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nastyzombii · 4 days ago

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How Often Do You Feel Lonely? (Remmick x F!Reader)

summary: you live alone in the middle of the woods, just how you like it. at least that’s what you tell yourself. your peaceful night in is interrupted by a knock at the door. a man, pleading to be let inside just to catch his breath… but of course, that’s not all he’s after.

wc: 14.5k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit depictions of sexual acts! little plot mostly smut, vampire sex, p in v, oral (both giving and receiving), lots of drooling, spit drinking, face fucking, mutual masturbation, creampie(s), face down ass up, hair pulling, claws and teeth drawing blood/leaving marks, blood tasting (he’s a vampire… duh), fingering, multiple orgasms, threats of violence, manipulation, mentions of voyeurism, abandonment and death.

A/N: special thanks to @eternalstrigoii for beta reading, @spikedfearn for inspiring me to get back into writing smut, and of course everyone in the remmick discord for cheering me on and filling my head with wonderful filthy ideas <3 love u guys | translations for gaeilge provided at the end.

The sun had finally set, nestling itself amidst the spiraling, twisted trees. The sky shifted from a crisp orange to a comforting blanket of dark purple, the stars winking from a distance. Clouds hung lazily, dotting the starlit night with blots of grey. The moon, half-full, occupied the sun’s empty throne.

Although the sun drifted to its nightly embrace, the air still hangs heavy with the humid summer heat. You kept the windows open, though it wasn’t much help. Even keeping the door open a crack didn’t aid in letting air into the stuffy house.

The dark, empty house - lit only by the soft moonlight and a few candles scattered on the mantle and other various surfaces - creaked. Not unusual for the old place you call home. You live alone, but the creaks and groans didn’t bother you much. Not anymore, at least. You’ve grown used to it, the sounds kept you company, especially at night. A delightful symphony in comparison to the deafening silence that surrounded you most days.

Sometimes that’s all you need. The familiar creaking of the house, the serene night sky, a good book, a myriad of flickering candles, and some refreshing tea - iced or hot, depending on the weather and your mood. Tonight it was iced, on account of the sticky summer heat.

Despite having what you need for a peaceful night, you knew deep down in your heart that something was missing. It troubled you to ponder what exactly left you so empty inside, but you regularly stifle that feeling.

No use thinking about that. No use at all.

You grab your freshly brewed tea, take a sip and set it down on the nearby coaster. You snatch the most recent book you’ve started digging into from the shelf and sit in your typical spot by the window. It was the perfect spot. You could see the moon and stars coalescing in the clouds, their soothing light shining just bright enough through the window for you to read peacefully. Your chair was wooden, but the throw pillow on the seat made it perfectly comfortable.

You curl open the book, a classic Bram Stoker novel, right where you left off. You slide the bookmark from its place and set it down on the table in front of you. Taking another hearty sip from your glass, you begin reading to yourself:

“I pray to you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup.”

A shadow, swift and sudden, passes by the window. You barely spot it out of the corner of your eye. You twist your head to catch a better glimpse, but the presence went as fast as it came.

It was probably just an animal. A wolf or a vulture, maybe even a bear. It’s hard to say. Plenty of animals congregate around your humble abode. Living in the middle of nowhere meant that any movement outside was normally a woodland creature just drifting through on their way back to their family or catching their prey… or running from a predator. Nothing more. Except for the occasional birds flocking to your outdoor feeder, they stick around longer than most animals - longer than any guest you’ve ever had, really.

However you couldn’t shake the feeling that the passing shadow might have been something different. A stillness sets in, yet the candles continue to dance in the darkness, the blazing waltz reflecting in your eyes.

You inhale a sharp breath and try to perish the thought. The loneliness is really getting to you tonight. You shift your eyes back onto the page but a sound startles you before you can begin reading again.

Your ajar front door creaked. A different creak than you’re used to. There was no wind, not tonight, yet something caused the door to sway and moan. Something was lurking out in the woods. Or worse, someone.

An unfamiliar chill runs down your spine. An animal… that’s all it is. A hungry animal. A scared animal. Reluctantly, you leave your perch once more to shut the door, setting the book page down in your chair. You were determined to not let these noises get under your skin. Not while you’re trying to enjoy a quiet night of reading. You could do without the willies tonight.

You press one hand on the rustic wooden door frame, the other on the knob. Your eyes travel to the crack, peering out into the darkness. Nobody was there. Nothing was there. Just your overactive imagination getting the best of you. A wave of relief washes over you.

The door shuts with a groan. Finally… back to peace. You take a step to the side, primed to dive into your reading and enjoy a relaxing night without distraction. Without issue. Peace and quiet, just how you like it.

Right as you’re about to settle in your chair, you hear a loud knock.

KNOCK KNOCK

Your heart thuds in your chest - it was an unusual sound for you. Nobody comes to visit, not very often. Certainly not at this hour. Fear ripples in your throat as you take in a gulp of air. You just checked outside with no sight or feeling of a presence on your doorstep. How is that possible?

The moisture from the summer heat mingles with the nervous sweat on your forehead. Your heart thrums faster as the rapping on the door continues.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Hello? Hey, is-is anyone home?” The choked voice of a man breaks through the barrier of your door. A southern twang riddled the man’s gravelly inflection. It didn’t sound natural though, more like someone mimicking an accent they’d heard once before. “Hello? Please, I need some help.”

The begging stranger continues knocking at the door, his pleas growing louder. His pounding grows more urgent. You didn’t want to answer. Anxiety claws at your chest. A man? Here? At this hour? I didn’t see him when I peeked outside. I was sure there was no one there.

“Please, p-please,” The man’s voice is desperate, calling to you like a siren. Your breath trembles as he cries out. “I know you’re in there. I can see your shadow movin’ around.”

You inhale a deep, staggered breath and inch closer to the door, the heavy wood shifting with the man’s incessant knocking. Your hands shake as you slowly open the door - just a hair, to get a look at the man at your doorstep.

His eyes, a soft but wild blue, meet yours. He wasn’t as imposing as you imagined. Far from it, actually.

Dark hair sits messy on his sweat-slicked head. He sports a sleeveless, collarless white shirt that clings to his broad shoulders - drenched in what looks like perspiration and god knows what else. A golden chain drapes around his thick neck. His dirty, torn work pants are accentuated by undone suspenders that hang loosely around his sides, as well as a worn out leather belt with a metal buckle - suspenders and a belt? Strange fashion sense, you think to yourself.

A pungent odor wafted from him - you aren’t able to make out what the exact scent is. A mix of body odor, singed flesh, old blood and pure death. Unpleasant, to put it lightly.

“Oh, miss. I am terribly sorry to bother you this time of night but I-I’ve been runnin’ for what feels like hours,” he speaks, his voice a low rumble, cracking between every word. Running for hours… that would explain the copious amount of sweat beading on his forehead… and the smell. “I didn’t mean to frighten ya. I-I saw your house in the distance and thought you might be able to help me out of a pinch.”

“Why were you running?” You ask. A man running in the woods, in the dark, didn’t bode well. Something about this stranger strikes you as suspicious. His stammering and disheveled appearance didn’t help much. ”Mighty strange for a man to be running around the woods at night.”

“I was bein’ chased,” he huffs. “I-I was hopin’… well I was hopin’ I might be able to catch my breath at this quaint little house here.”

“Chased? By who?” Your curiosity piqued.

“That don’t really matter,” his voice a hushed rasp. His eyes focus on yours, their blue sheen flickers with the dancing candlelight on your mantle. “M-may I come in? Only for a moment. I just. I need a second to breathe, maybe somethin’ to drink, and I’ll be on my way. I swear it.”

“It’s not very smart to let strangers in, you know,” your eyebrows furrow, concern scribbled on your face. Not just any stranger, but a man. Not only a bad decision but potentially a dangerous one. Surely he’d understand your hesitation. “Especially at night.”

“I know, miss,” he whimpers, his eyes glistening with despair. He seems desperate to get inside. Whoever, or whatever, he was running from must have really shaken him. “I-I know. I know, and I empathize. Letting a stranger in… never a good idea, no ma’am. I know. I don’t mean to be a burden, but I just… oh, I just need a quick respite. Please, I’m beggin’ ya.”

“Why should I?” You hiss, your hand faltering on the door knob. He notices the way your body is shaking, the door trembling with you. A pout forms on his plush, pink lips. He falls to his knees with a hopeless sigh. The shredded holes of his pants force his bare legs to scrape against the hard wood of your porch. You almost feel bad for him. Almost.

“Oh… I know you don’t got a reason to let a strange man like me in, but I will do anything,” he puts his veined, calloused hands together in a weak prayer. “Anything at all.”

You didn’t respond. You watch his lips quiver as he bows his head - you could see how soaked his unkempt hair was with sweat. Little strands of his dark locks spiked out towards the back of his neck. You feel a bizarre sense of power watching a man crumble like this at your doorstep. You were used to men making you crumble.

“I-I can give you money,” he falters, scrambling his hand down into his front pocket. He pulls out two sparkling coins - from what you could tell, they didn’t look like any sort of money you were used to seeing. They looked like solid gold. Ancient. The coins shake in his palm, clinking together. ”It’s not much but it’s all I got. You can have it. I don’t want nothin’ from you other than a place to stay for just a moment… somethin’ to drink. Then I’ll get outta your hair. I swear to you that’s all I ask. Please.”

He shuffles near the crack in the door, his hand rattling the coins for you to get a closer look. They were definitely real and you weren’t the type to deny money. Not like you needed it that much beyond grocery trips and occasional house repairs. Still, you can’t help but find yourself enticed by the shining currency and the man’s choked pleas. He’s easy on the eyes too - an added bonus.

“You sure that’s all you want?” You ask, still suspicious of the strange man kneeling before you. Out of everything you’ve learned in life - men only ever want is one thing - has rang true the most.

“I promise,” he croaks. His body trembles on the floorboards of the porch, the old wood squeaking beneath his weight. He looks up at you, his gaze wet with distress and yearning. You’d never seen a man look so… pathetic. Weak. His promise feels sincere - he didn’t seem so dangerous to you anymore.

You sigh and open the door all the way, pulling the ample wood inward and fully revealing yourself to the stranger. He looks you over, darting eyes studying you up and down. A pleasant expression washes over his angular features, almost like he was amazed that you accepted his offer… and all it took was a bribe and some begging for you to fold. His smile is as soft as his eyes, with imperfect teeth lining his gums. His canines glint in the candlelight as his grin widens at the sight of you.

Something about him charms you. Maybe it was his blue-eyed gaze filled with wonder and a touch of sorrow or maybe that cute, crooked smile. The way his voice cracks desperately while he pleads. The way his body trembles and prays at your doorstep as if you were a goddess made flesh. The way the candlelight dances around his handsome face. Maybe it was the money… no, no… there was something else. Something more carnal. It’s not entirely clear to you, but whatever it is, he charmed his way inside your house.

“Alright, you can come in,” you exhale, beckoning the stranger into your home. What am I thinking? What am I DOING? Oh god, oh GOD… Your mind races as you watch the man lift himself off the porch. His heavy boots carefully take a step forward through the entryway, hesitant to fully stride in.

“Oh, oh thank you. Thank you, miss. Thank you,” he repeats his gratitude over and over again, nodding his head continuously like an overzealous puppy. His hands snap back into a prayer position to further emphasize his appreciation. He takes another step, broad shoulders pushing past the threshold of your home. His awestruck eyes never leave you. “Thank you.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” you smirk, shutting the door behind him. It’s too late to turn back now. “You have a name, stranger?“

“You can call me Remmick,” he murmurs, setting the two gold coins in your open palm as he continues his voyage into your personal space. His hand is drenched with sweat. You recoil as the moisture coating the coins kisses your skin. The coins are heavy, definitely real gold. You place them down on a nearby console table by the door and wipe your hand on your pants while his back is turned.

Definitely an unusual currency for someone to be carrying along with them. The name Remmick… also unusual. You’ve never heard a name like that before. It was different, but you like the ring of it. Remmick.

“Alright, uh. Remmick,” you nod. “Take a seat, I’ll get you somethin’ to drink. Water or iced tea?”

“Thank you, again, miss,” Remmick’s grin hadn’t faded. If anything, it grows wider as he continues to speak with you. “Water’s fine. I ain’t too picky.”

