#He leans his weight on me a lot and he is so LIGHT like

[libingan]

—how the tf141 are like when they’re sick.

im sick. that’s literally my only motivation to write this.

i feel like absolute shit but holy fuck i wanted to write this so pls enjoy

no horny juice rn, so its all fluff

JOHN PRICE

when price gets sick, it’s almost like he’s in denial about it. he’s the type to downplay everything—says it’s just a little cough, just a bit of a sore throat. but then, as the fever starts creeping up, you see the cracks in his usual solid demeanor. he’s flushed, his breathing a bit labored, and when you gently place the back of your hand on his forehead, he swats you away at first, grumbling that he’s fine.

“you don’t have to worry about me,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice steady. but the cough that rattles through his chest betrays him, and eventually, even he can’t deny it anymore.

you coax him into bed, tucking the blankets around his broad frame, and he grumbles under his breath about how ridiculous this all is. he’s not used to being taken care of—he’s the captain, the one in charge, and letting someone fuss over him isn’t in his nature. but there’s a moment when you bring him some tea, and he accepts it quietly, his eyes softening just a little as he watches you.

“i’ve had worse,” he rasps, his voice thick with congestion, but when you sit beside him, he leans into the warmth of your presence, even if he won’t admit it. he tries to stay in control, tries to ask about your day or if there’s any work that needs to be done, but you can see how tired he is. when he finally gives in to sleep, his hand rests loosely on yours, a silent acknowledgment that he’s glad you’re there, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK

gaz is the worst when he’s sick, and he knows it. he tries to be strong about it, but the minute the fever sets in, he’s a mess of sniffles, groans, and dramatic sighs. you find him sprawled out on the couch, a blanket barely covering him as he flips through channels, looking utterly miserable.

“i feel like death,” he complains when you sit next to him, and despite the obvious exaggeration, he looks pitiful enough that you can’t help but smile. he’s not usually one to be overly needy, but when he’s sick? he’s all about the attention.

you bring him some soup, and he gives you a weak smile, propping himself up just enough to take a sip. “you’re an angel,” he mumbles, but even that little bit of gratitude is followed by a dramatic cough that makes you roll your eyes.

he’s restless, constantly shifting under the blankets and complaining about how bored he is, how much he hates feeling like this. you offer to stay with him, and his eyes light up, a mischievous glint behind the obvious exhaustion. “you gonna keep me company?” he teases, voice thick with congestion. “or are you just here to make sure i don’t die on the couch?

you settle in beside him, and even though he’s feeling awful, he still cracks jokes, trying to keep things light. but there’s a quiet moment where he leans into you, his head resting on your shoulder as he drifts off to sleep, his breathing finally evening out. you stay there, feeling the weight of him against you, knowing that as much as he’s complaining, he appreciates you being there.

JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

soap is absolutely insufferable when he’s sick, and he knows it. at first, he tries to play it off—still bouncing around, still grinning, still acting like everything’s fine. but then the fever hits, and it’s like watching a hurricane get knocked flat. he’s sprawled out on the bed, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable no matter what he does.

you bring him a glass of water, and he gives you that familiar, cocky grin, even though he’s clearly not feeling well. “you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he rasps, taking the water and downing it in one go. his voice is rough, but there’s still that glint of mischief in his eyes. “ye know, if i weren’t sick, we could be havin’ a lot more fun right now.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the way his teasing makes your heart flutter. he’s always been like this—flirty, cheeky, always pushing your buttons. even now, as he’s lying there, feverish and miserable, he can’t resist making a comment.

“don’t suppose you’ll give me a wee cuddle, eh?” he grins, shifting on the bed and patting the spot beside him. “might help me feel better.”

you know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, but when you settle next to him, he actually quiets down for a moment, resting his head on your shoulder. his skin is warm, almost too warm, and you can feel the tension in his muscles as he tries to get comfortable

“don’t worry,” he mumbles, his voice soft now. “i’ll be back to my usual self soon enough. ye won’t be able to keep yer hands off me.” despite his words, he’s clearly exhausted, and when he finally drifts off, he’s peaceful for once, his usual energy gone, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

when ghost gets sick, it’s like he’s trying to hide it from the world. he’s not the type to show weakness, not even to you, and it takes a lot for him to admit that he’s not feeling well. but eventually, even he can’t fight it off anymore, and you find him in bed, eyes closed, the tension in his body betraying how much he’s struggling.

he doesn’t say much when you sit beside him, offering him some medicine and a glass of water. he just nods, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes the glass, the touch brief but enough to let you know he’s thankful for your presence.

he’s quiet—always quiet—but even more so when he’s sick. there’s no grumbling, no complaining, just the occasional shift of his body as he tries to get comfortable. you adjust the blankets around him, and his eyes flicker open for a moment, dark and heavy with exhaustion.

“you don’t have to stay,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. but there’s no force behind his words, no real intent for you to leave. in fact, the way his eyes follow you as you move around the room tells you that he doesn’t want to be alone, even if he won’t admit it.

you sit beside him, and for a while, there’s just the sound of his breathing, slow and labored. he doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t demand your attention, but the way his hand occasionally brushes against yours is enough. he’s not used to being taken care of, but he lets you stay, lets you be the quiet comfort he needs.

eventually, his breathing evens out, and he falls into a restless sleep. you watch over him, knowing that even though he doesn’t say much, your presence is enough to ease some of the weight he’s carrying, even if only for a little while.

[pretzel-box]

REVERSE AU MASTERLIST HERE

PART 7 : A cure so sweet

Tags: Reverse AU, Fluff, Established Relationship, Lots of cute interactions, sick sebby

Words: 1,3k

If Sebastian hated one thing above all, it was feeling sick. That strange, sickly sensation would settle deep in his bones, weighing down his every movement. His nose constantly ran, and sneezes came out of nowhere, only adding to the misery. Hiding from monsters in a deadly facility was already hard enough, but being sick made it almost unbearable.

Fortunately, he had you—a brilliant partner with a shop filled with a strange assortment of junk, some of it actually useful.

"Aw, come here, Sebastian!" The moment he stepped in, you pulled him into the warmth of your shop. Several heaters hummed along the walls, and Sebastian already knew you’d make him settle in his usual spot, close to one of them.

Sebastian groaned as he slumped into his designated spot near the heater. His head was heavy, and he shivered despite the warmth. You knelt down in front of him as best as you could with a soft, concerned smile, your hands already busy. A blanket appeared out of nowhere (probably pulled out from one of the shelves), and before he could protest, you draped it around his shoulders.

"You're worse than I thought," you teased lightly, brushing his messy raven hair away from his forehead. "You always try to power through it, but not today."

He gave a half-hearted grumble, but leaned into your touch, appreciating the small moments of comfort. "I’m fine," he muttered, but the rasp in his voice betrayed him. "Just need to—"

"Nope." You cut him off, placing a gentle finger on his lips. "Today, you’re resting, no excuses. I’ll handle everything."

Sebastian sighed, but the softness in your eyes melted his resistance. You moved away briefly, returning with a cup of hot tea. "Here, it's ginger. It'll help with your throat. I found it recently in a cupboard down the hall near a break room.”

He took the cup, his fingers brushing against yours. "Thanks," he murmured, taking a sip and wincing at the sharpness of the ginger, but the warmth spread through him, soothing his throat. "You always know what I need."

"I know you better than you think," you said with a grin, settling beside him.

He glanced at you, eyes softening. "I'm lucky to have you."

You leaned in, resting your head on his shoulder. "You always take care of me in the chaos out there. Let me take care of you now."

Sebastian’s lips curved into a faint smile as he closed his eyes, leaning into your warmth. The world outside might be a mess, but in this small shop, with you beside him, he felt a little less broken.

Sebastian let out a long sigh, sinking further into the blanket as you pressed closer to him. The warmth from the heater mixed with the comfort of your touch, and for the first time all day, he felt a bit of the tension leave his body. He placed the half-empty cup of tea on the floor beside him, his hands finding their way to you, pulling a part of you gently onto his lap.

"You know," he whispered, his voice still hoarse, "you make it really hard for me to stay grumpy."

You smiled, shifting so you could wrap your arms around his neck, your noses nearly touching. "That's the plan," you said softly, brushing a light kiss against his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut, the simple gesture easing away the lingering weight of sickness. "I like it when you're all soft like this," you teased, your voice dropping to a quiet murmur.

Sebastian chuckled weakly, his hands slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. "Only for you," he whispered back, his voice low and rough but filled with affection.

The moment hung between you both, thick with the warmth of shared comfort. You leaned in again, this time pressing a tender kiss against his lips. It was slow, gentle—like neither of you wanted to break the moment. He kissed you back, lazy and soft, as if all the energy he had left was reserved just for you.

When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together, and Sebastian's eyes stayed closed, his breathing steady. You shifted slightly, nestling into him, your head resting in the crook of his neck. His arms instinctively tightened around you, his hand slowly tracing circles on your back.

"You know you don’t have to push yourself so hard," you whispered against his skin, your breath warm and comforting.

"I’m used to it," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. "But with you… it’s different. You make me want to slow down. Just… be here."

You smiled against his neck, letting your lips brush against his skin before you placed a lingering kiss there. "Then stay here," you said, your voice tender. "With me."

Sebastian let out a content hum, shifting slightly to pull you even closer. "I think I could get used to this," he whispered, his lips finding yours again in a slow, lingering kiss, as if time itself could pause in the warmth of your embrace.

Sebastian sighed softly into the kiss, his lips barely brushing against yours as he held you close, the warmth between you both making the world outside feel distant. When you finally pulled back, your fingers instinctively moved up to his hair, threading through the soft strands and gently stroking his scalp. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut once more as a content hum escaped his throat.

But then, a small frown appeared on his face as a particular thought hit him too late. He shifted slightly beneath you, as if something was gnawing at the back of his mind. "Hey," he murmured, his voice still raspy. "You should probably keep some distance... I don't want to get you sick."

You paused your gentle strokes, tilting your head to meet his gaze. He looked so torn—worried, even in the middle of all the comfort you'd been giving him. His brow furrowed slightly, like he was already kicking himself for letting you get this close while he wasn't feeling well.

"Sebastian..." you whispered softly, brushing a thumb against his cheek. "You know I don’t care about that."

He opened his mouth to protest, but you silenced him with a gentle kiss—quick, reassuring, filled with all the affection you'd been holding for him. His breath hitched slightly, his hands tightening around your waist, but before he could get another word in, you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

"I’m not going anywhere," you said, your voice firm but full of warmth. "You’re stuck with me, sickness and all." You gave him a soft, teasing smile, your fingers resuming their gentle motions through his hair. "Besides, what kind of partner would I be if I didn’t take care of you?"

Sebastian’s face softened, but his concern lingered. "I just… I don’t want you feeling like this," he muttered, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your hip.

"Maybe I will," you shrugged playfully, "but we’ll deal with that later. Right now, all I care about is making sure you feel better."

His heart swelled at your words, and the way you kept running your fingers through his hair was slowly breaking down his resolve. He leaned his head against your chest, his eyes closing again as he let out a deep breath. "You’re impossible," he murmured, though his tone was soft, affectionate.

You grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "And you love it."

"Yeah..." he whispered, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. "I really do."

For a moment, you both stayed like that—Sebastian curled up in your arms, his worries slowly fading as you held him close, your fingers moving rhythmically through his hair. The warmth between you was more than just physical; it was the kind of comfort only you could give him, a sense of peace that no amount of chaos in the world could take away.

"You’re everything to me, you know that?" His voice was quiet, almost as if he was afraid to say it aloud.

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you gently tilted his head up so you could look into his eyes. "And you’re everything to me," you replied softly, leaning down to kiss him again, slow and deep, as if you could pour all the love you felt for him into that one moment.

Sebastian kissed you back, his worries finally slipping away as he melted into your touch.

It took exactly two weeks till you were bedridden and absolutely sick, crying out loud for your boyfriend.

[letsgetrowdy43]

Midnight magic—

Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Request: 🐞 with Jack and "i couldn't kiss you all day! let me make up for it now." please <333

Warnings/notes: I'm back to slowly working through the remaining requests!! Also no warnings other than making out!

[Closed] End of summer celebration!!

Midnight at the lake house had become a sacred time between Jack and Luke's best friend. The latest hours of the night were dedicated to quiet confessions of feelings and lust fuelled secret kisses, a stark contrast to the days when they pretended to be nothing more than acquaintances.

Jack had never expected to fall for her. She was Luke's best friend from university, someone he’d known for a few years but never truly seen the way he did now.

At first, she was just the girl who tagged along with Luke, who cracked jokes, who beat him at cup pong a few times every summer.

But then something shifted.

The summer nights grew longer, the air warmer, and suddenly, Jack found himself stealing glances at her whenever she laughed, lingering in the kitchen just to talk to her a little longer. It was almost pathetic how he switched up, going from not caring to feeling the urge to know every little detail about her.

Now, these midnight rendezvous had become their little secret.

When the others were asleep or too deep into late-night card games to notice, they’d slip away. Out into the stillness of the night, the lake reflecting the soft glow of the moon, the world quiet save for the gentle rustle of trees in the summer breeze. It was as if they were out of sight and out of mind to the others, and they loved just how easily it was to sneak away to back in the glory of the other even if it was just for a few moments.

Tonight was no different, Jack had waited all day, watching her from across the table at breakfast, from the dock while they swam, and even at dinner when she sat beside Luke, laughing at his jokes. It had been torture not being able to touch her, not being able to kiss her. But the risk of anyone finding out, especially Luke, was too high. So, they kept their distance, only to find each other again under the cover of night hidden away from the rest of the sleeping housemates.

Jack leaned against the back of the house, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, waiting for her to join him outside, where they could talk as loudly as they felt and be as intimate as possible without fearing any unwanted eyes.

She appeared quietly, like always, slipping out the back door, the silhouette of her figure illuminated by the soft glow of the porch light. Her steps were light and careful as she walked towards him, and his heart began to race like it always did whenever she came near, her smile small as his hoodie hung loosely on her frame.

As she approached, she smiled—one that made his chest tighten in a way that only she could. Without a word, Jack pulled her into his arms, pressing her back against the wall of the house, their bodies close, but still careful. He studied her face, a slow grin spreading across his lips.

"I couldn’t kiss you all day," Jack whispered, his voice low, teasing. He gently brushed his thumb against her cheek, the touch sending shivers down her spine, "let me make up for it now." Her eyes flickered up to his, playful and full of the same longing that had been simmering all day, "you think that’s gonna cut it?" she teased back, her voice soft but daring, "you’ve got a lot to make up for, Hughes."

He chuckled, the sound low and rough, as he closed the gap between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that had been waiting for hours to happen. It was slow at first, soft as if he was savouring the moment. But it quickly deepened, his hands tightening on her waist as she curled her fingers into the soft material of his hoodie, pulling him closer like she couldn’t get enough of him.

That is the thing about the little arrangement between them, it was everything. It was silent and hidden, but it held the weight of the world. All the secret touches, the unspoken glances, and everything that remained between them was like ignition that lit this intense sense of romance of fire.

Jack broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against her lips, "Missed you all day." Her breath was ragged as she smiled into the next kiss, "you saw me all day," she said smugly, fully understanding the feeling of needing the other in ways that they couldn't be open about, but she also liked to hear him say it aloud. "Doesn’t count," he whispered back, gently pouting while shaking his head before pressing his forehead to hers, their breath, "not like this."

The world as Jack kissed her again, more slowly this time, savoring every second of it. Each kiss felt like it was full of the things they couldn’t say in front of everyone else, the feelings they had to hide.

His hands slid up her sides, brushing the hem of her sweater as he pulled her closer, kissing her as though he was making up for every hour they’d spent apart. She melted into him, her body pressing against his as hsi fingers found the freshly showered curls at the name of his neck, and for a moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

They pulled away after what felt like forever but was likely only a minute, their foreheads still pressed together, their breathing ragged before she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his jaw and then one to his cheekbone.

"We’re gonna get caught one of these days," she said in between kisses as his arms wrapped around her torso, a teasing lilt to her voice as he tried to bite back a grin. Jack smirked, brushing his lips against her once more before replying, "not tonight, but eventually, most definatley."

She laughed softly, her hands still holding him close as they stood there, the world quiet around them. "I think I'd be okay with that," she mumbled as she weighed out the theoretical pros and cons. "I'd most definitely be okay with it," he shrugged as she grinned at his nonchalantness, loving the idea of being openly able to show his growing feelings for her.

Midnight at the lake house had become their time, a place where they didn’t have to hide, where they could just be. But for how long, they didn’t know.

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This was really quickly made so if it's bad don't tell me, I'll cry.

[sweet-villain]

Finish the Song~ Eddie Munson ~

Author's Note : I am just writing here, and have no idea where I going honestly. But it flows and hope you like it!

Angst

Eddie stood frozen on the fringe of the living room, his gaze riveted on you and Steve. Laughter erupted between you two, a sound that twisted like a knife in his gut. He squinted, just in time to see Steve lean in, his arm draping casually over your shoulders.

“What the hell?” Eddie muttered, his grip on the red cup tightening to the point of crumpling it.

With a decisive huff, he glanced around the room and spotted Chrissy Cunningham. Why not, right? “Hey, Chrissy!” he called, waving her over.

