing once more as he moved to your side, grasping your hand firmly and bringing it to his lips. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. I know you said you didn’t need my protection, and I know you’re strong. You are so strong. But seeing you like this? It kills me inside.”

His whole life was put on hold over the next few days. He would not leave the room, he would not let go of your hand, scrutinising anyone who even suggested he do so. He watched over you vigilantly, ensuring you were comfortable, that your condition remained stable, that you would wake up. Guilt clawed at his heart, refusing to let go. If only he was there when you needed him, you would not have ended up like this. Why did you not call him? Why was he not there?

“Everything I have done, it’s always been for you. To protect you. I want you to depend on me like you used to.” 

His fingers pet your hair as he leaned over you, his violet eyes committing your features to memory. He longed to see your eyes, to hear you tease and banter with him just like old times, to hug you, to hold you. He encouraged you to wake up so many times over these last few days, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’ll respond to him.

“I have so many things left to say to you, so many things I still want to experience with you. So don’t leave when we’re just getting started.”

“I love you. I love you so much more than you know. Open your eyes so I can tell you.”

[fireinmoonshot]

plus one | joaquín torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: You help Joaquín get ready for a gala that he and Sam are attending – though because of the 'no plus ones' rule, Joaquín would rather stay with you instead... and he intends to convince you to let him. Warnings: I don't think I use any pronouns or gender specific terms in this (please let me know if I do and I'll fix my warnings) but it is mentioned that reader has hair long enough for Joaquín to tangle his hands in. There are references to nudity. It's also slightly suggestive at times but nothing specific. Word Count: 3.2k A/N: Surprise! It's been a whole month since I last wrote for Joaquín, and then this morning I woke up to those photos of Danny at the Mission premiere and he is so Joaquín in them that I was inspired. I was literally plotting this out at work cause I couldn't stop thinking about how good he looked in that outfit and then I started working on this the second I got home. I'm actually so happy with how it turned out considering I haven't written for Joaquín in a month, but I have missed writing for him so much. I really hope all of you will love this! 💗

“Angel, I really don’t think that Sam would mind that much,” Joaquin calls from the bathroom, fresh out of the shower. He hooks a towel around his waist and moves to stand in the doorway so he can see you, sitting cross legged on the bed, staring down at your phone. “I seriously think he’d be cool with going alone.”

You look up from your phone, eyes falling on your half-naked boyfriend, and forget how to speak for a moment. His hair is still wet and so is his chest – he’d clearly forgotten to dry himself off properly, wanting to talk to you so badly and attempt to convince you to let him stay home again.

Ever since he’d found out that there were no plus ones allowed at the gala he and Sam had been invited to, he had decided that he didn’t want to go. Sam was going to be there too, so it wasn’t like he was going alone, but for some reason, the simple fact that you couldn’t go made it so that he didn’t want to go either.

“Are you listening to me, angel?”

You blink, tearing your eyes away from his chest where you’d apparently been staring, and nod. “I am, but you’re still going to the gala, Joaquin. You made a promise to Sam.”

Joaquin pouts a little and walks across the room towards you. You try not to focus on the fact that the towel around his waist is tied incredibly low and instead, look at the wet footprints he’s leaving as he walks.

“Baby, you’re gonna get the carpet wet!” You scold him, standing up from the bed just as he reaches you. You place your hands on his chest and start to push him backwards towards the bathroom. “Dry yourself off before you come out here. You know better.”

Joaquin’s pout turns into a grin as he’s pushed backwards by you. He finds it adorable when you get so frustrated over the small things like that, and the fact that your hands are on his bare chest is just a bonus. “Well, stay with me in the bathroom while I dry off, then, cause I don’t wanna have to yell at you just to talk to you,” he says, allowing himself to be pushed back to the bathroom. 

“Fine,” you sigh, moving to take a seat on the toilet lid. 

You try your best not to stare as Joaquin undoes the towel around his waist and gets to work drying himself off. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before – the man does have a habit of wearing nothing or very little around the house – but it still has the same effect on you every time. You make an effort to look at his face instead. 

“I can just text Sam and tell him I’m sick or something,” Joaquin suggests, trying to get back to the topic of the gala. “He wouldn’t know if I’m lying or not.”

You groan and lean back against the cistern. “Baby, you are not lying to Sam about being sick. It’s just a few hours. You’ll probably really enjoy yourself when you’re there. It’ll go so fast and then you’ll be home.”

Joaquin picks up his boxers and pulls them on, frowning to himself as he does. He’d really thought that maybe, you watching him dry off after his shower might give you a reason to finally relent and let him stay home… he’d clearly underestimated your ability to stay true to your word. “You won’t be there, though. It’s not going to be as fun if you’re not there with me.”

“So you never had fun before you met me?”

He turns to look at you, a cheeky smile on his face. “Never.”

You roll your eyes and pick up his dress pants, sitting beside you on the vanity, and throw them at him. “Just get dressed, silly.”

“I’m just saying,” Joaquin says, catching the pants and pulling them on. “I’d have so much more fun if I stayed home with you. I’m sure I could could come up with something we could do. There are so many options.” 

He does the button on the pants up and looks at you, eyebrows raised. You can tell by the look on his face exactly what he’s thinking and shake your head, trying not to laugh. 

“C’mon, angel. What do you say?” He hums, taking a few steps closer to you and reaching down to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. This is definitely going to work. He knows that you’ve always been susceptible to his touch. 

Joaquin almost smiles as you stand up and place your hands on his chest. He places his own hands on your waist and tugs you a little closer to him. 

“Baby,” you start, and Joaquin nods at you, his eyes wide and full of hope. “I love you, but I swear if you don’t pick up that dress shirt right now, put it on and finish getting ready, I’m never touching you again. That means no hugs, no kisses, no–”

Joaquin groans and steps back away from you. “You’re killing me here, angel.”

“You’ll live,” you laugh, sitting back down on the toilet lid.

He picks up the dress shirt from the vanity and pulls it on, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. The pout on his lips is so cute that you almost stand right back up and kiss him, but you know that if you do, there’s no way Joaquin is leaving the house.

“I might not,” Joaquin huffs, starting to do the buttons up on his shirt. “It’ll be hours without you. I’ll be all alone in a giant room full of strangers.”

You watch as he does the buttons up all the way to the top and can’t help yourself from standing up and taking a few steps towards him. The pout on his mouth stays in place. 

“You’re the most social person I know, Joaquin. Since when do you fear a room full of strangers?” You ask, reaching up to the top button of his shirt. “Anyway, I’ll be eagerly waiting for you to come home if that makes you feel any better.” 

Joaquin’s hands find your waist again as you unbutton the top button of the shirt. His breath hitches. Has he finally won you over just by being fully dressed and pouty? His grip tightens on your waist as you unbutton the next button. Then, you drop your hands.

“Angel.”

“There, all done,” you smile, leaning up to peck his lips. “Now, come on. I’ll dry your hair and style it for you and then you’ll be all ready to go. Sam will be here soon anyway.” 

You move to step away from him and walk out of the room but Joaquin is quick to pull you back to him. Before you have a chance to object, his lips are on yours. You moan a little at the contact which only spurs Joaquin on more. His hands slip underneath the fabric of your pyjama shirt as he manoeuvres you up and onto the vanity behind you. He uses one hand to push your legs apart so he can stand between them. The other hand moves to tangle in your hair.

It takes every ounce of control not to start unbuttoning the rest of Joaquin’s shirt as he kisses you. You can’t even fist the fabric in your hands, not wanting to crease it when he’s about to leave for a fancy gala. His hair, though, is open territory. Despite the fact that it’s still damp, one of your hands weaves its way into it and you can’t help but tug a little. The noise he makes into your mouth is one you wish you could hear over and over again.

Reluctantly, Joaquin has to pull away to breathe soon. His forehead falls against yours, his breathing heavy. One of his hands rests on your thigh, the other one that had been in your hair now gently holding the back of your neck. 

“You ready for me to dry your hair now?” You ask, voice a little teasing.

Joaquin rolls his eyes and stands up straight. “You can’t seriously expect me to still go to the gala after that, can you?” 

Smiling, you put your hands on his chest and push him back a little, just enough for you to stand up off of the vanity. His hands stay firmly on you, the one that had been on your thigh now resting on your hip instead. 

“You say that as if I’m the one who initiated that, baby.”

He can’t help but laugh a little at that. You were right – he had been the one to initiate the kiss. He just hadn’t expected you to get quite as into it as you had. “Okay, fair call.”

You reach down to take one of his hands. “C’mon, baby.”

Joaquin allows himself to be dragged out of the bathroom by you and smiles a little at the fact that only minutes ago, you’d been pushing him back into the bathroom and now you’re dragging him out of it. He allows you to dry his hair, enjoying the feeling of your fingers running through it and the warm air from the hairdryer. He especially enjoys the fact that you lean down once it’s all dry and kiss him just behind his ear. He almost turns around and tugs you down onto his lap then and there. He’s surprised he manages to stop himself.

It’s not too long later that you’re standing beside him just inside the front door of your house. There’s a limo outside waiting to pick up Joaquin to take him to the gala. Sam’s already waiting inside, probably very impatiently.

“You sure it’s too late to back out?” Joaquin asks, his arms wrapped around you, hands resting on the small of your back. “I could still pull the ‘hey, I’m feeling sick all of a sudden’ card.”

“No, Joaquin,” you shake your head. “You’re going.”

He groans and throws his head back. “Ugh, fine.”

You take advantage of the situation to stand up on your tip-toes and press a kiss to his neck, right above his Adam’s apple. You can feel him tense up at the sudden contact and feel satisfied that you’ve succeeded in your intentions as you see the look in his eyes.

“What was that for?” 

“I’m just giving you another memory to think of when you’re out tonight,” you shrug your shoulders. “You look so handsome that I couldn’t help myself. You should wear shirts like this more often.”

Joaquin chuckles. “Thank you, angel. I think I need another memory though.”

He leans in and kisses you again. It’s only a quick kiss, even though he’d like nothing more than to make it more than that, but it’s good enough for him.

As soon as you break away, there’s the sound of the car horn honking outside – Sam’s way of telling Joaquin to hurry the hell up.

“Now, you really have to go,” you laugh, pulling yourself out of his arms to open up the front door. You shiver a little at the cool evening air and it makes Joaquin want to wrap you up in his arms all over again. “Baby, come on.” You reach out and grab his hand, pulling him forward until he’s finally out on the doorstep. 

Joaquin smiles at you, just enjoying the feeling of holding your hand. 

“Okay, you go out and have a good night, okay? Text me when you’re on your way home. I’ll try and stay awake for you as long as I can,” you give his hand a squeeze and then let go.

“I won’t be late, I promise. I don’t wanna keep you up,” he says. Joaquin isn’t going that easily, though. He steps forward and gives you another quick kiss. “I love you, angel.” The words are murmured against your lips. “I want more kisses when I’m home, okay?”

Laughing, you gently push him away from you. “Hurry up, you’re keeping Sam waiting!”

“Only when you say you love me too!”

“I love you too. Now go!”

Joaquin grins and finally turns around, starting to walk down the path towards the car. He’s about half way there when he turns on his heel and starts running back to you. You watch him, amused, as he makes his way back towards the house. Unsurprisingly, he meets you with another kiss – this one a little longer and a little rougher than last time.

Instead of being interrupted by a car horn honking this time, it’s the sound of Sam’s voice that makes Joaquin pull away from you, his hand still resting on your back. 

“I swear if you don’t get into this car right now, Joaquin, I’m replacing you as Falcon!”

Joaquin’s eyes widen almost comically, but even though a part of him really believes that Sam would do it, it doesn’t stop him from leaning in to peck your lips again before he turns back around and starts running towards the limo.

“I love you, angel!” He yells as he’s running.

“Love you too,” you call back through your laughter.

You watch as he gets into the limo and then notice the window rolling down. He waves to you until the house is no longer visible and then finally looks at Sam for the first time since he’d gotten in. 

“Next time, we’re negotiating for plus ones.”

~~~

It’s late by the time Joaquin comes home – much later than you’d anticipated. You’d attempted to stay up as long as you could, but when you hear the key in the front door, you’re half asleep in your bed, the room only lit by a lamp on your bedside table. 

“Angel, are you sleeping?” Joaquin’s voice wakes you up a little.

Stifling a yawn, you push yourself into a seated position as the door to your bedroom opens and Joaquin walks inside, a smile on his face the second he sees you. His hair is a little messy, likely from a night of dancing or other tomfoolery, and his shirt is creased like you’d expected it to be when he came home. 

“Hey, baby. What time is it?” You ask, rubbing your eyes a little. You’re pretty sure you’d fallen asleep for at least a little bit there, but you have no idea when or for how long. “Did you have a good night?”

Joaquin crosses over towards the bed and is about to sit down on it when you stop him. 

“No outside clothes on the bed.”

He chuckles and starts to undo his belt. “You just trying to get me naked, angel?”

“If I wasn’t about to pass out, I’d say yes.”

He removes his dress shirt and pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor and leaving him in only his boxers before he climbs up onto the bed beside you, his phone in one of his hands. He slides underneath the covers and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him so he can lean in and press a kiss to your cheek.

“It’s like… one a.m., I think,” Joaquin starts, answering your earlier question. “And I had the best night. You were right, angel. I really enjoyed myself once I was actually there.” He pauses for a second, then his eyes light up as he remembers something. “Oh, they had a whole room full of ice sculptures! Have you seen them before? It was so cold in there, like a giant walk-in freezer. They even had a sculpture of me! Wait, I took a picture…”

You smile, leaning into his side as he unlocks his phone and opens up the camera roll. He swipes past about ten selfies of himself before he gets to the ones he wants to show you – the ice sculptures. You’re definitely gonna be asking for copies of the selfies tomorrow.

“I took photos of everything so I could show you,” he explains, stopping on one ice sculpture that is unmistakably Falcon. “How cool is that! I’m an ice sculpture. I mean, not anymore. I’m probably just a puddle of water now but still.”

It’s sweet, the way he’s so excited about how much he’d enjoyed his evening. Even though it’s one in the morning and you wish you were fast asleep, you’re glad to be experiencing the wonder in his eyes and the joy in his voice. How he can be so energetic so late at night though, you don’t understand. 

“That’s super cool, baby,” you hum, no longer looking at the photo but up at him.

Joaquin locks his phone and sits it on his bedside table. “Honestly, I think it might’ve been one of the best nights of my life,” he admits.

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, that’s funny coming from the man who didn’t even want to go in the first place,” you chuckle, amused. You’re a little more awake now, simply from seeing how happy he is. “So, you don’t need those kisses you asked for anymore, then? I can just go back to sleep then.”

He looks down at you. “Okay, so I didn’t say that.” 

One of his hands moves to cup your jaw, his thumb gently swiping over your cheek, as he leans in to kiss you again. Despite the fact that he had had a really great night at the gala, it would’ve been made a million times better with you there. And after the kisses you’d shared while he was getting ready, he’s been waiting for this one all night.

The kiss is different to all the ones you’d had before. It’s slow, soft and gentle. It doesn’t last very long, though. Joaquin can tell how tired you are and the last thing he wants is to keep you up any later, especially when he’d been out later than he’d intended on. 

“That was nice,” you mutter after he pulls away from the kiss.

“It was,” he agrees, then tilts his head downwards to briefly capture your lips in his again. His teeth nip at your bottom lip, unable to help himself. “But you should get some sleep now, angel. It’s late and you were falling asleep when I came in, I could tell.”

You stifle another yawn and shake your head. “No, I wanna stay up with you longer. I missed you tonight.”

Joaquin’s heart clenches in his chest. You’d been so adamant for him to go, but all this time you’d been at home missing him. You’d even tried staying awake until he’d come home and had barely achieved it. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, angel,” he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I missed you tonight, too. Every second that I was at that gala I wished you were with me.”

You smile sleepily as you shuffle down so you can lay down in the bed. Joaquin moves to lay beside you, putting his head on his own pillow, the hand that had been on your face moving to rest on your hip. 

“You looked really handsome tonight, baby,” you murmur. 

“Thank you, angel,” Joaquin replies softly. 

“Next time,” you yawn, unable to stop yourself this time, and shuffle closer to him, burying your head in his chest. “You should negotiate for a plus one.” 

Joaquin can’t help but chuckle as he wraps his arm around you. “One step ahead of you, angel.”