“Comin’ right up,” you smile back at him. The stranger takes a seat in your reading spot after moving your book onto the table. He gives you a friendly nod. Great. He’s gonna stank up my favorite chair. You try to shake the thought of your peace being disrupted as you stride to the kitchen. It’s only for a moment, then he’ll be on his way.

You reach into the cupboard and snatch the closest glass. Did I make the right decision letting this guy in? You can’t help but ponder the outcome of your choice as you let water fill the cup. What if he IS dangerous? What if he just tricked me by acting helpless and scared? Am I going to regret this? What am I thinking…? Why did I let him in?

Water overflowed onto your hand while you were musing. Maybe you’re just overthinking things. Not all men are bad, surely. Maybe he is just passing by. Maybe he was getting chased by something in the woods. What are the odds that a good man just randomly shows up on your doorstep…? Give him a chance. You dry your hand off and try to clear your head. A chance… Everyone deserves a chance. Even smelly weirdos carrying gold coins.

As you make your way back into the living room, you see Remmick holding your book, his eyes scanning the sentences. He hears the creak of your footsteps and turns his attention to you. He’s sitting lax in your chair, making himself right at home. His legs are crossed and propped up on the nearby table. The candlelight accentuates the veins in his hands and the furrow of his brow. A sly smirk creeps across his face.

“Dracula, huh?” He scoffs, flicking his wrist so that the cover of the book faces you. He lets out a little chuckle and cocks an eyebrow as he reads a passage out loud. “Listen to them - the children of the night. What music they make!”

“What’s the problem?” You bark, unamused by his seemingly mocking tone. He quickly reels back.

“Oh, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he pauses. “I just hear it’s… a little scary, is all. You ain’t scared?”

“Hard to be scared of somethin’ that’s not real,” you sneer, inching closer to the strange man in your chair. You hand him the glass of water. Instead of taking a swig like you’d expect a parched man to do, he places it down next to your iced tea - the collected condensation dripping onto the wooden coaster. “Besides, I like a good monster story. I recently read through Frankenstein and it was a hoot!”

“Oh?” Remmick grins, tilting his head to the side. “What makes you think monsters ain’t real?”

“The only monster I know is men,” you snap back. “Vampires, werewolves, stitched together abominations - they’re just fairy tales. Fiction.”

Remmick contemplates for a moment, his fingers still curled around the book’s spine. He looks back at you, his eyes gleaming in the light. They almost looked like they were shining a different color - crimson. But it was nothing more than a trick of the light.

“Hey now, fairy tales ain’t always fiction. Always a little truth to ‘em,” he teases. He sets the book down pages first on the table, making sure you didn’t lose your place. “‘sides, if you ever met a real monster… oh, I guarantee you wouldn’t be leavin’ your door open or your windows cracked. I wager the heat is safer than the possibility of somethin’ evil creepin’ down the hall.”

Something about the way Remmick spoke of monsters troubles you. His eyelids drooped halfway, hiding his intentions under their shadow. He stares at you, his gaze never wandering from your trembling body, burning into your core and twisting your stomach in knots. Your eyes drift to his left finger - the light of the candles drawing attention to a ring. A wedding ring?

“You married?” You change the subject as quickly as possible, the less talk about monsters the better. His eyelids perk back up. He looks directly at his ring, almost as if it’s the first time he’s noticed it’s there for quite some time.

“Once,” he murmurs quietly. A somber expression plastered on his face, his eyes shying away from you. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it further. “You?”

“Once,” you reply. You lied. You were never married. You were engaged once - but the man you once considered your life. Your soul. Your very home. He has long since abandoned you. All alone in this empty house. Remmick didn’t prod.

“Do you live alone, miss?” Remmick inquires. His tongue licks his front teeth before he shuts his mouth. He still hadn’t taken a sip from his glass of water. You weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t want this stranger to know that you did, in fact, live alone. Better make something up.

“No, but… I am alone for the night,” you continue to lie. You weren’t always the best liar, and you were almost positive Remmick could tell, but you carry on. “My sister is out in town with her fiancé. They won’t be back for a few hours.”

Remmick nods, sinking into your chair with a hearty sigh. He looks over at you, studying you once again. His eyes pierced through your skin, as if he was looking directly at your soul. Even from a distance his gaze gives you goosebumps.

“But you ain’t alone right now, are ya darlin’?” his eyes soften as he speaks. The polite southern cadence sung through his charming smile. He swapped his gracious honorific for an informal term of endearment. You feel your gut clench when this stranger refers to you by a pet name, followed by a fluttering sensation in your chest. It’s been awhile since someone spoke to you like that. “How often do you feel lonely?”

What a strange question, but one you think about more than you’d care to admit. It’s like he was digging into your brain with a venom-encrusted shovel, asking just the right things to make you squirm.

“Not too often. I don’t mind being by my lonesome. I think I’m good company,” you laugh awkwardly. “Why do you ask?”

Remmick pauses for a moment. You couldn’t pinpoint the expression on his face, but you could see him turn to the window. He stared at it longingly, still silent, still thinking. You could slice the silence in the room with a knife.

He begins to sift in the chair, uncrossing his legs and setting his boots down on the floor with a heavy thud. Remmick’s head swivels back towards you.

“I ask because,” he starts, standing up. His shadow flickers on the floor with the dancing candlelight, enveloping you in shifting darkness. “Well… I sure don’t like bein’ lonely.”

Remmick’s voice falters, his words stricken with a hint of sorrow. Your brows knit together. Concern and fear pool in the pit of your stomach as he slowly approaches you.

“And I been lonely for a very, very long time,” his voice cracks slightly. A low growl rumbling deep in his throat. “It’s hard to find good company for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Your eyebrow cocks upward, concern simmering into curiosity. Be careful. Curiosity never fails to kill the cat.

“A monster,” Remmick exhales. He marches forward, his head bowed down to the floor. The air grew heavier the closer he lurched. You wanted to back up, but something was stopping you. An invisible force holds you in place as this stranger continues his pace forward. This stranger, that you let in, stomps closer and closer. Your entire body tenses with every step he takes. “And I ain’t good enough company for myself. Never have been.”

By the time his feet meet yours, you could feel a yelp blossoming beneath your breath. You stifle it the best you can, gulping it down with a hard swallow. Your heart hammers in your chest and your hands grow clammy. He lifts his head, ever so slightly - a droplet of sweat dribbles from his glistening forehead. His eyes flicker maniacally in the candlelight.

“I’ve seen so much death. War. Famine. Lost so many loved ones. My wife… killed right in front of me,” he rasps. “I can still hear her screams in the silence… echoin’ in my head.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. How COULD you respond to that? This stranger who went from imposing, to pathetic, to sincere, right back to imposing - unloading his trauma on you completely indiscriminately, completely out of nowhere. What was he expecting from you? What exactly does he want?

You remain silent. Silent enough that you could hear the candle wicks crackle. This seems to agitate Remmick, the corner of his upper lip twitching.

He looks deep into your eyes, his pupils dilating like a wild animal. His eyes shift violently between blue and crimson. You weren’t so sure if it was a trick of the light anymore or if his eyes were literally changing. Either way, it was unnerving.

He reels himself back a bit, a sharp inhale filling his nose as he lifts his head up to meet your eyes. Your body shudders with anticipation for whatever comes next.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. I’m bein’ a real wet blanket, ain’t I?” He chuckles a little, realizing his emotional outburst might have been a bit too intense. “Forgive me. I just uh. I get a little emotional when I take in the sight of a pretty thing like you. You… you remind me of her, is all.”

He gently reaches a hand out and cups your cheek. The sudden touch, chilling and coarse, makes a tingle twist down your spine. He caresses your face softly. The rough pad of his thumb traces circles on your lips. He stares deeply into your eyes again, honing in on the emptiness in your heart - something the two of you seem to share.

Your eyes twinkle in the candlelight as you gaze back at him. You could sense a deep pain buried underneath his rough and tumble exterior. You weren’t entirely sure how to feel in this moment… on one hand, you missed the touch of another human on your skin. On the other, your sneaking suspicion was starting to rear its ugly head. This guy might be dangerous, or worse - he might want something more than he let on.

Something in your mind pleaded with you to let it happen, begging for the attention you’ve denied yourself. The need for connection. The need for embrace.

You decide to welcome Remmick’s touch. You raise a hand and plant it firmly over his. A smile forms on his roguish face, those crooked teeth baring themselves. His hand was unnaturally cold, but the feel of it against your face brings you a sense of comfort you’ve long since missed.

His intense eyes burned into your very being, hypnotically enticing you to stare back. That odor you whiffed before letting him in washed away with his touch, now all you could smell was the burning wicks of the candles and the night air rolling in from the open window.

“Her eyes sparkled exactly like yours in the right light,” he speaks tenderly, musing on his lost love while delicately stroking your face. “Her lips pursed in a way I’d never forget, either.”

He leans in close, his hand never leaving your face. You could feel his hot breath on your skin, his lips nearly brushing yours.

“May I kiss you?” He whispers, polite as ever. He hovered close enough to your lips that he could lay one on you if he really wanted to. He at least had the courtesy to ask permission. You pull away briefly, contemplating whether or not allowing yourself the embrace would be worth it. But nothing was worse than the fear — what happens if I DON’T?

You nod, but before you can open your mouth to say anything, his lips crash into yours. His warm mouth covers yours with a searing sweetness. You could feel the stubble on his chin rub against you.

A flurry of emotions caught in your chest. The cold caress of his palm on your face coupled with the warmth of his lips coalesced into a strange sensation, but you weren’t complaining.

He lets out a soft purr as you purse your lips to return the same fervor, matching his passion. Your eyelids flutter closed as you lean deeper into the kiss. His other hand reaches behind you, splaying ever so gently on the curve of your back. His fingers languidly stroke your back. Without warning, you feel his tongue slither between your lips. You exclaim softly, feeling Remmick’s lips twist into a satisfied smirk as he delves his long, flat tongue deep into your mouth.

It flicks at the back of your teeth, as if he were tasting your last meal. You let out a breathy, unprovoked moan as his tongue completely wraps around yours in a wet, slimy embrace. He chuckles, thrilled that you’re enjoying this, even a little bit. His hand that cupped your face shifts up into your hair. He takes hold of you gently, pulling you even deeper into the kiss. His fingers knot into your hair as he continues his relentless exploration of your mouth.

A tight, swelling warmth pools in your stomach. This man, this stranger - kissing you with a passion you hadn’t felt in so long, if ever. You were right about one thing. Men only want one thing, but maybe… just maybe, you did too. You allow your tongue to coil with his, melding together in a glorious harmony.

“Santaíonn mé thú…” Remmick whispers into your mouth in a language you’ve never heard before. His tongue hadn’t ceased moving along yours, saliva mixing together with a furious momentum. The hand caressing your back slides further down, nearly grazing your rear.

Your senses begin to come back to you, causing you to pull away - a strand of spit still connecting your lips. He looks at you, eyelids half shut, lips still pursed together.

“My sister and her husband will be home soon,” you say with a hush. He shoots you a look, his hands still gripping you. His lips curve into a devilish sneer.

“Thought you said your sister had a fiancé?” His grasp tightens in your hair. He gives a wicked chuckle that bellows deep from the confines of his throat. “‘sides, I ain’t worried. Your sister don’t live with ya. And she ain’t comin’, not tonight.”

A chill shivers down your spine. You were right again, Remmick could tell you were lying.

He leans in close, his burning gaze paralyzing you.

“I’ve been watchin’ you for a while now, darlin’,” he growls. “You ain’t ever felt these eyes on you? Heard noises at night outside your window? That was me. Keepin’ ya company when no one else would.”

Panic swirls in your mind. You’d never felt his gaze before today. Not that you could recall. Was he just messing with you? Or was he actually watching you… waiting for the perfect moment to strike… when the loneliness of this empty house had finally caught up to you?

“Don’t you worry, sweet thing,” he coos, his gaze and his grip softening. His hand trails back up and massages small circles on your back to put you at ease. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. Don’t wanna hurt ya. I sensed how alone you were. Could sense the hurt in your soul. Thought maybe you needed someone. Needed me.”