“What’s up, Eddie?” she chimed, her smile bright as fairy lights hanging from the ceiling.

“Wanna hang out?” He slipped his arm around her waist, the gesture feeling foreign yet strangely exhilarating. Just as his eyes caught yours, he saluted you with a smirk.

You caught the smile—flirting, no doubt. And just like that, the pang in his chest blossomed into a challenge.

“Stop worrying over him,” Steve said, his voice cutting through the noise.

“I’m not,” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

Steve snorted, amusement flickering across his face. “You should tell him how you feel. The breakup was a mistake.”

“He will never forgive me,” you murmured, wiping your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater, the din of the party swirling around, amplifying your discomfort.

Eddie’s heart sank. So she still cared. The game was just getting started.

Quiet laughter bubbled up from a nearby group of partygoers, their revelry casting a haze over the room. Eddie levered closer to Chrissy, every chuckle and cheer echoing like thunder in his ears, competing with the pitiful thud of his heart.

“C’mon,” he said to Chrissy, holding his cup aloft. “Let’s grab a drink. Nothing like a party to take your mind off things, right?”

“Sure!” she chirped, her enthusiasm infectious as she beamed up at him.

As they walked towards the makeshift bar in the corner, Eddie couldn’t help but glance back at you.

You stood there, leaning slightly against the wall, your laughter ming ling with the pulsating beats of the music, but your eyes had a distant look—hope tinged with uncertainty.

“Here you go,” Eddie said, pouring himself another cup from a bottle of cheap beer. It fizzed and bubb led over the rim—a tiny explosion in his hand. He didn’t care; he was on a mission.

Turning back to Chrissy, he leaned in closer, the warmth of her body against his side igniting something reckless within him. “So , how’s it going with the cheer squad?”

“Oh, you know,” Chrissy said, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder, her smile bright and unfiltered. “Just the usual—lots of practices, but I’m pretty sure we are going to win this year’s championship.”

Eddie chuckled, the sound coming easily as he studied her. “You’ve always been a champ. I bet it’s hard to keep all those stuck-up girls in line, huh?”

Cocking her head, Chrissy laughed, a melodic tinkle that made his pulse quicken. “It’s a challenge, for sure, but they mean well. Besides, it’s nice to have you around as a fan.” She shot him a playful wink, which only fueled his bravado.

“Always your biggest fan, Chrissy,” he said, leaning in with feigned seriousness. “In fact, I think I might need an exclusive meet-and-greet after all those championships. “Fancy,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. “I’ll hold you to that, Munson.”

Eddie barely registered the laughter and chatter around him, too focused on the way her smile lit up against the chaotic backdrop of the party. But once again, he felt the weight of your gaze. You were standing with Steve, a bubble of conversation that felt too intimate, too careless for his liking.

“Hey, you okay?” Chrissy asked, her voice interrupted by a laugh from the group, pulling his attention back to her. She’d cocked her head, concern etching her delicate features.

“Just fine,” Eddie reassured, forcing a grin that felt unsteady on his lips. “Just keeping busy with you, right?”

You were leaning against the wall, half-turned toward Steve, and he caught a glimpse of the way your eyes sparkled, even while your mouth quirked into a frown as you caught another glimpse of him and Chrissy together. He felt a strange thrill at the thought—if you were watching, then this game was far from over.

“Eddie! Come on!” one of his friends shouted from the other side of the room, interrupting his thoughts. They waved him over, their voices blurring into an unrecognizable haze of excitement and alcohol. He momentarily considered the risk of abandoning Chrissy, but the challenge of holding your attention drew him back to the edge of the chaos.

“Hey, it looks like they need you!” Chrissy said, her voice bright with encouragement. “Go on, I’ll be right here.”

Eddie hesitated, his gaze flickering back to you and Steve. You were mid-conversation, but his mind fixated on the laughter you shared—was it genuine? Or was it simply a façade?

“Yeah, I just—” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Chr issy, who was watching him with curious eyes. “I’ll just be a second.”

“Go,” she urged, laughter still in her voice.

With a nod, he pushed away from her side, weaving through the crowd. His heart raced as he navigated the throng of bodies until he stood across from you and Steve. Your laughter danced on the air, sweet yet taunting. Eddie’s jaw tightened, his fingers itching to grab your attention.

Instead, he tried to focus on Steve.

“Hey!” Eddie called out, forcing a grin. “Harrington! You still winning at this whole... pretty boy act?”

Steve’s brow quirked, clearly amused.

“Always, Munson. Just keeping the charm alive, you know? Unlike you, who seems desperate for attention.”

A chuckle escaped from your lips, and Eddie felt the warmth of jealousy briefly flicker into something nearer to rage. “Yeah, because you’re the poster boy for relationship advice,” he shot back, nodding sarcastically at Steve. “What did you do? Read ‘How to Sweep a Girl Off Her Feet’ this morning?”

Steve smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Funny how you’re the one talking about relationships, Eddie. Last I checked, you were throwing yours away.”

Eddie’s heart raced; the jab cut deeper than intended. He turned to you, hoping to catch a flicker of annoyance or disbelief in your eyes, but instead, you faced Steve with playful defiance written across your expression. 

Well, Eddie's fingers drummed against the plastic cup, his heart racing at the sight of your unwavering confidence. It only stoked his frustration.

"Whatever," you shot back, tossing your hair over your shoulder, eyes narrowing.

"My decisions are mine, and I'll figure out what I want."

Eddie clenched his jaw, his next words caught in his throat. After a moment, he managed to say, "Sure, if you want to keep pretending to be okay."

“Pretending?” You shot back, eyes flashing. “How about you stop playing games for once? You’re the one bouncing from one party to another while I’m—” “—trying to move on?” Eddie interrupted, frustration bubbling over as he stepped closer. “Or maybe you’re just trying to make me jealous?”

Your eyes narrowed, reflecting the dim light like shards of glass. 

“Jealous? You think this is about you?” You stepped back, arms crossing defensively.

“Every move you make seems like a jab at me,” Eddie shot back, his voice low yet laced with intensity. “Just to prove what? That you can bounce back?”

“Yeah, because it’s so easy for me,” you snapped, sarcasm cutting through your voice as you glared at him. “I’m just here pretending like it doesn’t hurt.”

Eddie clenched his jaw, the air thick with tension. 

"I'm not the one pretending," Eddie countered, eyes narrowing, a storm brewing behind them. “You think I’m out here enjoying myself when all I see is you moving on without a second thought?”

A beat of silence stretched between you, heavy and taut, like a wire ready to snap. 

“Moving on?” you echoed, incredulity lacing your words. “Eddie, you’re the one who decided this was better!"

Eddie’s heart raced as the weight of your accusation settled between you like a loaded gun. 

“Yeah, because you couldn’t stand to put up with my chaos,” he spat, each word dripping with bitterness.

“Chaos? Is that what you call it?” Your voice rose, each syllable sharp as glass. “You think it was just about you jamming with your band or selling that crap? It felt like I was living in the shadows.”

Eddie's shoulders dropped, and the heat in his chest flared. “Living in the shadows?” He stepped closer, the edge in his voice sharp. “You had a front row seat to the whole damn thing. “Your front row was the last row, Eddie,” you shot back, your voice steady but your breath quickening. “You don’t get to play the victim here when you constantly chose everything over us.”

“Everything over us?” Eddie echoed, incredulity twisting in his gut. He felt the heat of the party around him, the pulsating music fading into a dull hum. “You think I wanted things to end like this? Between us?"

Your expression wavered for just a moment before solidifying into determination. “You made your choices, Eddie. I was there, waiting on the sidelines when you were out working on your campaigns, jamming until dawn, or getting high? "

“Getting high, playing the role,” he shot back, frustration pounding in his ears. “That’s all I ever was to you?”

“Hardly,” you snapped, eyes glimmering with fierce defiance. “You weren’t just a role; you were a promise, Eddie. A promise that never quite made it past the smoke and mirrors.”

he crowd swirled aroundyou, bodies moving in chaotic rhythm, but the world reduced to the two of you, locked in a battle of hurt and anger. 

“Smoke and mirrors?” Eddie’s voice cracked, a palpable mix of disbelief and sorrow hanging in the air.

"Yeah," you said, breathless, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. "You sold me the dream, Eddie, but you left it unfinished. Always running, always too busy for anything real."

His expression darkened,a storm brewing behind the intensity of his gaze. “You think I chose this? Those nights, those laughs—they were real, and I thought you knew it!”

“Then what was it?” you challenged, your tone faltering for only a moment. “Do you even know what we had? Or were those moments just a game to you?” 

Eddie stepped closer, fists trembling at his sides. The tension crackled between you, palpable and raw. He shook his head slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion and frustration.

“Damn it, you think it was just a game? How could you even say that?” He ran a handthrough his tangled hair, the gesture a mix of desperation and helplessness. 

“Because you played all the right notes but left the melody hanging,” you replied, your voice raw yet steady. “I was a verse in your song, and you never finished the chorus.”

Eddie’s breath caught, the truth of your words slammed against him like a wave crashing onto shore. He swallowed hard, the silence stretching taut between you, filled with everything unsaid. The music thumped in the background, a heart pulsing irregularly, while the weight of your gaze pressed against his chest, forcing the air from his lungs. 

Eddie clenched his fists, resisting the urge to turn away. Instead, he held your stare, wrestling with the plethora of emotions crashing like waves within him

“Eddie,” you whispered, the softness in your voice surprising him, shattering the tension. “All I wanted was for you to meet me halfway. To not feel like I was chasing shadows.”

Eddie’s breath caught, the words hanging in the air like smoke, mingling with the remnants of heartbreak and anger. He hesitated, searching your eyes for understanding, a flicker of the connection he longed to reclaim.

“This... this isn’t what I wanted,” Eddie finally murmured, his voice barely audible over the music, thick with vulnerability. “I thought you’d—”

“That I’d what?” You crossed your arms again, clearly bracing for more. “Stick around like a trophy?” 

Eddie’s brow furrowed. “No! I thought you’d understand. I thought—”

“Thought what,you could keep juggling everything while I waited in the sidelines?” Your voice shook, a tremor betraying the strength you tried to project. “You don’t get to play that card when you’ve left me in the dark for so long.”

Eddie’s fists unclenched, the realization cutting deeper than any rebuke. The silence stretched again, the crowded room buzzing at the edges, the laughter of others swirling into an indistinguishable backdrop. He resisted the urge to look away,staring you down, determination flickering in his chest. 

“Look, I was caught up,” he finally replied, the words rushed. “You think I enjoyed being away? You think I meant to leave you behind?”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing. “You had a choice, Eddie. You could’ve shifted your priorities. But you didn’t,” you fired back, anger pooling in your belly. Each word felt like a spark igniting the already simmering tension. 

A moment hung between you, thick with unspoken truths and the hurt buried beneath the surface. Eddie’s heart hammered against his ribcage, the rapid tempo matching the chaotic beat of the party surrounding you.

“Fine!” heshouted, frustration erupting from him like a burst of fireworks. “I messed up! I was too wrapped up in everything—campaigns, the band, trying to chase some dream! I thought you’d stick around. I thought I’dget it together before I lost you.”

Your expression shifted—a flicker of hurt before the walls went back up. “And look where that got us. This... whatever this is,” you gestured wildly, frustration etched in every line of your face, “it’s a mess, Eddie. A portrait of missed chances and empty promises.”

Eddie clenched his jaw, the anger curling in his chest like smoke. It burned, a persistent ache layered beneath layers of hurt and betrayal. 

“Just because it's a mess doesn’t mean we can’t try to fix it,” Eddie said, his voice raw but filled with urgency. Each word felt both heavy and electric, a desperate plea rising from somewhere deep within him.

You shook your headboth heavy and electric, a desperate plea rising from somewhere deep within him.

You shook your head. “Fix it? Eddie, that’s just it. How many times do we keep going in circles, trying to bandage something that's torn?” 

Eddie’s chest tightened, the truth behind your words heavy like a weight around his heart. “I’ll do better. I can be better. Just—just give me a chance,” he pleaded, his voice trembling with a desperation he seldom allowed to surface, vulnerability clawing at his throat.

You lowered your gaze, the flickering lights casting shadows across your features. The room buzzed around you, a distorted carnival of laughter and music that felt miles away from the intimate confrontation. 

Your silence hung between you like a thick fog, stifling, almost suffocating. Eddie shifted his weight, desperate to study your face, to catch a glimpse of that flicker of hope he thought he’d seen earlier. “Say something“Say something,” he urged, his voice now quiet, almost a plea. “Please.”

Your silence deepened, a chasm forming between what was once filled with laughter and warmth.

You pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, and fora moment, he thought you might just shift your gaze back to him. But the weight of those unspoken words hung heavier than the tension in the air, more suffocating than the swirling party crowd around you.

“I don’t know, Eddie“I don’t know, Eddie.” Your voice trembled, thick with the weight of uncertainty. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this. Keep hoping for something that feels more like a dream than reality.”

His heart sank, every beatfeeling like a drum echoing in the hollow space between you. 

“Maybe… maybe I don’t deserve what I want. It just feels so far away.” Eddie’s voice cracked, raw and open, bared before you like a wound that refused to heal.

“It shouldn’t have to be this way,” you whispered, a tremor in your voice reflecting the unease that pooled like quicksand. “We could have made it work. Could have fought for something real instead of floatingin the limbo of what-ifs.”

The words clung to the air, heavy with regret and longing, as Eddie’s gaze dropped to the floor. The pulsating thud of music faded into a dull thrum behind the silence that enveloped the two of you.

“I wanted it to be real,” Eddie finally said, his voice steady yet fragile, a whisper that hung between the chaos of the party. He met your eyes, the raw honesty shimmering in the depths of his gaze.

“I wanted it to be real,” Eddie finally said, his voice steady yet fragile, a whisper that hung between the chaos of the party. He met your eyes, the raw honesty shimmering in the depths of his gaze.

You searched his face, a storm of emotions cascading through you. The pain of the past coiled tightly around your heart, while a flicker of something unnameable sparked in the depths of his brown eyes.

“Then finish the song, Eddie,” you whispered your voicebarely audible, yet it echoed in his chest like the last note of a cherished melody. 

Eddie stepped forward, the distance between you almost vanishing. “I can’t do this without you,” he admitted, a thread of vulnerability weaving through his words, raw and unguarded. The air shimmered with tension, every beat of his heart loud and clear against the weight of your silence. 

“You don’t get to put that on me,” you said, shaking your head slowly as if each denial cracked a little louder against the backdrop of the party’s cacophony. 

“Why not?” Eddie pressed, desperation clawing at his throat. “I’m here, aren’t I? Wanting to make things right.”

Your eyes flickered between anger and vulnerability, the turmoil beneath the surface evident. "Wanting to make things right?" you scoffed, your voice dripping with incredulity. "You only want that now when you see me slipping away."

Eddie's chest tightened, each word you uttered hitting him like a punch to the gut. “No! That’s not fair. I didn’t realize what you meant to me until it started to slip through my fingers."

"That's not fair,” Eddie said, desperation clawing at the edge of his voice. “I didn’t realize what you meant to me until it started to slip through my fingers.”

“Please,” Eddie murmured, every syllable soaked in urgency. “I was caught up in everything, convinced that juggling all of it would prove something—like I could have it all, but I can’t. Not without you.”

“This isn’t just about you, Eddie. It’s about us. It always was,” you replied, your voice quiet, yet the intensity radiated like a beacon in

Your breath hitched at his words, the air between you thick with unshed tears and so many moments lost. “And I waited,” you replied, your voice trembling as you tried to keep the edge of emotion at bay. “I waited, thinking you’d wake up one day and see that I was still here, still wanting you.”

Eddie’s throat tightened, his heart aching at the vulnerabilityof your voice. Each syllable pulled at him, echoing in the silence of the moment.

“I thought you’d understand,” he whispered, each word a confession, laden with regret. “I thought I had more time.”

“Time?” youstared at him, disbelief flooding your features. “You think we have an endless supply of time? Every moment felt like you were slipping away, and I was holding my breath, waiting for you to decide I mattered.”

Eddie’s heart sunkas the weight of your words settled in the space between you. He could almost feel the ground shifting beneath his feet.

“I never meant for you to feel insignificant,” he said, the earnestness in his voice struggling to rise above the chaos of the party that raged on around you. 

“Then prove it,” you challenged, resolve hardening in your tone. Your eyes locked on his, a silent demand hanging heavy in the air. “Show me you can be there—actually be there for me.”

The weight of your words crushed him. Eddie searched for the right response, the one that would spill from his heart with sincerity. But all he found were fragments of regret, scattered like shattered glass across the moment.

“I can be there,” he insisted, uncertainty threading through his voice yet anchoring it in truth. “But you have to believe me. Just let me show you.” 

Your gaze held him captive, a fierce determination mingling with doubt. “Your gaze held him captive, a fierce determination mingling with doubt. 

“Show me,” you finally said, your voice steady yet sharp. “Let me see you put in the work. Otherwise, it’s just another empty promise.” 

Eddie’s heart raced, the challenge igniting a defiance within him that he didn’t know he still possessed. 

“Then I’ll make it a real promise,” he declared, each word steadying him against the storm of uncertainty swirling around them. 