~~~

Joaquín Torres Tag List (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@sidkneeeee @dead-inside-but-happy @lay-lay-5 @marchingicenotes7 @phucboy @davinashifts333 @lomlbuckybarnes @laurenjbb @chansburgah @blackwidownat2814 @mischiefmanaged71 @madzlovez @marvelwitchergilmore @brittnicki @rheas-ripley @bcystar @victorsbathroomstall @giona45-5 @voodoo-tofu @happypopcornprincess @antixsocialx2 @innazra @lllucere @moonxnite @peacefangirl @ahoodgirl @ssinphetel @hiireadstuff @florkt @daisydadestroya @nanni197 @multiversefanfics

[dayasusays]

can we please have breeding with bruce wayne and wife!reader?

like feral breeding, maybe he’s had a hard patrol and he’s barely out of the batsuit before he has you on all fours.

maybe his hormones are in over drive from a poison ivy plant he originally thought had no affect on him. but now all he wants to do is fuck until his little wife is filled and he’s satisfied

thank youuuuu

xcherrycreempie

HAWWO !!!!!!

SO HOT. IT’S SO HOT.

I MEAN i have headcanons breeding kink w bruce (it’s here!!), but i can do it again. ofc i can do it again. 🤭

BUT FIRST OF ALL I WANNA SAY THAT I MISSED WRITING !!!

…and requests. i love chatting with all of u 💥💥

and i remember every request!! i promise i’ll write it, my sweethearts 🩷

ANYWAY IN MY HEAD IT’S DEFINITELY SMTH DIRTY IN A GOOD WAY… HEAR ME OUT……

warnings ! — SMUT, fem!wife!reader, husband!bruce wayne, breeding kink, dirty talk, maledom, orgasm torture, feral fuck, multiple orgasm

summary ? — he comes back weird after patrol.

౿ . . ` ౨ৎ ENJOY 🦇

he didn't even bother to change his clothes.

“hold on, hold on, bruce!” you try to push him away as wayne continues to kiss you insistently, “at least change!”

and it's weird because he never acts like that. you know very well that bruce hates quick sex and he's willing to spend an hour of foreplay torturing you. of course he's willing to find a couple hours to fuck you good.

but right now he's impatient. he's still in his batsuit, so you can't even see his eyes under that stupid mask.

you reach out to take it off, and bruce even helps you. you pull it off and he slows down, maintaining eye contact.

when you look into his face you realize that his eyebrows are furrowed and his pupils are dilated.

you think it’s something bad, but why is he looks so fucking hot right now?

you don’t know how many times you’ve cum.

your mind is racing with his every move and word, your nails are scratching his back, leaving a red marks, and your mouth open with loud moans.

“you take me so well, baby, just like you wanna make me cum inside,” bruce whispers and bites your nipples gently, “such a wet mess, pretty girl, is it too much to take for you?” he’s fucking you harder with every thrust, your clit is so swollen, your entrance pulsates around his cock and your moan makes him continue.

he flips you onto your stomach in one easy motion without even getting his cock out. you’re whimpering into the pillow and clutching the sheets, trying to beg him to slow down.

“what are you asking for, wifey? speak up,” bruce pulls your hair back, making you arch your back, “you want this cum inside? want me to get you pregnant?” he bites your lobe, speeding up.

you're ready to swear that right now wayne looks so damn hot. his arm muscles tense as he pulls your hair with one and supports you with the other. bruce’s eyelashes must be twitching as he makes one last push and cum inside.

he falls onto the bed next to you, as tired as you are. you cover your eyes and smile slightly as he reaches out for a kiss.

and now he’s okay again, you think. but what the fuck was that?

“you alright?” bruce kisses your cheeks, hugging him tightly. you nod and nuzzle his chest, “did i overdo it?”

i mean, it’s third time he came inside. you don’t feel your legs and he definitely got you pregnant.

“nah,” you smile, “it was perfect.”

hope you’ll like it cherry !!! <3

🦇 abt me | m.list

[cruel-as-sin]

baby, am i your little secret? | logan howlett

pt. 1

↳ summary: well, logan did promise you he’d come again… but this time, you bring him home, and he’s going to take care of you

word count: 3.2k

song: older | isabel larosa

pairings: old man!logan x fem!stripper!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn w/ very light plot, prostitution/strip clubs, age gap (readers age is unspecified but she is an adult), lingerie mentioned, size difference, oral (f!recieving), protected p in v, multiple orgasms (reader), praise kink, gentle sex, pet names (sweetheart, baby), aftercare, a little bit of fluff at the end, readers roommate makes a brief appearance, no use of y/n, mention/implication of a gun, the glasses still stay on, practice safe sex everyone (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: woah i was not planning on writing a second part or expecting the first one to get as much love as it got… thank you so much to everyone who liked, commented, and reblogged! i’ll probably write at least one more part to this at some point but for now, enjoy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan tried to tell himself he shouldn’t go back, he really did.

He’s no good for people like you- sweet, gentle things. He’s no good for anyone.

But despite all the things he tells himself, he still ends up across the street from that damned club, feet carrying him against his better judgement, right up to your door.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It’s been a little over three weeks since the best fuck you’ve ever had stepped through your door.

You wondered if he really did plan on coming back. Maybe he was just offering a next time to be polite? But every time you remember the way he looked at you, his promise to return, the words he whispered in your ear, you disregard that theory.

He’s coming back- you know it. You just don’t know when.

Your ears perk up when you hear the bell, as they have every time it’s rung since you last saw him- but it’s not him. It never is, and the little ding that used to bring you hope now feels like it’s just taunting you.

So you continue on with your work, trying to forget about him, until that one fateful night when he finally shows.

It’s ten minutes before close when he comes in, a wary gaze searching the room behind those same cheap glasses. His eyes land on you, and you’re approaching him before you even process it, his mere presence magnetic.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says as you walk over.

“Hi.” You reach out and put a hand on his arm. “Coming back for more, hm?”

“You left quite an impression.” The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. “Can I have another night with you, pretty girl?”

You glance at the clock. Shit. Barely enough time for a dance- maybe. Or…

“Not here.”

His brow furrows in confusion, and you continue.

“This is very unprofessional of me.” You say in a soft, shameful tone that you know makes even the strongest men helpless. “But… I want to take you home.”

Despite the doe eyes you’re giving him, you do mean it- more than you’re letting on. Something feels special about him, like he’s more than just a customer passing through.

But you keep your cards close to your chest as you wait with baited breath for him to accept or decline your offer.

“Alright, pretty girl.” He says with a faint smile. “Lead the way.”

You finish closing up for the night, grabbing your clothes and throwing them on over your work outfit to protect you from the cold. He lingers there as you go, trying to ignore the curious glances from your coworkers.

“If we’re gonna do this, though, I’m gonna need to know your name.” You say casually, glancing back at him.

He contemplates for a moment, seeming to almost say something else before the word leaves his lips. “Logan.” Despite his near misstep, you believe him.

“Logan.” You repeat the name, then give him yours. When he says it back to you, you love the way it rolls off his tongue.

“You sure you’re alright going home with a stranger?” You tease.

“You’re no stranger, sweetheart.” His words make you smile, and you bring him out the back door to your car, a cautious eye on the parking lot as you do.

It’s not Logan you’re worried about. No, if that were the case, you wouldn’t have even considered bringing him home. It’s the others that frequent the establishment, your regulars who get a little too handsy, the extra bold ones that like to linger by the exit long after you close. But none of them are here tonight- it’s just you and him.

The drive back to your apartment is quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional small chatter. When you arrive, you take the elevator up to your floor, pulling out your keys.

You fumble with your keys when you reach the door that signifies you and your roommate’s shared living space, eventually managing to get the door open. “Shoes go right there.” You gesture to a shoe rack next to the entryway, kicking off your own shoes as you struggle to pull the key out of the lock. You hang up your keys and watch him put up his blazer before you finally shut the door behind you.

He’s on you the moment the door closes, but you halt him with a gentle press against his chest. “Hang on. I need to tell my roommate that I’m gonna be busy.” You make sure he sees the glint in your eyes as you walk down the hall, opening the door to your room first.

He steps inside, his eyes roaming around before falling back on you. “Don’t keep me waitin’ too long, sweetheart.”

“I’ll just be a second.” You say with a smile, pulling the door closed before heading across the hall and knocking on your roommate’s door.

After a moment, you hear a brief “Yeah?” from the other side.

You open the door just a crack, poking your head in. Cas, your roommate, pauses the game on their computer and pulls their headphones off, spinning around in their chair to talk to you. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“I’m just letting you know I have company.” You say casually. “So I might be busy for the rest of the night.”

“Oh, yeah, mhm.” Cas says, pretending to be surprised by this revelation. “Is this normal company, or ‘I cover my ears and pray to god my noise cancelling headphones work while someone fucks your brains out’ company?”

You roll your eyes. “Hey, who said I was the one getting my brains fucked out instead of the other way around?”

To that, they just raise an eyebrow, as if to say really?

“Whatever.” You say, unable to hide the smile forming on your face.

“Mhm.” It’s more drawn out this time, punctuated by a tiny knowing smile. “Is this company of yours spending the night?”

“Hopefully. I don’t know.” You say with a shrug. “If you see a stranger in the kitchen, don’t shoot him.” Your tone is lighthearted, but you do mean it- you know Cas gets nervous around intruders, and your gaze flickers just briefly to the locked safe in the corner.

They nod. “No shooting your newest boytoy. Got it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, beginning to pull the door closed. “Goodnight, Cas.”

“Night!” They call after you. “And remember, be safe-”

You close the door before they get to finish, laughing softly to yourself before returning to your own room.

You step inside, finding Logan sitting on the edge of your bed, illuminated by the soft light of the lamp on your nightstand. He stands when he sees you, walking over to you as you close the door.

“Hey.” You say softly, looking up at him, taking in his face.

To see a man, even an attractive one, at work is one thing. But here, in your home, your sanctuary, it feels different. Almost… open. Vulnerable. You find yourself noticing details you hadn’t picked up on before- the lines of his face, the way his hardened demeanor seems to become just a little gentler every time he looks at you.

"Hey." He replies in a quiet tone. Even now, outside of your domain, he looks for your guidance, waits for you to take the lead.

You lean in to kiss him- softer, gentler, slower than the last time, savoring the taste of whiskey on his tongue. Your hands trail up his chest, to the collar of his shirt, the edges of his tie. You begin to undo it, pulling apart the knot before his hands come up to grasp yours, stopping you halfway through.

He breaks the kiss to murmur in your ear. “I’m takin’ care of you tonight.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the suggestion. “You don’t have to-” You finish undoing his tie, pulling it away and letting it fall to the floor.

“I want to.” He cuts you off, his tone firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Please.” His voice lowers. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

You meet his gaze for a moment, a little stunned to see that he truly does want to make you feel good. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised- it’s Logan, after all- but still, after most of the men you meet treating your pleasure as an afterthought, the idea alone that he wants tonight to be about you has arousal soaking through your panties.

Nodding, you lower your hands from his collar. “Okay.” You say softly.

He kisses you again, arms wrapping around you and lifting you up. Your legs lock around his waist as he carries you over to the bed, your tongue sliding across his own. He breaks the kiss for a moment to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth meets yours once more.

He lays you down on the bed, his hands moving to your back, undoing the clasp of your bra and pulling it off of you. He kisses a path down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, lips trailing down to your chest. He alternates between sucking on your nipples and kneading your breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back with a soft moan.

He kisses down your chest, large hands spreading your thighs open as he pulls your pants down. He nips at your thighs, earning a surprised gasp. He slowly pulls your lingerie aside, revealing your soaking cunt. He inhales slowly, trying to collect himself as he pulls your underwear the rest of the way off and out of his way.

He pushes his glasses up just a little before he leans in and licks a long stripe up your cunt. He groans against your pussy, sending vibrations shooting up through your core.

"Taste so sweet." He mumbles against you before diving in.

His tongue works magic- and you were right, his beard does feel heavenly against your thighs.

And oh, he takes his time with you. He takes his sweet, sweet fucking time with you.

You don't know how long it's been, nor do you think you care. You’re on cloud nine, feeling too good to even care about your orgasm while simultaneously needing it more than you’ve ever needed anything. Logan knows just how to please you, his tongue delving into your folds, worshipping you.

“Logan,” you eventually manage to whine, “Please.”

You meet his eyes, and he pulls away just enough to answer you. “You need me to make you cum, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically, and that’s all the signal he needs. He dives back in, zeroing in on your clit and sucking in a way that has your peak rapidly approaching within seconds.

You unravel, not even bothering to try to quiet your moans (you're pretty sure it would be futile, anyway). Your eyes squeeze shut, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you, flooding through every part of your body as you reach your high. He keeps his mouth on you the whole time, riding out your orgasm until you begin to come down. His hands rest on your thighs, his steady grip grounding you, keeping your entire being from being washed away by the seemingly unending bliss.

When you can finally breathe again, you open your eyes to find him raising his head, his eyes meeting your own.