His lips peck your cheek, planting a soft kiss. His lips travel further, kissing down to your slender neck.

He remains there, perfectly still. You could feel him deeply inhale, breathing in your scent like a beast teasing its prey before the kill. Before you could react, his tongue juts out, licking your neck. You shudder as the slimy appendage leaves a trail of spit on your exposed neck. He sighs at the taste of your skin.

“You know, I wanna thank you,” he mutters. His hot breath weighs heavy on your throat. “I want to thank you for letting me in. Thank you for indulgin’ me. Quenchin’ me.”

“Quenching you?” Your eyes dart to his full glass of water, the condensation nearly soaking the table it sat on. “B-but you didn’t even drink the water I gave you.”

He let out a dark, foreboding laugh. He met his eyes to yours, the blue color you recognized had been completely usurped by a reflective crimson. Your heart thuds ferociously beneath your breast as his grin grows wide, damn near ear to ear - but it was different this time.

Instead of crooked, imperfect human teeth was a row of pointed, twisted canines. Fangs.

His fangs glint in the candlelight, sharp and horrific. Saliva began forming from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down to his scruffy chin. Thick and viscous like a snake’s venom.

“Aw, you sweet girl,” he takes a breath in, the clamp of his fingers in your hair and on your back growing tighter again. Constricting you and forcing you close against his body. So close you could feel something thick and warm twitching against your groin. Close enough to feel the faint, slow beat of his heart. “I don’t got a need for water, as kind as it was for you to bring it to me. My tastes are more refined. I can lie too darlin’, I am picky and I wasn’t runnin’ from anythin’… I was runnin’ to you.”

His lips meet your throat, fangs grazing delicately along your sensitive skin. You could feel his tongue slither down your neck like a mindless slug. You couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear.

“I wanna taste you. Just a taste. I ain’t gonna bite too hard… not yet,” he mumbles into your flesh. A sharp prick digs into you before you even have a chance to protest or process what was happening. It doesn’t hurt, but it definitely stings. A warm drop of blood drizzles down your neck. Remmick’s tongue is quick to lap up your essence as it trickles out of your fresh puncture wound. He moans into your throat, hands still gripping onto you as if you’d vanish the second he lets go. “Mmm, like heaven.”

His face journeys upward, his nose sniffing you deeply as he kisses you. Tiny little pecks peppered up your neck, to your cheek, and all the way back home. His lips meet yours once again, the coppery taste of your own blood bitter on his tongue.

Your mind races. Afraid, aroused - all at once.

He lied to you, he lied to get inside, betrayed your already fragile trust… and yet, the thrill is utterly insatiable. You were petrified but you didn’t want him to stop. The conflicting emotions subdue you, giving into the sweet surrender this monster, this man, was lulling you into. You couldn’t speak, could barely think straight.

“God… you taste… exquisite,” Remmick licks his lips after leaving yours. He sniffs at the air, his nose working overtime as if tracking the scent of something stronger. Something even more delicious. His hand slides from your back and slides its way to your stomach leaving goosebumps in their wake. It splays wide, the length of his fingers enveloping your womb. “Mm. I wanna taste all of ya.”

With a sudden movement, Remmick scoops you up into his arms, cradling you tight against his chest. He picked you up as if you were weightless. His chin nuzzles your head as you sink into his arms. You don’t try to fight it. It’s not like you had much choice.

This man that you let into your home was dangerous, you were right to be suspicious. Your intuition rarely fails you. You let your guard down and now you’re being whisked away, carried like a sack of potatoes in your own home.

The worst part is… you didn’t hate it. In fact, you like it.

“Which way to the bedroom, darlin’?” His voice a low, husky rasp. You knew exactly what he wanted, and if you didn’t give in, it’s likely something horrible was going to happen to you. A part of you wanted it too… desperately.

You bite your lip, your body shuddering in his strong arms as you point in the direction of your bedroom. Right down the hall. The loneliest, darkest room in the house.

He strides towards it, not skipping a beat as he kicks the door open, no longer in need of an invitation. The musty smell of old furniture fills your nostrils as he places you gently on the bed. His red eyes shine faintly in the dark. Still hungry. Starved, even.

“Stay put,” he says, exiting the room for a moment. Remmick’s brief moment of absence, this little moment of peace, left you feeling that empty pit in your stomach again. Perhaps you really were more lonely than you thought. More empty, more longing. It was a feeling you shoved deep down, in hopes that keeping to yourself and enjoying your own company was enough for you.

But in reality, it wasn’t.

You see two orbs of orange light bob down the hallway. Remmick, carrying two of the candles from the living room, makes his way back through the door. He sets one candle down on the left night stand, the other on the right.

“I want you to see me,” he croons, kneeling down onto the bed. His lean, muscular frame canvases you as you decline further into the bed. His broad shoulders cast a mountainous shadow. The light of the candles prance around his features - his soft, wicked smile a ballet across his face. The light bounces off of the gold chain dangling helplessly from his neck. “I want you to see all of me. Every emotion on my face. Every drop of ya on my lips.”

Your heart fluttered at the last sentence. He lowers his face down to you, mapping kisses along your cheeks, down to your neck where the puncture wound was still fresh. He kisses your wound delicately.

His cold hand creeps underneath your blouse, navigating up to your sensitive breastd. You let out a surprised breath as his hand caresses the supple mound. His other hand lifts your shirt upward and over your head, revealing your naked torso. He inhales sharply as he soaks you in.

“Faith and begorrah…” he mutters under his breath, his southern cadence cracking into something more foreign. Brogueish, if you had to guess. His hand is still clutching desperately at your breast, fingers kneading it gently. Drool trickles from his open mouth, his hand picking up the pace. He catches your rigid nipple between his fingers, pulling it forward.

You let out a whimper, a pleasurable little sound, as he continues to play with your breast. The heat of the summer and the heat of your pleasure started to swelter, sweat causing your hair to stick to your forehead and your breath to develop into a pant.

Remmick shoves his lips onto yours, his hand rhythmically circling the sensitive skin around your nipple. His other hand raises to your neck, gently wrapping around it to deepen the kiss. His tongue matches the beat of his hand, swirling around yours in a duet of pure bliss.

He inhales deeply again, his nose twitching. He smelled something on you. Something sweet. Something intoxicating. Something delicious. His lips leave yours, his hand not far behind. The strand of spit connecting your coupling breaks apart as he opens his mouth to speak.

“You smell that?” he asks, his nose huffing the air like a hungry dog. His face travels down your body before finally reaching the apex of your thighs. He takes a mighty whiff again before letting out a sharp whine. “Ohhh, darlin’ you smell divine. You smell like nectar. Warm, exquisite nectar. A sweet honey the bees could only dream of producin’.”

Remmick’s fingers curl around the hem of your pants, pulling them down in one swift succession. His hand finds your panties - a pool of warmth already seeping through the thin layer of cotton. You feel a sense of shame thinking about how much you were enjoying this. His eyes widen as he traces a finger along the lines of your folds through the sopping fabric.

“Mm. I knew I smelled somethin’ sweet,” he giggles, bringing his dampened finger to his mouth. His tongue wraps around the length of his digit, swirling around the coat of fluids. He moans, the taste of you washing a current of ecstasy over his face. “Ohhh. Wow. Even better than blood, baby. Heavens above, I need more. May I? May I taste you?”

You nod, your body quaking underneath him. Was this really happening? You could feel your cheeks burn hot with anticipation.

His veined hand tears your panties away in one hurried motion. You let out a wince of surprise as he exposes your sex to the open air. He quickly lowers himself, his face eye-level with your lower half, eager to plunge himself into you.

“I want you to look at me,” he demands. His hands possessively grip the outside of your thighs. His eyes blazing wildly in the light as he stares up at you. “Watch me, like I’ve watched you, sweet thing.”

When your eyes draw to him, his grin widens as he licks his lips. With no more hesitation, his mouth encloses around your cunt. A jolt of electricity hits your body as the warmth of his mouth encases you. His nose sat comfortably on your clit while his tongue playfully twists at your folds. You could hear him moan into you, tasting every inch of your tender entrance. His tongue pushes forward through the threshold, lapping up all of the juices that flowed from you.

You shudder. No man has ever done this for you. No man has ever tried to make you feel this way before. It wasn’t a feeling you were used to but, by god, could you get used to it. You let out a moan of your own as he pushes onward, letting yourself fully succumb to the pleasure.

Remmick’s grip on your thighs tighten, his nails digging red crescent shapes into your skin. His tongue dove as deep as possible into you, circling your walls with an intense dedication. His fangs tease the curve of your cunt, not enough to hurt but you could feel the sharpness graze you.

You look at him, as he wished. His eyes were shut, mouth working over time solely to please you. You take the reins, reaching down to grab onto his messy dark hair. The greasy strands tangle around your fingers as you pull his face deeper into your heat, anchoring yourself to him. The two of you moan in tandem as you hold on for dear life. He shifts beneath you, digging his hips into the bed as he ground his sopping face against you, licking with all of the power he could muster.

One hand slips from your thigh and onto your sensitive clit, rubbing delicate circles as he continues his feast. His tongue snaking faster into your walls, keeping up the pace of his thumb on your little bundle of nerves.

You could feel an intense, broiling heat swell deep in your groin. The pace of his thumb and his tongue rapidly increase along with the grind of his hips. The old bed creaks beneath the two of you. You could feel the warmth of his breath as he pants heavily against your entrance.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans inside you, the tips of his fangs poking at your flesh as he speaks, his voice a low growl. He could feel your release coming, the way your walls fluttered against his tongue. “Sing for me.”

As if spurred on by his words, you feel the tension of your climax overwhelm you. An explosion of pleasure unleashes from you, your body spasming from the intensity. You scream as your walls clamp and contract around Remmick’s tongue.

He lets out a triumphant grumble as his tongue wiggles furiously inside you, lapping up every drop of your essence as if it was his sustenance. The fuel for his undying fire.

As your climax ebbs out, Remmick lifts his head, fixating his sights on you. His mouth, wet with your slick, hangs open. Your juices and his saliva dribble down his chin, licking his lips to savor the flavor. He slides two of his long fingers into your dripping, sensitive cunt. He brings his face up close to yours.

“I want you to taste yourself,” he says, his fingers sliding in and out of you with a similar pace to his tongue. Your body ripples with delight, still recovering from your overwhelming climax. “Taste this delicacy.”

He crashes his slathered face into yours, his tongue finding itself back home inside the pillowy warmth of your mouth. You have trouble describing the taste, but it was uniquely yours. You’ve never felt anything quite like that, not from any of your partners. No one else has made you feel like that. Remmick was different, really different. Eager to please.

Your heart pounds in your chest - but not from fear anymore. From pure, unmitigated pleasure.

The pace of his fingers falters before he fully removes them, the sloppy sound echoing in the room. You felt something heavier grinding at your groin. Remmick, still fully clothed but baked in sweat, grinds his hips against your quivering cunt. You could feel his pants grow tight against his body, constricting his throbbing girth. His pants are swiftly soaked with you as he continues to rub on you, slowly and meticulously.

“Mm… feel that?” he moans into your mouth. “Do ya feel what you’re doing to me?”

He snatches your hand and cups it on his clothed length. You could feel it writhe in your grasp. It was big, bigger than you’re used to. You squeeze it, causing Remmick to let out a breathy groan.

“Oh… le do thoil… let me free,” he rasps, his southern drawl once again breached by a melodic lilt, the heavy brogueish accent riddling his growling voice. You like how it rang in your ears, how desperate he sounded. You oblige him, his needy and wistful eyes piercing into yours as he watches you undo his belt with a metal CLICK.

In a rush to release his throbbing arousal from its clothed prison, he unzips himself. He pulls his pants down past his ankles and onto the floor, slipping his boots off in the process. He wasn’t wearing any undergarments.

You could see it amidst the dark and unruly pubic hair - his weeping, twitching cock springing free, bobbing up and down. Thick, blue veins bulged on his thick shaft. The slit on his crown leaks, excited to meet you. Your mouth starts to salivate as you gawk at the massive girth before you.

He swiftly removes his shirt, only opting to keep the chain around his collarbone. His chest was bare, not a single hair or scar to be found other than a large cross tattoo etched into his left side. Ironic, you think to yourself. A sinning saint.