“Don’t just say it, prove it,” you challenged, your gaze unwavering, determined yet fractured. “Words are meaningless without actions.” 

He felt the appeal of your challenge ignite a fire in his chest, a pang of purpose that surged through him. Eddie drew a deep breath, drowning out the raucous laughter beyond the bathroom door, honing in on you standing before him—vulnerable, yet fierce.

“Then give me a chance,” Eddie said, voice steady, the words hanging in the air like an open invitation. 

Your eyes, fierce with determination, softened slightly, but the edge remained. “A chance at what? Another cycle of waiting

for something that may never come?”

Eddie instinctively stepped closer, closing the gap as uncertainty danced like a shadow between you. “No. Not waiting, but moving forward.” The sincerity in his voice demanded trust, a fragile bridge over a chasm of uncertainty.

Your gaze flickered, wavering between skepticism and a glint of hope. “Moving forward? What does that mean for us?” 

Eddie clenched his fists, desperate to gather the right words. “I don’t know yet, but I do know that I want to figure it out together. Nothing can change if we're not in this as a team, if we’re not willing to let go of the hurt and build something back.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, still cautious, but Eddie thought he detected a hint of something more in their depths—perhaps curiosity, maybe a flicker of that old warmth. 

“Build what back?” you asked, voice steady but probing, like you

were assessing the strength of the steel in his resolve.

“Build us back.” Eddie’s voice trembled with urgency, each word a fragile thread reaching across the abyss. “A real connection, where it’s not just you waiting for me to show up when I had time or felt like it.” 

Your expression softened just a fraction, allowing a glimmer of vulnerability to breach the walls you had built around yourself. 

“God, Eddie,” you said, your voice almost a whisper, ““God, Eddie,” you said, your voice almost a whisper, the weight of the moment settling around you both like a thick fog. “It’s not just about the time. It's about trust. It's about believing that you want this just as much as I do.”

Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest, the gravity of your words resonating deeply. “I want this,” he breathed, the intensity of his gaze unwavering, searching yours for a sign that you could see his sincerity burning into the hollow spaces between you. 

“I want you to believe me,” he continued, his heart pounding in rhythm with the party’s pulse that thrummed around you. “It’s not just words this time. I’m done pretending everything is okay."

“Then show me,” you replied, your voice firm yet gentle, courage weaving through the hesitation. “Show me you really want this—no more empty promises or half-measures.”

Eddie nodded, hearthammering against his ribs. 

“Okay,” he whispered, each word carved with fresh intent. “I’ll show you. But it’s going to take time.” 

“Time,” you echoed, a flicker of skepticism crossing your face.

Time,” you echoed, a flicker of skepticism crossing your face. 

“Time,” he repeated, a vow wrapped in sincerity. “But I won’t waste it. I’ll prove—I can prove that you mean more than all those distractions

that consumed me.”

Your eyes softened, the tension still crackling but laced now with a tentative hope. “Eddie, actions matter. I need to see that you mean it.”

He took a step closer, his pulse racing. “Then let’s start now,” he said, urgency lacing his voice. “I want to make things right, even if it’s just a single step.”

You hesitated, the weight of your own uncertainty reflected in your eyes. “What does that look like?” you asked, vulnerability creeping into your voice. The moment felt fragile, as if a single misplaced word could shatter everything you’d just built together.

Eddie took a breath, grounding himself in the moment. “It starts with honesty and vulnerability. I won’t hide in the shadows anymore. You deserve better than that.”

You studied him, weighing his resolve in the light of your own doubts. “Honesty?” you replied, one brow arched. “How do I know you won’t slide back into the game again, Eddie? How do I know you’ll actually mean it this time?”

The air between you hummed with an intensity that thrummed against your skin. Eddie swallowed hard, a raw tangle of emotions reeling within him. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms to ground himself in the moment.

“I’ll show you,” he stated, the words falling from his lips like a promise. “No more hiding, no more games or distractions. Just me. Just us.”

You inhaled deeply, the tension still wrapped tightly around you both, yet something in your gaze softened. “Words won’t mean a thing if they don’t come with action, Eddie,” you replied,

your voice steady. “I need to see you confront the chaos. Not just with promises but with your choices.”

Eddie felt the weight of your words settle deep within him, an anchor in turbulent waters. “Then I’ll show you,” he declared, his resolve hardening with each pulse of uncertainty that rippled through the air. He took a step closer, the tension between you charging the space like static electricity.

The thudding bass from the music faded into the background as his gaze locked onto yours, the world around you blurring into a whirl. Eddie leaned in, trembling with anticipation, and let himself be vulnerable, the chaos seeming to still in the air

“I’m done wandering. You’re right; I’ve been too caught up in everything else. All the noise, the distractions. I want to tune in to what matters, and that’s you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words wrapping around you like a soft embrace. The flickering lights of the room blurred as Eddie’s sincerity sank in, resonating deeply in the quiet corners of your heart. You searched his eyes for any hint of deception, any sign that this was just another play in his game, but all you found were unguarded vulnerability and an aching desire for connection. 

“You’ll really do this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The throbbing music faded, distant and dim compared to the storm building in your chest.

Eddie nodded, sincerityradiating from him like heat waves. “I will,” he insisted, voice steady. “No more hiding. No more pretending. Just... us. The way it should be.”

For a fleeting moment, the buzz of the party dissolved, leavingboth of you suspended in a world that felt untouched by the chaos around. Time seemed to fold in upon itself—every heartbeat loud as a drum, echoing loudly in the cavernous silence you created.

“Okay.” A breathless whisper slipped from your lips, the word barely above a sigh. For a brief moment, all the noise of the party faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, tethered together by a fragile thread of hope.

The moment lingered, heavy and electric, as you both stood just inches apart. Eddie’s heart pounded loud enough to drown out the muffled music, each beat a reminder of what lay before you both—a potential rekindling of connection fragile yet vibrant, like a spark in the darkness of your tangled past.

Eddie broke the silence first, his voice a low murmur, laden with sincerity. “I just need time to prove it to you. But I will. No

Your heart raced at his words, each syllable threading through the air like a lifeline, pulling you back from the precipice of loss. You hesitated, allowing the moment to settle, weighing the weight of what this commitment might mean.

““Time,” you repeated, the word resting like a fragile bird in your chest. “It’s a powerful thing. But what if that time slips away again?” The vulnerability lay bare in your eyes, each flicker a question yet to be answered Eddie leaned in, the distance between you closing into a mere breath. “Then I’ll chase it down,” he asserted, the strength of his conviction shaking off remnants of doubt. “Every second, I’ll show up for you, for us I’ll fight for every moment, every chance to make it right.”

Your breath caught, a flicker of hope igniting within you, tempered by the shadows of uncertainty that still lurked in the corners of your heart. “And what if...the fight isn’t enough?” you breathed, the gravity of the question hanging between you. Doubt clung to your voice, but beneath it lay a flicker of longing, a desperate yearning for something real.

Eddie’s expression softened,as if he could sense the storm brewing within you. “Then I’ll fight harder,” he vowed, the weight of his sincerity pressing against the air like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

that I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that you matter more than any of it.” 

The sincerity in his eyes swelled the space between you, yet the lingering uncertainty remained, clinging like a shadow. You searched his gaze for the truth—a flicker of hope nestled deep within, just waiting for the right moment to shine. 

“Eddie,” you breathed, narrowing your eyes slightly as if trying to peel back the layers he shielded. “This isn’t just about promises.It’s about trust. You can’t just say the words; you have to show me that you mean every single one. Actions. That’s what I need.”

Eddie nodded, determination hardening his features. “I get it. You need proof.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself against the weight of your gaze, which felt like a spotlight dissecting every shadow within him. “Then let me start now.”

You narrowed your eyes, testing the conviction in his voice. “Prove it, Eddie. Show me you’re willing to be present, not just in words, but in actions.”

Eddie’s heart raced, pulse thuddingin his ears as he searched for the right response. The room around them pulsed with energy, but all he could focus on was you, the intensity of your gaze unwavering and fierce. 

“Okay,” he said, his voice steady. “Okay,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll start by being here. Right now. I won’t brush this off like it’s another party trick.”

You narrowed your eyes, gauging the determination etched on his face. “Being here is one thing, Eddie. But I need more than just your body in the room. I need your heart in it, too.”

Eddie took a step closer “Then I’m all in,” he declared, his voice unwavering as he closed the distance between you. “No more half-hearted attempts. Just me—fully here, fully yours.”

[nameless-ken]

Between Us and the Dark - Billy Hargrove x Reader

Part One

I've had lots of different thoughts lately and needed to get this one out there. I think it might be a short series!

Please comment & reblog <3

Word count: 4.5k

The usual heat of the California sun beats down on you, but it doesn’t faze you. You’ve grown used to it, the warmth on your skin almost a comfort as you walk down the familiar path to your dad’s auto shop. The smell of oil and gasoline greets you before you even reach the door, a sharp, earthy scent that’s become part of your life. You can hear the hum of engines in the shop bay, the rhythmic clanging of tools striking metal in a symphony that’s as routine as breathing.

You smile as you approach the door, holding it open for an older couple leaving the shop. They thank you warmly, their smiles lighting up their tired faces. You return the gesture, gripping the paper bag in your hand tighter to make sure it doesn’t slip. It’s become a habit, one you can’t quite let go of.

Inside, the shop is a blend of grease-stained work uniforms, car manuals, and the ever-present scent of motor oil. Your eyes immediately fall on your dad behind the front counter, scribbling something in his worn leather notebook. The same notebook he’s kept for as long as you can remember. His brow furrows in concentration, but the moment he sees you, his face brightens.

“There’s my favorite daughter!” he calls out, a grin stretching across his weathered face.

You roll your eyes playfully, but the warmth in his voice never fails to lift your spirits. “I’m your only daughter, but thanks for the honor,” you say, stepping closer to the counter and passing him the brown paper bag. “Here’s lunch.”

“You know,” he starts, opening the bag and peeking inside, “I keep telling you, you don’t have to bring me lunch every day.”

“I know, but Mom always did, so I thought I’d keep up the tradition.” Your smile wavers just a little, sadness seeping into your voice. It’s a subtle shift, but your dad notices.

“She’d be proud of you,” he says softly, his hand resting on your shoulder. The weight of his touch is reassuring, familiar. He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze, and for a moment, the noisy shop around you seems to fall away.

“Same to you,” you say, patting his hand as you both take a beat, a quiet tribute to the one who should still be here.

After a pause, you clear your throat and offer, “I was thinking maybe we could order pizza tonight and watch Ghostbusters, you know, like we used to.”

He chuckles lightly, shaking his head. “Y/N, you’re twenty-one. You should be out with friends, raging, bar hopping, staying out until three in the morning, not sitting here with an old man like me.”

You follow him as he walks towards his office, leaning against the doorframe as he sits at his cluttered desk. “Maybe I don’t want to do all that stuff. I like our weekly dinners and movie nights.”

He takes a bite of the sandwich you brought him and looks up at you with a mix of affection and concern. “I understand, sweetheart, but you can’t hide away from life forever. Trust me, you’ll regret it. And… she wouldn’t want this for you.”

His words hit harder than you’d like to admit. Your mom had always been the one pushing you towards your dreams, always talking about what your future could be. She’d been so excited to help you look at colleges, to plan for what came next. But then, in a blink, everything changed. A normal day, a routine drive to bring your dad lunch, and she was gone. A collision. A wreckage you still couldn’t fully comprehend.

Your dad never says it directly, but you know he hates that you keep bringing him lunch, just like she used to. It’s a shadow you both live under, even if you don’t talk about it often.

Before you can respond, the sound of a deep voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Hey, boss. We got an issue with the engine on the Mustang, and I’m not sure what’s up with it.”

You turn, slightly startled, and your breath catches in your throat. Standing a few feet away is possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. His curly, sandy-blonde hair falls messily over his forehead, his strong jaw covered in a light scruff. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and built, with grease smudged across his muscular arms and the collar of his work shirt. His striking blue eyes flicker toward you for the briefest moment before he looks back at your dad.

Suddenly, the air feels a little thicker, and the usual warmth of the shop becomes stifling.

“I’ll check it out after lunch,” your dad responds casually, glancing between you and the man. “Oh, Y/N, this is our new hire, Billy. Billy, this is my daughter—Y/N.”

For a moment, Billy’s eyes meet yours, and something unreadable flickers behind them. He’s stoic, almost detached, but there’s something intense about the way he looks at you, even if it’s just for a split second. He gives a quick nod, muttering a brief, “Nice to meet you,” before turning back to the shop floor.

Your heart skips a beat, but you quickly shake it off, offering a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, too,” you manage, though your voice feels oddly small.

As Billy disappears back into the garage, the clanging of tools picks up again, but you’re still stuck in that moment, staring at the spot where he just stood.

Your dad chuckles, noticing the slight flush on your cheeks. “Be careful with that one,” he says. “He’s got a lot going on.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” you reply, more to yourself than to him, already feeling your curiosity about Billy stirring, though you can’t quite place why. There’s something about him that pulls at you—a mystery waiting to be uncovered.

And you’ve never been one to shy away from curiosity.

You glance at your dad’s office phone, your thoughts drifting to his words. You’ve never been much of a drinker or partier, but maybe, just this once, stepping out of your comfort zone wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Your fingers hover over the phone, a moment of hesitation gripping you before you pick it up and dial.

After a few rings, your best friend answers. “Hey, Y/N, what’s up?”

You take a deep breath, feeling a spark of excitement mix with nerves. “Call the girls. We’re going out tonight.”

You hang up the phone with a mixture of anticipation and nervous energy thrumming in your chest. Tonight will be different. As you move toward the door to leave the auto shop, your hand on the doorknob, you pause when you overhear two workers talking in hushed voices just outside the office.

“I’m telling you, no one really knows why he moved here,” one of them says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“From Indiana, right? Hawkins, I think it was called,” the other one responds, sounding skeptical. “Strange though… he showed up out of nowhere, didn’t talk much about it.”

“Yeah, kinda makes you wonder what he’s running from.”

You frown, straining to hear more, but the workers move further away, their voices fading. Indiana? Hawkins? The mention of Billy catches your attention, and suddenly, his quiet demeanor and distant gaze feel more than just personality quirks. It feels like he’s hiding something. Questions swirl in your mind, and you can’t shake the unease that settles over you.

Just as you’re about to leave, you catch sight of Billy through the garage’s wide door. He’s standing by a vintage Camaro, focused intently on the engine in front of him. For a moment, you watch him, captivated by how effortlessly he works—his hands moving with practiced precision as he tightens a bolt.

There’s something mesmerizing about the way he moves, but it’s more than just his skill that keeps you watching. It’s the way his shoulders tense, the slight furrow in his brow. Even when he’s alone, he seems guarded, as if he’s carrying something heavy inside. You can’t help but wonder what it is.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoes from the other side of the garage—a dropped tool, maybe. Billy flinches, his body jerking in a way that’s too sharp, too instinctive for someone just surprised by a noise. For a split second, his face changes. His usually controlled expression slips, revealing something raw and haunted beneath the surface. His eyes dart around the shop as though expecting some unseen threat. Then, just as quickly, the mask is back, his jaw tightening as he returns to the car, his focus seemingly restored.

But you saw it.

Your heart races a little faster as you stand frozen in place, wondering what could have shaken him like that. It wasn’t the reaction of someone merely startled—it was the reaction of someone who’s been through something. Something bad.

You swallow hard, the overheard whispers of his past mixing with the image of that brief, vulnerable moment. There’s more to Billy than the quiet mechanic who keeps his distance. Much more. And suddenly, you’re not sure whether you’re intrigued or unsettled by it.

Before you can think too much, Billy’s eyes flicker up and meet yours. For a moment, you think he might have caught you staring. His gaze is unreadable, but there’s a tension in the air that makes you shift uncomfortably.

You quickly turn, pulling the door open, your pulse still racing as you step into the afternoon sun. The warmth that once felt comforting now seems stifling, and as you walk away, the questions linger in your mind, heavier than before.

Who is Billy really? And what exactly is he hiding?

The bar is alive with energy the moment you walk in. Dim lighting casts a warm glow over the crowded space, with low-hanging bulbs swaying slightly as the door swings shut behind you and your friends. A jukebox in the corner hums out classic rock—The Eagles, maybe Fleetwood Mac—songs everyone can sing along to after a few too many drinks. The scent of spilled beer and fried food lingers in the air, blending with the constant murmur of conversations, punctuated by bursts of laughter from groups huddled around tables.

Your friends lead the way, weaving through the crowd with the confidence of locals who’ve been here more times than they can count. They head toward a high-top table near the back, just close enough to the bar to keep the drinks flowing, but far enough from the dance floor to avoid the inevitable chaos of drunken swaying. You slide into your seat, the polished wood cool against your hands as you try to settle into the night’s atmosphere.

But something feels off. The noise, the clinking glasses, the shouts for another round—it all seems distant, like you’re watching it from behind a thick pane of glass. You force a smile, laughing at one of your friend’s jokes, but your mind keeps wandering back to earlier that day.

Billy.