“Holy fuck.” You breathe, letting out a small laugh.

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk. “Yeah?”

His beard glistens with your slick, and the sight makes you sit up a little, getting a hand on the back of his neck and pulling him up towards you. You kiss him hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue, once again reaching for the collar of his shirt. You unbutton it fully this time, eager to feel his muscular chest and disappointed to find an undershirt beneath.

He pulls away from the kiss. “Let me.” He takes off his shirt, letting you run your hands up and down his torso as he unbuckles his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion. You feel your pussy clenching at the sight of his cock, hard and aching for you.

You sit up a little further, wanting to return the favor, but he gently pushes you back down. “Another time, sweetheart.” He says in response to the pout on your face, pulling a condom out of his back pocket before pushing his pants off the bed. “I said I’d take care of you, remember?”

You watch as he rolls on the condom, mesmerized by the sight of his veiny hands wrapping around his thick cock. “I’m pretty sure you just did.” You protest, any further arguments cut off by a whine as he brushes his tip against your folds.

He chuckles, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

He pushes into you slowly, moving inch by inch until he’s filling you completely. He starts to move, pulling most of the way out before thrusting back in, setting a slow but powerful rhythm that has high pitched whines leaving your lips within moments.

“Christ, you’re fuckin’ desperate.” He says, eyes locked on the place where your bodies meet. “Look at you, just suckin’ me in. You like that, huh? You like being filled up by my cock?”

You’re too cock drunk to manage anything other than a “uh-huh” that turns to a whine as he thrusts harder.

“You’re doin’ so good, taking me so well.” He praises, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

He continues to murmur in your ear, your moans and his words a sweet chorus of bliss. You feel his hand slip between your thighs and rub at your clit, and your second orgasm hits you hard and fast with a scream of his name. Your vision goes white, the feeling of him thrusting sharply into all the right places taking over all your senses. You can faintly hear him talking you through it, his voice ragged as he approaches his own orgasm.

“Good girl, that’s it; good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is low in your ear, his breath stuttering as he cums with a loud groan, thrusting through both your peaks, your name leaving his lips.

You feel almost like you’re floating, the pleasure nearing the line of overwhelming. You're only brought back down by the feeling of him slipping out of you, the gentle kisses he leaves along your face- but even then, you don’t open your eyes, still trying to breathe as your pussy pulses with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You hear him get up, hear his footsteps fading away, the bedroom door closing behind him. A pang of hurt goes through you- you didn’t think he’d be the type to just leave. You can’t bring yourself to get up, too exhausted to move, so you just lay there, beginning to drift off. Then you feel a pair of strong arms wrapping around you, lifting you up against his chest and carrying you down the hallway.

You stir, looking up to find Logan half dressed, in only his undershirt and pants. His eyes meet yours, a faint smile forming on his face.

You want to ask where he’s taking you, but your question is quickly answered when he pushes open the door to the bathroom. He gently sets you down in the tub, the warm water enveloping you and making you even sleepier.

“You want me to help you clean up, or would you prefer to do it yourself?” His tone is gentle but firm, making it clear that your well-being is not up for negotiation.

“I can do it.” You force your limbs to move, reaching for a washcloth.

He nods. “I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

You don’t question where he’s going, solely focused on the task at hand, lest the heaviness in your eyes claim you before you’re finished.

By the time he returns, you’ve cleaned yourself up and wrapped a towel around your waist, feeling at least a little more awake. He gives a gentle knock at the door, and when you murmur a soft, “Come in,” he enters.

His expression turns to one of slight concern when he sees you. You are, admittedly, leaning on the counter for support- it’s not your fault your legs feel like jelly.

You don’t have to ask; you barely even have to look his way before he’s scooping you into his arms again, taking you back to your room. For a moment you wonder how he knew no one would be in the hallway, but you’re too worn out to care.

The soft feeling of your sheets has you practically melting into your bed when he lays you down. You’re almost out the moment your head hits the pillow, but Logan’s voice keeps you awake.

“Here.”

He holds out a glass of ice water and a string cheese.

“Figured you didn’t want to eat much this late, but I thought I’d get you something.”

The action is simple, but sweet. You reach out, taking both items from him and sipping the water as you tear open the string cheese. He lingers near the bed as you finish them both off, a careful gaze trained on you, ensuring you’re okay.

When you’re done, he takes the empty cup and wrapper from you, throwing the wrapper in the trash and setting the glass on your nightstand. At your request, he heads over to your dresser, and you direct him to a plainer pair of underwear, a comfy tank top, and your favorite pair of sleep shorts. He brings them over, taking the towel and folding it over the top of your desk chair as you change into your PJs.

You crawl under your covers, curling up in preparation for the rest your body desperately craves. Logan approaches the bed, smiling to himself as you mumble something half-coherent- a goodnight of some sort, at least, that was your intention. He pulls up the edge of your covers, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before he retreats again.

His voice has a softer edge to it when he steps away, turning out your lamp as he goes. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Where are you going?” You murmur, already half asleep, eyes lidded, but still reaching for him.

His brow furrows slightly. “Goin’ home. Figured you didn’t want-”

“Do you want to leave?” You ask, sitting up slightly. Your eyes can be heavy all they like, but you’ll be damned if you let him just walk away again.

He hesitates, lips caught in the beginnings of a no before he corrects himself. “I don’t want to intrude-”

You shush him. “None of that. C’mere.”

He protests no further, rising from where he’d leaned down to pick up the rest of his discarded clothes. He makes his way over to the bed, ditching his work pants in favor of just his boxers before cautiously settling in beside you.

You find yourself drawn to him, hesitantly reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. When he turns to you, you scoot a little closer. After a moment, he shifts to face you, allowing you to nestle yourself within his arms. He pulls you close, his body warm against your skin, his arms wrapping tightly around you. His breath hits your neck, and you close your eyes, letting the smell of smoke and aftershave lull you to sleep.

tags: @atleastpleasetelephone @namikyento @gewrgia-black @r0ttedcherubim

[formulaonecrumbs]

no time to rest 🤒

Charles Leclerc x sick!reader

summary: charles wins a race. you show up to support him despite not feeling well.

warnings: illness, fatigue, heat exhaustion, hurt/comfort, soft charles

A/N: okay, this is my first time writing for charles EVER. so be nice. i’m still getting used to the dialogue for him, cuz he’s not in my top 5 drivers (which for me means idc about him and don’t know much about how he speaks and stuff NO HATE THO) but i’m learning french rn and need to put my skills somewhere 😭 so u get this. i hope it’s not the worst thing u’ve ever read. ENJOY, LOVES!!! MWAAHHH 💋💋

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

you said you’d rest.

you’d looked up at him that morning with heavy eyes, curled into the corner of the couch like you were made of glass. wet towelettepressed to your burning forehead, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands. you looked small. not in a cute way — in a quiet, hurting kind of way. like your body was barely holding itself together.

charles had crouched in front of you, gentle fingers brushing a few strands of hair from your face.

“ça va?”

you didn’t lie, exactly. you just nodded.

“i’ll rest,” you whispered. “i promise. go win, charles.”

he kissed your forehead. your temple. your knuckles.

“call me if you need anything.”

you’d nodded again, soft and tired, eyes slipping shut as he walked out the door.

he thought you’d stayed there. he hoped you would.

but you couldn’t. not today.

not when he was starting P2. not when he had a real shot. not when you knew how much this meant to him.

so you dragged yourself out of bed, ignored the screaming in your body, layered makeup over exhaustion, pulled on his ferrari jacket and made your way to the paddock. the walk alone nearly broke you. the sun was brutal. your head ached. your legs felt weak. but you made it.

you watched the race from the sidelines, heart in your throat the whole time. and when he crossed the finish line first, arms thrown in the air, you felt the swell of pride crush everything else.

he did it.

god, he did it.

you stayed at the edge of the crowd while the celebration exploded around him — mechanics cheering, champagne flying, team radio blaring in your ears. he looked so happy. it almost made you forget how much you were hurting.

almost.

it’s only when things calm slightly — the photos taken, the cameras pulled back — that he sees you. and the smile on his face falters just a little.

he walks over, still in his race suit, damp with sweat and champagne, and stops in front of you. brown eyes scanning your face, your posture, the way you’re leaning slightly to one side like it’s the only way to stay upright.

“you said you’d rest,” he says, voice low.

you try to smile. it’s shaky.

“and miss your win?”

he exhales, stepping closer. his hand settles on your hip, the other curling around your wrist. he’s not mad. not even close. he’s just… scared. because he knows you. knows your pain. knows what it costs for you to be here.

“you shouldn’t have come like this.”

“but i had to.”

“mon amour…”

he doesn’t say anything for a second, just pulls you into him, arms gentle around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. your body sighs against his like it’s been waiting to fall apart. your legs tremble a little, and he feels it.

“okay,” he says quietly. “okay. let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

he sneaks you away before the afterparty, wraps you in his hoodie in the back of the car, his fingers threaded through yours the whole ride. by the time you reach the hotel, you’re barely awake, your body crashing hard.

he helps you change, tucks you into bed with the lights dimmed and the air cool. the bed cover pulled up to your chin. meds already on the nightstand. he presses a kiss to your temple, then your shoulder, then your hand.

“next time, we win together,” he murmurs, his voice a promise. “but not like this. i want you to feel good when you see me on that podium. not like you’re breaking just to stand there.”

your eyes sting. but you’re too tired to cry. so you just nod and let him hold you, his arms around you, steady and warm, as sleep pulls you under.

THE END :>

[ha-rinrin]

Little Brat

summary: She blew up your kitchen. Time to make her pay.

Pairing: Jinx x Fem!reader

Wordcount: 3k

Note:

WELCOME BACK I missed all of you so much, hope you guys didn't forget about me. I'm sorry for disappearing — I was focused on my academic comeback. I think I might be able to post more often (but no promises).

I noticed there's been a shortage in the Jinx x Reader tag, and a lot of you asked me to come back — and who am I to say no?

Anyway, I'm really happy to be back, even if I don't post daily like before. I hope you enjoy this new fic, which, by the way, was HARD to write. I'm really bad at writing smut, but I did my best.

TW: NSFW, overstimulation, strap-on, orgasm denial and control, top!reader x sub!Jinx, light degradation, teasing, and I think thats all, if I forgot something, im sorry

The fire alarm’s going off when you unlock the door. Again.

You don’t even flinch this time, just toss your keys onto the hallway table and step into the smoke.

It’s coming from the kitchen. Of course it is.

You walk in and see it: your custom-built, voice-controlled, top-of-the-line Piltover microwave blown wide open. The front panel’s cracked, the inside is scorched, and something definitely exploded.

Jinx is sitting on the counter like nothing happened—legs swinging like a child, soot on her cheek, a little too proud of herself.

“Hi, babe,” she says sweetly, waving a tiny screwdriver at you.

You blink. “What. Did you do.”

“Okay, so–” she starts, already smiling, “I was trying to make popcorn.”

You just stare at her.

“But then I thought… what if I gave it a boost? Just a little chemtech.”

She lifts a small, still-glowing power cell––clearly modified. “Y’know. To speed it up.”

The fire alarm shrieks again. A soft pop comes from the microwave.

“You blew up my microwave,” you say.

She shrugs. “I improved it. Technically.”

You don’t laugh. You don’t even blink.

You take one step closer, and Jinx’s smirk falters just slightly.

“Do you think I’m impressed?” you ask.

She leans back on her hands, still trying to play it cool. “Thought it might at least make you look at me.”

You glance at the mess, then back at her. “Oh, I’m looking.”

She quiets.

You place a hand on the counter beside her thigh, lean in just enough to make her press back against the cabinets.

“This what you wanted?” you ask, voice low. “To blow up my kitchen just so I’d come home and deal with you?”

Her eyes flicker. “Maybe.”

Another step and your knee’s between hers.

“You’re going to clean this up,” you say. “After.”

Her breath catches.

“Now get off the counter.”

She moves fast. Obedient. Like she’s been waiting for that tone all day.

She hops off the counter, but doesn’t move. Just stands there with that smug little tilt to her head, eyes flicking up and down like she’s deciding whether to listen to you at all.

You don’t give her the chance.

Your fingers close around her jaw–– not hard, but enough to stop her in her tracks. “Try me again, and you’ll be on your knees before you make it to the bedroom.”

She grins, breath hitching just a little. “Kinky threat. You sure you’re not the one who blew up the microwave?”

You don’t flinch.

“Keep running your mouth,” you murmur, “and I’ll make sure you’re too sore to use it later.”

That wipes the grin off her face. Almost.

Then she shrugs, deliberately slow. “Guess I better make it worth it, huh?”

You let go of her jaw.

“Bedroom. Now.”

She turns around with a smirk, strutting like she owns the place. “God, finally. I was starting to think you’d just let me get away with it.”

You follow, watching her every step.

“Not a chance.”

The bedroom door barely clicks shut before you’ve got her on the bed.

You don’t give her time to settle. You grab her wrist and push her downing the bed and onto her back, climbing over her like she’s already yours.

“Hands up,” you say––low, firm.

She obeys, too quickly, too eagerly, eyes flicking up to yours with that defiant spark still burning.

You drag your fingers slowly up her stomach, just under her shirt, and she shivers.

“You wanted attention,” you murmur, leaning in close. “Now you’ve got it. Let’s see how much of it you can take.”

Her breath catches, and she swallows hard, but she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t dare.

“Try anything bratty,” you add, hand sliding higher, “and I’ll make sure you don’t get to come tonight.”

And just like that, she’s quiet.

Not behaving––but quiet.

You don’t bother with slow.

Clothes come off in quick, practiced movements––yours first, then hers––until she’s bare beneath you, except for her panties. You leave those on.

On purpose.

She arches slightly, like she expects more, like she wants more, but you don’t give it to her.

Not yet.

Instead, you slide your hand down, press your palm flat over the soaked fabric, just enough for her to feel it––your heat, your control––without giving her what she really wants.

She squirms, breath shaky. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Of course I am.”

Your fingers move slow, dragging along the thin fabric, teasing the wet spot already blooming there. You circle her clit with maddening precision, just enough to make her whine.

She bucks her hips up, impatient.

You pin them down with your free hand. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to be greedy.”

Her hands tighten in the sheets above her head, body tense beneath yours.

“You blew up my kitchen,” you murmur, mouth brushing her jaw. “You’re lucky I’m even touching you.”

Your fingers press harder against her clit, slow and controlled. But you’re not done.

Her hands leave the sheets––one flying up to grab the pillow beside her head, the other fisting the blanket like she needs to hold on to something, anything, just to stay grounded.

You lean down, tongue dragging across her right nipple before wrapping your lips around it and sucking deep.

She gasps––loud, unrestrained––her hips jerking as your fingers rub tight, wet circles against her clit while your mouth teases her chest.