He leans into you, his body looming on top of yours. His crimson eyes, glowing with desire, lock onto you. His mouth dangles open, sharp teeth peeking out. A thick strand of pearlescent drool trickles from the corner of his mouth. The sweat on his skin glistens in the candlelight.

He maneuvers the head of his cock to your entrance. It twitches and leaks as it sits gently between your folds. He teases it against you, using your combined slick to rub it up and down, kissing your sensitive clit with every stroke. He bends his head down, his slimy drool dribbling carelessly onto your lips.

In the heat of the moment, you stick your tongue out and lick the viscous slobber pooling onto your lips. Remmick lets out a surprised gasp.

“God damn,” he mutters, a dumbstruck smile worming across his face. “Shit darlin’, you want some more?”

With your eyelids half-lidded, gazing at him seductively, you open your mouth wide. He’s taken aback by this, but more than happy to fulfill your twisted desire. He puckers his lips and allows a controlled stream of saliva to cascade from his maw. The slow, painfully slow, drip of his thick spittle eventually finds its way onto your tongue.

You swirl it around as it flows into your mouth. The taste is oddly sweet, combined with the taste of your own juices and a slight hint of coppery blood still lingering. It was warm, syrupy, and you hate to admit it, but you fucking loved it.

He lets the last drops of his drool hang from his chin before wiping it off, only for you to grab his hand and lick the excess smear from his palm. You utter a soft moan, making sure you swallow every last morsel. He smiles a wide, sinful grin. His cock twitching even more violently against you.

“Christ,” he laughs, elated by your lewd gesture. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Ohhh I knew I liked you.”

He leans in for another open-mouthed kiss, mixing more of his saliva deep down your throat. His cock still nipping at your entrance, but not pushing forward. As if an invisible barrier stopped him from penetrating you.

“Tell me I’m allowed in,” he whimpers into the kiss, sweat sprinkling onto you as the sticking heat of his forehead touches yours. “Invite me into you, baby. I need to hear you say it. You gotta let me in.”

This plea gives you the same sense of power you felt the first time he begged at your door. He wasn’t allowed to fuck you until you gave him the power to do so. He had permission to walk inside your house, permission to kiss and devour you, but fucking you was an entirely different boundary he needed access to.

You let him linger there, staring up at him with doe-like eyes as he shudders and shakes. He breathes a heavy pant as he sits there idly, cock leaking on your folds. You feel it throb and writhe. He wanted this more than anything.

You remain silent. The silence was agonizing for him. Desperation painted on his face. Just waiting for you to give the word. He balls his fists and grips onto the sheets, anchoring himself to the bed.

“Please baby, please don’t leave me hangin’ like this,” he whines, the despondent cry of his voice choked from his lips. His eyes began to water, starved by desire and longing. “You want me to beg again? You want me on my knees, prayin’ to the heavens? Prayin’ to you? ’Cause I’ll do anything, sugar. Anything you want.”

He bites himself with his fangs, a trickle of his blood beginning to flow from his lower lip. He lets out tiny whimpers as he trembles above you, his cock impatiently yearning to claim you. His brows knit and his lips shape into a pout.

“Please, please, please,” he begs, his cock driving onto your clit, nowhere else for it to go. He rocks back and forth. His engorged head smooches your little bundle of nerves over and over as he incessantly repeats his begging, sounding more desperate by the syllable. He glides on your slick folds errantly. “Please, ohhh please. Please, please please. Please. Please. Pleeeeaaaase.”

His pathetic, needy whines awakened something in you. The thought of bringing a man to this state of desperation spurred on your own desire. His whines and whimpers, pleading just for you. The thrum of his cock against your sensitive nub marching onward. His damp crimson eyes flutter open and closed, tears starting to form on his eyelashes. You could feel both of your fluids mingling together as he leaks helplessly against your folds. You love every second of it.

Finally, you say it.

“Come on in.”

Those three little words were all Remmick needed. He wipes away the desperate tears and looks down at you, smile growing wide enough that you could see the gleam of his mouthful of fangs in the warm candlelight. A fiery, emboldened glint flickers in his crimson eyes.

He got exactly what he wanted, and now? He could enter you as many times as he pleased. There was no going back. And you were more than okay with that.

With no further delay, he guides the head of his cock into your entrance. A quiet, staggered breath escapes your lips as the crown stretches you open. The gripping, wet heat welcomes him inside.

“Fuuuck,” Remmick moans, his voice a low grumble. His eyes roll back into his head as he slowly begins to drag his girth deeper. He stops for a moment once his cock is shallow in you - halfway inserted and yet the stretch of him was beyond your usual capacity. It twitches eagerly between the tight cushiony enclosure. Every vein and ripple caressing your insides. “You feel like home.”

He sheaths the rest of his arousal into your warmth with a single, powerful thrust. A hoarse cry escapes his throat once he completely buried himself to the hilt. Your soft, slick walls squeeze and flutter around him as you let out a squeal of your own. His girth fills you completely. Fills that emptiness in your core. It feels good. Real good.

He remains still, taking in the heat of you around him. Taking in every inch of your body. The curve of your hips, the shape of your breasts. The way your eyes flirt with the candlelight. The sounds of pleasure squeaking from your lips. He commits it all to memory.

“Beautiful,” he whispers. One hand taut around your thigh, the other reaching out to touch your face. His head lolls to the side, eyes closed and lips pursed. He pulls back ever so slightly only to smother his cock in you again. He splays his hand across your womb so you could see the bump of his cock buried deep inside you. “Ya see that? See how deep I am?”

The obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the room when he begins to pick up his pace. His thrusts slamming waves of pleasure into you, the friction driving you further into a blissful abyss.

Remmick drags his cock out to get a look at the fruits of his labor, his tip still hitched in your entrance. The shine of your juices coat his shaft. He grunts, almost inhuman, before snapping his hips back into you.

A guttural noise escapes your throat. With every roll of his hips, brutal thrust after brutal thrust, you could feel the tension begin to spin deep within your body. Your steady moans in sync with his ceaseless rhythm.

He pants heavily, tongue drooping from his mouth like a ravenous mutt. Drool continues to cascade from him. He lets it fall onto his pistoning cock, lubricating it even more as it continues plowing into you. You could see the immense pleasure plastered on his face - eyelids fluttering, jaw hung open, lips curved into an expression of pure, unbridled ecstasy.

He lifts up your leg to push himself as deep as he could possibly go, this new position allowing him to plunge into that perfect hidden place inside you. The swollen head of his cock kisses your sweet spot with every swing of his hips, bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

Your chest tightens, heart rabbiting in your ribs. Your insides stretched and pulled. A burning, boiling heat brewing deep in your chest, rippling throughout your entire body. It coils in your groin, every nerve ending set alight and ready to burst.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Remmick hears you and slams into you harder. Faster. The intensity of him hitting your sweet spot, more and more, over and over, was unbearable. Your fingers clench onto the bedsheets. The headboard of the bed rocking into the wall with each roll of his hips.

“Don’t fight it, sweet thing,” he coos, the relentless drag of his cock pushing you further and further over the edge. He circles his hips, making sure he hits every nook and cranny within you. “I wanna feel you squeezin’ ‘round me. I wanna feel you close in. Your body seizin’. Ohhh, I can feel it comin’. Come on, baby. Come on and come for me.”

In an instant, a rush of ecstasy flows through you. You let out a loud, gasping sob as your climax crashes into you like a tsunami. Your hips buck and wince. Your walls clamp around Remmick’s cock. He sits idle, his eyes watching your body seize around him, convulsing like a live wire. A devilish, satisfied sneer spreads across his face. He was loving this, but he wasn’t done with you yet. Not even a little bit.

As your climax starts to dwindle, your body still involuntarily jerking, Remmick continues to drive his hips forward. The sounds were messy. Filthy. The wet, sloppy sounds of his skin slapping against yours, indulging in the mess you made, filled the air.

His breath grows ragged, his chest heaving. He was close. You could feel it.

“So warm… so wet… tá tú chomh tais… fuck,” he moans through gritted teeth, brogue accent and foreign words slipping out of his lips. His eyes roll back into his head again, his pace otherworldly fast, growing erratic and uncontrolled. Hitting your perfect spot hard enough to spur on another mini-climax of your own. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

With a final, brutal thrust - he buries himself entirely, howling louder than a wolf, as he forces himself deep enough to reach your cervix. You feel an overwhelming heat flooding deep inside you. His cock pulsates and his hips buck, filling you to the brim with the molten flood of his passion.

His body tremors, folding over you like origami. His head rests between your breasts. You could feel the wetness of his mouth as he moaned on your skin. Cock still sheathed, still pumping its thick essence into you. It leaks down your ass crack onto the sheets. It seemed endless. His cock continues pushing, instinctually prodding his seed even deeper.

A sharp pain in your thighs causes you to wince. You peer down to see Remmick’s fingernails - once human and crescent-shaped, were now sharp. Ferocious. Monstrous. Digging deep enough to make you bleed. He gripped you tight, holding you in place to make sure not a single drop of him was wasted.

“God… damn,” he murmurs, his face still planted in your chest, his breath heavy on your skin. “Holy shit, that was… god damn.”

He kisses your chest before lifting himself off of you. He noticed how deep his claws were digging into you. A look of surprise washes over his sweat-bleached face. He removes his claws - his fingers had grown long and gnarled, dripping with fresh blood. He sticks his bloody fingers in his mouth, tasting your divine essence, quietly moaning as he licks himself clean.

“I’m so sorry darlin’, didn’t realize what I was doin’ to ya. Got carried away. You’re just so… mm. Intoxicatin’,” he sighs, mouth still red with blood and moist with saliva.

You hear the wet sound of his still-erect girth slithering out of you with a squelching snap. You could feel the excess releases seep out of you, warm against your skin.

He climbs his way closer to you on all fours until he straddles your chest with his chiseled thighs. His aching, dripping cock twitching over your naked body, leaving a trail of your combined fluids in its wake.

”Open wide for me, sweet thing.” He nudges the drenched tip of his cock to your lips. The salty mess smears a thin, slimy layer on your mouth. His slender claws tangle in your hair. “Go on and clean me up now.”

Delirious, you follow his directions and open your mouth, your tongue laying flat on the tip. He bares a toothy grin, slowly pushing himself into the warmth of your mouth. He lets out a soft moan as he feels the wet embrace of your tongue wrap around him.

“I’d say watch the teeth, but… well, that’d make me a hypocrite wouldn’t it?” he chuckles, shoving himself deeper until you could feel him teasing the back end of your tongue, a drawn out rasp ripping through his throat. He holds you in place, sharp tendons clawing at your scalp.

You taste the bitter, savory flavor of your combined excretions as he ruts his cock back and forth on your tongue, slathering it deeper. His cock continues to twitch and throb with each thrust. You could feel every ripple, vein and texture of his skin on your tongue as it glided itself in and out of you effortlessly.

“Mm. Fuck. I wanna feel my cock in your throat,” he growls, his pace increasing and the grip on your hair tightening, animalistic urges overtaking him. His voice became harsh and cruel, like gravel underneath a steel-toed boot. You look up at him with watering eyes, streams of saliva dribbling down your chin. His red eyes sear back into you with a needy and insatiable glow. “I wanna feel your pretty little throat constrictin‘ me.”

With a sudden movement, he thrust himself deep down your throat. You gag the moment the crown of his cock hammers into the back of your esophagus. A surplus of spit leaks out of the corners of your stretched mouth, coating his balls with a frothy sheen. All you could do is breathe out of your nose and wait for it to end.

He stalls there briefly. Completely still besides his quivering cock. It trembles wildly against your tongue. His claws tighten in your hair, keeping you trapped close to him - your nose squashed against his pelvis. His girth damn near choking you to death.

“Ohhh, fuck, you fit me like a glove. My sweet, filthy girl,” Remmick croaks. He begins to rock his hips slowly at first, each thrust touching the very depths of your throat. “It’s like you were made for me.”

Your mind starts to blur, the intensity of his strokes making you dizzy with lust and lack of proper oxygen. The corners of your vision grow dark as you swallow him whole.

“Just like that,” he snarls, losing himself with every deep stroke of his cock. Your throat expands and massages him as he smothers himself in you. Your mouth wrapped taut around his length, breath coming in hot, quick puffs against his skin. “Juuust like that, sweetheart.”