You hadn’t been able to shake the image of him—his tense posture, the way he flinched when that loud noise echoed through the auto shop. And the whispering... The workers had been vague, but the mention of Indiana and Hawkins kept circling in your thoughts. What was Billy running from? Why did he seem so… haunted?

“You alright, Y/N?” one of your friends asks, her voice cutting through your haze. You blink, realizing you’ve been staring down at your drink, fingers tracing the rim of the glass absently.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m good. Just… tired, I guess.” You force another smile, trying to push the day’s thoughts aside.

“Sure, that’s why you’ve been spacing out all night,” your best friend teases with a knowing grin. “Bet I can guess what—or who—you’re thinking about.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the flush creeping up your neck. “It’s nothing, really. Just… something weird happened at the shop today.”

“Oh no, here we go.” Another friend leans in dramatically, her eyes twinkling. “Spill it.”

You hesitate, biting your lip. “It’s nothing big. I just… overheard some of the guys talking about Billy.”

“Billy?” your best friend raises an eyebrow, leaning in closer. “The hot new guy who works for your dad?”

You nod, glancing around the table, feeling their eyes on you. "Yeah, they said something about him moving here from Indiana, but no one really knows why he left. And then, today, he kind of… flinched when something loud dropped in the garage. It was like he was spooked, you know? Like something was really bothering him."

There’s a pause before your friends burst out laughing, not in a mean way, but in that teasing tone they always use when they think you’re overthinking things.

“Oh come on, Y/N. You’re making it sound like he’s hiding from the mafia or something,” one of them chuckles, taking a sip of her drink.

“Or maybe he’s just shy,” your best friend adds, winking. “He is ridiculously good-looking. Who wouldn’t flinch under that kind of attention?”

You can’t help but laugh along, but inside, there’s a nagging feeling you can’t quite shake. It’s not just the attraction that’s eating at you—it’s something deeper. 

“You know what?” your best friend interrupts your thoughts again, leaning in conspiratorially. “You need to relax. Let Billy be mysterious and brooding. Tonight, we’re here to have fun. No more deep thoughts—just drinks and dancing. Deal?”

“Deal,” you agree, though your mind is still partly elsewhere. You’re trying to shake off the tension as the waitress brings another round, and your friends dive headfirst into lighthearted banter. But as you glance around the bar, your heart skips when you spot a familiar figure sitting alone in the far corner.

Billy.

He’s at a small table by himself, his broad shoulders hunched over a glass of whiskey, one hand resting lightly on the rim as he stares into the amber liquid. He looks as out of place as you feel—detached from the noise and energy surrounding him, lost in his own thoughts. The dim lighting casts shadows across his face, making him appear even more guarded, more unreachable.

“Earth to Y/N,” your best friend sings, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Are you seriously zoning out again?”

You blink, tearing your gaze away from Billy, but not before your friends follow your line of sight.

“Oh my God,” one of them gasps. “Is that Billy?”

Your heart races, and you nod, feeling exposed under their playful stares.

“Looks like fate,” your best friend says with a mischievous grin. “This is your moment, girl. Go talk to him.”

“What? No. No way,” you protest, shaking your head quickly. “I can’t just walk over there.”

“Why not?” she teases, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not like he’s going to bite. Besides, you’ve been thinking about him all night, right? Now’s your chance.”

You glance over at Billy again, and your pulse quickens. Part of you wants to approach him, to figure out what it is about him that’s pulling you in, but the other part of you is nervous. What if you’re reading too much into this? What if he shuts you down?

“Come on, Y/N,” another friend chimes in. “We dare you. Break the ice.”

You look at your friends, all of them grinning, eager to see how this plays out. The teasing pushes you, but underneath their laughter is a genuine push for you to step out of your comfort zone, to live a little like your dad suggested.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you down the rest of your drink, take a deep breath, and slide out of the booth. “Alright, I’ll do it,” you mutter, heart pounding as you take the first step toward Billy.

Your friends cheer behind you as you weave through the crowd, each step feeling heavier than the last as you approach his table. And then, you’re standing in front of him. He looks up, his intense blue eyes locking onto yours. For a brief moment, there’s a flicker of something in his gaze—recognition, maybe even curiosity—but it vanishes as quickly as it appears. His expression remains guarded, a wall firmly in place between the two of you. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t dismiss you either. He just watches you, as if silently weighing whether to let you in or push you away.

The tension between you stretches like a rubber band pulled tight, and for a second, you consider turning around, making up some excuse to leave. But then you remember the way he flinched at the auto shop, that vulnerable moment when no one else was watching. Something inside you pushes forward, refusing to be intimidated.

“Hi Billy,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though you can feel the nerves bubbling beneath the surface. “Mind if I sit?”

Billy doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flicker over you, then back down to his drink. For a second, you think he’s going to say no, but then he shifts in his seat, gesturing subtly to the empty chair across from him. You take it as a sign and slide into the seat, your heart pounding.

You clear your throat, feeling the weight of his silence pressing in on you. “I’m Y/N,” you say, even though you know he already knows your name. It feels strange, but you say it anyway, hoping it’ll break the ice. “We’ve, uh, kind of met already, I guess. At the shop.”

Billy nods slightly, barely acknowledging the obvious. “Yeah,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “I remember.”

Another stretch of silence settles between you, awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. There’s something about his presence that’s heavy, but it doesn’t repel you—it draws you in. You grip the edge of the table.

“So,” you start, leaning in just a little, trying to sound more casual than you feel, “my friends dared me to come talk to you.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, the faintest hint of surprise breaking through his guarded expression. “Dared you?” There’s a slight edge of humor in his voice, though it’s barely noticeable.

“Yeah,” you laugh nervously, grateful for any response. “I guess they think you’re a bit of a mystery.”

His gaze sharpens for a split second before he looks away, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. The humor fades as quickly as it appeared, and you suddenly feel like you’ve touched on something sensitive. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” you add quickly, trying to recover from the awkwardness. “I just thought I’d come over, you know, because… you don’t exactly look like you’re having the time of your life over here.”

Billy’s lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but close enough to give you hope that you haven’t completely blown it. He shifts in his seat again, his eyes flicking back to yours for a brief moment. “Bars aren’t really my thing,” he admits, his voice low, barely above a murmur.

You nod, feeling a little more at ease now that he’s actually engaging. “Yeah, I get that. I’m not much of a drinker either.” You glance around the room, the lively noise of the bar in sharp contrast to the quiet bubble that seems to surround your conversation. “But, hey, sometimes it’s good to just… get out, you know?”

Billy gives a noncommittal shrug, his eyes distant again, as if he’s only half here. You can’t shake the feeling that something is weighing on him, something heavy, and you want to ask more, but you don’t want to push too hard too soon. Instead, you decide to keep things light, hoping it’ll coax him out of whatever shell he’s hiding in.

“So, are you always this mysterious, or do you save that for work?” you tease lightly, offering him a small smile.

For the first time, Billy’s gaze softens just a little, his expression almost amused. “Do you think I’m mysterious?”

“Well,” you say, leaning back in your chair, “you haven’t exactly been the chattiest guy since you started working for my dad. Not that I’m judging or anything—it’s just…” You hesitate, then add, “I guess I’m curious. I mean, you kind of keep to yourself.”

Billy looks at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to figure out your angle. Then, finally, he lets out a quiet sigh, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “There’s not much to tell,” he says, though you can tell by his tone that there’s more beneath the surface.

“I don’t know,” you reply softly, your curiosity growing. “Sometimes the quiet ones have the most interesting stories.”

Billy doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes a long sip of his drink, his eyes still distant. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, more contemplative. “Maybe,” he says, barely audible above the noise of the bar. “But not all stories are meant to be told.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you’re unsure of what to say. There’s a heaviness to his statement, a sense of pain or regret that he’s not ready to share. You can feel it in the way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers tighten around his glass. He’s closed off again, retreating behind his walls.

“Everyone’s got their stuff, right?”

Billy doesn’t respond, but the faintest flicker of something crosses his face—acknowledgment, maybe even understanding. Billy’s eyes remain fixed on his drink for a moment longer, his fingers tracing the edge of the glass, as if he’s contemplating something. Finally, he glances up, locking eyes with you again. There’s a brief pause, and you wonder if maybe he’s going to say something more, maybe open up just a little.

But instead, he shifts in his seat, straightening up slightly. “If this isn’t your type of place, why’d you come out?” he observes, his tone neutral but edged with curiosity.

You laugh softly, shrugging. “According to everyone, I’m supposed to be having more fun in life.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, looking around at the chaos of the bar before his gaze settles back on you. “And this is your idea of fun?”

“Well,” you smile, glancing back toward your friends, who are huddled together in a corner booth, laughing and sipping their drinks. “My friends mean well. I guess they just want me to let loose, stop overthinking everything.”

Billy doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s watching you closely, trying to read between the lines. 

“What are you overthinking?” he asks quietly, surprising you with the directness of his question.

You blink, taken aback by his unexpected interest. You weren’t expecting him to ask, let alone seem genuinely curious. You glance down at your hands, feeling a little exposed but somehow comfortable enough to answer.

“I don’t know,” you admit, letting out a small sigh. “Everything, I guess. My mom died a few years ago, and it’s been… hard. I haven’t really figured out how to move forward. I’ve been helping my dad at the shop and just… keeping things steady, I guess. It’s like I’m stuck.”

Billy’s gaze sharpens slightly at the mention of your mom, his blue eyes clouding with something darker, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, his expression unreadable.

“I know my dad means well,” you continue, your voice softer now, “but he wants me to get out more, live my life, you know? It’s just… hard. Every time I think about what I should be doing, I feel guilty. Like I’m leaving him and my mom behind.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and suddenly, you realize how much you’ve said. You glance at Billy, worried you’ve overshared, but he’s still watching you closely.

For a moment, there’s silence again, but this time, it feels different. More charged, like you’ve opened a door that wasn’t meant to be opened. Billy shifts in his seat, his jaw tightening just slightly, and for a second, you think maybe he’s going to brush it off or change the subject.

But then he surprises you.

“I get it,” he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the noise of the bar. His eyes meet yours, and there’s something raw in his gaze, something that makes your heart skip a beat. “Losing someone… it messes with you.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. It’s the most vulnerable he’s been since you sat down, and it catches you off guard. There’s something in the way he says it—like he knows exactly what that kind of loss feels like.

You study his face, noticing the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker with something deeper, something he’s clearly not willing to talk about just yet. But it’s there, hidden beneath the surface.

“I didn’t mean to dump all that on you,” you say softly, breaking the tension with a small, apologetic smile.

Billy shakes his head, his expression softening just a little. “It’s fine. Sometimes… it’s easier to talk to someone who can understand.”

You nod, feeling a strange connection forming between the two of you, even though you’ve barely scratched the surface of who Billy really is. There’s still so much you don’t know, so much he’s clearly keeping hidden, but for the first time, you feel like you’ve glimpsed a piece of the real him. The guy behind the walls.

The noise of the bar seems to fade away for a moment, the world shrinking down to just the two of you at this small table, surrounded by the chaos of laughter and music. You feel the weight of his gaze on you.

Before you can say anything more, Billy’s eyes flick toward the door, and his entire demeanor shifts. His shoulders tense, his jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow as if he’s just spotted something—or someone—that makes him uneasy.

You follow his gaze, but all you see is a group of rowdy guys stumbling through the door, shouting and laughing as they head toward the bar. Nothing unusual, just another group of late-night partiers. But Billy seems… on edge.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Billy shakes his head, standing up abruptly. “I’ve got to go,” he mutters, his voice tight.

You stand up too, confusion swirling in your chest. “Billy, wait—”

But he’s already moving toward the exit, his steps quick and deliberate. You watch him push through the crowd, disappearing into the night before you can stop him.

You stand there for a moment, frozen in place, trying to make sense of what just happened. The bar feels louder now, the noise crashing back into your senses as the door swings shut behind him. You’re left standing by the table, your heart racing, questions swirling in your mind.

As you glance toward the door again, a knot of unease tightens in your chest. Whatever just spooked Billy—it wasn’t something casual. It was personal. And whatever it was, it’s clear that Billy’s past, the one you’ve been so curious about, isn’t as far behind him as he’d like to pretend.

You feel it now—an undeniable pull toward him. Whatever darkness he’s running from, whatever secret he’s keeping… you can’t shake the feeling that you’re about to be pulled into it too.

Comment to be added to the tag list for this story!

[darkclouds-rainsounds]

More of this

The first image was moreso supposed to depict a slightly pissed off Volo whose only tell that he's angry is the minute waver of his illusion, hence the ends of his hair being faded and the part that sticks out of his bun is wispy. Alas, I effectively failed in portraying that both in terms of expression and because I have little skill in drawing side-profiles. Also the first image is him topless because I don't really know how to draw clothing on a side profile and have barely enough knowledge of anatomy to go 'fuck it ┐( ˘_˘)┌'.

Second Image I tried to do what I failed in the first and I guess??? it turned out okay??

H.Zoroark!Volo aside, the first image is also just how I headcanon him to look in terms of body type and being more scarred.

[snowballseal]

How they react to you feeling insecure (LaDS)

Summary: How the Love and Deepspace boys react to you feeling insecure about various things. Includes Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier. Lots of fluff.

Word Count: they're all around 1000 roughly

Note: Warnings of different kinds of insecurity, ranging from physical to mental. I'm not sure of how well the Xavier one turned out, he's harder for me to write, but I couldn't leave him out!!! Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Rafayel

His ended up being a lot longer, so it's posted separately.

here

--

Sylus

Being partners with Sylus is a…daunting position to be in.

You always considered yourself a fairly average person, more focused on who you are than what you look like. It’s not that you don’t like the way you look - you do - and you don’t like comparing yourself to anyone, but you don’t plan on being a model anytime soon. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Then you met Sylus, a man who looks like he was carved from the marble of ancient architecture. He could stand in a room of masterpieces and people would still look at him instead of the art. And since you’re by his side now, that means they’re also looking at you.

Being stared down by wanderers in one thing. Being stared down by the most powerful and prevalent members of the N109 Zone? You hate to admit that it gets to you. In fact, it gets so under your skin, that even when you’re dressed in the most extravagant dresses and decadent jewelry, you can’t help but feel…insecure.

Twisting in front of the mirror, you eye every detail of the dress Sylus bought you. It’s perfect, of course. The man has an annoying knack for getting you the most beautiful things and knowing exactly what fits you. The color compliments your hair and it’s comfortable to boot.

Still. You can’t help but feel like a kid trying to fit in at the adults table, wearing your mother’s heels even though they don’t fit. A bit ridiculous.

“Do you not like it?” Sylus appears behind you, dressed in a matching, lavish suit. 

You jump a little, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. His eyes burn into you, reading the hesitation on your face as you curl your arms around your stomach. There’s no fiery retort or witty comment like usual. You just look back at your dress, the tips of your ears tinging pink.

A frown pulls at Sylus’ lips, his voice softening, “What’s wrong?”

“...Do you really think people believe us? That we’re together?” You ask quietly, shuffling your weight back and forth. “That I’m a good match for you?”

You’re keenly aware that you’ve never had a conversation like this with Sylus. For the most part your relationship has been filled with teasing and playful bickering. It’s always light. Or about work. This is new, and while you trust him more than anything, you hate not knowing how he will react.

Sylus hums, low and thoughtful, as he curls his arms around you, “Does it matter to you what others think?”

You let out a sigh, leaning back into his touch thankfully. You want to say no. You want to keep up the air of confidence, but that quiet voice of doubt keeps worming its way through your thoughts.

“I just…I feel like I’m not what people expect. And…” you try to explain, hesitating. Sylus presses a kiss to your shoulder, offering a hum of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you add, “It bothers me. It feels like I’m being forced into the spotlight but I’m not meant to be there. Like I don’t fit.”

“Hmm, so you feel like an odd duckling.” You give him a small jab, and Sylus chuckles. “My apologies. I think you misunderstand the attention though.” He pulls you closer. You shiver as his lips trace along the crook of your shoulder, pressing delicate kisses up the side of your neck, until he can murmur lowly into your ear, “You’re too humble, kitten. When you walk into a room, all eyes turn to you, not out of judgment, but out of jealousy. Afterall, you’ve tamed the leader of Onychinus. Even if you walked in with your uniform, they’d look at you the same. And I get the pleasure of walking around with the most powerful-” He presses his lips to your jaw. “-beautiful-” His lips trace against your cheek. “-woman of Linkon City. Don’t let the attention of those lesser than you make you doubt, otherwise I might have to find another way to show them just how well we fit together.”

Sylus’ eyes catch yours in the mirror again. They’re dark, like coals surrounded by flickering cinders. So intense you can almost feel the flames licking along your skin. There’s not a doubt in your mind that he’s being genuine. And that sets your heart racing. Along with the way he holds you so close, equal parts possessive and reverent. Like worship.

“Your devotion might scare some people, Sylus,” you whisper, glancing sideways at him.

He flashes a dangerous smile, “Does it scare you?”

You cast one final glance at your reflections before turning around in his hold and curling your arms around his neck. Sylus raises a challenging brow.

“I’m not. I like how you stand up for me, even when it’s against my own insecurities.” You draw him down, pressing a kiss to that carnal smile. Sylus softens immediately, cupping your jaw to draw you into a deeper kiss. The warmth that simmers in each and every touch leaves you a little breathless when you pull away. Pressing against his chest before he can drag you in again, you make sure to say one last thing, “Thank you, Sylus. I’ll make sure to remember all of that…especially the part about you being wrapped around my finger.”