Your tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, then you bite––just a little. Just enough to make her cry out.

“F-fuck––” she moans, her body arching up into your mouth, down into your hand. Caught between both.

Her free hand flutters for a second, unsure, then lands shakily on your shoulder––digging in, nails pressing hard.

Your fingers don’t stop. Your mouth doesn’t either.

“Still squirming,” you murmur against her chest. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

She doesn’t––can’t. Her breath’s a mess. Whimpers leave her mouth with every stroke and suck.

Then––just as her breathing stutters––you pull your mouth away.

And slow your hand.

She lets out a broken sound, high and needy.

She’s already dripping through the fabric.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and peel them down slow––just to watch her squirm. She lifts her hips to help, breath stuttering as the cool air hits her soaked skin.

You toss them aside.

Then, without warning, you slide one finger into her pussy.

She gasps, sharp and breathless. Wet. So wet, you barely have to try.

You move slow. Intentionally slow. Just enough to make her ache, slick already coating your knuckles.

“Please,” she whispers, almost desperate.

You add a second finger.

Her thighs jerk, twitching hard, hips rocking before you press her back down with your free hand.

“Still so impatient,” you murmur.

She whines, eyes wide and glassy, her breath catching every time your fingers curl inside her.

You lean over her, lips brushing her jaw. “What happened to all that attitude, Jinx?”

She doesn’t answer, just bites her lip, thighs trembling as you pump your fingers a little deeper, a little rougher.

Then you add a third.

She gasps like she wasn’t ready for it, body tensing all over again, then melting into the mattress, legs shaking under your grip.

The slick sound of it fills the room––hot, messy, desperate.

You lean in closer, voice low and wicked against her ear.

“Next time you want attention,” you whisper, “just ask.”

She moans, helpless and breathless and already so close.

And you don’t stop.

You drag your thumb up and press it firmly against her clit, circling it slowly while your fingers move inside her––deep and deliberate.

She moans the second your thumb finds its rhythm––high and shaky, like she’s trying to hold it back but can’t.

Her thighs twitch with every stroke, already slick and trembling. You keep going, curling your fingers just right, then pulling back before she can get too close.

“Ah––god,” she gasps, hips bucking up. “Don’t––don’t stop––”

But you do.

You slow down, just slightly. Just enough to make her whine.

“No,” she breathes, voice cracking. “Please, don’t do that.”

You hum like you’re thinking about it, but your fingers are still moving––just barely, just enough to keep her strung out and desperate.

Every sound she makes now is a mess.

Tiny whimpers.

Breathless gasps.

The occasional broken “fuck” when your fingers hit just the right spot––then pull away again, cruel and calculated.

“Still think blowing up my kitchen was a good idea?” you murmur.

She shakes her head fast, eyes glassy, thighs clenching around your wrist.

“Then why,” you whisper, mouth brushing her ear, “should I let you come?”

She groans––loud and wrecked. “Please,” she begs, hips rolling, trying to chase your hand. “I’ll clean it––I’ll fix it––just please––”

You smirk, watching her fall apart.

“Not yet.”

And you keep going. Slow, deep pumps, curling just right so that they touch that spongy spot inside her that makes her see stars––then pulling back again.

Your thumb flicks her clit harder now, tight little circles that make her whimper.

But it’s not enough.

You lean down, catching one of her nipples between your teeth, biting gently as your fingers start slamming into her.

She yelps––loud and raw––back arching off the bed as the sudden overload of sensation hits her hard.

“F-fuck!”

Her whole body jolts.

You suck hard on her nipple, tongue dragging over the bud as your fingers pound into her and your thumb teases her clit in tight, wet circles.

Her back arches off the bed, hands clutching the sheets like she’s about to tear them. You don’t let up––your mouth, your fingers, your thumb––all working in rhythm.

“God––oh my god––” she cries, voice rising in pitch. “Wait––wait––”

You don’t.

Her thighs are shaking now, soaked and twitching, her head thrown back against the pillows.

She’s falling apart. Fast.

The shift from teasing to ruthless ruins her. Her hips jerk without rhythm, no control left in her body at all.

“Too much––” she gasps, voice cracking. “It’s too––”

“You can take it,” you growl, curling your fingers again. “You’re gonna take it.”

She sobs––loud and wrecked and completely undone.

And you keep going.

Fast. Deep. Merciless.

Exactly how she likes it.

She cums around your fingers.

No warning––just a broken cry and her entire body seizing up beneath you. Her back arches, mouth open in a silent scream before the moans finally catch up––loud, raw, and completely helpless.

You feel it the second it hits––her walls clenching tight, fluttering, pulsing around your fingers, squirting.

But you don’t stop.

Your mouth is still on her nipple, tongue dragging, sucking, teasing while your fingers keep going.

She gasps––sharp and panicked. “N-no––wait––”

You keep going.

Her hips jerk away from your hand, but there’s nowhere to go. You hold her there, pinned and trembling, pumping into her over and over while her legs shake and her voice breaks.

“Too much––too much––” she whines, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. Her hands claw at the sheets, one arm flinging up to grip your wrist, not pulling you away––just holding on.

Like she’s drowning.

Like she can’t take it, but she doesn’t want it to stop.

The overstimulation hits hard––her cries turn to sobs, every breath hitching, every sound wrecked and slurred and ruined.

You lean close, lips brushing her ear.

“Still think you can act like a brat in my kitchen?”

She shakes her head frantically, breathless.

“I didn’t hear you,” you murmur, fingers never slowing.

“N-no––no, I’m sorry––fuck––I’m sorry––”

You smile against her skin.

But you keep going. Just a little more.

Just until she breaks again.

Her moans and whimpers fill the room as she cums, but you’re not near finishing, as Jinx’s going down her hight ––thighs covered in her own juices–– you’re already moving, grabbing the bright blue strap-on, 4 cm of girth and 18cm long. 

Jinx’s a small girl, you're probably about to break the poor little thing in half.

She's still recovering when you hover over her, she's already so wet you don't even need any lub, she doesn't have time to register what is going on till she feels the tip of your blue cock already pressing at her entrance.

Her eyes widen, she has been dying to try the new toy, but now she's just so sensitive she isn't sure she can handle it.

“Wait–– I cant–– Too sensitive––” 

You don’t hesitate “You should’ve thought about that before blowing up my kitchen”

She lets out a soft, broken sound as the tip circles her entrance, slow, relentless. Not pushing in––just dragging, spreading the slick around, rubbing right where she’s sensitive. Rubbing your cook between her pink puffy folds, rubbing her clit a few times. 

You chuckle, taking your time. Running the shaft up and down her slit. Not pushing in. Not giving her what she wants.

Just watching her squirm.

Her hips twitch up, trying to take it, but you move just out of reach.

She groans in frustration, tears welling up in her lashes. “Please––fuck, just––”

You finally lean in, lips brushing her ear.

“You want this?” you whisper, dragging the head back to her entrance. “Beg for it.”

She moans––half pain, half pleasure, everything too much. “Please, please––I want it, I need it, just fuck me––”

And that’s when you push in.

Not gently.

Your cock slips past her slick entrance in one smooth, firm thrust, making her scream.

“Ah––too much––I can’t––”

“Oh, you can,” you growl, holding her hips tight. “And you will.”

She gasps, her body tensing, arching, trying to take the stretch as her walls clench around the thick toy. Her thighs are twitching again, eyes closed shut with overwhelmed pleasure.

You don’t move just yet.

You stay buried inside her.

Letting her feel the fullness.

Letting her realize just how deep you are.

She whimpers, completely wrecked already. “F-fuck, you’re gonna break me––”

You smirk.

And then you start moving.

Slow, deep thrusts at first––dragging your hips back just enough to make her feel it before slamming back in, harder, deeper each time.

Her body moves with it, pushed up the bed with every stroke. Her moans spill out helplessly, one after another, breathless and sweet.

A melody you never get tired of.

Jinx can feel the faux veins of your cock dragging against her walls, touching all the spots that make her dumb, the tip hitting her cervix. 

You can see the bulge of your cock inside her.

And then you start pounding.

Fast. Deep. Ruthless.

Her moans turn to cries.

High-pitched and broken.

The slap of skin against skin fills the room, echoing with every sharp thrust. Her whole body jolts with each one, pushed into the mattress like she weighs nothing.

You’re relentless now.

No mercy. No pause.

Just the thick strap-on slamming into her, deep and fast, grinding her deeper into the sheets.

She’s gasping for air, nails digging into the bed, her mouth open in a silent scream that only catches up a second later.

“F-fuck––too deep––too fast––”

You just growl, thrusting harder. “That’s the point.”

Her hands claw at the sheets. Her body can’t keep up. Every nerve in her is on fire, pleasure rippling through her in waves so intense they border on pain.

She’s soaked––completely, impossibly wet––slick pooling beneath her, dripping down your thighs, smearing between her legs with every thrust.

You grab one of her legs and throw it over your shoulder, angling deeper.

Her scream is immediate.

“God––oh god––please––”

You lean over her, one hand gripping her throat, thumb pressing just enough to make her whimper.

“You wanted this,” you growl against her ear, your cock still driving into her, hard and deep. “So take it.”

She sobs, overwhelmed, shaking, but she doesn’t tell you to stop.

Her hips meet yours on instinct now, trying to keep up, trying to take everything you give her.

Jinx a mess beneath you, mascara staining her face, lipstick smudge, tongue out like a dumb dog while her hands grab the pillow where her head is laying like a lifeline. 

Her clit’s begging for attention––swollen and flushed, untouched but throbbing.

You reach down between her legs and rub your thumb over it.

She screams.

The second you touch her, her body goes rigid, her back arching so hard it lifts her off the mattress. Her moans twist into helpless, choked sobs.

Her eyes roll back.

She’s so far gone.

You don’t stop.

Not with your cock, not with your thumb.

Circling her clit fast and tight, keeping the rhythm of your thrusts brutal and deep.

“Gonna come again?” you murmur darkly. “Already?”

She nods frantically, tears streaking her cheeks.

“Y-yes––please––please––I can’t––”

“You can,” you snarl, voice low and rough. “Come on my cock, Jinx.”

And she does.

She cums with a scream, her whole body convulsing. The orgasm rips through her like a shockwave––intense and shattering. Her thighs clamp around you, walls fluttering violently around the strap-on, soaking it all over again.

But you don’t stop.

Not even for a second.

You keep fucking her through it––deep, brutal thrusts that don’t let her catch her breath.

She sobs, completely gone, babbling your name between cries. “N-no––too much––’s too much––”

You grab her hips, slamming in harder. “I said you’d take it. So take it.”

She screams again––half-cry, half-moan–and comes again, barely a minute later.

A second orgasm, sharper than the first.

This one wrecks her, more than the three ones you already gave her.

Her whole body goes limp beneath you, twitching, broken.

And still––you don’t stop.

Just a few more thrusts, slow now, grinding in deep with every roll of your hips. Letting her feel it. Letting her drown in it.

By the time you finally pull out, she’s shaking.

Covered in sweat, lips parted, tears dried on her cheeks, body completely ruined.

You toss the toy aside and lean down, brushing her cheek with the back of your hand.

She’s barely conscious––blissed out and wrecked, blinking slowly as she looks up at you.

“Still think blowing up my kitchen was worth it?” you whisper.

She doesn’t answer.

She just moans softly––wrecked and dazed––and nods.

Like the little brat she is.

[leafy-pixel]

—✩‧₊˚ 3racha! Reacts to their S/O flying out to surprise them!

✩pairing: skz 3racha x female!reader

✩genre: fluff, established relationships

✩author’s note: Hello everyone and welcome to the first post on my blog. I’ve been trying to get back into writing so i’m very sorry if this is all over the place, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! <3

☆ Bang Chan

He was in the studio when he heard a knock at the door. Thinking it was one of the boys coming to join his late night work session he said a quick “come in” and went back to his laptop. But when he heard the words “Hi channie” a nickname he only gave you permission to use, fall from your lips his heart skipped a beat as he whipped around, his chair creaking with the sudden movement.

His eyes widened in disbelief, locking on you standing in the doorway, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing. There you were, his love, standing in front of him after all this time. "Y-You're here?" he stammered, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. His hands reached out to you instinctively, pulling you into his arms as if confirming that you were real.

"How... How did you get here? I thought—" His words were cut off by the overwhelming warmth of your embrace, the rush of emotion hitting him all at once. His lips brushed softly against your forehead in a tender kiss.

You laughed softly, pulling back just enough to on meet his gaze. "Surprise," He pulled you into another embrace, squeezing you tightly as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you so much.”

☆ Changbin

Changbin sat on the couch, his phone in his hand, staring at the message you sent him earlier that day. "Rain check, babe. I’m so sorry. Emergency meetings" You guys were supposed to facetime and play minecraft today as it was one of the very few days that both of you had off. He didn’t want to upset you so he said it was fine, but in reality he was hurt. He missed your face, your laugh, your..everything. He tried to go about his day, getting a workout in and going to the studio to help Chan, but the minutes felt longer than usual. Every time he glanced at his phone, he half-expected a notification from you, but none came.

Hours later, he was in the kitchen helping make a late dinner for the rest of the boys when he heard the familiar ding of his phone. He picked it up quickly, hoping it was you.

“Guess who’s at the door?”

His heart skipped. He ran to open the door, almost running over Seungmin in the process only to be greeted by you standing there, a grin on your face."Y/N?!" Changbin blurted out, eyes wide in surprise.“Yeah, about that rain check…” you said with a playful smile. “I thought I’d show up in person instead. Surprised?”

His heart swelled with joy as he pulled you into his arms, breathing in your presence.“I thought you were mad at me…” he murmured against your hair, his voice low with emotion. “I missed you so much.”You smiled softly. “I could never be mad at you, Binnie. I just wanted to surprise you... now, how about that Minecraft session?”

He chuckled, pinching your cheek playfully "As long as you promise not to build anything ridiculous again."

☆ Han Jisung

It had been a busy week for both you and Han, and though you both had planned to Facetime that evening, something kept you from reaching out. Han had been sending a few texts here and there, wondering if you were still up for it, but you stayed quiet, building up the suspense.

Little did he know is that you were in the car with Chan on your way to see him at this very moment.“Are you sure this will work?" you asked quietly, glancing up at Chan

“Of course it’ll work. Han’s been overthinking all day. When you show up, he won’t know what hit him.”You smiled, anxiety bubbling in your stomach. "I hope so."

With Chan's help, you waited until Han was in the practice room, a place where he often retreated to when he needed to focus. Chan had texted him from your phone, pretending that the two of you would be on call later and that it would be another night to play some games together, keeping him distracted.