His hips continue to rock, a little bit faster with every roll, your moans and muffled sounds reverberating along his shaft. Puddles of your saliva pool onto your skin and down to your breasts. His sounds of pure euphoria were all you could hear amidst the wet sounds of his cock slamming into you and his balls smacking your chin with every stroke.

“We taste good together, don’t we?” He moans. You feel his cock twitch and squirm on your tongue, the swollen crown leaking salty precum down your throat, ready to explode at any moment. His claws tighten their grip in your hair, keeping you steady against his gyrating groin.

With a thunderous, beastial roar, he heaves himself deep into your mouth one final time - the pulsing head of his cock spewing thick, hot waves of his desire down your throat. His body shudders as he holds you close against his hips. You feel the never-ending eruption pulsating and painting your throat a shade of white.

As if nature itself told you to, you swallow down his release, swirling your tongue around him as he continues pumping his essence into you. He lets out a squealing moan as you work your magic, cupping and massaging his balls with your hand, coaxing every last drop out of him. Frothy saliva oozing out of your mouth - snot bubbling from your nose as you struggle to breathe through it. You feel the thrashing of his cock slow down, his own breath steadying.

His grip on you finally loosens. He slowly pulls himself out of you, inch by excruciating inch, until the swollen head of his cock escapes your lips with a loud pop. You cough and gasp for air before one last weak spurt of his pearly white passion pumps onto your face. The warm, salty taste of it coats your lips.

“Oops,” he chuckles, clawed fingers pressed to his mouth, a playful smile hiding behind it. He bends down until his face is eye level with yours, one hand still clutching your hair - much more softly now.

His tongue presses flat on your lips, lapping up the light layer of his own release, moaning as it glides between them. He weasels his way back into the warmth of your mouth, pushing and swirling his remaining spillage onto your tongue and down your raw throat.

You could feel the twisted fingers of his free hand reach back down to your dripping heat, cupping it gently. One finger presses onto the swollen nub of your clit, rubbing small circles until a familiar jolt of electricity surges through your body. The claws retract so they wouldn’t scrape you too harshly.

“Mmm, darlin’,” he mumbles into your mouth, his finger still tracing sensual rings on your devil’s doorbell. He pulls his face away from you, a strand of spit still connected on your bottom lip.

His hand frees your hair from its grasp before slowly and intimately grabbing hold of your hand. He keeps it there for a moment, interlocking your fingers together. His hand is large, even larger with the gangly claws. He sighs longingly. A sweet, soothing sound after the chaos he just put you through.

“Darlin’… oh, you sweet, sweet girl,” he coos, his eyes meeting yours. The harsh red tint glowing in the candlelight, searing deep into your soul. He looked like he wanted to kiss you again. Instead, he places your hand on his still-throbbing length. It’s still hard, still aching for your touch. “I know how bad you been wantin’ this. Almost as bad as me.”

One hand wraps around yours, guiding you up and down his length. It dribbles more precum, allowing your entangled hands to slide smoothly around the throbbing shaft. The other hand continuously presses your button, two fingers slipping in and out of your slick entrance. Your body tingles from the dual sensations.

“I know how you been hurt," he whispers, his grip around your hand tightening as he jerks himself with your palm. “I know how many sleepless, lonely nights you been dreamin’ of someone there with ya. Nights where you pleasure yourself, all by your lonesome. But you weren’t alone - not really. I was there, outside, waitin’. Waitin’ for the perfect night.”

Your hips buck in tandem, waves of pleasure uniting the two of you. His cock twitches in your grip, the friction from your movements causing his breath to catch in his throat. The rubbing on your clit and fingers in your depths picking up speed. His words are a blur as your focus narrows onto the way you’re feeling in the moment. The feeling of pure, unmatched ecstasy - the heights of which you’ve never climbed before.

“Waitin’ for the perfect night where your loneliness was at its worst,” he groans, feeling his climax building with every stroke of your hand on him. “Ohhh, I been waitin’ ever so patiently for you. I’ve dreamt of ya. I could sense your achin’ heart, sweet thing. Your achin’ cunt. I know you were dreamin’ of me too.”

Drool drips from the corner of his lips as he speaks. Your mind in a haze of lust, the unbearable intensity of pleasure consuming your every thought. Maybe you have dreamt this stranger before. His glowing, red eyes lurking in the shadows of your brain. His sharp, hungry smile just itching to sink into your memories. Haunting you from the inside-out. Deadly desire that woke you up, soaking and aching. Aching for him.

Maybe he was always there in the back of your mind, and now? He’s here with you. In your bed, by your side. His cock in your hand. You always knew, deep down, that you wanted something like this, but never allowed yourself to let it in. Until now.

“Achin’ for someone like me,” Remmick continues, his breath faltering. He releases his hand from yours, allowing you to tug on him at your own pace. His tongue lolls from his mouth, the coupled pleasure at the mercy of each other’s hands bringing you both to the brink of another release. “I’m here now, darlin’. I’m here to give you the lovin’ you deserve. Make ya feel whole. Make ya feel complete. Loved.”

With one last buck of his hips, another round of hot release spills onto you. It pumps into your hand. Warm, sticky seed drenching your fingers and your breasts, splattering on them like paint on a blank canvas. He plunges his fingers deep into you, adding a third and hitting that sweet spot hard enough to make you surge upward. Your own climax sweeps over you. You writhe and convulse on his spindly digits, feeling the gush of your fluids careening onto the sheets. Both of your mouths gape open, synchronized moans flooding the room. His fingers slip out of you as both of your orgasms fizzle out.

The room reeked like sweat, sex, and the faint earthy scent of the burning candles. His hand cups your cheek, lightly petting you with his thumb. He twists your head to the side, showing him your slender neck - open, tantalizing, irresistible. Blood pumping through your veins with the thud of your heart.

“Grá mo chroí… love of my heart,” he purrs, voice low and sultry. “You ain’t my long lost love, no, but… oh, you make me feel the same way. Make me feel things I ain’t felt since I was human.”

“What… are you, exactly?” you weakly pant, your glazed-over eyes gazing desperately into his. Your body trembles a bit. You already know the answer but you want to hear him say it.

“I told ya, sweet thing,” he laughs, baring his fangs at you. The candlelight only serves to make them look sharper, even more dangerous. And yet? You weren’t scared of him. Not entirely. “I’m a fuckin’ monster, baby. A creature of the night. A creature of desire, a cold-blooded killer. Blood-hungry beast. That book you were readin’? Well, consider it research.”

In a single, swift movement, he flips you onto your hands and knees. He shoves your head down into the pillow, arching your back and presenting your ass like a freshly cooked meal. The surprise of the sudden shift startles you, causing you to stumble - but he catches you. His hands wrap around your stomach, holding you close to him.

You could feel his hips pressing up against you. His still-hard, still-weeping cock twitching against the meat of your flushed backside. The ridges of his girth rolled against you, smearing his leaking head all over your ass.

“The things you do to me, darlin’,” he whispers, sweet words pouring into your ears like honey. “Never felt a cunt so perfect in my life.”

He maneuvers the head of his cock towards your glistening folds. It nudged insistently - prodding you, begging to be welcomed back and embraced into your gripping heat. His other hand sits firmly on your ass, the claws digging into your flesh as he teases you - gliding his engorged crown across your glistening folds with ease and precision.

“I don’t need an invite anymore,” he rumbles, his voice low and coarse. You feel him pumping his cock with his hand - it brushes against your entrance with every movement of his fist. The slick head helplessly sobbing. “I can come in… anytime I want. Your home, your mind, your mouth, your perfect cunt. You’re mine now, sugar. All of ya. And I don’t think you mind one bit, do ya?”

His hips buck, plunging the head of his cock into you. You let out a gasp as he slides the rest of him as deep as possible, sheathing himself to the hilt. Your body adapted so easily to his size. It molded itself to him, gripping him like a vice that didn’t want to let go. Holding onto him like he was always meant to be there.

“Aw, look at ya,” he jeers, pulling himself all the way out of you. “Look at her. I leave her for one second and she’s already quiverin’ for more.”

Was he… talking about your pussy? Your hazy mind thought for a moment, only to be overtaken by a searing pleasure when he slams himself back into you with a wicked snap of his hips. A guttural noise escapes your throat as he continues this teasing motion.

All the way out. All the way in.

Out.

In.

The rhythmic rolling of his hips punctuated by obscene smacking sounds. His claws grip onto your ass, pulling you into him with every deep thrust. You didn’t mind the pain anymore - the pleasure was all-consuming, encompassing your entire being with electric energy.

You were under his spell.

“Mm, that's a good girl,” he coos. Drool continues to drip from his mouth, falling carelessly onto your bare cheeks. He wipes it off and smears it onto his cock for additional lubricant, not like he needed it. His praise and his drool only amplifies the pleasure he was already pumping you with. You couldn’t remember the last time someone praised you. “Takin’ me so good. Takin’ me so deep.”

One hand detaches from your reddened ass and tangles itself in your hair. He pulls your head from the pillows, arching your back even further. A choked groan escapes from your lips as his thrusts only grow more rapid, slamming deeper into you. You could feel the head of his cock kissing your cervix, nearly deep enough to break through the sensitive barrier and into your womb.

The tension in your loins begins building again. Sweat pouring from both of your pores as he relentlessly fucks into you, the smack of his balls on your clit only ramping up the heat broiling in your core. Moans and filthy sounds of coupling flesh flooded the room.

“Say my name, baby,” he leans into you, his voice a gentle whisper. He flicks his tongue out, licking the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Scream it to the heavens when you come undone. I know it’ll sound real pretty comin’ outta yer lips.”

“R-Remmick,” you whimper. He thrusts into you - HARD. The sudden, powerful motion makes you hiss out of clenched teeth.

“Pretty, but you can do better,” he demands, the grip on your hair and ass tightening. “Louder.”

“Remmick,” you moan, almost teasingly. Another brutal thrust.

“I said louder,” his voice shifting to a hoarse growl. He puts his mouth to your neck, his fangs making contact with your skin. If you don’t scream his name, he was going to rip your fucking throat out. “Louder or I’m gonna shred this pretty little neck of yours to pieces. Gonna drink my fill of you. Drain ya dry. Make ya scream my name one way or another.”

The pressure rose to unparalleled heights. He continues relentlessly pounding into you as hard as he could without completely splitting you apart. His fangs poke at your neck, raking against you as he moves. His hot, broken breath puffing onto your skin. Tongue pressing flat against you.

You could feel his mouth start to close in, sharp teeth ready to rip you open. Shivers spark down your spine. There was a chance he was bluffing, teasing you into submission, but you weren’t willing to take that risk.

Your body tenses, tingling with that familiar sensation. You feel your walls close in, squeezing his cock as it rams into you with no sign of stopping. He unclaws his hand from your ass and slides it down to your clit. His gnarled finger twirling rigorously around your swollen nub.

The pain of his claws poking at your sensitive nerves and his fangs fixed at your throat paired deliciously with the pleasure of the drawn out circles being drawn on your clit and his cock furiously driving deeper and deeper into your sweet spot. It’s unbearable. It’s searing. It’s fucking bliss.

In the heat of the moment, when the tension swells to its highest possible peak, your floodgate bursts open.

“REMMICK!”

A mischievous smile stretches across his face against your throat at the cry of his name out of your lips. Bursts of color and light flash in your eyes as your entire body convulses on him. A powerful gush of arousal rushes out of you, coating Remmick and the already soaked sheets below in a glossy, sopping wave of relief.

“Ohhhh, fuck yes, sweet thing,” he rasps, leaning back from your neck, holding himself steady inside you. He watches as your release completely unravels you, taking in the beauty of the rapture he unleashed. He absolutely loved watching you wriggle and writhe underneath him. He slowly pulls his cock out just enough to see how drenched you left him. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Like music to my ears, baby.”

He hilts himself back into your spasming warmth, the sloppy squelch as he reimmersed himself tears a breathless moan from his heaving chest. Both of his hands mindlessly slide back to your hips, pulling you tight against his pelvis. The swollen head of his cock twitches against your battered cervix, as if begging to push past it.