“Hmm, such a cruel mistress, indeed.”

“And you love me.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, “Yes, I do. So, will you accompany me to this auction now?”

---

Zayne

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m going?” You ask, voice wavering with nerves as you straighten Zayne’s tie for him.

“Isn’t it natural to bring one’s partner to these kinds of events?” He tilts his head, brow perked ever so slightly.

You nod, but can’t seem to erase the frown on your lips.

A week ago, Zayne had asked if you would accompany him to his medical school’s class reunion banquet. He had been asked to give a special word, given the reputation he had developed in his time at Akso Hospital, not to mention winning the Starcatcher Award for his work.

At first, you were ecstatic to have an opportunity to learn more about his old life. He has such a thing about living in the present, you hardly get to hear any stories about his time in med school, or when he was doing rotations at the hospital. You were eager to meet the people who he used to spend time with and hopefully catch a few stories you could tease him with later.

But as the night drew closer, you started actually thinking about all the people you would be around, all of whom graduated from the same medical program Zayne did. You can only imagine how smart they all are. And how you’ll get lost the moment any medical jargon comes up. 

The more you think about it, the more nerves you feel buzzing under your skin. You know you’re not the smartest, not compared to Zayne at least. He’s a genius, after all, and could probably outsmart most anyone. You’ve always been better at the physical stuff. That’s what makes you such a good pair. 

It’s not like you can impress everyone by whipping your gun out and fighting, though. All you’ll have are your words, and you’re not particularly good with those…

You blink when a large hand suddenly circles your wrist. Glancing up, you find Zayne looking down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“While I appreciate your attention to detail, I believe you’ve been straightening my tie for five minutes now.” Heat creeps up your neck. You hadn’t even realized you had been lost in thought. Zayne’s eyes narrow inquisitively.  “What are you thinking about that has your mind so preoccupied?” 

His thumb brushes casually along the inside of your wrist, not so subtly checking your pulse. A strangely endearing habit of his when he’s worried about you. You let out a long sigh and hide your face against his chest, feeling the heat bleed across your cheeks.

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re insecure about how smart all his friends must be?

Zayne doesn’t push right away. He knows you’ll explain when you want to, and if you don’t, then he knows you’re not ready to. It was an unspoken rule between you, something you started with him because you noticed he likes to think his words out. It felt natural to offer you the same when you struggle to express yourself. Like now.

Ultimately, you figure it’s better to just be straightforward. That’s how he would do it, and it’s better than dancing around the subject.

“I guess I’m nervous because I feel like I’m going to be the dumbest person in the room tonight,” you mutter against his coat. Your fingers tap out an anxious beat against his abdomen. “It’s silly and I know it shouldn’t matter, but I just don’t want to make you look bad.”

Zayne remains quiet for a long minute. Your fingers move a little quicker, matching the stuttering rhythm of your heart. His hand slides up, gently trapping them against his body.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Physical tics are a common result of anxiety,” he hums dismissively, thumb smoothing over your knuckles. “As is your rapid heart rate. This truly bothers you.”

“Of course it does,” you sigh, a bit exasperated, ”You’ve worked hard to get where you are, Zayne. I love you so much, and I respect your work more than anything. I don’t, I don’t want to say something stupid and have it reflect on you badly.”

The doctor clicks his tongue, “First, I would prefer if you stop using that language to describe yourself.”

Your heart falters when his cool fingers touch your cheek, drawing your face up to his. He looks upset, but not exactly at you, the sharp line of his jaw contrasting with the softness of his eyes. Like it pains him that you think this way. Which it does.

“Those words don’t suit you. I wouldn’t allow another to call you them, so why would I allow you to?” He asserts, the corner of his lips twitching with distaste. “I don’t want to hear them again, do you understand?”

“Okay.” A thread of warmth curls around your heart when Zayne nods approvingly. His protectiveness really knows no bounds.

“Second, I do not agree with your diagnosis.” 

Your brow furrows a little. What? What does he mean, he disagrees? He’s literally surrounded by geniuses, you can’t match up to any of them if they’re anything like him. 

Seeing you start to overthink, Zayne shakes his head and gently pinches your cheek. You jolt back a little. The corners of his eyes crinkle, making you pout.

“Meanie,” you grumble, “Fine, explain your reasoning, Doctor Zayne.”

“It’s simple. Intelligence is made up of more than just academic knowledge, which, I assume, is what you are thinking of when you make such comments.” You nod. He’s not wrong about that, you guess. “Intelligence also includes the knowledge of how to use one’s strengths to achieve the best outcome. It is true that for some, this means using academic reasoning. However, it also includes those who develop the skills and discipline to maintain their bodies and fight for those who can’t, like…”

He pauses and gives you an expectant look.

“...me,” you finish slowly.

“Yes,” he hums, stroking the redness of your cheek, “I believe, under these standards, you are far more intelligent than most of the people you will meet tonight, darling. Though there is no comparison in the first place.”

His words sink in slowly but surely, filling in the cracks of your doubt. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he probably has some kind of healing magic, because you can already feel the burden of your insecurities melting away.

Leave it to Zayne to know exactly what to say, but in the most complex sounding way.

“You always know how to make me feel better, huh?” You ask, finally cracking that smile he loves.

“I am simply telling you the truth.” Zayne leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “There is not a lifetime in which my reputation will be more important than you. I would gladly throw it all away if it meant reminding you of that.”

You snort, “Don’t do that, please. I can only imagine the fit Doctor Greyson would throw. He’d be so mad at me.”

“I can handle Doctor Greyson, in the same way I can handle everyone tonight.” He slips his fingers between yours, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. You wiggle your fingers  happily and Zayne can’t help but grin to himself. “If at any point you find yourself uncomfortable, just stay by my side and I will act as your distraction. Though, I’m sure they will all love you, just as I do.”

“...Thank you, Zayne.”

“Of course, my jasmine.”

---

Xavier

Working with Xavier is a blessing, as much as it is a curse. You couldn’t ask for a better partner. Someone who you know will always have your back, who can handle himself completely, who is probably the most talented hunter you’ve ever met in your entire life. He’s undeniably amazing.

On the flip side of that, though, you often fall into the trap of thinking about how he deserves better. Wondering if, maybe, the only reason he chose to stay with you was because of the aether core in your heart. If that’s also the reason you’re in a relationship now…

And some days, these thoughts win out over the rest. Like today.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink, eyes flickering up from the bowl of ramen in front of you. Early on, you had started a tradition of eating a meal together after a successful mission, to just enjoy the peace of your home and each other. But today, you weren’t feeling that hungry, just…tired.

Xavier tilts his head, concern furrowing his brow - he noticed your mood start to shift days before, but didn’t want to push since you didn’t seem to notice it yourself. Now, though, it’s too obvious for him to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you sigh, flicking your chopsticks back and forth to watch the noodles swirl around in the broth, a small frown capturing your lips. It’s a horribly obvious lie.

“Is it something I did?” His voice isn’t accusatory or upset. It’s just a rational question to help him figure out what’s wrong. Still, you feel guilt tug at your chest, and you set the chopsticks down with another sigh.

You don’t want him to think that. You’d never blame Xavier for something like this. That would be like asking him to be a worse person, which is stupid. It’s just you. Your problem. Dragging him into it will only make you feel worse.

“No, Xavier, you didn’t do anything, promise. I’m not upset…with you.” 

“But you are upset.”

Chancing a glance up at him proves a bad idea, making it all that more difficult to keep your thoughts quiet. Behind his normal sleepy expression, worry gleams in the deep blue of his eyes, unyielding and undeniably calm, like waves lapping gently at the beach. 

The sight makes your heart ache and the words are tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Do you think I’m actually a suitable partner for you?”

Surprise flickers across the hunter’s face. Of all the things he was expecting you to say, that wasn’t even on the list. He doesn’t laugh though, or take your question lightly.

“Do you mean, as a hunting partner? Or as a romantic partner?”

You shift uncomfortably, eyes falling back to your ramen, “I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

He hums softly. You try to ignore the nerves fluttering in your chest as Xavier gets up, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he circles the table to stand next to you. The hunter drips his head, catching your gaze.

“May I see your hand?”

A small frown pulls at your lips, not exactly sure where he’s going with this, but you offer him your hand anyways. Xavier takes your wrist, touch featherlight, and moves it so your hand is held up flat, facing him. Your brow furrows.

“Xav-”

“Look.” 

Pursing your lips, you let out a little huff. He really hates giving direct answers, doesn’t he? Still, you’re in no place to really judge him, or expect anything for that matter. He’s always been a bit of a mystery to you.

You watch as Xavier places his hand against yours. His palm is warm and you can feel the calluses from who knows how many years of hunting. Your hand looks tiny in comparison, his pale, delicate fingers long enough to curl over your own a little. The sight makes your heart squeeze, fondness competing with the feeling of being so…small.

“They’re pretty different,” Xavier hums, voice still calm, his own eyes fixed on your hands. “Your fingers are always cold, and your hands are small. You have a scar here.” His free hand grazes the side of your palm, along your pinky. “And here” He traces another along your knuckle. Your breath falters at the tenderness behind his touch, like you’re delicate porcelain. “Mine are in different places. Yours are skilled at weaving silk balls and mine can…open jars.”

You snort. Xavier’s eyes dart up to yours, sparkling with humor, a brow raised. You try to smother your laughter, rather ineffectively, and motion for him to continue.

“They’re different, but-” His fingers spread apart, and you mimic him instinctually, only for his fingers to slot between yours in one fluid motion. You inhale softly, laughter dying in your throat. It’s like two puzzle pieces fitting together, a perfect embrace that washes over you with a comforting warmth.

Xavier watches you, keenly aware of the way you squeeze his hand tightly, desperately, like you’re worried it might disappear. He gives yours a tender squeeze in return, thumb brushing over your knuckle.

“I think they’re a suitable match. Don’t you?”

God, how could you go without this man? The worries that have been pricking at the back of your mind all week seem to melt away. It leaves you with that warmth, the kind that only comes from Xavier, that he offers you over and over again.

You give his hand another squeeze, finally smiling, “Yah. I do…Thanks, Xavier.”

The hunter leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. You can feel his lips brush against your skin as he murmurs, “Let me know if you ever feel this way again, angel. I’ll be more than glad to remind you.”

“I will.”

---

This was really fun to write!!! I really hope you guys like it! There are so many freaking tags on this puppy.

[anantaru]

— cute things they do unintentionally

including wriothesley, zhongli, neuvillette, diluc x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, established relationship, neck kisses, lots of physical affection

— wriothesley + always walks closest to the street

in the early stages of your relationship, wriothesley has shown the first, out of the many following, indications of his overall protective nature towards you— and do not misunderstand him, because obviously he wasn't making it somewhat overbearing.

he knows you are capable of doing things on your own, but he wants to be the one who does them for you instead. it fills him with joy, and the duke finds himself squeezing his eyes shut, indulging in the memories and thoughts and hope that they would never cease to invade his newfound paradise.

so to speak, it's sort of a way to show you his love in a contrasting kind of sense other than telling you his affection through words or physical touch— with his heart-melting gestures and tender warmth, wriothesley will stop to walk for a split second before softly pulling you farthest from the street as he walks closest.

it was silly— and romantic, and there's a drop of silence before you hear him hum in merriment, his eyes sparkling like the stars.

full of feeling, your cheeks were poignant of a flaming prickle, your whole body burned like fire at his touch as you eagerly listen to what story your boyfriend was telling you about, his smile bringing you the most lustrous light when you entangle your fingers into his arm to press his frame against you.

and suddenly, your lips are tingling with the desire to kiss him, his lips as pink as pink delights. what's the sweetest part about it all was that wriothesley wasn't doing any of this intentionally— in fact, it had always come down to the way he has been all of his life, protective and sheltering, benevolent to the people closest to his heart.

— zhongli + kisses your forehead whenever you meet

"hello, my love," zhongli's face lights up the moment he sees you, and it's a lot more personal by how particularly he smiled at you— because before catching your frame in midst the busy streets of liyue, his facial features were stern and a little frozen, although when he finally finds you, he smiles and it takes away his cold instantly, a slow upturn of his mouth revealing small dimples around his sides.

"i missed you," he admits, and zhongli moves closer before capturing your cheeks in his warm palms, planting a subtle kiss on your forehead as he presses you against his chest firmly— his golden eyes bright enough to make even broken glass glow and shimmer like a treasure on its own again.

you mumble out through a chain of muffled words at the slightly tight embrace of your boyfriend, "i missed you too," and listlessly wrap your arms around his waist, "in fact, i missed you more," you tease as he presses dozen of little kisses on your head.

as much as zhongli would love to hug you for what he sought out to be eternity, he knows he cannot remain like this forever, at least not while being crowded by the people of liyue— although pondering about it more deeply, he figured that theoretically speaking, he could be able to hug you from day to night without letting you go, but people might start looking at you both so that'll be a negative and turn things uncomfortable.

"you know it's impossible for you to miss me more?" he slowly pulls you off his chest before pinching your cheek, "i long for you day and night," as his grin shines in tandem with the dancing joy of his eyes, unable to tear their focus away from you.

— neuvillette + can't stop worshipping you

after a long, arduous day consisting of responsibilities, you plopped onto the giant, comfortable bed you shared with neuvillette before you felt the mattress slightly dip under the added weight of his body as he climbs over to lean one arm around your frame.

as he does this, his face instantly burns into the nook of your neck before he begins to caress it— obviously in those moments he was content with you, starting with a handful of soft, warm kisses until he could feel you smile, or notice your body heat raise.

it's pretty clear his senses were sharp, you cannot hide anything from your boyfriend, even if you tried.

you yawn out, opening your arms for his body to properly nestle in before wrapping your limbs around his frame to keep him close, "what did i do to deserve this?" you whisper sarcastically, squeezing him a little tighter into you, "is something the matter?"

neuvillette hums deeply before smothering one hand from your chest to your hips, his lips stretching into a lazy smile, creating a swirling haven on his handsome face, "nothing at all, everything is fine," he assures you with another kiss, his hot breath fanning over the dampened skin on your neck.

basking into the comfortable engage of your arms around his frame, he continues, "i have simply missed what's mine, that is all,"

"and you deserve this," you hear him mumble, "each and every day to be admired and loved,"

he places a kiss on your shoulder, the softness of his lips compelling, "i want to give you this," as he slowly continues to slide his lips over your collarbone, full of passionate crescendos.

your skin trembles and goosebumps arise on your neck as you unwind to his skilled. tender interludes, precisely in neuvillette taking care of you, shooting you a gentle smile before he searches for your lips next.

— diluc + likes to hold your hand all the time

it doesn't matter where the both of you were or what activity you participated in, because for neither diluc nor you this was something out of the ordinary anymore and began to become a necessity— like breathing, he required your touch, and his heart fluttered every time he felt your energy invade his.

your laugh was his favorite sound and your voice was the last tune he needed to hear before he'd close his eyes, always awaiting the flicker of longing in your caress.

but before you have found each other in this relationship, the master of the dawn winery has never considered himself to be an overly touchy individual, in fact, he was everything else but pleased whenever someone would become way too comfortable with him and overstep any boundaries.

what's funny about love is that how fast it can change things in someone— beyond looks, touches or shared smiles, there were feelings that only you two were able to understand.

diluc hadn't realized how easy and effortless it can be the moment you meet your soulmate, it's transparent and pure and you cannot get enough of them, it's useless to even try and you want to feel them again and again, until their warmth swathes through your skin and intertwines like dancers in a ballet.

in the beginning, it had started with quick and easy placements of his palm on your back or around your shoulders, but after a while, diluc wanted to turn it a little more intimate— he didn't say anything or mention it to you, but one day at a silent night in mondstadt, when he looked at you, really looked at you, he held your hand, his thumb tracing your knuckles in a silent confession of love and affirmation.

to diluc ragnvindr, the act of falling in love was the acknowledgement that he was in the presence of someone so special that it aches his heart, a journey with unexpected twists and turns— for the first time and in that moment, he knew that you were deserving of love to the fullest, without holding back.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[pucksandpower]

Hip Thrusts

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: watching your boyfriend train gives you ideas about other things (or people) his hips could be doing … like you

Warnings: 18+ content

You take a deep breath as you push open the door to the gym. The smell of rubber mats and metal weights fills your nose.

It’s early — the sun is just starting to peek through the windows — and the gym is mostly empty, except for a few dedicated early morning regulars on the cardio machines.

Across the room, you spot Oscar on the weight floor. He’s doing barbell hip thrusts, clanging the weights up and down with each rep. His trainer Kim stands over him, stopwatch in hand, counting out the seconds between sets.

You take a moment just to watch Oscar train. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his muscles flexing and contracting with each thrust. He’s wearing those tiny Nike running shorts you bought him last month, the ones that show off his sculpted quads and glutes.

You can’t help but stare a little bit. Okay, a lot. Your boyfriend’s butt looks amazing.

“57… 58 … 59 ...” Kim counts. “Good, take 30 seconds.”