Once Han’s attention was elsewhere, you slipped out of the car, ready for the surprise. Chan gave you a reassuring nod as you walked toward the door to the studio. Han was sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone when he got a text from you asking him to call you. He couldn’t help the small smile that crept its way onto his face. He has missed your voice, the one thing that could always heal him.

Riiing... riiing...”

The sound of your ringtone echoed through the quiet hallway. Han froze, his heart skipping a beat.He slowly lowered his phone, his mind racing as he turned toward the door. He recognized the familiar melody of your ringtone—a song you both had laughed over, one that made both of you smile every time it played. He walked toward the door, his steps slow and cautious. As he reached for the handle, he heard the sound of your soft giggle that made his heart race.

Opening the door slowly, his eyes widened when he saw you standing there, grinning with your phone in your hand.

"Y/N?" Han's voice barely rose above a whisper, shock written all over his face. As he picked you up and spun you around. “You—how—when did you—”You shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “I thought I’d surprise you.” Chan, who had been lurking to the side finally stepped forward with a teasing grin. “I may have helped a little”

Han chuckled, pulling away slightly to look at you with soft eyes. “I swear, you two are going to be the death of me.

[raekensluver]

second to none

can be read as a stand alone but in case you want more- read part two here!

description: breaking up with your boyfriend spencer reid was difficult but not as difficult as realizing you were always going to be his second choice.

pairing: boyfriend!spencer reid x fem!reader

contains: angst, breakup, fighting, happens after jj’s confession to spencer in 12x15, toxic!spencer??, spencer not being a good boyfriend.

song rec: bored by billie eilish- "giving you all you want and more, giving you every piece of me."

w.c: 1.5k

an: i had to. the plot popped into my head and i couldn't not write it.

"spencer, i can't believe you." you muttered to yourself, glancing at your watch for the umpteenth time. the elegant restaurant buzzed with the muted chatter of couples enjoying their meals, the clinking of silverware against fine china, and the faint scent of gourmet dishes wafting from the kitchen. you had been waiting at the table for an hour, fidgeting with the delicate napkin in your lap, the anticipation of a special dinner slowly morphing into a sour knot in your stomach.

eventually, a staff member, impeccably dressed in a black suit, approached you with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "miss," he began, "i'm terribly sorry, but we have a rather large queue of guests waiting for a table tonight. would you mind taking a seat in the lobby for a few minutes? you can notify us as soon as your party arrives."

you looked up at him, feeling the weight of the situation finally crash down on you. the rain outside had picked up, beating against the restaurant's windows like a symphony of impatience. your heart sank as you realized that spencer wasn't coming. not tonight, not ever, maybe. with a deep breath, you forced a smile and nodded. "of course," you said, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. "i'll just go."

as you stepped outside, the cold rain slapped you in the face like a cruel reminder of your reality. the chilly water seeped through the fabric of your expensive dress, sticking it to your skin, and your purse grew heavier with every drop that soaked into the leather. the sound of your high heels tapping against the wet pavement echoed through the quiet street, the only music to your one-woman parade of disappointment. you hadn't anticipated the storm when you'd chosen your outfit earlier, the forecast promising a clear evening. but then again, you hadn't anticipated being stood up either.

then, through the sheet of rain, you saw him. spencer reid, your boyfriend, the man who was supposed to be waiting for you with a bouquet of roses and an apology on his lips. he was hunched over, his suit drenched and clinging to his lanky frame, hurrying down the sidewalk with a look of utter distraction. your heart jumped into your throat, a mix of anger and relief swirling in your chest like a tempest.

you sprinted towards him, your heels clicking faster against the wet ground. "spencer!" you called out, your voice strained and desperate. he stopped, looking up with a startled expression that melted into something close to guilt when he saw you. the rain continued to pummel down on both of you, but you didn't care. "where have you been?" you demanded, your voice tight with emotion.

he took a step closer, water dripping from his hair onto his face. "i had to talk to jj," he said, his eyes flickering with something you couldn't quite read. "about what she said yesterday."

"for two hours?" you ask, incredulous. your voice grew louder, edged with a mix of anger and betrayal. "while i've been waiting here, getting soaked, you've been with her? discussing your feelings? and without a text or call to tell me that you couldn't make it?"

spencer's gaze dropped to the ground, the rain plastering his lashes to his cheeks. "it's not like that," he mumbled, his words barely audible over the rain's crescendo. "you know we just got out of a tough situation."

you nodded, your teeth gritted. "yes, i know," you replied, your voice tight as a bowstring. "but that doesn't give you an excuse to ditch me like this. we had plans, spencer. important plans."

his eyes snapped back up to meet yours, a spark of anger igniting in them. "important plans? i almost died yesterday, and jj…she had to deal with so much. i had to make sure she was okay."

you took a deep breath, trying to push down the wave of anger crashing over you. "i understand that, spencer," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "but jj has a husband, a family. it's not your job to fix her."

spencer looked up, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for a hint of understanding. "you don't get it," he said, his voice rising slightly. "you weren't there. you don't know what it was like."

you felt the heat of anger rising in your cheeks, your body trembling from the cold and the emotional turmoil. "no, spencer, i don't get it," you retorted, your voice strained. "what i do know is that i've been waiting for you, for hours, in the rain, because i thought tonight was important to us. because i thought i was important to you."

spencer took a step back, his eyes widening slightly. "that's not fair," he protested, his voice tight. "i had to do what was right for jj."

you felt the last threads of patience snap within you. "right for jj?" you echoed, your voice rising to match his. "what about what's right for us?"

spencer looked taken aback, his eyes darting around as if searching for a way out of the conversation. "i'm sorry," he began, but you cut him off with a wave of your hand.

"don't," you said firmly. "just don't. i've had enough of apologies and excuses. i thought after what happened, we could finally move forward, but it seems like i'll always be second to her, to your job, to whatever crisis pops up next."

spencer's mouth opened and closed, a silent protest forming on his lips. the rain continued its relentless symphony around you, a stark contrast to the silent tension that had taken root between you two. "that's not true," he finally managed to say, his voice strained.

but you were already shaking your head, the cold rain mixing with the tears that were now streaming down your face. "it is, spencer," you said, your voice cracking. "it's always been true. i can't do this anymore."

his eyes searched yours, desperation and confusion fighting for dominance in his gaze. "what are you saying?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

you took a deep breath, the rain feeling like a million tiny needles piercing your skin. "i'm saying that i can't be in a relationship where i'm always the backup plan, where i'm never the priority." your voice was steady, despite the storm of emotions raging within you. "i deserve better than this, spencer. i deserve someone who's all in."

his eyes searched yours, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "i am all in," he insisted, taking a step closer. "you're everything to me."

but the words felt hollow, like they were being spoken by a stranger. "then why isn't it showing?" you countered, your voice strong despite the tears that continued to fall. "why do i always feel like i'm fighting for your attention?"

spencer's expression fell, the rain now a mirror for the sadness in his eyes. "i never meant for it to be like this," he murmured, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. but you stepped back, shivering from the cold, your resolve unyielding.

"actions speak louder than words, spencer," you said, your voice barely above the patter of rain. "and your actions have been speaking volumes."

his hand dropped to his side, the silence stretching out like a yawning chasm. the streetlights cast a sad, yellow glow on the puddles forming at your feet, reflecting the sadness in your heart. "i'm sorry," he repeated, his voice thick with something that might have been regret.

you stared at him, the rain plastering your hair to your face, your dress clinging to your body like a second, unwelcome skin. "sorry isn't enough," you said, your voice cold. "not this time."

without another word, you turned away from spencer, your heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the wet pavement as you made your way to the curb. raising your hand, you hailed a taxi, the yellow beacon of the approaching car's light cutting through the gloom like a lifeline. the engine rumbled closer, the wipers swiping back and forth in a futile attempt to clear the windshield of the relentless downpour.

as the taxi pulled over, you stepped in, slamming the door shut with a finality that seemed to echo through the night. the warmth of the car's interior was a stark contrast to the cold that had seeped into your bones from the rain and the even colder conversation with spencer. the driver looked at you in the rearview mirror, his eyes filled with concern. "where to, miss?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble.

you took a deep, shaky breath and recited your address, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. the car pulled away from the curb, leaving spencer standing in the rain, looking after you with a mix of shock and despair etched on his face. you couldn't bring yourself to look back, instead focusing on the streaks of water racing down the window, blurring the streetlights into a kaleidoscope of colors.

edited 8.20.24

[anmwrites]

Beneath the Surface

Azriel x Reader

Hi All! So this isn't one of the Az requests unfortunately, but this is one of my private fics I already had written. I'm still working on the Az request that's in the queue, but I'm lowkey hating everything I've been writing so it'll probably take me a little longer to perfect it.

In the meantime, I wanted to get something put up for you all. Sticking to the fandom that was requested I decided to post this Az fic! Probably very stereotypical trope, but this was what I got. This one is a little heavier than my Xaden fic, so please read with caution. I hope you all enjoy!

Content Warning: Mentions of Suicide, self-sabotage, depression, & guilt

Again, I apologize if I missed any other warnings. Please read with caution.

Talk soon, and please enjoy!

“I’m getting her back,” a low growl cut through the tent. Y/N’s head whipped to the Shadowsinger. “I’m going with you,” her High Lady’s voice intervened. “Then you will both die,” her sister’s cold voice replied. 

Y/N’s head was reeling. In just hours after scrying for the Cauldron, the Inner Circle and then some were gathered around in the middle Archeron’s tent. She was stolen away. Lured by the promise of her human past. And…and Azriel was the first to throw himself into harm's way. 

Y/N was barely there as she watched Feyre shift into the dead priestess. Barely there as everyone began moving, readying themselves for their departure. Azriel hadn’t glanced once at her. His best friend. 

A silent brush of claws filled the Illyrian’s head. Y/N dropped her shields momentarily allowing Rhys’ voice to float into her mind. You are awfully quiet. Y/N snorted. He can do whatever he sees fit. A bemused feeling washed over her as Rhys carefully crafted his next words. I heard what happened. Quite a nasty little argument you had with him earlier. Y/N’s eyes shot to Rhys who was conveniently studying the daggers Cassian was equipping Feyre with. He started it. Trying to sideline me. I may not have wings but I know how to fight. 

Rhys finally met her gaze, You need to tell him. 

Tell him what exactly, brother? Y/N quirked her brow. 

You know. The fact that you are in love with him.

Feyre’s eyes darted back and forth between her mate and Y/N clearly noting they were having some form of silent conversation. He made his choice Rhys. Just as it’s always been for the past five centuries. There’s no point in telling him now. 

Truth be told, Y/N had known this story. Had lived through it with Mor. And now she had to live through it again with Elain. Her best friend, for centuries, after Rhys’ mother had taken her in regardless of her lack of wings, was hopelessly in love with another female…as usual. It was nothing new to Y/N. He only saw her as a friend. A sister perhaps. 

Y/N wasn’t really sure when her own feelings had shifted. Her and Azriel were always more than just siblings like she was with Rhys and Cassian. Everyone around knew there was something special between them. So much so that Y/N had even felt a spark of hope until Azriel met Mor, and then the whole incident with Cassian, Eris, and Mor’s father occurred. She slowly realized he would never see her as more than a friend, and Y/N began to be okay with that. And then she watched him do it again when Feyre’s sister entered the picture. It stung, but she was used to it. 

There is the point that we all may die or he may die. Rhys’ voice cut into her thoughts. Rhys. Stop. I can’t think about all of this right now or I will break. He’ll be fine. Rhys merely gave her a sympathetic feeling before she felt his presence exit her mind. He was right though. Azriel could very well die. She needed air. Or she would lose it. The initial shock of his announcement wearing off, nervousness settling in. 

Y/N quietly retreated outside of the stifling tent. The cool night air brushed over her clammy face as she took a deep breath. Something tickled at her ankles. She glanced down to see a single tendril of a shadow wrapped around it. She gave it a small smile. “I’m alright,” she whispered to it. “Go tell him I’m fine.” 

The little wisp of darkness hesitated before retreating back into the tent. Y/N grimaced, that old, familiar feeling of heartache seeping into her chest. She didn’t want him to go. Nesta and Rhys were right. They most likely would die. Everyone saw what the camp looked like. Elain could be anywhere. And selfishly, she did not want her High Lady and Shadowsinger to go in there. Especially her Shadowsinger.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and Y/N took a shaky breath. A quiet rustle behind her signaled someone had stepped out of the tent. She felt him before she saw him as she always did. Slowly, Y/N turned around and saw Azriel standing behind her. His face softened as he took her in. “Y/N I…” he started, approaching her. “I–I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” Y/N sighed before meeting him halfway. Her heart crumpled. He was still her best friend, and she still cared. “It’s okay, Az. I understand,” she said quietly, gazing up into his warm eyes. Eyes she was so, so familiar with. His warmth engulfed her, as they were standing maybe just a hair closer than any normal friends would stand. 

“No. It’s not. I just–you’re not incompetent. I know what you can do on a battlefield. It’s just–I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he signed, taking his hand in hers. Y/N watched as his gaze fell on their intertwined hands. He fiddled with her fingers as a nervous habit. 

“I know. I don’t want to see you get hurt either,” Y/N whispered, her unspoken selfish words hanging in the air. Azriel’s eyes flicked back to hers studying for a moment. Were they closer? Y/N thought to herself. “Say it,” he replied. “Say the words and I won’t do it. I won’t go.” 

Y/N’s heart picked up. She knew if she told him not to go after Elain he wouldn’t. He would drop it immediately. But Feyre’s face flashed in her head. Nesta’s moans of pain ripped through her. They were a part of their family now. Y/N shook her head, more tears slipping down her face. “I can’t do that,” she let out a shaky laugh, casting her head down. His other hand felt warm as he caressed her face, wiping the tears away with his thumb. 

“You’re the only one who has a chance to get in and out without being noticed. You have to get both of them out. They’re family now,” Y/N whispered. Azriel didn’t say anything, but when she met his intense gaze, those three little words felt heavy on her tongue. Looking into his eyes, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him so bad it was like her skin was on fire. Y/N couldn’t breathe. He could very well be walking right into his death. 

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t drop the biggest bomb on their friendship when he needed his sole focus elsewhere. So, she stayed silent. She stayed silent even as he nodded and said, “I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll come back to you.” She stayed silent when he pulled her into his warm body and hugged her a little tighter. Y/N stayed quiet even when he led her back into the tent and she watched him disappear with their High Lady in the blink of an eye.