“You’re mine, now, sugar,” he rumbles, punctuating his words with every deep, passionate roll of his hips. “I ain’t ever lettin’ you go. Gonna visit you every time you’re feelin’ lonely. Every time you’re scared. Gonna keep you close to me, darlin’. Ain’t—ever—gonna—let—you—go.”

The movement of his hips grows erratic, uncontrollably plunging into your still-fluttering depths with animalistic abandon. The sound of his rasping moans mingle with the wet, obscene sounds of his thrusts.

You’re still dizzy from the throes of your multiple climaxes. Your face flops back into the pillows, eyes glazed-over and drool all over your face. Usually, the only person who could do that to you was yourself. Your own hands, your own tools. Rarely ever has a man been gracious enough to send you into such a euphoric state of bliss - let alone more than once in a single night.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, ya know that?” He says through ragged breaths, his own climax gearing up. His voice shifts back and forth between that southern drawl and melodic lilt. “Perfect. Perfect body. Perfect face. Perfect… so perfect. Tá tú ar foirfe. Perfect.”

He pulls out of you almost entirely before hilting his entire length into you one last time. He lets out a deep, bellowing roar of pleasure as his cock throbs violently within your core. His entire body shakes and shudders above you. His claws hook deep into your skin.

You were enraptured, captivated by the way his body tremors against you. The way his moans fill your ears like a symphony, a song meant to serenade only you. The way the scalding splatter of his release floods every ridge, every crook of your depths. His cock pumps endlessly, stirring his seed as deep as he could with every weak jerk of his hips. You feel as if your belly is swelling with how much of his thick essence spills into you.

When the aftershocks of his climax finally begin to fade, he collapses onto you. He releases his grip on your flushed ass and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down onto the sheets with him, laying you down on your side. His softening cock still buried in you, plugging you up so none of his pearly white proof of passion would dare to escape.

He nuzzles into the nape of your neck. His sweat-soaked forehead rubbing gently on the back of your head. Soft purrs of satisfaction slip through his closed, smiling mouth.

He starts leaving gentle trails of kisses along your neck, stopping at the knicks he left with his fangs. He kisses them even softer, apologizing for the damage he inflicted on you.

“I could get used to this,” he sighs. His arms caressing your naked body as the two of you lie side by side, still conjoined at the groin. His hot breath brushes against your shoulders.

“Me too,” you hum. You turn your neck to face him, gazing longingly into his crimson eyes. This sets his undead heart aflutter. You feel it beat gently beneath his chest. Your own heart thuds wildly against your rib cage.

The quiet was palpable for a moment. The chaos of your coupling had finally settled. The candles continue their dance around the room, illuminating the curves of your entwined bodies.

“You mean it?” He murmurs. A soft smile melts onto his face, eyes twinkling with awe. He sounds stunned by your words. Surprised that you’d reciprocate. “You really mean it, darlin’?”

“Remmick,” you start, fully twisting your body to face him, careful not to let his softened cock slip out of you. His arms are still wrapped around you in a warm embrace, eagerly waiting to hear what you were going to say. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun. I’ll be honest… you terrified me at first. You terrified me every time you had your fangs in my throat. But I don’t know... it… it thrilled me. I liked the danger. I’ve spent so long cooped up alone to protect my peace that I started to miss spending time with another person... thank you.”

He looks at you, a shimmer of what you could only describe as longing glistening in his eyes. His wide, crooked smile radiates a sense of comfort. Despite the danger, the fear he caused you, you feel safe in his arms.

“Oh, sugar,” he whispers, one hand freeing itself from your waist to cup your cheek. His thumb lovingly brushes over your lips as he stares deep into your eyes. “How sweet of ya. I do apologize for frightenin’ ya. It’s in my nature, y’know. But… oh, it warms my cold dead heart to hear that comin’ from you. Thank you.”

He captures your lips in a searing, passionate kiss before reluctantly sliding himself out of you. You feel his absence instantly, already missing the way his rigid girth perfectly squeezes into your walls. The remains of his essence drip down onto the drenched sheets.

“I should get goin’, the sun’ll be up in a few ticks,” Remmick sighs with a hint of uncertainty. He didn’t seem to want to leave your side, but he starts to unhook himself from your waist in an effort to get up. You grab his retreating arm before he can completely let go.

“Stay. Please,” you beg. You caress his arm, soft hands kneading small circles across his skin. He studies your face with wistful, misty eyes. He didn’t want to leave, even if he felt like some kind of invisible force was pressuring him to. As if nature itself called for him to scurry off into the night and hide from the dawning sun. “I have a cellar you can stay in. No windows, so light won’t touch you. There’s even a little cot in there for you to sleep on… big enough for two.”

Silence permeates the room between you. That emptiness you felt, the lonely feeling you tried so hard to shove deep down, vanishes with his touch. It disappears with him by your side.

You didn’t care that he was a monster. You saw past that. He brought you back from the depths of isolation, and you knew, in your heart, you did the same for him.

“Ohh, darlin’, I’d love to, I really would, b-but,” he stammers, desperately trying to fight against nature pulling him away from you. “I still gotta feed before the sun comes up, can’t go to bed on an empty stomach. I’ll be back tomorrow night, I promise. I promise you I will. Cross my heart and hope to die. No more lyin’.”

You gaze at Remmick as he slowly lifts himself from the bed. He picks his clothes up from the floor and starts to dress himself, his eyes refusing to leave you, as if he wanted to commit every ridge of your face to memory in case he’d never see you again. As if your body was a beautiful, one-of-a-kind painting that he wanted to soak in for hours.

He ties up his boots and zips his pants back up, fully prepared to head back out into the fray of the night. Before he finishes fixing his suspenders, you climb to the foot of the bed and reach for his hand.

You interlock your fingers with his. The gentle thrum of your heartbeat pulsing underneath your ribs. You slowly tilt your head, presenting your neck to him. His eyes widen with surprise and his mouth starts to salivate. He quietly descends, kneeling down to face you. He presses his lips against your supple flesh. Instead of sinking his fangs into you, he simply peppers your throat with delicate little kisses.

“No,” Remmick whispers into the crook of your neck. “Not tonight, sweet thing. When I drink from you, I wanna make it special. I don’t wanna turn ya on our first meetin’ like this, as much as I’d love to. It just don’t feel right.”

Despite saying he wouldn’t bite you, he takes your finger to his mouth and pricks it on his fangs ever so slightly. He puts your finger between his lips, suckling on the tiny droplets of blood that trickle from the small puncture. He lets out a broken moan from the flavor of your sweet scarlet nectar before releasing your finger, wet with his saliva. His eyes glow a blazing red, the fires of his feral hunger stoked from the mere taste of you.

“Exquisite, simply exquisite,” he gently strokes your face with his calloused hand. “I swear to you, darlin’, I’ll be back tomorrow. And even though I don’t need it anymore, I’ll still beg for ya to let me in. I’ll beg like it’s the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on a beauty like you.”

With that, Remmick plants one long, tender kiss on your lips. He holds your head in both of his hands, pushing his mouth closer into the intimate embrace. He pulls away slowly, his eyes burning into yours. A touch of sorrow gleams in his crimson gaze. His hand takes yours to guide you out of the room with him.

The two of you make your way down the dark hallway. The darkness starts to embrace you, knowing that once he walks out that door, its over-encompassing reach will consume you as it always does. Your heart sinks to your stomach at the thought.

Remmick stands at the door, his free hand twisting the knob. You take a good look around your living room. Your private little space, your personal sanctuary. Your tea and his untouched glass of water completely soaked your coasters with their condensation. Your book sitting idle in the same position Remmick left it. The candles had burnt nearly down to the holster, the dying flames petering out, their dance coming to an end.

The night air is still humid, but a crisp breeze wafts through the opening door. Remmick stands still for a moment. His clammy hand is still firmly, possessively gripping onto yours, afraid to let go.

He turns to you, hungry eyes gazing into yours. His hand slowly starts to release from your grasp, pulling your heart along with it. The stars twinkle dimly in the sky behind him. The crickets chirp, the nocturnal animals chitter and howl, and your old house… your old, soon-to-be-empty house creaks and groans as it always has. As it always will.

“Until tomorrow?”

“Until tomorrow.”

Remmick walks back out into the night, his body fully enveloped by the darkness. He leaves you, for now. But he left with a promise, something no man has ever followed through with. You were confident that this time, this man - this vampire - would come back. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow. You’ll see him again tomorrow.

translations provided by both google and @fuckoffbard ------------------------------- Santaíonn mé thú - I want you Faith and begorrah - by god / expression of surprise le do thoil - please / "with your will" tá tú chomh tais - you're so wet for me Grá mo chroí - love of my heart Tá tú ar foirfe - you are perfect

#remmick #remmick sinners #remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick x you #vampire smut #sinners smut #remmick fanfic #remmick x y/n #monster x human #remmick x fem!reader #posts this and runs away #terato

767 notes · View notes

hamilton-here · 1 month ago

Note

ok so ive got a funny idea lol when lewis promises to buy reader a bag or anything she wants as long as she wins their toy car race. And when she was abt to win lewis playfully snatched or cheated his way and then reader just became sad for the whole day pouting or just feeling small and lewis has to buy her everything now cause he's guilty and he feels sorry i just think this will be fun can be comfort to fluff pls thank u :))))

𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝐼𝓉 𝒜𝓁𝓁

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! Here’s another request completed. Sorry if it seemed rushed I didn’t know what else to add to it. Few more requests coming soon. Hopefully Lewis’s car is alright for qualifying. Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis and his partner turn their living room into a chaotic toy car racetrack, sparking a playful, competitive showdown.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The sun filtered through the blinds in lazy golden stripes, painting the living room in warm lines of light and shadow. Dust danced quietly in the beams, undisturbed by the chaos below. Because chaos, clearly, had taken over.

The room your once pristine, neutral-toned sanctuary now looked like it had been hijacked by Formula 1 meets Pinterest meets a group of unsupervised toddlers with a racing addiction.

Couch cushions had been unceremoniously yanked from their usual dignified places and reimagined as trackside barriers. A yoga mat, curling slightly at the edges, ran from the hallway entrance all the way to the centre of the rug, proudly marking the “main straight” in what had to be the world’s most low-budget Grand Prix.

A scattering of coasters had been turned into devilish little chicanes, cruel and precise. A cutting board formed a vicious hairpin turn so sharp it should have had a safety marshal. Two rolling pins heavy, wooden, unforgiving lined one corner like immovable Armco barriers.

There were sauce packets carefully labeled “debris,” a tea strainer in the middle of the track pretending to be a wire fence, and most hauntingly a fork stabbed into a raw potato, wearing a tiny paper hat labeled “Track Marshal.” You didn’t know whether to applaud the commitment or start googling “symptoms of cabin fever in grown men.”

And amid the carnage stood Lewis Hamilton.

Seven-time world champion. Fashion icon. Advocate. National treasure. The man you loved. Currently crouched like a tiger mid-stalk in front of the couch, wearing sweats, a vintage tee, and the steely focus of a man about to go to war.

He was breathing slowly, fingers flexed, eyes narrowed on the tiny black Matchbox Mercedes parked in front of him like it owed him money. He looked like he was about to give it a pep talk.

The toy car’s paint gleamed ominously in the afternoon light, poised like a weapon. Lewis exhaled softly across its hood like he was whispering encouragement into its plastic soul.

From the doorway, you stared at him, your oversized hoodie swallowing your frame, fuzzy socks peeking out like the least intimidating pit crew in the world. Your arms crossed.

“Are you seriously doing tire warmups with a Matchbox car?”

Lewis didn’t flinch. His grin was slow, boyish, and devastating. The kind of grin that had gotten him out of a thousand sticky situations media drama, late-night snack theft, one time even a broken vase. You were not immune.

“Gotta get temperature into the rubber,” he said solemnly, eyes still on his car.

You stepped carefully onto the yoga mat, your sock slipping slightly. “It’s plastic, Lewis.”

“Same principle,” he said, reaching out to nudge the car gently, then pulling it back, like he was checking tire scrub. He sniffed. “I smell victory.”

Your eyes swept across the setup. The absurdity of it. The engineering. The madness. You resisted the urge to start filming barely.