Oscar racks the barbell and sits up, grabbing his water bottle. His eyes catch yours across the room and his face lights up in a smile.

“Hey babe!” He calls out, waving you over.

You weave your way past the ellipticals and weight machines until you’re standing next to him.

“Hey yourself,” you lean down to give him a quick peck. “You’re looking strong this morning.”

“Just trying to get some strength training in before Kim puts me through the ringer later,” Oscar says. “We’ve got the season starting up so I really need to be on my game.”

He takes a long swig from his water bottle as Kim jots down notes on his clipboard.

“So what brings you to the gym so early?” Oscar asks. “I didn’t think 6 am workouts were your thing.”

You shrug. “I was up early and thought maybe we could do breakfast after you’re done?”

“Sounds good to me,” Oscar nods.

Kim clears his throat. "30 seconds are up, time to go again.”

“Duty calls,” Oscar says, getting back into position on the bench.

You step back to give him space, but stay close to chat. Oscar grips the barbell and hoists it up into position over his hips. You glance at the plates stacked on either end, doing some quick math in your head.

“Seems like that’s heavier than last time I dropped by,” you can’t help but comment.

“Sure is,” Kim says proudly before Oscar can respond. “We increased the weight since last week. Gotta keep increasing the load to build muscle.”

You stare at the barbell plates again. Exactly your body weight. Which means ...

Oscar is doing hip thrusts with the equivalent of you lying on top of him.

A little flutter goes through your stomach at the thought. You try to push it aside though. Obviously he isn’t thinking of it that way, it’s just part of his training regimen that Kim has him on. Still, you can’t help but visualize it for a moment.

“Alright, here we go,” Kim says. “Three sets of twenty reps, and … go!”

Oscar begins thrusting the barbell up in controlled motions, breathing out with each lift. You try not to stare, but your eyes keep flicking back to the movement of his hips. There’s something about watching your boyfriend’s pelvis go up and down right in front of you that’s making it hard to look away.

After twenty reps Oscar racks the barbell again. His chest is heaving a little from the exertion.

“Nice work,” Kim says. “How’d that feel?”

“Good,” Oscar says between breaths. “Definitely feeling the burn.”

He catches your eye and must notice you blushing because he adds with a wink, “Enjoying the show, babe?”

You feel your cheeks flush even more. “What? No! I mean, yes? I just … never mind ...” you stammer.

Oscar grins knowingly and takes another sip of water.

Over the next two sets, you try your best not to gawk. You remind yourself that this is serious training. Oscar is an athlete and you need to be respectful.

But still … when he’s finished his final set and Kim tells him to take a longer rest, you can’t help yourself.

“So, the weight you’re thrusting, huh?” You say, trying to sound casual. “That’s kind of a coincidence ...”

“What do you mean?” Oscar asks.

You glance at Kim, who is occupied on his phone. In a lower voice you say, “Well, it’s exactly what I weigh.”

Oscar’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh! I didn’t even realize.” A sly grin crosses his face. “Hey, you’re totally right.”

You take a step closer to him, emboldened. “So basically you’re doing hip thrusts with me on top of you.”

Oscar lets out a startled laugh. “When you put it that way ...”

“I have to admit the thought crossed my mind while I was watching you,” you say. You run a hand slowly up his arm. “I think you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar swallows hard, his eyes darkening. “Yeah?” He asks quietly.

You nod, feeling suddenly shy under his intense gaze.

He reaches out and takes your hand, rubbing his thumb in circles over your skin. “Well I can promise you, the real thing is a hundred times better than any training exercise.”

You lace your fingers through his, reveling in his touch. “Why don’t you remind me later?” You ask boldly.

Oscar leans in, his breath hot on your ear. “It would be my pleasure.”

A little shiver runs down your spine at the promise in his words. You want to kiss him right here in the middle of the gym, but Kim finally looks up from his phone.

“Alright, time’s up! Let’s keep moving.”

Oscar gives you a sheepish look as he releases your hand. “Duty calls once again. But rain check for later?”

“Absolutely.” You wink and take a step back so he can get into position for his next set.

You try to pay more attention to his form as he does the next round of hip thrusts. But this time, your mind keeps wandering to what those hips could do under different circumstances. Judging by the smoldering looks Oscar keeps shooting your way between sets, you’re pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing.

By the last set, there’s an obvious tension and heat between you. Oscar holds your gaze as he finishes the final reps, his hips rising and falling rhythmically. You bite your lip, no longer even trying to hide your desire. You want him, and you want him now.

Finally Kim calls time and tells Oscar to start his cool down stretches. As he reaches for his toes, back arched, you sidle up behind him.

“I think you need to stretch out some other muscles too,” you murmur in his ear. “I’d be happy to assist with that later.”

Oscar straightens up with a groan. “You’re killing me here, babe. As soon as we get home ...”

You grin up at him innocently. “Yes?”

He kisses you heatedly, not caring that Kim is still packing up his things nearby. “Why don’t you head out and get breakfast started for us?” He suggests. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You bite your lip as you back away slowly. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

You toss one last flirty wave over your shoulder as you leave the gym, heart racing. You have a feeling breakfast might be the last thing on both of your minds when Oscar gets home. But you love teasing each other like this — it always makes your time together even hotter.

As you drive home, you can’t stop replaying those images of Oscar doing hip thrusts in your mind. Maybe you should start joining those early morning workouts more often …

***

You can barely concentrate as you drive back home. You and Oscar have always had an adventurous and flirtatious relationship, but that encounter at the gym took things to a whole new level.

When you get home, you quickly tidy up the bedroom and kitchen to get things ready for when Oscar arrives. You take a fast shower, letting the hot water relax your excited nerves.

Slipping into a silky robe, you head to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. You chop fruit, arrange multigrain toast and toppings on a platter, and squeeze fresh orange juice, trying to make everything look as appetizing as possible. Not that food is really on your mind right now, but you want to set the scene perfectly.

Just as you’re pouring two cups of coffee, you hear the front door open. Oscar calls out your name, his voice sending a thrill through your whole body.

“In here!” You call back, straining to keep your tone neutral even as your pulse quickens.

Oscar strides into the kitchen and pauses, eyes sweeping over you hungrily as he takes in the robe and the breakfast you’ve laid out.

“This looks amazing, babe,” he says appreciatively. He comes over and kisses you tenderly. “Thank you for doing all this.”

You smile up at him, arms encircling his neck. “Least I could do after that little show you put on for me. Now come sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

You both take a seat at the kitchen island, filling your plates with fruit, pastries and eggs. The domesticity of sharing a meal together contrasts wildly with the tension still charging the air between you.

Oscar asks about your morning as you eat, keeping the conversation light. But his foot slowly trails up your calf under the table, making your breath hitch. You tell him about your plans to meet up with some friends later in the week. His hand finds your knee, fingers lightly grazing your bare skin. You ask him how training is going, trying to keep your voice even as your whole body tingles.

By the time you’ve both cleaned your plates, you’re squirming in your seat, heart pounding with anticipation. The second Oscar pushes his plate away, you surge forward to kiss him hungrily. All pretense of small talk is dropped — you want him now.

Oscar responds immediately, his strong arms pulling you tight against him as he kisses you deeply. You run your hands over the hard muscles of his chest and arms, feeling them flex and relax under your touch.

“Take me to bed,” you whisper in his ear.

In one smooth motion, Oscar stands and lifts you up into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you effortlessly to the bedroom and lays you down on the bed, his athletic body hovering tantalizingly over yours.

You run your hands up under his shirt, feeling the ripple of abs and obliques. Oscar lets you pull it up over his head before capturing your mouth again, kissing you ravenously.

“Need to feel you,” he groans, hands fumbling to untie your robe. He pushes the silk aside reverently, eyes roaming over your exposed body with undisguised longing.

You arch up into him, gasping as your overheated skin meets his. Oscar kisses down your neck to your collarbone, hands gliding up your ribcage to caress your breasts. You moan his name, back bowing off the bed at the sensation.

“You’re so beautiful,” Oscar murmurs, lips continuing their descent. “I’ve been thinking about this all morning.”

You smile, combing your fingers through his hair. “Well then stop thinking and start doing.”

Oscar laughs, his warm breath fanning over your stomach. “Yes ma’am.”

He kisses lower, fingers trailing down your thighs to nudge them apart. You let your legs fall open with a pleasured sigh, back arching in anticipation.

Oscar starts slow, kissing and licking with delicate flicks of his tongue that have you squirming for more. He grips your hips, holding you still as he finally puts his mouth on you fully.

You cry out as he brings you right to the edge, only to pause and ease up again, keeping you balancing at the precipice.

“Oscar,” you moan urgently.

He smiles against you, knowing exactly what he’s doing to your body. When he finally takes pity on you, the climax rockets through you powerfully, leaving you trembling and breathless.

You pull Oscar up to meet your lips again, tasting yourself on him. “Your turn,” you whisper.

He groans as you quickly flip him onto his back and kiss your way down his taut body. You pull off his shorts torturously slowly, trailing your tongue along his hip crease in a way you know drives him wild.

Finally you take him into your mouth, noting how he’s already hard and straining for you. You smile around him, working him with your lips and tongue until his hips are bucking uncontrollably.

“I need you. I need to be inside you,” Oscar gasps, stilling you.

You release him reluctantly and crawl back up his muscular frame to kiss him hungrily. Oscar grips your hips and then you’re sinking down onto him, crying out at the delicious fullness.

You move together urgently, the restrained desire from earlier in the gym bubbling over as your bodies join again and again. Oscar’s fingers dig into the curves of your hips as he guides you up and down. You brace your hands on his sculpted chest, grinding your hips in little circles that make you both moan.

The pleasure builds rapidly, urged on by the intoxicating intimacy of your entwined bodies. Oscar’s thumb finds your most sensitive spot and starts stroking in time with your movements. The dual sensations send you hurtling over the edge again. Your climax seems to trigger Oscar’s own release. He throws his head back with a ragged groan as he finds his peak deep inside you.

You stay wrapped together as you both catch your breath, hearts pounding against each other’s chests. Oscar strokes your hair back from your face and pulls you in for a lazy kiss, full of satiation.

“Wow,” you sigh, still trembling with aftershocks. “This morning just keeps getting better and better.”

Oscar grins and rolls you both onto your sides, keeping you tucked close. “I guess we have hip thrusts to thank for this extra workout.”

You laugh and kiss his cheek. “Remind me to join your gym sessions more often.”

You lay entwined, trading soft kisses and simply enjoying the intimacy. The frantic passion from moments before simmers down into contented warmth.

Eventually Oscar nuzzles your hair. “As much as I want to stay like this all day, I should probably shower before practice.”

You pout playfully but let him slide out of your arms. He heads to the bathroom and you hear the water turn on a minute later.

Biting your lip, you get an idea. Oscar did say all day ...

You sneak into the steamy bathroom behind him. Through the frosted glass door you can see the outline of his muscular frame under the cascade of water.

Silently, you drop your robe and step into the shower behind him. Oscar turns under the stream, eyes lighting up as he sees you.

“Well hello there,” he grins. “Come here often?”

You press your naked body against his slick skin. “I missed you already.”

Oscar’s arms wrap around you as his lips find yours. “I think we have time for round two before I have to get ready for the afternoon,” he murmurs suggestively.

You smile and reach for the body wash, lathering up your hands. “Better get started then.”

Oscar groans appreciatively as your soapy hands glide over his shoulders and down his chest. You take your time relearning every hard ridge and valley of his athletic physique, paying special attention to the areas still sensitive from your earlier activities.

The combination of cascading water and roaming hands quickly has Oscar hard again. This time he lifts you, pressing your back against the cool tile wall as your legs lock around his hips.

You cry out in bliss at the new angle as he enters you. Oscar braces one hand on the wall and slips the other between you, resuming his earlier attentions. The dual sensation makes your eyes roll back in ecstasy.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you gasp, raking your nails down his back.

Oscar increases his pace, thumb working you relentlessly as he snaps his hips. You feel the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until it crests explosively, just as Oscar tenses and finds his own peak.

You cling together, slick and sated under the warm spray. Eventually Oscar carefully lowers your weakened legs back to the shower floor, keeping an arm around your waist to support you.

“Okay, now I really need to get ready to head out,” he chuckles.

You sigh contentedly. “Fine, but only if you promise more later.”

Oscar drops a kiss to your shoulder. “Oh I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

As you exit the shower on shaky legs, you exchange a grin. Looks like early morning workouts are going to become a permanent part of your routine from now on.

[cherryredcheol]

"lovie"

tldr: all the ways jeonghan uses your nickname a/n: but mom, i love him. (there is a makeout scene in this...)

pesters: but only in good fun

“lovie,” he coos at you, encouraged by the blush on your cheeks. he could tell by the look in your eyes, you were embarrassed but not upset. you hadn’t thought anything of it when he suggested you wear the green hoodie in your closet to visit him and the members in the practice room. 

“need to let everyone know we’re together?” he couldn’t help but poke fun at you as you walked into the room wearing a matching hoodie to his. you had no knowledge he had even worn the offending garment today. if you had, you wouldn’t be in yours, especially not in front of his members and their staff.  

“i’m pretty sure everyone already knows.” his teasing didn’t let up, even as he wrapped his arms around you, pleased to see you had fallen right into his trap. you faintly heard joshua scoff somewhere behind you, too focused on the man in front of you to really give him any attention, “you guys are gross.” 

whispers: when he wants to check in

“lovie,” his whisper pulls you from your thoughts. “i don’t think that pork will come back to life no matter how hard you stare at it. mingyu grilled it really well.” you rolled your eyes but turned to look at him nonetheless. he looked awfully handsome under the dim light of the bbq restaurant. he always looked handsome, you supposed. 

“are you okay?” he was still whispering. wanted to keep this moment as private as possible so you could speak freely. he knew dinner with his members could be a lot, especially after a long day at work. 

“you can tell me if you want to go. you know i’ll never pass up an opportunity to go home with you.” his eye dropped in a wink, and this time you smiled when you rolled your eyes. going home with him did kind of sound like a good idea…

breathes: in between kisses

“lovie,” it escapes him like a sigh, slipping out between you two in a heated moment. you were on his lap, completely blocking his view of the tv, and in the back of his mind he knows he wanted to see this one but he couldn’t bring himself to care. not with the way he is consumed with the feeling of your weight pressing on him, your warmth almost burning his skin even through layers of clothes. 

when you pull back and look at him, he swears he feels his heart skip a beat. face oily and bare from the skin care you had completed before joining him on the couch for movie night, he’s never thought you more beautiful. he can feel your lip balm on and around his lips, a reminder you’d been there.

“whatever you’re doing, it’s working lovie,” he praises. “you’re practically glowing.” if he thought you were radiant before, you beamed under his praise. the last thing he saw before his eyes closed to continue kissing you was your toothy grin. 

giggles: behind cupped hands

“lovie,” he was snickering when he pulled you into a secluded corner of seungchoel’s apartment. game night was in full swing and you had just started the third round of mafia. while the rest of the members were distracted by mingyu and soonyoung’s bickering, he whisked you away, his mischievous smirk on his face. 

“can you keep a secret?” he was talking in hushed tones, hiding his mouth behind his hands to avoid prying eyes. when you nodded in confirmation, he leaned impossibly closer, breath tickling your ear. 

“i’m the mafia.” it took everything in you to keep your face neutral. you didn’t want to blow him in after he spilled such a big secret. it warmed your heart that he trusted you enough to tell you his role in the game. “if you tell anyone, i’ll kill you next.” 

scrawls: on a post-it

“lovie,” the note brought heat to your cheeks. you really hoped your coworker at the desk across from yours didn’t notice. when had he even slipped this in? you packed your own lunch and he wasn’t even awake when you left for your shift this morning, still snuggled beneath your comforter when you pulled your shoes on and headed out the door. 

“i miss you. hope you’re having a good day!” his neat handwriting brought a smile to your face. this wasn’t the first time he had snuck a note into your lunchbox, but he didn’t do it often so this was really a treat. and on a friday, too! what a great way to end the week. 

“i can’t wait to spend the weekend with you.” you shared the sentiment. looking forward to a free weekend with no plans or schedules. free to rot in your bed for the next two days with your beloved. “love you!” 

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life. 

Neither of you speak. 

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything. 

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue. 

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again. 

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on. 

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away. 

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted. 

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart. 

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands. 

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. 

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces. 

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied. 

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears. 

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed. 

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding. 

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for. 

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath. 

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond. 

“Love you back?”

You blink. 

Your stomach drops. 

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself. 

What a way to make an exit from your relationship. 

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something. 

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp. 

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions. 

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable. 

He swallows. 

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice. 

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her. 

“Wait.”

He says your name.  

And of course you pause. 

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle. 

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?” 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again. 

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring. 

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about. 

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break. 

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink. 

And for some reason, begin sobbing. 

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in. 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath. 

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper. 

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty. 

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly. 

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel.  Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes.  “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft. 

“How could I not be so in love with you?” 

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold. 

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw. 

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat. 

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog. 

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone. 

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder. 

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up. 

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning. 

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him. 

Spencer kisses you on the cheek. 

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is. 

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on. 

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand. 

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other. 

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy. 

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this. 

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets. 

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC. 

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly. 

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes. 