•••

Rhys let out a shaky breath after the departure of his mate and brother. As everyone dispersed, he noticed Y/N was still frozen in place, staring at the spot where the pair had just disappeared. He could see her visibly shaking. Cassian passed her and gave her a sympathetic look and pat on the shoulder before he exited. Rhys slowly approached her. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Y/N said without turning to him. Rhys could hear the tears in her voice. The uneven breaths she took. “He told me to tell him to stay and he would’ve in a heartbeat. I couldn’t do that to Feyre. To you. To our family,” she continued. Rhys opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say. His heart was so full of emotions. Terror, absolute terror for his mate and his brother. Love–love for his unselfish sister. The baby he saw that day his mother brought her home. All in a frantic rush to warm up this little, tiny fragile thing she found in the snow, abandoned by her blood relatives because fate was cruel and did not give her wings. 

Y/N let out another shaky sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re also trying to keep it together. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.” 

This. This was why he felt he had to take it all on himself. Rhys’ heart was breaking for her. For his most kind and caring, living sister. This beautiful soul who has slowly fallen in love with Azriel for all of the centuries spent together. He didn’t understand why the Mother didn’t make them mates…his train of thought paused. It was as if he was hit with a brick. Sifting through all his memories and countless conversations with her, it finally clicked into place. 

“How long have you known?” Rhys asked quietly. Y/N slowly turned to face him. Pain and anguish, only that of which someone with a mate would know. The same pain and anguish he felt watching Feyre disappear. Y/N let out a bitter laugh, “Since Starfall five years ago. When you were…away.” Rhys was slightly shocked. He noticed the smallest shift in their relationship when he had returned. But after all it, he expected everything to be different. 

“Why didn’t you tell him? Me? Does Cassian know?” Rhys asked. Y/N shook her head, “I didn’t tell him because we were all dealing with the loss. I didn’t let myself find peace while you were gone. I couldn’t. I knew there were horrors you were enduring. Horrors I couldn’t even fathom, and I just couldn’t let myself be happy. And Az, well Az went to a dark place when you were gone. The only thing he clung to was his love for Mor, and I couldn’t disrupt his entire life. I wouldn’t. We didn’t speak for a few months after you were taken. We were all a mess,” tears flowed freely down her face as she spoke to him. 

Rhys could barely contain his. 

“So I buried it. I buried it so deep inside of myself no one would pick up on it. Or at least notice it without having to scrutinize me. I wanted to tell you. I really did, but I saw how you were when you returned Rhys. I couldn’t do that to you. You were trying so hard to pretend like you were okay and then your mate was with another. I just couldn’t do that to you, so I didn’t. I continued to bury it, but it just…just all got away from me.”

Y/N let out a choked sob that had Rhys moving. His arms wrapped around her engulfing her in a hug. “Oh you sweet, sweet thing,” he whispered, “My sweet sister,” he started, pulling back a bit to look at her. “You never need to hide anything from me. No matter what I am going through, you can always come to me. I am so, so happy for you. Although, I do need to kick Az around Velaris a bit since he cannot see what has always been right in front of him.” Y/N let out a garbled laugh before burying her head back in his chest. 

“We’ll figure it out, Y/N. Whatever is going on in Az’s head. We’ll figure it out together. When all of this is over. We’ll both get our happy ending. I promise you that,” Rhys concluded. Y/N only nodded, before stepping out of his arms and wiping her face. “Cassian suspected it and I’m sure Amren knows. She has never mentioned it to me but Cass has. I didn’t confirm anything with him and he hasn’t mentioned it to Az.” Rhys nodded, guiding her outside of the tent for some fresh air.  

•••

Y/N knew she should have told someone about the mating bond. It was something she could only suppress so much. But the guilt she and the rest of the inner circle felt when Rhys sacrificed himself ate at her too much. How could she let herself be happy when their High Lord and brother was subjecting himself to the horrors Under the Mountain, willingly, to protect them. 

There was no point dwelling on it now. Not as she paced in front of Rhys who was sitting tense in front of his war tent. The minutes ticked by all too slowly as they silently awaited Azriel and Feyre’s return. “Tell me about when it happened,” Rhys said quietly, interrupting Y/N’s nervous pacing. She stopped and looked at him. His eyes were glazed over like mind was somewhere else. He needed a distraction. For her brother, she would tell him everything. 

Y/N took a breath. “Starfall wasn’t the same without you. We knew how much the celebrations meant to you and so did Velaris. We never hosted a grand party anymore. The House was opened to those who wished to join, but it was almost as if the city was mourning the loss of our High Lord. Some came, but it was another quiet celebration.”

Rhys’ gaze flicked to hers. 

“I–I was upset that five years had already gone by and you weren’t able to see this and be there with us,” Y/N continued, “I was close to breaking by that point. My hope was running out. I was up on the private balcony where you and Feyre celebrated. Azriel of course found me. Sitting there, silently looking at the stars or spirits or whatever. Wishing on them so hard that they would return you to us.”

“He sat with me for I don’t even know how long. Let me cry on his shoulder and just be a comfort. Everyone held it together a lot better than I did, Rhys. You were my brother. My first family and the one who took care of me when I had nothing. When we lost your mother and our sister, you were the only thing I had left of them.” 

Y/N sniffed, more tears running down her face as she took herself back to that night. “I honestly debated pitching myself off that balcony that night,” she muttered bitterly. Rough hands immediately grabbed her face. Rhys’ anguish poured off of him as he seethed at her, “Do not ever think that. Even when I am gone. Never.” 

Y/N gazed at him for a moment before slowly nodding, continuing her story, “But Az came up. His presence was like a lifeline. And when I finally stopped moping and looked at him he gave me one of his rare true smiles. Sad, but also his true smile. I felt it then when I looked at him. Like a beautiful golden thread tethering him to me. Pulling me out of that abyss. I don’t know if he knew it, but I knew.” 

“I’ve always loved him. From when we were kids. I can’t tell you when my feelings shifted, but I have always loved him and I always will,” Y/N concluded. Rhys looked at her with a mixture of sadness and pure joy. He was about to open his mouth when commotion snapped them both out of it. 

Y/N’s head whipped so fast to the outskirts of the camp. There they were. Covered in mud and dragging along two petite figures. Y/N let out a strangled cry before tearing away from Rhys. The latter hot on her heels. She smelled the blood before she saw it. 

As she approached the puddle of people, her blood ran cold and she stopped dead in her tracks as she watched Elain plant a gentle kiss on Azriel’s cheek. She heard a faint “Thank you” before Elain was being swept up by others. Feyre reached Rhys first, letting out a strangled, “I’m alright…Azriel’s wings.” That kicked Y/N back into motion. 

She flung herself at the Shadowsinger causing him to let out an oomph. Though her heart ached at what she just witnessed, she still needed to make sure he was okay. “You–your wings,” she cried after releasing him. She frantically began inspecting every inch of him. “Hey, hey…” he said, grabbing both of her wrists. Y/N was too much in a state of horror. “Y/N look at me,” Az said quietly. She finally snapped her gaze to him. “I’m okay. I’m right here. I’m alive,” he said, giving her a strained smile. His hand reached up, brushing a stray hair out of her face. Y/N merely nodded more to herself than anything as Rhys came around and helped lift him. “We need to get Madja before anything permanent sets,” Rhys grunted, hoisting him up. Azriel swayed a bit. Y/N let in a sharp intake, flinching a bit as she felt some of his pain. 

Az gave her a weird look but she just shook her head, burying that golden thread down and down once again. Rhys began moving as Cassian took up Azriel’s other side, leading them away from her. Y/N noticed Feyre and hurried to her. She looked as if she was still in a daze. Y/N gently took her hand and led her to her tent. “You’re okay,” Y/N whispered gently as she settled in to help clean her up. Feyre merely nodded. 

The minutes flew by and soon Feyre was curled in her bed, cocooned by her sisters as Rhys ushered everyone out. 

Y/N took a deep breath once she was away from the commotion. Her mind was reeling between the conversation she had had with Rhys to the state that her family was in. Alive. That thread hummed from deep within herself. She almost felt as if it was calling to her. Tugging her. Her head turned slowly, spying the tent from which that feeling was coming from. Y/N’s feet were moving before her brain. 

The tent was thankfully silent except for the soft crackle of faelights illuminating the space. Azriel’s large form was sprawled across the cot on his stomach. The glimmer of salve and magic lingering on his shredded wings. Y/N’s voice got stuck in her throat. His beautiful wings. 

His head lifted as she entered, a soft smile gracing his lips. “I’ve had worse. You’ve seen me have worse,” he said, trying to comfort her. She still could not speak. “Come here,” he urged, trying to sit up. His muffled groan of pain set Y/N moving. “Don’t–don’t try to move,” she said, shakily sitting on the floor near his head. His eyes softened as he took her in. “You were worried about me,” Az chuckled a bit, reaching his hand up to brush that stray hair out of her face again. His shadows pooled around her, rubbing and twining up across her body in a soothing matter. “Of course I was worried about you,” Y/N hissed.

“Why?” he asked, matter-of-factly. 

Y/N glared at him. “You are my best friend, Azriel! Why wouldn’t I worry about you!” She couldn’t comprehend why he was acting like a snarky bastard right now. “I mean look at you!” Y/N plowed ahead, “Your wings are shredded! You could have died!” She wasn’t really sure what came over her. Maybe from speaking with Rhys, that bond she had spent years shoving down, surfaced again and was not going down without a fight this time. “Imagine if you had!” she exclaimed, “What am I supposed to do if you die?”

Azriel just gave her a small smile before trying to sit up again. “No, no, no. Don’t try to sit up!” Y/N seethed. He started laughing, pushing himself up anyways. That bastard was laughing. “Azriel!” Y/N pleaded, clearly noting the grimace as he fully pushed himself up. Once he was sitting his laugh dimmed. Y/N pushed herself up to her knees so she could at least be near eye level with him. He would always tower over her no matter what. 

“Tell me the real reason you have worked yourself up,” Azriel murmured, taking both of her hands in his. Y/N froze. He couldn’t know. 

“Because you are my best friend,” she whispered, feeling more tears well up in her eyes. “And your mate?” he replied gently. She couldn’t find it in herself to respond or look at him. “Sweetheart, look at me,” he gently placed a finger under her chin and made her head tilt up to look at him. And for once in her life, Y/N saw the love shining so brightly in his eyes. One that mimicked how she would always admire him from afar. If she was being honest, maybe more emotion than he ever let on was swimming through his beautiful face. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Y/N muttered pathetically. The Shadowsinger let out a quiet chuckle. “I think you do,” he said. Y/N just nodded. “How–how long have you known,” she rasped. “Subconsciously…well probably awhile now. Consciously, I felt it snap into place as you were leaving the tent before we left. That’s why I followed you out there,” Azriel stated. Y/N said nothing. “That’s why I asked you to tell me to stay,” he admitted quietly. 

Y/N finally took all of him in. All of his beauty and intensity. So broken yet still somehow put together. She studied his intense gaze on her, those hazel eyes seemingly glowing in the soft light. His tattoos across his very bare torso, and those wings. Oh, those beautiful wings still shimmering with healing magic. 

“How long have you known?” he asked, breaking her out of her stare. “Starfall. Five years ago,” she whispered. Azriel studied her harder, more emotion filling his eyes. “That night. I felt your sadness that night. I think part of me knew then and was scared to admit it,” he confessed after a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me then?” 

“I–I just couldn’t,” her lip trembled before her story finally came tumbling out. 

After she explained, Az slid to his knees on the floor before her, gathering her in his arms, “Oh my sweet girl.” Sobs racked through Y/N as all of the feelings she had bottled up ran rampant through her. Relief, sorrow, love. All of her bleeding heart finally pouring out. 

When she finally calmed down enough to get a word in, she pulled back out of his embrace, “I just didn’t think you would ever see me as more than a friend. With everything you told me about Mor, and then I saw it shift to Elain, I figured you deserved to be happy. Even if it would break me. Your brothers have found two sisters–” Azriel raised a brow at that. Y/N let out a small laugh, “You can’t tell me there isn’t something between Cassian and Nesta.” “Fair enough,” Az joined in with her quiet laughter. 

Y/N sighed and continued, “But I just know you and I didn’t want to ruin anything we had with a mating bond. To me especially. An Illyrian without wings.”

“Y/N,” Azriel said sternly, “Just because you were born without wings doesn’t mean that I will never love you any less than I already have my entire life.” 

“I was an idiot and I was in denial. You have been my entire world since I don’t even know when. I have loved you for so long, but I just didn’t think you would ever see me as more than a friend. I-I thought to myself that you would never love me like that. I have done things, you know what I have done. And I just couldn’t imagine a beautiful soul like yours falling in love with me. A part of me did love Mor. I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t, but I was finally able to admit to myself that I was in love with you. Was finally able to see that my stupid crush on Mor was a way to suppress all of my feelings for you. Every piece of me is consumed by you and belongs to you,” Azriel pressed.

“And Elain?” Y/N could only see that moment when they first returned. When she placed a kiss on his cheek. It made her blood begin to boil. “The thought crossed my mind when we met. It was the only thing that made sense. Three brothers, three sisters. But, I still couldn’t shake what I was trying so hard to hide from myself. And seeing you tonight. Seeing you go through all of this hell has finally given me the courage to be honest with myself and you,” he said. 

Y/N was pretty sure she had gone into shock. This was the most honest the both of them had been to each other in years. He actually loved her. She hadn’t dared to let herself dream of this moment. Especially not in the circumstances they were in with the war and all. 

“Please say something,” Az nearly begged, shaking her out of her stupor. Y/N focused back on his face. There really wasn’t anything she could say except surging forward and pressing her lips gently on his. Az tensed in shock for a moment before processing what was happening. And soon he was fervently kissing her back. 

Her lips molded perfectly against his as he explored every inch of her mouth. They were just as soft as she had dared to let herself imagine. His hands quickly found her waist, roaming up and down savoring the feel of her pressed against him. Over 500 years of knowing each other and they hadn’t once kissed. Even when Cassian put them up to stupid games like spin the bottle. Azriel couldn’t get enough. 

Y/N let out a moan as his tongue found his way into her mouth, shooting a blast of heat through her spine. Az reciprocated the feeling, pulling her closer, leaning back on the edge of the cot. He stiffened, suppressing a groan of his own. But well, mostly of pain. Y/N froze before pulling away. Az tried to chase her with his mouth and whined when she moved out of reach. “Azriel!” she hissed. “I’m fine,” he shrugged, trying to lean in again. “Az,” Y/N said, sticking a hand on his chest. “You are in no condition.” Azriel scoffed, leaning forward and thoroughly attaching his lips to her neck. Y/N shuddered. “Azriel I am not having sex with you when you can’t even lay on your back,” Y/N huffed. He was leaving a sloppy trail of kisses up and down. 