“Let me guess,” you said dryly. “Carbon fibre chassis. Two grams of downforce. And a suspicious advantage in Sector 3?”

Lewis lifted his chin, completely deadpan. “Mini Merc’s been in the wind tunnel all morning.”

“You blew on it.”

“That counts.”

You let out a snort and crossed the room to the box near the bookcase, the one filled with random old toys and mementos from your childhood.

You rummaged through it until your hand landed on a familiar shape. A red toy car slightly battered, plastic paint chipped at the edges, its wheels squeaking when you gave them a spin. You held it up like Excalibur.

“And here she is,” you announced grandly. “The challenger. The undefeated. Feared by controllers everywhere. Bane of egos. Reigning champion of the great Uno War of 2023.”

Lewis rolled his eyes. “That controller was cursed. It had stick drift.”

“You lost eleven times.”

“I was experimenting with alternate strategy.”

“Getting reverse-lapped is not a strategy.”

Lewis cracked his neck like he was prepping for Baku. “Best of three?”

Fifteen minutes later, the living room no longer resembled a place where humans might relax.

It had become a coliseum.

The track had evolved: now including a loop made from your old scarf, a jump constructed with baking trays, and an “elevator shaft” involving a phone charger, a shoebox lid, and very questionable physics.

There was a pit stop zone made of empty candle jars. One of your houseplants had been repositioned to serve as track scenery. And at the centre of it all stood your mutual friend, Miles chaos incarnated, occasional barista, and current kitchen gremlin perched on the counter like a sentient gargoyle.

He was wearing a mixing bowl on his head like a helmet and a whisk tucked into his shirt collar like a mic.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen,” Miles announced into his phone, already live on Instagram. “To the 2024 Toy Car Grand Prix: Monaco Living Room Edition. I’m your commentator, race steward, and part-time sous chef, Miles.”

He angled the instagram live camera toward Lewis, who crouched dramatically at the start line, one hand hovering over the Matchbox Mercedes like a priest preparing for last rites.

“And here we have Lewis Hamilton. Some say he’s the greatest of all time. Others say he’s about to lose to a woman who sharpened her race craft on Mario Kart and vengeance.”

Lewis didn’t even look up. “You’re biased.”

“I’ve known her since university,” Miles said with a shrug. “And I’ve seen what she can do with a hairpin turn and caffeine. You’re toast, mate.”

The livestream chat exploded.

@Ava4LH: IS THAT A TRACK MADE OF COASTERS??

@softforlewis: Not Lewis giving full race energy with a toy car

@PastryQueenY/N: Y/N better win that bag, I SWEAR

@WheresBono: “We need to box now.” broooooo

Miles waved dramatically at the screen. “On pole, we have Y/N ‘Croissant Queen’ L/N. In P2, it’s Lewis ‘I Blew on My Car for Speed’ Hamilton!”

Lewis was flat on the floor beside Mini Merc. You knelt beside your car, steely-eyed. The prize sat in plain view dream: a caramel-coloured croissant-shaped purse with a gold chain. The most deliciously stupid bag in history. The bag you had begged for. The bag Lewis had mocked for weeks.

“I win, I get the croissant bag,” you said firmly.

Lewis raised a brow. “And if I win, I want a full spa day. Robes. Oils. Face masks. And not a single complaint.”

“Deal.”

Miles held up three fingers. “Three…two…one GO!”

Chaos exploded.

Your little red car shot off the line like a missile. Lewis’s Mercedes wobbled dramatically at the cutting board hairpin and clipped a coaster on the way through.

“There’s contact in Sector One!” Miles roared. “Red car leads through the coasters! Hamilton’s on the back foot!”

You were flicking your car with laser precision. “DRS activated. Let’s go.”

Lewis grunted, eyes narrowed. “Saving tires. Softs are dropping off. Pace is coming to me.”

“Maybe ask Bono,” you teased.

The chat was in hysterics.

@DRSDramaQueen: “Ask Bono” NOOOOOO

@JusticeForRedCar: Y/N DRIVING LIKE SHE’S IN MONACO

@TeamRedCar: Lewis is getting smoked

@F1butMakeItKitchen: this is better than Quali

Suddenly, Lewis’s car hit a rogue stack of cookbooks turned barricade and went airborne.

“HE’S OFF!” Miles screamed, nearly dropping his phone. “MERCEDES IN THE WALL!”

Lewis hissed, “We need to box now.”

More chat chaos:

@MiniW13: He SAID THE THING

@CarlosSainz55: bro is doing full commentary on a toy race I CAN’T

@CharlesLeclerc: justice for Y/N please she’s too good

@Lando.jpg: This is the best thing I’ve seen all week

You were wheezing from laughter, your car flying over the shoebox ramp with grace. “Momentums clean. No lockups. You good back there, champ?”

Lewis was sweating. “You’ve got illegal aero.”

“Cry about it.”

You were inches from the towel-draped finish line, victory in sight, the croissant bag gleaming -

SLAM.

Lewis’s hand came down from the heavens like Thor’s hammer, crushing your car mid-run.

The room fell dead silent.

Miles whispered, “ Sir…he did not.”

You stood slowly, spine ramrod straight. You walked to Miles, took his phone and stared straight into the livestream camera.

“This,” you said, voice calm, “is a robbery. Tell the FIA. Tell the UN. Tell God.”

The chat exploded.

@ScandalInSector3: FIA INVESTIGATION NOW

@ToyCarGate: HE DESTROYED HER CAR

@Lando.jpg: I’m crying. This is high treason.

@PastryQueenY/N: GET HER THAT BAG

You lifted your fallen soldier with reverent hands, cradling it like a fallen knight, and walked away without another word.

As Miles recorded every single thing… ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Lewis stood in the kitchen in stunned silence.

You were curled up on the couch in full dramatic widow mode: three blankets, fuzzy socks, and Gilmore Girls at max volume. You didn’t blink in his direction. You didn’t breathe in his direction.

Lewis tried everything.

“Want a milkshake?”

No response.

“…Boba?”

TV volume increased.

“Diamond earrings? Ferrari keychain? A small castle?”

You texted Miles from the couch: Tell your best friend I’m taking the croissant bag to court.

Miles peeked in. “Bro. She’s like mythical-level mad.”

Lewis groaned. “I know. I can feel the disappointment. It’s like tire degradation, but emotional.”

An hour passed. You posted a poll: Should I forgive Lewis? “No” was winning at 96%.

Finally, Lewis vanished.

Ten minutes later, he emerged wearing a suit jacket over pyjama pants, holding a legal pad.

“I present Exhibit A,” he announced solemnly. “In the case of Lewis Hamilton vs. The Bag He Mocked.”

You stared at him, unamused.

He dropped to his knees. “I’m guilty. Of sabotage. Of hubris. Of crimes against Matchbox humanity. But I panicked. You were so good - so annoyingly good. I’ve never been so intimidated by someone in fuzzy socks.”

Still silence.

“…I love you,” he added, gently. “And I got you something.”

He placed a shopping bag in your lap.

You peeked inside.

There it was. The croissant bag. Plush. Shiny. Ridiculous. Beautiful.

Inside? Pearl earrings and a folded note:

“Sorry for being a cheater. I love you. I’ll never sabotage your toy car again (probably). Please keep loving me anyway.”

Your lips twitched. You tried so hard not to smile.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But next time? I’m gluing your hands to the floor.”

He wrapped you in a hug, warm and cologne scented. “Deal. I’ll buy glue in bulk.”

You buried your face in his neck. “And I want the cinnamon bun one next.”

“Whole pastry collection. Yours.” ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

TWO DAYS LATER – PODIUM CEREMONY

Miles was back in full commentator mode, wearing a towel-cape and colander crown. You stood proudly on a stepstool; a dishtowel draped like a flag. Lewis stood beside you, presenting the croissant bag like a trophy.

“We are LIVE for the podium ceremony of the 2024 Toy Car Grand Prix!” Miles boomed. “Our champion, Y/N L/N, receives the Croissant Cup for unmatched driving skill, bravery, and pastry obsession!”

Lewis bowed, solemn. “For justice. For fashion. For the fallen red car.”

You shook his hand with mock seriousness. “I accept your surrender.”

The livestream chat lit up:

@HamiltonsRedemption: SHE WON JUSTICE

@Y/N4WDC: SIGN HER TOTO

@CarlosSainz55: I’m naming my next kart after her

@CharlesLeclerc: this is better than any podium I’ve ever done

@Lando.jpg: Miles needs a full-time F1 commentary gig

You leaned into Lewis’s ear and whispered, “Next time I��m breaking your car.”

He grinned. “Next time? I’m bringing a pit crew.”

And somewhere in the comments, a new hashtag was born:

#ToyCarGP

#JusticeForRedCar

#CroissantChampion ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Thursday Media Day – Paddock Interviews, Monaco Grand Prix

The Mediterranean sun shimmered over the marina, catching the curves of multi-million-dollar yachts and bouncing off the mirrored glass of the motorhomes lining the narrow paddock walkways. Monaco always had a different kind of electricity to it where opulence met chaos and champagne clinked just out of frame.

The Mercedes media zone was buzzing. Reporters loitered near the barriers, tech crews hoisted camera rigs onto their shoulders, and PR reps whispered into headsets while frantically scanning for any sign of tardy drivers.

Lewis Hamilton was right on time, of course.

Wearing a crisp white Mercedes polo, a silver watch glinting at his wrist and his signature cap tugged low, he stood with the relaxed confidence of someone who knew he was about to be grilled and secretly enjoyed it. His grin had been sitting just on the edge of cocky all morning. The reason? You.

It didn’t take long.

A Sky Sports reporter leaned forward with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Lewis,” she said sweetly, “we need to talk about the Toy Car Grand Prix.”

He blinked slowly, head tilting like a man playing innocent in court. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Another voice chimed in from the back. “Mate, there’s a livestream. You’re trending in three different countries.”

Lewis’s smirk finally cracked. “Miles is banned from our house,” he muttered.

Laughter rippled through the crowd of reporters.

“Word on the street is you committed grand larceny,” she teased.

He let out a dramatic sigh, glancing up at the sky like asking for divine intervention. “Look. The car was half a centimetre from the line. I panicked. She was too fast. I wasn’t ready.”

“Too fast?” a new voice cut in, dry and laced with a level of sarcasm that only years of corporate leadership could sharpen.

Toto Wolff had arrived.

Wearing perfectly tailored black slacks, a crisp button-down and his ever-iconic sunglasses, he strolled into view like a Bond villain with an espresso addiction. He folded his arms, taking his place beside Lewis like a man stepping into a courtroom.

“You know,” he began, nodding thoughtfully, “I watched the replay. All sectors. I had our data analysts break it downturn-by-turn.”

Lewis groaned under his breath. “Toto, I’m begging you…”

“I’m just saying,” Toto continued, voice level. “She had better tire management, better throttle control, and most importantly didn’t smash anyone into the cookbook chicane you insisted on naming after Gordon Ramsay.”

A wave of giggles rolled through the press line.

“She also didn’t sabotage her opponent,” Toto added, lifting a perfectly judgmental eyebrow. “Unlike some of our drivers.”

Lewis turned to the cameras. “This is slander. This is organised defamation from within my own team.”

Toto lifted a hand in faux innocence. “No, no. We take these things seriously at Mercedes. We’re committed to nurturing talent.” He turned to the reporters as if making a public declaration from the steps of a royal palace. “Effective immediately, I’m considering replacing Lewis Hamilton with his girlfriend for the rest of the 2024 season. Primarily because I still harbour resentment against him for attending Ferrari the next year.”

Cameras flashed. Microphones were shoved forward. Laughter echoed like it was a stand-up routine. The media was all over Toto’s last comment.

Lewis clutched at his chest dramatically. “I’ve been stabbed in the back.”

“She’s got race instincts. The fans love her. She’s marketable. She doesn’t throw tantrums in the debrief room.”

“And she’s really, really pretty,” a voice muttered from the back.

Lando Norris appeared, already grinning like he’d been waiting for this exact moment to stir chaos.

“Are we still talking about the toy car race?” he asked, hands in the pockets of his Mercedes hoodie.

Lewis groaned. “Don’t you start.”

“She destroyed you, mate,” Lando said, eyes wide with mock awe. “That red car? I’ve seen less commitment at Turn 1 in Silverstone. She was clinical.”