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck. 

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs. 

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon. 

And he’s laughing. 

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall. 

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige. 

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all. 

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip. 

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face. 

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same. 

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own. 

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips. 

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first. 

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology. 

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly. 

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth. 

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you. 

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth. 

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak. 

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him. 

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back. 

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly. 

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too. 

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight. 

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would. 

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly. 

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours. 

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel. 

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks. 

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee. 

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now. 

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy. 

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming. 

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him. 

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his. 

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart. 

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall. 

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet. 

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours. 

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod. 

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly. 

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would. 

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised. 

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case. 

But at the same time—everything’s different. 

And you won’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face. 

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled. 

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage. 

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you. 

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement. 

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself. 

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest. 

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs. 

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

-

part seven

[luveline]

omg would die for a concussion fic with remus <33

—your concussion causes moderate memory loss, and you forget some very important details about your relationship with Remus. fem, 1.3k

“This is nice.” 

You toy with the ring on Remus’ finger, turning it around and around and around. With your weight bearing down on his right arm and your hand secured around his left to stop him from moving, there isn’t much he can do besides say, “Yeah?” 

“I love when guys wear rings.” 

“I had a suspicion.” 

You wince as stars flash through your vision, pausing in your toying to press your face into his chest. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I can see black and white spots.” 

“Oh, no,” he says sympathetically. “Close them, dovey. Take a breather.” 

The chair under you is uncomfortable, your back aches, your head twinges, but Remus is comfortable to lean again. He’s wearing one of his big hoodies, old enough to feel like brushed cotton under your cheek and against your nose, decals washed away. He steals his hand back to pat your shoulder, an image of patience. 

“Sorry. This isn’t a good second date.” 

Remus leans down to talk near your ear. “Dove,” he whispers, “this isn’t our second date, remember?” 

“It’s not?” 

“No, sweetheart. But that’s okay.” 

“You’re really handsome so I don’t want to mess it up.” 

“Mess what up, the date?” he asks. “You didn’t mess it up, it went very well. It was a year ago, but.” He smiles, his breath warming your face, his arm hot around you and securing you to his chest.

“A year ago?” 

“Yeah, a year ago. We went to winter wonderland and the bookshop by the train station and you wouldn’t let me buy you any books.” He laughs softly. “But I got you one eventually. A couple by now, at least.” 

“That’s nice.” 

“You’ve bought me a hundred more, it’s awful.” 

You raise your head to squint at him. “I have?”

“So many,” he whispers, dipping his chin down to kiss your nose, to your wide-eyed delight. “But you let me look after you in other ways.” 

“Let you?” 

“Yes, let me. It’s part of…” He cups your cheek quickly. “Sickness and health and everything. I have to keep you happy.” 

“Ah.” His ring is warm on your cheek. “Sickness and health, like we’re married.” 

“Something like that.” 

You straighten up as someone behind you coughs aggressively. A little further down a baby cries against a mother’s chest, and the TV plays a quiz show you’re starting to hate. Moving your head has black haunting the sides of your vision again, the light seeping in from the automatic doors too much to handle. 

“I’ve asked Sirius to bring you some sunglasses.” 

You turn around. “Sirius, that’s the one with the motorbike?” 

“Yeah. He should be quick. But maybe they’ll have called you in again by then and we can go home.” 

That’s right. You’ve been seen once by a doctor for triage, and sent back out again when they deemed you only mildly concussed, no bleeding on the brain, but an X-ray ordered for safety's sake anyways. That’s what you’re waiting for. Remus is waiting with you, because he’s a very nice man. 

“Sorry if I’m ruining your Saturday.” 

Remus’ hair falls from behind his ear as he lifts his head properly. “I think you might be having a worse day than me, so I’ll forgive you. I'm joking!” He tucks that stray strand behind his ear unsuccessfully. “You could never ruin my Saturday. I’d spend the entire bank holiday weekend in here with you, I only want them to look after you so I can finish the job.” 

Heat like a kiss on each cheek. You bring your hand to your nose, overwhelmed. “Really?” 

“We spend a lot of time together, sweetheart. I know you don’t remember right now, but I love you.” 

“You do?” 

“Don’t tell me you can’t feel that.” 

You look at him with the sunshine caressing the side of his face, his three mean scars and his scattered beauty spots. He has thick eyebrows, light brown eyes in the sun like honeyed tea, and a playful smile. More frown lines than smile lines, but the beginnings of crows feet speaks to some joy, at least. You bring your thumb up to a small wrinkle and stroke it, before tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s too short to stay put for long. 

“I love you,” you say surely. You do, even if you can’t remember more than your first date. 

He’s a good kisser, you remember. He’d pulled you back from your door and kissed you like you’d stolen the breath straight from his lungs. 

“I know.” He brings your hand from his ear to kiss. Gentle, he strokes your knuckles, his thumb turning a golden ring where it sits on your marriage finger. 

“It’s really like we’re married, we have matching rings,” you laugh. 

He holds his hand up between you. “We are married, lovely girl.” 

You steal your hand back. He waits without hurry, though a line of concern marks his brow. “Are we? When did we get married?” 

“Only a few days ago, but we’re married. This wasn’t on the honeymoon agenda.” 

He takes your hand with care and shows you the gold ring on your marriage finger to match his own, aligning your hands. The colour hadn’t seemed important a moment ago, nor the placement, but now you’re seeing them you realise you’d made a small misjudgement. It’s not like you’re married at all, you simply are. 

You frown. The way he’s holding your hand feels familiar, though the idea that you’re married is preposterous. You can’t remember any ceremony or reception, a proposal, nothing. There’s simply blank space there, which isn’t very nice. But… 

You’re not scared. You haven’t been worried once all day. 

“You have a concussion,” he says quietly, practised, like he’s said it to you before. “And it’s resulted in some amnesia, but it’s going to get better very soon.” 

“We’re definitely married?” 

“Unless you’ve changed your mind.” 

“I don’t want to change my mind.” You fluster quickly with what you’ve said, looking down at the hospital’s linoleum flooring. 

Remus takes your hand where it lays on your thigh and squeezes it. A thread of memory tugs at the touch; you remember this. His tender concern. His constant support. 

“Then you don’t have to. Whether you remember me or not, I’m here to look after you, okay? I’m right here.” 

You nod without looking up. His hand knows yours no matter what you remember, rubbing at all the best parts, holding with the perfect amount of pressure. 

“You okay?” 

“I guess our second date really did go well.” 

“Better than I could ever explain.” He tugs at your hand until you look at him, his head already ducked to keep you pinned by his gaze. “You’re like my shy girl all over again. I forgot how nervous you used to get.” 

You can see the Remus who became your husband and the one who scared butterflies into action every time he looked at you coalescing. “You’re really good-looking,” you explain. 

“And what do you think you are?” He rubs your hand. “You’re beautiful. Can I have a kiss, dove? Is that okay?” 

You squeeze your eyes closed. You’d been fighting stars in your eyes anyways.

When Remus kisses you, your body responds to his touch like it knows him. Your heart thuds against your ribs, your lips know exactly how to move and when he’s going to turn his head. Love for him shines through it. His love for you makes your chest hurt, his chaste kissing like a straight shot of oxytocin. All your worry saps away. 

“Feel any better?” he asks knowingly.

You remember enough about his teasing to withhold an answer. He kisses your cheek, his smile unmissable on your skin. 

[lovelytsunoda]

give me a kiss (or three) // lando norris

summary: matching clothes shouldn't turn lando on this much.

pairing: lando norris x female reader

warnings: smut, the worst description I have ever written, it’s a lil bit cringe. lando has a nickname for his dick, and a box of flavoured condoms in his bedside drawer. lowkey inspired by an audio posted by the wonderful @2-fast-2-curious. (I took a lot of creative liberties and added a ton of things, but the base idea is still there), there's more laughter than sex in here my dudes-

seeing lando norris wrapped up in the soft pink bedspread should not have warmed her heart the way that it did.

she had slipped out of the bed and ducked across the hallway to use the bathroom, and when she came back, her chest seized at the sight of her lover, his arms wrapped around the massive section of duvet that she was previously buried under.

she never thought she'd see the day, and she never thought she could feel this way about someone who felt the same way back.

she slowly began to dress, careful not to make any noise in the small bedroom. not only would she prefer not to wake her roommates, lando himself was a light sleeper and he needed to be well rested before they went to visit her parents that afternoon.

"sweetheart?" lando mumbled, messy-haired and groggy as he began to surface from underneath the duvet. "its so early, what are you doing awake?"

"i have to run to tescos, and then i have boxing at ten." she smiled softly, tightening the strap on her lacy bralette. "i wanted to let you sleep in. you'll need all your energy for the drive later."

lando snorted, sitting up straight, his curls matted by sleep and sticking to his skin. "there's no way you're wearing a bra that nice to your boxing class."

"i'll change when i get there." she chuckled, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.

the blankets shifted with the movement, falling away from lando's thighs to where his royal blue boxers hugged his skin. the man looked down, and then over to the matching set his girlfriend was wearing before he let out a laugh.

"what's so funny?"

"your bra matches my underwear." lando snickered. "we match. a perfect pair."

she couldn't help but join in with her lovers laughter and mirth, looping her arm's around his neck with a chortle. his skin was warmed against hers, which had rapidly cooled since she had emerged from her blanket huddle and into the winter air that filled her home.

"you're so cringe." she giggled, standing between his legs, the slight shade of difference between their underclothes making her smile.

he was right. they were almost a perfect pair.

"cringe? you think i'm cringe?" lando feigned hurt, squeezing her sides playfully. he kissed her deeply, nipping at her bottom lip as his hands roamed her lower body.

the kiss was passionate, yet playful, smiles evident on both of their faces (even when lando slipped his tongue into her mouth, earning a surprised shout).

"not as cringe as the time-" she stopped midsentence, whining as lando ran his tongue along the sweet spot on her neck before diving back in to kiss her. "you wore the monoply boxers."

"i thought 'wanna go to jail" was a great line!"

"yeah, for a fifteen year old boy!"

"it still worked, didn't it?" lando laughed, grabbing at her thighs to roll them over.

the duvet was soft and pillowy around her, bunched up just enoough around her that it narrowed her field of vision. all that existed in that moment was her and lando.

just the way she liked it. she loved it when they were silly like this, playful and sexy at the same time. an experience that felt so uniquely like the two of them and their love, and ensured that they never got tired of being intimate with each other.

"am i still cringe when i've got your wrists pinned to the bed?" lando smirked, his body a comfortable weight against hers, her wrists cradled against the goose down.

"i dunno." she smiled arching upwards to press her lips against his. "why don't we find out?"

lando grinned at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "i like the way you think, but don't you have to go to boxing?"

"they won't miss me. i'm there three times a week as it is." she smiled, snaking one bare leg around his.

lando's touch was as familiar as her afternoon stretching routine. every brush of his fingertips against her skin made her feel powerful, like she could do anything. his lips were comfortable and warm against hers, yet new and exciting every time. lando's grip on her wrists let up, and she buried her fingers in his curls, tugging softly.

"fuck, babe. i love it when you do that." he moaned, lips dancing over the material of her bralette, tonguing at her peaked nipples.

"i know." she hummed, breath hitching. "oh, i love it when you do that."

"that's my girl." lando hummed, reverence in his eyes and a serene expression on his face as he continued to kiss across her collarbone, throughout the valley between her breasts. "you want my fingers, baby? want me to make you feel good?"

“please.” she keened, arching into him.

landos calloused fingers danced across her thigh, over the cluster of freckles that used to make her feel so insecure but he so dearly loved, reaching for the damp spot on her panties. his touch was feather light, running up and down her slit, barely applying any pressure at all.

“lando.” she breathed, making a show of spreading her legs wider for him.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl.” he hummed, tugging her panties to the side before dipping two fingers in with a moan. “all this for me? you’re so wet, love.”

“only for you.” she moaned, breath hitching as she dug her fingernails into landos shoulder blades, his tongue darting out to lick the sweat off her neck. “oh, baby.”

“such a good girl for me, taking my fingers so well.” he praised, using his free hand to guide her face towards his.

lando kissed her deeply, her hands moving to clutch his hair as his fingers fucked her deeper. every inch of her body was on fire with desire, pleasure pooling in her stomach, her lovers hard cock pressing against her stomach while he finger-fucked her to high heaven.

“oh my god, lando, fuck, I think I’m gonna-“

she didn’t have time to finish that thought before lando pulled his fingers out abruptly, making a show out of licking them off as she whined impatiently at her ruined orgasm.

“what the fuck, dude!”

lando just laughed, kissing her forehead. “payback, sweetheart. you called me cringe, so you don’t get to come.”

“fuck you.”

“I beleive you’re trying to.”

the room went awkwardly silent, so much so that you could hear a pin drop. and then, all at once, they both burst out laughing. the kind of laughter that makes your eyes water, your stomach start to hurt. Lando was laughing so hard that he dropped back onto the bed, bare chest heaving as he looked up at the ceiling.

“why the fuck did I say that?” he cackled.

“I don’t know!” she laughed back. “if it helps, I thought it was cute, and it really made me want to suck your dick.”

“yes, actually. that does help.” landos eyes brightened as she shifted his position, sliding his boxers down his legs. “little lando has missed your pretty face.”

“little lando? god I hate that you have a nickname for your penis.”

“we’ll, if you’re going to insult him like that-“

“shut up.” she breathed, kissing him with a smile. “do we have any of those flavoured condoms left?”

lando grinned. “watermelon or fruit punch?”

she slipped off the bed, foot tangling with the flat sheet as she crouched in front of the bedside table, digging through the drawer for the small red box, searching for the elusive fruit punch condom.

she had never been a fan of giving head. there was something about it that had always just icked her out, but lando made her want to try. she wanted to expand her horizons with him, not for him. it took a lot of trial and error, but they found a way: flavoured condoms. this way, it was more enjoyable for her as well as him. it was akin to a warm ice lolly, rather than a body part.

she deftly ripped the packaging open, sliding the rubber shield onto landos cock. she positioned herself between his legs, taking a few deep breaths before taking his cock in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks and running her tongue up and down the shaft.

“oh my god!” lando moaned, resisting the urge to buck his hips. getting blown was always a treat for him, considering that y/n didn’t enjoy it all the time, finding it more stressful than it was worth. but every time she did it, he was reminded just how incredible she was at it.

it was a treat, one that he would savour until the end of time.

he bit his lip to stifle a moan, dropping his hand to the back of her head. he was big in her mouth, weighty against her tongue. she closed her eyes, sucking gently.

“god, you’re so perfect.” lando whined, rubbing reassuring circles with his thumb on the side of her head. “taking me like such a good girl.”

she opened her eyes, chancing a look at the love of her life. she moaned at the sight of his rippling abs, body contorted in pleasure.

all because of her. she did that.

“fucking hell, honey. I think I’m gonna blow.”

lando came with a howl, hips stuttering as he came inside the condom sheath. she slipped off his cock quickly, leaving a trail of saliva behind as she made her way up his body to press a soft kiss to landos lips. using a handful of tissues, he slipped the condom off, balling it up and tossing it in the wastebasket. his breathing was heavy, but he was raring to go for more.

“sit on my cock, babe. ride me, please. I need it.”

she smiled, kissing him again. “now who’s the needy one?”

“shut up. do you want to come on my dick or not?” he joked, tickling her sides.

she playfully pushed him against the headboard before rooting around for another condom (a normal one, this time). she pressed the foil packet into lando's hand before getting to her feet and sliding off her soaked panties. she moved to take off her bra as well, but lando grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"keep it on, gorgeous."

and how could she argue when he was giving her puppy dog eyes?

she sunk down slowly, dramatically playing up her actions with some hair-fluffing and boob-primping. lando laughed underneath her, the sound distracting her from the sting as he stretched her out with his cock.

she shifted slowly at first, moving her hips in slow, torturous circles, biting her lip to stop a moan. her lover groaned, looking up at her with lust and reverence in his eyes.

"comfy?" he quipped, hands gently moving to grip her backside.

"very." she smiled, leaning in to kiss him.

lando wasted no time in guiding her movements, lifting her up and down on his cock like it was no effort at all. her fingernails dug into his shoulders, small pants coming out in quick breaths as she bounced on his length.

"oh my god, lando." she whined. "you feel so good. so good, baby."

"that's my girl." lando hummed, dotting kisses along her collarbone, his hands grabbing fistfuls of her ass. "only i get to see you like this, make you feel this good." he growled "and you're doing so so well for me, love."

if lando were to explain what having sex with his girlfriend was like in two words, he'd probably say coming home. she was his safe haven. they fit together like a glove, always seemed to know what the other needed without saying a word. and if they spent more time laughing than actually having sex, or fi their sex was goofier than it was seductive? that didn't matter to him. all that mattered was that they spent that time together.

just two people in love, showing the other just how much.

every bit of praise made her skin break out in goosebumps. she could feel herself dripping onto lando's thighs, but she didn't care. she just wanted to be close to him. as close as physically possible. she arched inwards, leaning against his chest for support as lando stopped moving her hips, instead thrusting his up rapidly to meet hers, a strangled moan escaping her throat.