“Don’t need to lay on my back,” he mumbled. “You can hardly sit up,” she responded. “Don’t care. You’re my mate. My newly found mate,” he said into her neck. “Been dreaming of this for a while now,” he sighed dreamily, sucking on the one spot that made Y/N melt. She could feel the bastard grin before he continued his assault. 

It took a lot to shove him off of her. An extreme amount. All sentimental feelings from their confession were out the window and replaced by need. Pure, lustful need. But he was in pain. And he was her mate, so she pushed him off her. He let out the most un-spymaster like whine. “Y/N why are you doing this to me love?” he groaned. “Because you are injured and like I said, I’m not fucking you until you are at one-hundred percent,” she quipped, standing with more clarity than she had in years. She went over to the little table littered with food. 

“And so I can give you this,” she turned, holding a little apple in her hand. Az’s face softened as she approached. A silent request as she held out her hand. “Are you sure?” he whispered. “Azriel, every piece of me has always belonged to you and it always will. I have never been more sure in my life,” she replied. 

He smiled, grabbing the apple gently from her hands taking a slow bite. Y/N smiled in return before ushering him back down on his cot. “Time to rest, Az,” she said, nestling in next to him. “But I’m perfectly fine for other activities now,” Azriel pouted. Y/N just laughed, running her hands through his soft locks. “I promise when you are fully healed we will partake in those said activities,” she smirked. Azriel grinned and pushed himself upwards, stealing another kiss. Y/N giggled, before placing his head back in her lap. “Sleep now,” she mumbled. Azriel hummed softly as she resumed running her hands through his hair. “I love you,” he whispered before his steady breath evened out. “I love you too.”

[03jyh23]

༘⋆mon's 500 followers special.ᐟ.ᐟ 500-word prompt roulette⟢

🏠┆home in your arms

song mingi x gn! reader

│synopsis: the one where mingi missed you

│genre: fluff

│trigger warnings: none!

│roulette prompt 6 + mingi + galactic

You put the key into the lock, making sure you're quiet enough not to wake Mingi up—your flight was delayed and you landed in the middle of the night. You were about to turn the key when the door suddenly opened. Mingi stood there, his hair disheveled. You smiled at him and wanted to say hi, but before you could open your mouth, Mingi pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. He breathes in your scent, and you can't help but smile against his chest.

"I missed you," he whispers, arms tightening around you. "Don't go away for that long again."

You laugh. "Baby, it was only three days," you say as you gently pull away to peck his lips, but he only pulls you back in, burying his face in your neck.

"Three days too long," he mumbles against your skin, and you can't help but melt into his warmth.

He hums contentedly, swaying you both gently from side to side in the doorway. The cool night air wraps around you both, but you can barely feel it with how warm he keeps you. His fingers trace patterns on your back, and you can tell he won’t let go even for a moment.

"Will you at least let me close the door?" you ask yet your arms tighten around his waist.

Mingi chuckles, "Fine, but only if you promise not to leave my arms for the rest of the night." You smile and nod against him, letting him shuffle backward just enough for you to kick the door closed behind you.

You lock eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to peck his lips. He smiles into it and pulls you closer to kiss you, slowly, lovingly.

"I missed you too, love," you say, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. His eyes are filled with so much love and adoration that it makes your heart skip a beat.

Mingi pulls back slightly, a pout forming on his lips. "You better have missed me just as much," he teases, his eyes twinkling. "I might be devastated if you tell me you didn't think about me every single second you were away."

You giggle, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Every single second? Even when I was sleeping?"

"Especially when you were sleeping," he says with mock seriousness. "I expect detailed reports of all your dreams about me."

You laugh, playing along. "Well, there was this one dream where you were a galactic cowboy, riding through the stars on a glowing space horse..."

Mingi's eyes light up with amusement. "A galactic cowboy? Do tell more."

You can't help but giggle at his eager expression. "You were wearing this ridiculous sparkly spacesuit with cowboy boots and a hat that had little twinkling stars all over it."

He bursts into laughter, the sound warm and rich. "Sounds like quite the fashion statement. Maybe I should try that look sometime."

"Please don't," you say through your giggles, burying your face in his chest. He kisses the top of your head, and you both stay like that for a while.

"Come on," he whispers, tugging you gently toward the bedroom. "Let's get you to bed. You must be exhausted from your flight." You nod sleepily, finally feeling the tiredness settling in now that you're home. As you both curl up under the covers, his arms still wrapped protectively around you, you know that no matter where you go, coming back to him will always feel like coming home.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

♡│please join my 500 followers special!│

[mia-maybank]

I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted: Part 2 - George Clarke

George Clarke x Fem!reader ( 2.2k words)

The sidemen charity match , a gorgeous ex-boyfriend with a mullet and his entire friendgroup scattered around the stands to avoid ... what could ever go wrong?

warnings: angst (they will get their happiness eventually I promise), hints of poor mental health but it's not a heavy focus, arguing.

series | masterlist

Thank you guys so much for the love on the first part! I hope you enjoy this part just as much <3 (also why is trying to write a breakup where both people come out of it looking like a good person so hard help)

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Time feels like it stands still as I shrink under the gaze of the very people I had been intending to avoid at all costs today. I felt like a deer in headlights, a child caught in the act of doing something I wasn't meant to, although I had technically done absolutely nothing wrong, except miss my ex-boyfriend.

The awkward silence stretches on, until Chris, seeming to realise that nobody is eager to be the one to break the silence, clears his throat and turns to look at the crowd of boys behind him.

"Uh, are you guys okay to give us 2 minutes?" he asks, and my stomach drops with a mix of relief at the thought of not being under the scrutinous gaze of all 6 guys any longer, but also dread at the thought of watching George walk away. Again.

2 Months Ago

I sit on the edge of my shared bed with George, picking at my fingers nervously whilst he paces the length of the bedroom, hands intertwined in the ends of his mullet. Usually, when my anxiety heightens and my tendency to pick my fingers raw and red takes over, George is straight over to cradle my hands and soothe my nerves with soft kisses to my knuckles and gentle whispers. Now, however, he can barely look at me, eyes darting around the room restlessly, never landing on one place for too long.

"I just don't like what's happened to us lately" I continue on with the half-conversation-half-argument that has seemed to go around in circles for the last hour, with neither one of us willing to back down, both too stubborn and passionate. It funny, the way the world works; the two traits that once brought us together in the beginning, when times were simpler and we could still dance around the pressures that life threatened to impose, are now the very qualities that may destroy our relationship entirely.

"We've been fine" George argues, sighing from across the room like he's tired of this argument. Usually, he would always hear me out and respect my opinion with the utmost tenderness and follow up with action to prove that he listened to me, however the strain that has loomed over our relationship for the last 2 weeks has taken a toll upon him just as much as it has me. "I've just been busier because I've had shoots with the sidemen - you know I would never avoid you on purpose."

"I know you haven't meant to George, but you have to understand how shit it feels to be pushed to the side suddenly because of work opportunities!" My voice rises now, frustration taking over the rational side of my brain as I felt like I wasn't being heard - something I wasn't used to with George, who was usually so attentive.

"Well maybe you need to understand how shit it feels to be trying to balance constant work commitments, friends, family and a girlfriend when everybody expects you to be perfect!" he snaps back, his face dropping when I flinch back. He tentatively takes a step towards me, and when I don't flinch again, he kneels in front of the bed, grasping my hands in his own and gazing up at me with a look so tender that my heart nearly wrenches itself straight out of my chest.

"Look, I think we’re trying to love each other in ways the other person doesn’t need.” his voice is tender, so tender that it almost doesn't match the cruel words he had previously uttered. "I think maybe we just need a break."

My heart drops at the dreaded words, tears springing to my eyes. But then I look at George's tear-stained, earnest face and know in that instant that I will do anything for this man, even if it involves ripping my heart right out of my chest over and over.

"Okay" I whisper, my voice cracking. "We'll take a break." He knocks his forehead gently against mine and I close my eyes, savouring his warmth against mine. I don't open my eyes when he kisses my forehead, slow and lingering, like he doesn't want to let go, and finally look up just in time to see him leave.

A day passes. I mope in bed. Then comes a week. I finally give up hope of any of our friend group reaching out to me. Then a month. I decide to leave the house for the first time since the breakup but can't find the motivation to make it out of the door. Then two months. And I give up completely.

One by one, the guys take Chris' not so subtle hint and leave. Simon looks between the two of us with poorly-concealed curiosity before turning away, patting George on the shoulder reassuringly as he leaves. Ethan and Max follow quickly, muttering between themselves, whilst Tobi offers me a reassuring smile and Harry a small nod before they continue up the stairs.

George doesn't move.

He finally unfreezes, relaxing his posture and turning towards Chris, his facial expression still irritatingly unreadable.

"Are you okay to give us a minute, mate?" he asks Chris, his voice taking on that gentle tone again that takes me back to the last time we spoke. Chris nods, stepping towards George and whispering something into his ear that makes his face crumple in concern before Chris turns back to me. "We will catch up later properly, alright?" the hopeful tone of his voice chips at the cage I've built around my heart the last two months and I nod, watching him break out in a relieved grin before he heads in the direction of what I guess is the changing rooms.

The silence lingers for a moment , both of us unable to stray our eyes away from each other or form a coherent sentence.

"Hi" I finally settle on. Hi? You've fantasised about this moment for the past 2 months and the best you can come up with is hi? I mentally scold myself, but to my relief his face breaks out into a soft, almost fond smile. God, I've missed that smile so fucking much.

"Hi" he echoes, and I melt inside as the sound of his voice greets my ears.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you on your big day" I apologise, suddenly self-conscious of how psychopathic sneaking around a football match that my ex-boyfriend is playing in seems. "I was planning on just coming to watch quietly and then slipping out without causing a scene, I guess that didn't really go to plan though".

He laughs softly, the sound a soothing melody to my lingering anxieties. "Yeah, you never were the plan maker for good reason". The past tense hurts more than I care to admit, but I force myself to brush it off as he continues to speak. "I'm sorry that you felt like you had to hide from everyone though, we all would have been really happy to see you."

He lets that statement settle for a moment, sitting on a step before patting the spot next to him. I sit down, close enough that our knees knock, and when he doesn't pull away I feel like a teenager with a crush on the boy sat next to her in class. He keeps his gaze steadily trained on mine, continuing with a much more raw, vulnerable edge to his voice now. "We all really miss you, y'know. I miss you".

I can't help the flame of anger that sparks in my chest at the clearly false sentiment, because if they missed me, why did nobody call?

"But...but you didn't call me George" I can't disguise the plain sadness that fills my tone, avoiding his eyes. "Two months and not one person called or texted me ... not once."

When I finally dare to look up, I'm surprised to see tears in his eyes and a flare of panic jolts through my chest at the thought that I might of upset him. I apologise quickly, but he shakes his head softly, his expression only saddening further.

"Don't you dare apologise" he finally utters, causing me to blink in surprise. "Chris told me about how you haven't left your flat since the breakup".

The concern and tears in his eyes suddenly make sense. "That snitching bastard, so that's what he whispered to you" I groan in exasperation and embarrassment, hiding my face in my hands.

He giggles gently, tugging my hands slowly from my face, the sudden contact sending shockwaves of electricity through my body, before much to my disappointment he drops my hands and a serious expression takes over his face once more.

"I'm so, so sorry that you felt isolated like that. Everybody presumed you wanted to be left alone and had moved on with different friends and a new life, but that was a fucking stupid assumption to make and we should have known better and reached out. I hate the thought of you all alone this entire time."

I don't know quite when it happened, but one minute I'm staring at him wordlessly as I process his words and the next I'm violently sobbing. He only hesitates for a fraction of a second before pulling me in, shielding me in his toned arms as I weep into his shoulder and dampen his shirt.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry" he keeps murmuring, and it's not until my sobs subside slightly 15 minutes later that I feel the dampness on the top of my head and realise that he is crying to.

Pulling back just enough to be able to see his expression and wipe the tears gently from his cheeks, I take shuddering breaths and he continues to hold me soothingly, one hand rubbing my back whilst his other thumb draws circles on my waist.

"I missed you" I finally feel brave enough to whisper into the air between us and he instantly pulls me back into a tight embrace.

"That argument two months ago" he murmurs into my hair, rocking us soothingly back and forth. "I've regretted every word I said every single day since. Every. Single. One."

I sniffle into his chest, nodding in agreement. "Me too."

"I wanted to reach out so badly" he admits, continuing to rock me slowly. "I thought you were better off without me, so I didn't. But I know I fucked up now. I carried on with living and filming with our friends like you hadn't just vanished off the face of the earth since our argument and that was so, so fucked up of me to do" his breath hitches and we slowly pull away from each other, assuming our much less intimate positions sat side by side on the steps.

I already missed his warmth, so I knock my leg against his own, relieved when he presses his skin against mine like he needs the contact just as much as I do.

"I did miss being a part of everything" I admit into the quietness of the corridor. "My youtube career, my friendships, me and you ... it all felt like it fell apart that day." I can barely stand to look at him, for the amount of guilt and pain his expression holds is almost unbearable.

"I'd like to prove to you again that you still have all that" he mutters almost shyly.

"Huh?" I furrow my brows, not understanding his statement.

"Your channel. Your friends. Me.. we are all still here if you want us." he lets out softly. "I know I sure as hell don't deserve your forgiveness but-".

"George" I interrupt softly before he can fall too far into his self-internalising guilt-fuelled spiral. "I messed up too. I could've reached out and I didn't."

His brow furrows. "Still not your fault" he counters, so familiarly stubborn that I almost giggle giddily despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Want to come say hi to everyone?" he asks almost sheepishly. "I know they all want to see you.. and we are going for drinks after.. only if you want to come, no pressure of course" he tacks on quickly at the end.

"Are you sure? I don't want to make it awkward or weird" I hesitate, doubt clawing at my insides.

"You won't, I promise" he sticks his pinkie out and I smile fondly at his childishness, linking my pinkie with his and allowing him to pull me up towards the lions den.

Well, here goes nothing.

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Part 3 will be out in the next few days wehehe ... also I feel like I suck at writing dialogue so I do apologise

Tags:

@the-internets-girlfriend @madforgeorge @happyclifford @sidemenslver @heyitsmefall @bbygrlllllll @mothersversiononly @dopeysunflowers @kwonhoeshi @ooostarwarsfandom501st @liz140569 @artvscvntymullet @livvymd

Also everybody who asked to be on my tag list in the comments of part 1 is it just for this series or for any george fics/ ukyt fics in general? Just so I know what to tag you guys in :)

[ambrosiagoldfish]

Can you write more Adam fics plz there so freaking good

Benefit of the Doubt PT.2

Adam x 3rd Spouse! Reader

Viewer discretion is advised

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff to Angst to comfort, General Adam TW’s, Reader lowkey-highkey has a complex about being loved, Panic attack (I’m not even sure if this is correct term or not), Adam is afraid of heights (makes sense in story) This is set way before the show, and Gn! Reader (Y/n is once again not used lol)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Request Box: Open

Word count: 3136

A/N: Hi! I’d like to Thank you all for the love and support on Part 1! It means a lot that you all enjoyed it as I loved writing it! I’d also like to apologize for this being a week late, I honestly had 0 idea on how to start this one and then a bunch of stuff in my life happened, so it was a mess.

So as an apology I tried to make this one longer than the first! (I seemed to go a little overboard but it’s fine)

Anyways I hope you all enjoy part 2 to ‘Benefit of the doubt’ and as always, if you do, please tell me if want another part in replies/requests/DM’s!

Proofread but of course could have missed something

Tags: @tired-of-life-86

To think love could feel this good.

You were made for it, to give it, receive it… You’ve waited your entire existence for this love, This closeness. It doesn’t even feel real now, even as you’re walking down the golden lined streets of heaven with his arm wrapped around you, all while you’ve been showing him around. The best places to eat, entertainment, or just a nice park. You made sure to show him all of it.

He kept his wings tucked to his sides, the gold contrasting with the white of his robe. The feathers at first glance looked sharp, but now, being so close to him, you could see each of them individually and how soft they must be.

“Hey Sweetcheeks, my eyes are up here”

You jump slightly “Sorry… Adam.” You avert your eyes away from him and focus them in front of you.

Adam laughed “I didn’t say you had to fuxkin’ to stop”

His wings truly were beautiful. It was hard to keep your eyes off them. Adam had only got to heaven recently, it made you wonder if he had the chance to use them yet. You remember when you were first created, wings took forever to get used to. You crashed and fell so many times before you figured out how to use them

Properly.

“Ok seriously, you keep staring, what the fxck is up with you?”

“It’s nothing, just…. Have you tried out your wings yet?”

“Uh, yeah totally, they’re rad as hell” Adam’s voice drifted off, the LED eyes of his mask looking away from you as you both walked. Was he… lying? Why would he lie?

You quickly walked in front of Adam, leaving his warm embrace, gently you took his hands as your wings picked you off the ground. The gust of wind with each flap softly blew around you.

“Well, come on, it will be faster than walking.” Your voice was soft and airy. Slowly, so very slowly, you lifted yourself higher from the ground, Adam’s hands locked firmly in yours, as he was pulled with you in the air.

“W-Wait a- shit- Wait a- motherfuxking second“ Adam yelled strand after strand of curses as you both lifted further and further into the air. His body flailed and his legs kicked against nothing. You pull him to you, his arms quickly snake around your waist, holding on for his dear After-life.

“Adam… did you lie to me?” Your voice was still so soft, so calm, so sweet.

“Fuck- yes I lied, I’m sorry, so put me the fuck down you crazy asshole-“ Vulgar as ever, his voice had fear in it, the LED eyes were forced shut and his grip around you was getting tighter and tighter.

Your arms wrapped around Adam’s head as you laid back, letting The wind breeze from the air pull and push you along its path with your wings soaring through the clouds..

“Adam, it’s ok, I promise you’re fine, all you have to do is open your eyes.”

You pet the back of his neck trying to sooth him which seemed to work after a few seconds. Adam didn’t want to, he really didn’t want to open his eyes. But the longer he kept them close, the more you would whisper soft words of encouragement to him. Eventually, his eyes slowly but surely opened.

“See? There is nothing to be scared of. I’ve got you.”

You hold him closer in your embrace. Adam looked below, the white vastness of heaven’s clouds beneath you both felt unreal, but as amazing a sight it was, Adam’s grip on you didn’t loosen.

“So… I’m guessing you don’t know how to fly yet?” You laugh a little, rubbing a spot on his back, just between his wings comfortingly.

Adam huffed and looked away “oh! I couldn’t fxcking see that!”

You held him close to you. The embrace seemed never ending, and you loved every second of it. Feeling the warmth of his plump body next to you was like a dream come true.

“Here let me just…”

You moved your hands slowly down his arms, caressing the soft flesh as they moved to eventually be at his hands behind you. You began to leisurely undo the grip he had around you.

“What do you think you're doing-“

“Shhh, relax, just trust me, ok?”

With each finger being removed from you, the grip lessened bit by bit, until eventually his hands were fully in yours. Your face leaned closer to his,

“Come on, just give your wings a good flap, trust me.”

“Ugh…. Fine but I swear to god if you let go-“

“I won’t.” Your voice was firm, yet still remained reassuring.

Adam didn’t want to do this. He really didn’t want to. But what other choice did he have? He gruffs and extends his wings from his body. The wind brushed and tickled at his feathers. The way the light hit them caused a glare of gold to be cast from them, enveloping you both. Then, he gave two hard flaps of his wings, he lifted up slightly before quickly falling back to where he was.

“There you go! Now keep doing that.”

Adam continued, his wings slowly pushing him up and up before being sent back down when he stopped. This repeated for a few minutes until he finally got a grip on it. The entire time, you were laughing. Pure unadulterated laughs of joy.

Truly, to think love could feel this good?

“See? You're a natural!”

“Of course I am! I’m the Original Dick, obviously I’d… be good at this… flying… shit.” With all the parading he was doing he kept forgetting to use his wings causing him to fall. ‘A natural’ may have been an overstatement on your part, but hey? At least he hasn’t fallen flat on his face yet!

Gently, you led him through air, giving him reassurance every few feet you flew, never letting go. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours. Before you knew it a brisk orange sunset encased you both with its hue. That’s when you realized just how long you both had been flying.

“You must be tired with sightseeing all day… I think it’s time we go home and rest, yeah?”

“Home?” Adam’s voice sounded for a moment genuinely confused. Had he not been told he’d have a place to live in heaven? As much respect you had for Sera, you’ll have to file a complaint to avoid this with future souls.

You gripped his hand and opened your wings letting the wind lead you through the clouds and above the city. The angels below look like ants at the height you both were. It was peaceful, the flight back home. But it did seem… off? So… quiet? You couldn’t put it together, at least not at the moment, But Adam hadn’t spoken a word since you both left.

Adam, while yes, he was initially confused, it made sense to him, why wouldn’t heaven have a place for its people, a place for each of them to relax, to feel safe, happy, at home.

Home was such a weird word for Adam. Has he ever felt like a place was his ‘home’? The closest thing to it was the Garden of Eden but even that proved to be anything but a home for him. Ever since that snake entered his garden.

No. He can’t think about that now. He doesn’t want to have to think about that again. But oh-do thoughts love to worm their way back into your mind when you least want them to. He’s snaps out of his thoughts when your voice picks up

“Ok, we’re here! Just get yourself settled in and I’ll go make us something to eat. I didn't really know what food you’d like so I mainly just have junk food… I hope that's ok.”

Adam nods his head nonchalantly

You smile, waking him over to the small, plush couch in the living room and handing him a blanket and some pillows. Telling him to wait a second as you fetch some food, leaving him alone.

Adam thought your house seemed welcoming enough, ‘well… our house’ Adam thought. The living room was dark aside from a few luminous lights around the room as well as the small blue gleam from the windows from the night sky.

The couch was comfortable and the pillows just as much. And the blanket you gave him was soft and warm. This really was heaven, huh?

His thoughts are, once again, interrupted by your voice, “Ok here we go, I’ve got snacks and some soda” you say, handing him some of the many food you ravaged from your fridge and sitting beside him, wrapping yourself in the shared blanket.

Grabbing the remote lying next to you, you flick on the TV flipping through the channel before ending on a cheesy sitcom, you keep the volume low wanting to enjoy any conversation with Adam. Except… he never started one. So that’s what felt off.

The entire time you flew back home, got snacks and found something to watch. He hadn't said a word. You may not have known him long but even you had already picked up that he was an advid talker in a conversation.

“Is… everything ok Adam?” You whispered, not want to scare him with your random words.

“What kind of question is that, I’m fxcking fine… I’m fine.” His voice trailed off at the end almost getting as quiet as yours.

“Are you sure cause-“

“I said I’m fuxking fine!” His voice roared through the dark room. Gritty and callous, but you could tell it was meant to hide something. Something he didn’t want you to see.

“I’m sorry…” you paused. What did you want to say from here? What could you say? You took a deep breath and tried to continue. “I… I know I said this earlier… when Sera left.”

Adam’s LED mask looked away from you half shut eyes and a frown forming a scowl on it, but still he let you continue.

“But I’m going to say it again anyways cause… I mean it. I’m really happy to have you here. To finally have you home” you place your arm around Adam’s back rubbing it soothingly as let your head slowly lax onto him, gently cuddling close to him.

That word again… home. That’s all he could think about ever since he first heard you say it. Why? Why couldn’t he get it out of his head? His breathing was becoming unsteady with each new thought and image his brain made. Lilith and Eve, they were made to be apart of his home, for him to be apart of their homes. So why? Why did it end that way?

Suddenly Adam leap from the couch as fast as he could, the shear force knocking you to the other side of the couch, sending the food to scatter and drinks to spill to the floor.

“Adam!?” Your voice was frightened at the sudden movement. Adam looked just as frightened as you, at least from what you could tell through the LED mask. He suddenly began running, where? he didn’t know, the rooms in the house looked the same. But all he knew is that he needed to be away from you. You followed quickly behind him and pleaded for him to tell you what was wrong, but eventually he ran into a room and locked the door.

He looked around, already out of breath. He was in a bathroom. He felt his knees give out under him as he tried to slowly sit down by the tub. His breath heavy, it was hard to breathe, this stupid mask. He needed it off. But just as he went to do so,

*rattle rattle rattle*

The doorknob began to move followed by frantic knocking on the door.

“Adam! Are you ok?!” Your voice pleaded through the wood of the door.

“Fuxk- I'm fine! How many times do I have to tell you that shit” his voice cracked a few times followed by a strand of curses leaving his lips.

Home. The word repeated like a mantra in his head. Like it was mocking him. Was he not meant to have a place he called a home? To have someone to return to, who would tell him “welcome back!” Without even being told to?

Lilith hated him, Eve betrayed and hurt him like no one else before, ever. They were made to be with him, one was literally made to be his other half. The garden, his home, was taken from him because of something, someone he couldn’t control. it all comes back to him. That albino snake in the grass.

Lucifer, ‘The dreamer’… was this some sort of game to him? To toy with his emotions, treat him like some kind of plaything to mess with, to screw over? What kind of life was it? To have every opportunity and opening be broken down by him, And Adam being powerless to stop it?

“Adam! Please open the door!” Your voice was even more frantic now, knocking every few seconds before it quickly quieted down. Your body slumped against the door.

“Adam… I’m sorry if I hurt you or… or if I was going too fast… I didn't mean to… I’m so sorry…” your breath hitched with tears.

And then there was you.

You have been nothing but kind to him since you met him. You showed him around heaven, taught him how to fly and welcomed him home without having being told to. You were so different. So, so very different. Adam figure that out a while ago now. But in reality, it’s exactly why he was terrified.

To have someone who loves him so... unconditionally.

*click*

The sound of the door unlocking drew your attention and was followed by it slowly opening from Adam on the other side, still on the floor.

“Adam!” Your voice was low, already tired from crying. You crawled your way toward him before stopping in front of him, tears still falling from your face, “I’m sorry Adam, I’m sorry-“ you were cut off by a quick movement.

Warmth enveloped you, clouding your senses as a soft weight laid onto you. Arms wrapped their way around you in an embrace.

“Shit- it's not your fault, it was never your fault…” Adam’s voice was surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to his regular tone. Sincerity evident with each word. All you could do was hide into his large frame and cry at the words.

Adam was never good at comforting people. He himself was never comforted, so the concept was more than a bit foreign to him. But even still, he tried. Slowly he helped you both up from the bathroom floor and made your way back to the couch.

The floor was covered in the discarded food you both left behind. The spilled soda is now dried and sticky. Crumbs everywhere.

“Here.. let me get a mop and broom-“

“No just sit down, I’ll clean up the shit I made” you lay down on the couch and watched as Adam swept and mopped the mess from the floor. The entire time the silence hung in the air by a thread. Neither of you wanting to be the one to snap the string and speak.

Finally Adam got done cleaning the mess and made his way to the couch. He sat down and gestured for you to come closer. Crawling over to him, he wrapped the blanket around you both allowing you to snuggle into him.

“Do…” your voice barely audible “Do you want to talk about it?”

Adam looked hesitant but nodded.

“You know about everything, right? About… what all happened in Eden?

You nod against his chest content on listening.

“When… When Lilith left me, I thought I didn't care as much as I did. I thought she was a bitch and that was that. And it didn’t help that as soon as she left, I got Eve…”

He paused

“Then, when I found out about that shit between Eve and Lucifer… I didn’t care then either, but I didn’t understand why…” his voice hitched “but when I ate that damn apple… I realized how hurt I should have been. All the concepts of right and wrong, good and evil, learning all of it through that fruit, I realized one shitty truth… that the one I loved betrayed me.”

You hugged him tighter softly, your hands caressed his stomach as some form of comfort before he continued.

“For the same person- Both of them for that snake…”

“Adam… I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“And that’s why… I’m scared. Scared that I will fuxk up again and get… attached to you. Because every. single. time. He ruins it. And I don't want to see that happen with you.”

Your heart ached for him, the saddening look of his LED mask as he talked only furthered your emotions. Slowly your hands made their way to his face, he looks at you confused, your fingertips crept under the mask before his hand shot up and held your wrist slightly, carefully not holding it too tight.

“Sorry fuck- I’m.. I’m not ready.”

You smile and nod understanding “Adam. I love you… with all of my heart. And I would never do what those two done to you. “

Adam thought for a moment deciding what to say.

“Promise?” was all he could think of, his voice, mind, and body were all too tired to speak more about it.

You slowly remove your hands from his mask, instead taking one of his hands into yours.

“I promise, I would never betray you, let alone talk to that man” ever-so lightly, a soft golden glow burned between yours and Adam’s hands, the gold flame was warm and comforting to both of you as it rose and grew in strength.

From the flame, a string wrapped and warped itself around both yours and Adam’s pinky fingers. The string tightened and loosened as it moved, before finally melting away leaving only two solid gold rings behind, One on Adam’s finger and the other on yours.

“What the hell was that?” Adam’s voice was filled with bewilderment

“A deal- or I guess a promise. In this case”

“Shit, You didn’t have to do that-“ this time it was your turn to interrupt him. You bring Adam’s hand to your lips, and give a kiss on his newly formed ring before lying down and cuddling into Adam.

“I know.”

For once in his life, Adam felt at ease with love. How easy it was to fall for you.

Is this what home feels like?