"that's it, princess. you don't need to do any of the work. lando's got you." he cooed, pressing kisses to her sweaty forehead, whispering words of praise in between moans and grunts. animalistic sounds that just turned her on even more, pleasure reverberating throughout her body.

her slender fingers came up to tangle in his hair, tugging gently. lando moaned softly, angelically, his head tilted backwards and his eyes closed. it was a heavenly sight as he leaned down to sew her lips to his, walls beginning to contract against his cock.

"fuck, lando, go faster. i'm so close, baby." she whined, feeling him pick up the pace, hugging her body closer. she matched his movements, circling her hips and reaching a hand towards her clit.

"you coming, baby? you gonna come all over my thick, hard dick?" lando crooned. "touching yourself for me? getting yourself off on my cock."

"lando, please." she breathed, fingers rapidly moving against her swollen bud. she could feel herself getting closer, the band in her stomach getting tighter. "make me come."

he kissed her hard, thrusting deeper, the room echoing with the sounds of his skin slapping against hers, his guttural moans as his head fell back against the pillows. she could feel him release into the condom, his dick shuddering inside her, the latex getting warmer as it filled.

that was enough to trigger her own release, her juices pouring out of her, running down lando's shaft and dripping onto his thighs. she came with a cry of his name, bracing her hands against the headboard. her limbs felt like jelly as she tried to ease herself off him.

"easy does it." lando spoke softly, his voice raspy (as it usually was after sex), his touch gentle as he eased her down onto the bed. "remember to breathe, there's still water on the nightstand from last night. finish the glass, darling." he kissed her forehead softly before stripping himself of the condom and wiping her legs up with a handful of tissues. "come here."

she smiled, placing the now-empty ikea glass on the nightstand before curling up against him, wrapping her naked limbs over his, pulling the flat sheet over their bodies.

"this was a much better workout than boxing." she smiled, resting her head on his chest. "you're more fun than the coach is."

"i should hope so. i need to give you a reason to keep me around." lando joked, kissing her forehead. "i love you, my darling darling girl."

"i love you too, my handsome boy." she smiled, leaning up to kiss him, trailing a hand across his face as they kissed softly.

"by the way, this doesn't absolve you of driving to my mum's later. and yes, we're still going."

"god damn it! she always sends home with so much crap, i can't fit it all in the mclaren!"

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @httpiastri @libraryofloveletters @diorleclerc @thatsdemko @scuderiamh @twinkodium @sidcrosbyspuck @cartierre @lorarri @userlando

[apocalypseornaw]

What's Mine

Dean Winchester x Reader

You and Dean have been tiptoeing around each other for weeks until you run into your ex on a hunt and Dean makes it a point to let it be known he isn't giving up what's his..you

The breath was knocked out of you when your back hit the dirt, Dean's body on top of yours was a familiar weight and he'd somehow supported your head to keep your neck from slamming at a weird angle when the two of you landed.

“You ok?” He asked breathlessly and you managed a smile “Had worse” you felt the heat of the flame from the open grave hit your side and knew Sam had torched the bones. Good thing too that damn ghost had tossed you and Dean both like a frigging ragdoll.

“You two good?” Sam called out and Dean who was still currently on top of you smirked “Been in a lot worse positions” you rolled your eyes and shoved him in the chest “Shut up and get off me Winchester” he got to his feet and helped you to yours before grabbing his chest playfully “Oh come on sweetheart. You're killing me here. You know you want me”

You felt your face warm at his teasing. Did you want him? Hell yes, who wouldn't? Did you have no clue where he stood due to months of flirting, light touches and getting so comfortable with each other you regularly ended up in each other's beds if one of you had a bad night.

“Oh yes. Let me ravage you in the middle of this graveyard covered in dirt and ectoplasm” you shot back and he grinned “Oh I'd take ya anyway I could have ya” you rolled your eyes and walked over to the grave where Sam was already filling in the hole and picked up a shovel. Dean joined the two of you and in no time the grave was back covered.

You looked from Sam to Dean “I need a shower” you announced only to be met with Sam saying he needed food and Dean saying he needed a drink. You laughed “There's a bar not far from our hotel. Sign boasted the best wings as voted by some traveling foodie. Let's hit the showers then we can grab some food and a few drinks before we hit the hay”

Dean grinned “That's my girl” and Sam shook his head “You two need to get a room” Sam was sick of the little dance you and Dean were stuck in as much as you were but you refused to make the first move. You knew how Dean was when it came to commitment.

You'd known both brothers for years and had started hunting with them full time after Bobby died then moved into the bunker full time after your last breakup.Sam was your best friend. You loved them both and refused to let your feelings for Dean come between that. He'd eventually make his feelings known, wouldn't he?

You walked in the bar between Sam and Dean, feeling Dean's hand at your lower back. It was a habit he'd long since started doing. Whether it was when the three of you were on a hunt, you went to the grocery store with him or something as simple as walking in a bar. When you'd asked him about it hoping he'd use the opportunity to admit anything he'd instead told you that he just liked to keep a hand on you. Something about in public places it keeping any pervs from thinking about looking your way.

You tried to ignore the instinct to lean into his touch. Was it possible he didn't want you like you wanted him? Maybe he really did just see you as a good friend and you were reading too much into things.

—--------------

Dean felt your back tense under his hand as Sam cleared the way to a booth on the back wall. “You good sweetheart?” He asked, leaning down so you could hear him over the music. You nodded but didn't give a verbal response. He was sure he'd blocked your head from taking a blow but maybe your back or ribs had taken a hit you hadn't admitted to?

He'd make a point to ask you before all of you settled down for the night back at the hotel.

He watched as you sat down on one of the benches then looked between him and Sam “Who's going to the bar?” He raised his hand slightly “you want your usual?” You nodded “Yes please” when you gave him a small smile he felt one slip onto his face in return but didn't miss Sam rolling his eyes. His little brother had been on his ass for weeks. The last threat had been “If you don't make a move I'm gonna start hitting on her for you. It's pathetic man”

—-------------

After Sam had eaten an extraordinary amount of wings for his usual appetite and you and Dean had split an order of mozzarella sticks you had gotten up to go to the bathroom. Normally one or both of them would walk you and wait outside the door but this once you'd convinced them to let you go alone.

When you got back out of the bathroom you saw that both of them had gone to the bar so you headed that way. You were almost to them when you heard a voice call your name you froze dead in your tracks, you'd recognize that voice anywhere. Your ex boyfriend Dominic.

The same ex boyfriend who'd broken up with you because “Ain't no way you're not sleeping with one of the Winchesters. They've never made a habit of working with any other hunter with the exception of Bobby yet you're always welcome to join them”

You turned to see him walking towards you. He was a fairly good looking guy. He was about six foot, dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. You'd been hurt when he accused you but now there was a whole different level to that hurt considering it seemed the Winchester that you did now have feelings for would never want you.

“Hey Dom” you greeted with a smile. “How ya been?” He asked and you shrugged “You know the life, still breathing so I'd call it a win”

—------------

Sam knew you should be out of the bathroom by now. He had hoped Dean would use the night out to admit his feelings. He turned to look around for you and spotted you talking to someone, no not someone your ex. That was Dominic. This should be interesting.

He glanced at Dean, trying to consider if he wanted to do this or not but then he saw your shoulders tense and knew you well enough to know when you needed a rescue. “Isn't that Dom?” He asked if off handedly but Dean spun around fast enough a few people looked their way. “Yeah it is”

The muscle in Dean's jaw was clenched hard watching you talk to your ex and Sam knew it was now or never. “She doesn't look too comfortable. Maybe one of us should go over there?” He stood like he was going to but Dean grabbed his shoulder “Let me”

—-----------------

What had started off as friendly enough turned not so friendly the moment Dom noticed Sam and Dean at the bar “Which one is it?” “Which one is what?” You asked because you honestly had no idea what he meant. “Which Winchester are you fucking?”

Before you could open your mouth to respond you felt a strong set of arms slip around your waist and heard Dean's voice say “That would be me. Why? You got a problem with it?” You cut your eyes up at him so he used that moment to bring one hand up to cup your chin and when his lips met yours the entire bar could've caught fire for all you cared.

You'd thought of kissing Dean so many times, dreamt of it but good lord the real thing couldn't be described. He rolled his tongue against yours, exploring your mouth and letting you taste the bourbon he'd drank. His hand moved to the back of your head, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss. You felt heat roll through your stomach as he pulled away from you leaving another light kiss on your lips before turning his eyes back to Dom.

“What was the issue of who she's with? Didn't you break up with her?” You could hear the venom in Dean's voice and felt his arms tighten around you protectively. This was new.

Dom shrugged “Yeah I broke up with her because I figured either you or your brother was fucking her” his eyes slid down to you then back up to Dean before he added “Or both of ya”

You felt Dean tense and knew you needed to diffuse the situation. Dom was strong, yeah but Dean was on an entire different level. He could easily kill him and not break a sweat. You gripped Dean's arms to stop him from moving “Baby,let's get Sammy and leave” you hoped you using a pet name for him that you normally wouldn't might get through his head.

He nodded “Yeah. Let's get back to the hotel” he slipped his arms from around you and grabbed your hand instead, lacing his fingers with yours. You took a few steps away and thought that was it, that Dom would use what brain cells he had and let it go. Instead he said “Does she still make that little sound right before she…”

He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. Dean had dropped your hand and landed a solid punch before you could blink. Fuck. “SAM!” You shouted over the quickly growing crowd.

You didn't want to get close enough to get caught in the crosshair. Dean would be careful of you but add in enough drunks and adrenaline and accidents happen. “I got him” You heard Sam's voice before you saw him grab Dean's shoulder, ducking the thrown punch “C'mon he ain't worth it”

Dean looked up and met your gaze. You saw him take a deep breath then nod. “Yeah let's go” he reached for your hand and you gave it to him. Sam handed the nearest waitress a few twenties but by that time some drunks had helped Dom to his feet. He was holding his broken nose “So i was right. She's been fucking you”

You squeezed Dean's hand, silently begging him to not be baited. He pulled you into his side then turned to face Dom. “If I would've had her in my bed back then she would've kicked you to the curb long before you split and for the record she doesn't make any small noise with me” you felt your face warm when a chorus of “Ooohhs” went through the bar.

You spotted the bouncer headed in your direction and Dean must have too because he waved towards the door “I'm leaving. I'm leaving. This asshole needed to learn some manners”

The short ride to the motel had been in silence. You followed Sam into the room and headed for the door adjoining your room to theirs.

—-------------

You felt Dean grab your hand before you made it to the door “Can we talk?” You cut your eyes at Sam then nodded “Yeah. Come on” you walked into your room and waited until you heard Dean close the door to turn and face him.

“I'm sorry you were put in that position to have to defend me” You blurted out and he looked stunned for a minute then shook his head “I'm not. That guy's a fucking asshole. He never deserved you” you smiled slightly “Helluva punch and helluva kiss”

He smirked “I meant it” “The punch?” You asked and he rolled his eyes “The kiss you brat” you grinned “Oh really? What about the she doesn't make any small sound with me part?”

He pushed off the door, walking towards you with almost a predatory look. The same thing that made demons run the opposite direction had the ability to make your knees weak in the best way. “That sounds like you're doubting my abilities sweetheart?” You shrugged nonchalantly despite your heart pounding in your throat “Not like you've made a move to show me your abilities”

—--------------

He stopped just shy of touching you “Let me make myself clear if we do this that's it. You're mine, I'm yours. I don't want one night or just sex. I want all of you” “Good” you replied and that was all it took. He closed the space between you and if you thought the kiss in the bar was something it had nothing compared to the way his lips crashed against yours in a bruising, hungry kiss.

He backed you up to the bed and the moment the back of your legs hit it he eased you back on it, never breaking the kiss even as he hovered over you. Once the need for air forced you apart his lips moved across your jaw then down your neck “I've wanted you for so long” he spoke against your skin and you practically melted on the spot. “I'm yours Dean. I've been yours” you whispered and he groaned “Gonna be the death of me”

His hands gripped your shirt and before you could protest he ripped it right down the middle bearing your covered breasts to him. He bit down on one of them and when you moaned and arched your back he slipped his hands under you to relieve you of the bra as well, throwing it across the room. He looked down at you and the look in his eyes made your heart flip “You're so damn beautiful” he murmured before crashing his lips against yours again.

Your hands found his shirt so he broke the kiss long enough to slip it off and throw it, giving you access to his skin. Your hands smoothed over his chest, tracing the tattoo and small scars littered around it that even angelic healing didn't get rid of.

“I need more of you, please” he begged and you fucking whimpered hearing Dean Winchester sound that wrecked. “You have all of me Dean” you whispered and he left another searing kiss against your lips before moving down your body.

He slipped your boots off along with your jeans then panties leaving you bare to him before settling between your legs. He didn't give you time to adjust before his mouth found your core. The first lick was tentative, testing but when your hips bucked up into him he damn near growled before pinning your lower body down with one arm and diving in like a man starved.

—--------------

You were quivering under Dean. He'd already worked one orgasm out of you with his tongue alone and now had added two fingers into you as well. You were so close to that edge again and damn him he knew just what you needed. He turned his wrist to find that spot deep inside of you, running his fingertips over it as he sucked your clit into his mouth and you came again with a scream of his name on your lips.

Once you came down from that high you shoved weakly at his head “Please Dean, too much” he left one final kiss against your clit before leaning back to grin up at you “Worth the wait?” You nodded weakly “Please take your pants off and get up here”

He stood and slipped his boots, jeans and boxers off before crawling up your body, kissing and licking every inch of skin he could on the way up. When he crashed his lips against yours you could taste yourself on him and felt yourself clench especially when he moved to your neck to work your pulse point with his tongue and teeth.

“Dean, I will return the favor next time but please get inside me” He grinned against your skin “Yes ma'am” you felt the head of his cock teasing at your entrance and rolled your hips up towards him. He slid in slowly, a low moan leaving you both at the feeling of him stretching you.

Once you adjusted to his size you tapped his shoulder “You can move” he gave a thrust and when your hands went to his shoulders, nails digging in, he groaned “That's my girl” before setting a punishing pace.

—------------

You were folded damn near in half, your legs on Dean's shoulders as he pounded into you. You felt tears forming in the corner of your eyes from being pushed to that delicious line between pleasure and pain.

Your legs were shaking, your whole body felt like it was made of liquid. You'd never had this many orgasms fucked out of you and it seemed like he was aiming for one more before he let himself come. “Dean please. I can't take any more” you begged and he kissed your cheek “One more baby. Please. You've got one more for me”

His fingers slipped between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit and you felt that pressure burst again,your vision going soft from the pleasure coursing through you. His thrusts started getting uneven and you knew he was close. “Fuck Dean. You feel so damn amazing. Please come for me, fill me up” you sobbed, fucked senseless.

He groaned,burying his face in your neck as he gave one final hard thrust and you felt when he came deep inside of you.

—----------------

He slowly eased your legs down but stayed inside of you as you both worked to get your breathing back to normal. When he pulled out he apologized at the low whine you gave before going to grab a warm rag to clean you both up.

After he was sure you were cleaned up and didn't need anything else he climbed into bed next to you and pulled you over on his chest. “No regrets on wanting me?” He asked and you felt your heart jump at the uncertainty in his voice despite having just fucked you senseless. You leaned up to look up at him “Why? You already sick of me?” You teased and his eyes narrowed “Don't even woman”

You laughed lightly “I'm sure Dean. You're who I want” “Good, because I'd hate to have to kill anyone who tried to take you from me” you shook your head “Not happening Winchester. You're stuck with me” He pulled you back on his chest and left a kiss on your head before saying “I've been stuck in a lot worse positions than having you in my arms”

[forlix]

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・572 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・felix x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲(𝘀)・fluff, established relationship, lots of kisses hehe, slightly suggestive

“See you tonight, angel,” Felix says, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. It’s chaste, short, familiar; your favorite form of farewell, exchanged inevitably before you part ways, even for only a few hours.

But this time, Felix doesn’t pull away afterwards, instead remaining so close to you that the tip of his nose is almost brushing yours, and there’s an ineffable glint in his eyes when he speaks again. (You should’ve known you were in danger.)

“Hang on,” he murmurs, his voice low and sweet, and then he leans in again.

When he presses his lips to yours the second time, he moves with an intensity that you aren’t prepared for. You feel his fingers slide over the nape of your neck and tangle gently in your hair; your head tilts backwards from the weight of his kiss, his tongue feather-light against the seam of your lips, his mouth laving over yours as tenderly as if he’s trying to drink you, savor you. Dimly, you feel your waist bump against the kitchen counter, and Felix doesn’t even think when he moves a hand protectively to the small of your back, returning you to your rightful place against his chest.

You are breathless and lightheaded when your boyfriend breaks the kiss, his lips flushed and hair messy, looking like a walking dream.

“S'that a new lip balm flavor?” He asks.

Bastard.

You collect yourself just enough to give him an answer, but it sounds more like a blissful sigh than a spoken response: “Strawberry.”

The smile that crosses Felix’s face is mostly bashful, but you don’t miss the self-satisfied huff of laughter that comes with it.

“I like it,” he hums. “A lot.”

And he kisses you one more time, and then another.

He ends up being late to practice that day, his rushed apologies to Minho falling out of strawberry-tinted lips.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.