“You too, Lando?” Lewis muttered, eyes narrowed.

Carlos Sainz drifted in behind them, holding a tiny espresso cup in one hand and watching the scene unfold with the quiet pleasure of a man who rarely got to be on this side of the teasing.

“I’d sign her,” he said with a shrug. “Ferrari could use someone who doesn’t complain about tire deg every four laps.”

“Wow,” Lewis deadpanned. “This paddock is hostile.”

Then Charles Leclerc appeared, sunglasses perched atop his head, Monaco’s golden child looking too smug for his own good.

“She’s Monaco-born now,” he said with a grin. “We claim her.”

“No,” Lewis said firmly, holding up a finger like he was laying down law. “You are not putting her in red. I’m not losing another championship that way.”

Even the media couldn’t help themselves. Laughter echoed again as photographers snapped away, capturing the chaos for tomorrow’s back pages.

Meanwhile, in the Mercedes hospitality unit…

You sat curled up on a white leather sofa, the soft hum of the AC battling the heat outside. A giant screen in front of you played the interview in real-time. Beside you, Miles was halfway through a bag of popcorn, eyes wide with glee.

You, of course, were wearing the croissant bag. Proudly. Defiantly. Like a medal of honour from your own private war.

“He’s suffering,” Miles whispered reverently. “You look so smug. I’m obsessed.”

You sipped your coffee slowly. “I earned this. Every bit of it.”

The screen flickered back to Lewis, who was now attempting to salvage what remained of his dignity.

A reporter leaned forward. “Final question, champ. Any words for your girlfriend our new potential F1 star?”

He paused.

Then he looked directly into the camera. The teasing fell away for just a moment. His eyes were soft, voice warm and honest.

“She’s ruthless,” he said. “And brilliant. And I’m definitely not racing her in the house again without legal backup.” A beat. “But tell Toto to calm down. She’s already got my heart. She doesn’t need my seat too.”

The crowd awwwed as if on cue. Even Charles made an exaggerated swooning motion behind him.

Back on the couch, you felt a slow smile stretch across your face. You reached for your phone and typed a single message, your thumb hovering over the screen before hitting send.

Better start building your own croissant car, champ if you ever decide to beat me.

#lewis hamilton #lh44 #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #x reader #lh44 x reader #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton x you #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton one shot #team lh44 #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1

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cmncisspnandmore · 1 year ago

Text

All hands on deck -Part 3

Parings: Poly!Taskforce141 X Wife!Reader

Warnings: None?

Word count: 7844

Not beta read or edited, all mistakes are mine.

Previous: Part 2

2 months. 8 weeks. 56 days.1,344 hours. 80,640 minutes.

That’s how long John, Kyle, Simon and Johnny had been gone.

You rest your head on your hand, sitting on the dark brown chair in the corner of the playroom. Your mug of peppermint tea sitting on a coaster next to you, Right next to the book Kyle was reading before he left. Hope sits on the floor, smashing wooden blocks together, her little cheeks flushed pink. Her short brown hair pulled up in two tiny pigtails. Theo lays on the oversized bean bag, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“Mama,” he whines, and you look over, blinking rapidly as you focus on the 4 year old.

“Yes baby?”

“I want Papa!” he cries, head tipping back as a harsh sob leaves his lips.

“I know baby, i know,” you frown, standing from your chair, walking over to the overtired toddler and picking him up.He presses his face into the side of your neck.

“I want Papa,” he whines again, his voice tired. For the past 2 weeks Theo had refused to go to bed, throwing monumental fits, throwing himself to the ground and crying for hours. Nothing you did soothed him, it always ended the same way, you sitting outside his bedroom door, your own tears trailing down your cheeks as you listened to him cry himself to sleep. The days with him weren't much easier, his overtiredness causing every small thing to be a battle. He had started going after Hope, hitting her, biting her, and then in turn hitting you when you tried to break them up.

The only saving grace for your sanity was that the older children had school during the day. With 3 of your 5 children gone from the house 8 hours a day you were at least able to have some semblance of order. But the house was nowhere near where you wanted it to be. The dishes piled up in the sink. Laundry wasn't done, and the entire house needed to be deep cleaned. But there wasn't enough time in the day.

You felt like you were drowning, an engine running without gas. Between waking up at every small sound in the house, Theo’s refusal to sleep, and getting up at 5am each morning to get breakfast and lunches done for the older kids. Not to mention the never ending errands you had to run, going to the grocery store, bringing Kira to gymnastics, Joseph to football, Isla to ballet.

You were exhausted.

Theo sniffles into your neck, and you rub his back gently, trying to soothe him.

“I want Papa,” he says softly, his tears soaking the collar of your pink blouse.

“I know, I wish I knew when he was going to be home,” you breathe. Your lips brush over his cheek, your hand making small circles on his back. Hope toddles over to you, her hands gripping your pant legs. Her big blue eyes turned up towards you.

“Up! Up!” she demands, her hands pulling on your yoga pants. You crouch and pick her up, settling her on your other hip. Theo notices and reaches over smacking her in the face. It takes Hope a moment to register what happened and she starts screaming.

“Theo!” you scold, putting the 4 year old on his feet. He stares up at you with his brown eyes. Tiny brows furrowed in anger.

“No! No Hope! I don't like her!” he screams, raising his tiny fists to beat against your leg. You cradle Hope to your chest as Theo beats on your thigh. Big tears stream down her cheeks, a tiny hand print on her face,

“Theo we don't hit, it's not nice.” You sigh, looking down at him. His face is red and angry as he continues to hit you. “Damnit Theo ENOUGH!” You yell, and he stops immediately, his lower lip trembling. You watch as his face scrunches up and he starts to scream.

“I no like you Mama!” he screeches before he takes off from the playroom, his angry footsteps disappearing down the hall. You close your eyes, your head pounding, Hope still crying softly in your arms. Theo’s angry screams down the hall, you take a deep breath. Trying to compose yourself, as you walk down the hallway.

“Do you want some strawberries? Will that make you feel better?” You ask Hope, and she stops crying almost immediately. You shake your head, she was definitely one of your husbands kids, food seemed to be the cure all for her. You walk down the hall and set her in her highchair. You see Theo’s feet peeking out from under the island counter, but don't say anything. You know if you said something to him he would just lash out at you. He was like a tightly wound spring, one wrong move and he exploded.

You grab the container of berries from the fridge and start cutting them into small pieces, plating them on one of Hope’s tiny pink plates. You deposit them on her tray and she digs in, hands fisting as much fruit as she can. She shoves fistfull after fistfull into her mouth. Strawberry juice dribbled down her chin, staining her yellow dress pink.

A little hand grabs the bottom of your pants as you put the knife into the kitchen sink. You glance down, Theos small hand grips the black fabric tight. You kneel down, knees cracking as you come face to face with your overtired four year old.

“Sowwy Mama…” he says softly, looking down at the cream tile.

“I accept your apology, but we don’t use our hands to hit people. It’s not nice, Hope didn’t do anything to you. I know you miss Papa, Dad, Da and Daddy. I wish I could make them appear so they could hug you sooo tight they squish all the sad outta you, but I can’t. And I miss them too, Theo. It’s okay to be upset, but it’s not okay to use your hands to hurt people, okay?” You rub your fingers over the backs of his hands, and he nods. Brown curls falling into his face, you brush them back smiling softly at him.

“C’mon, how about you have a snack before we go pick up the twins and Isla from the bus stop, does that sound nice?” You reach for him, pulling him to his feet. He nods, “we have any blueberries?”

“We sure do,” you smile, and Theo races to a chair, scrambling up it. He rests his elbows on the table, and watches as you grab them from the fridge and put them back in a bowl for him.

You take a seat opposite of him, watching as he eats the small blue fruit. Your head resting on your hand, your head still pounds. Each beat of your heart is like a hammer in your head. You rub your temples, wincing as Hope starts to bang her plate on the high chair tray.

“More! More! More!” she laughs, the plate clattering to the floor.

“Okay, okay, you can have a few more,” you push back your chair, grabbing her plate from the floor, you squick some blueberries for her, and give her back the plate. Theo and Hope eat their fruit happily, your eyes flickering to the clock on the wall. It was almost time to go to the bus stop to get the other kids.

“Eat up my friends, we gotta go get your siblings in a moment,” you muse, walking down the hall. You collect Theo and Hope's shoes, after slipping on a pair of flats. Theo’s dinosaur sneakers are tattered and in need of replacing. You sigh as the velcro closure hangs on by mere threads. It was always something. You kneel in front of Hope’s highchair and slide her baby pink crocs onto her feet. Her face smeared in pink and purple juices from her snack. You wipe her mouth with your sleeves, staining your shirt. You could hear Simon's voice in your head, grumbling about trying to get stains out of your shirts. A smile ticked up on your lips, he did most of the laundry when they were home. He claimed the monotonous task quieted his mind, much like when he cleaned his gun. He would always scold you for using your shirt or pants to wipe the various messes off the children. At one point he was convinced you did it just to punish him.

Not that it was your intention. You never did it maliciously to give him more to do, but with 5 kids it was faster to just use your shirt or pants to wipe small messes than find a rag. There was barely enough time to use your shirt before they smeared it over the furniture.

The clock on the wall chimes, 3pm, the soft melodic song pulling you from your thoughts. You quickly slip on Theo’s shoes, and pull Hope from her high chair.

“Lets go my friend, time to get the others,” you hold your hand. Theo climbs off the chair, shoving his last berry in his mouth. His tiny hand slips into yours, as you walk down the hall. Pulling open the front door you glance around, hoping that maybe the black sub they took to base would be pulling down the driveway, but it was empty. Only the discarded bikes and sidewalk chalk there. The chalk drawings faded from the sun, and various shoes walked across it.

The bus stop was at the end of your street, about a 5 minute walk from your house. Theo holds your hand the whole way, eagerly looking at the houses as you pass them. He points out all the different color flowers that are starting to bloom in your neighbors yards. A group of parents stand at the end of the street, all of them talking among themselves.

“Mama! Piper!” Theo exclaims tugging on your hand as he spots his friend. Piper was your next door neighbor Maria’s daughter. She was the youngest of 3, only a few months older than Theo.

“Alright go on, but stay on the grass,” You call after him as he pulls away from you, little legs carrying him towards the red headed toddler. Piper notices his running, and jumps up and down tugging on her mothers dress. Maira says something to her and she runs up to Theo, pulling him over to the grass on the edge of the street. Threry sink into the grass, plucking flowers from the ground and making them into a pile.

“Hey” Maria greets you as you walk up to the group. A few other parents giving you a small wave.

“Hi,” You smile, shifting Hope higher on your hip.

“Hello Little Missy,” Maria greets Hope, her hands coming to snatch her from you. She settles Hope on her hip, Hopes hands playing with the beaded necklace she wears. ‘How’ve you been? Have they come home yet?”

“Not yet,” you shake your head and Maria reaches out, her hand squeezing your arm lightly.

“I’m sorry, love, hopefully they’ll be home soon,” she gives you a reassuring smile.

“I hope so,” you run your hand through your hair. “The past few weeks have been a lot.”

“You look tired, if you need anything let me know,” Maria pats your arm. “I’ll watch this little cutie for you any day, and Piper had been begging for Theo to come over and play. Maybe we can set up a playdate for them later this week? I can take them for a few hours and you can get some rest.”

Your eyes water, Maria was always so kind to you. She knew what it was like to have a husband who was gone alot. Her own husband worked a lot overseas in the states, she would often just stop over with a meal for your family when she knew the guys were gone.

“Oh hun, don’t cry.” She whispers, pulling you towards her. Her arms wrapping around your shoulders, Hope smushed between you two as she embraced you.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you wipe at the tears that collect on your lower lash line.

“Don’t apologize, you’ve got a lot on your plate, I’ get overwhelmed with 3, I can’t imagine 5. Kids are a lot of work, and it’s not like they’re sitting in an office somewhere like my Michael. They’re out god knows where putting their lives on the line. I at least get the comfort of knowing Michael is in a hotel room each night safe. I couldn’t imagine not knowing where my husband was, if he was alright. And you have not 1 but 4 people to worry about.” Her hand rests on your shoulder, the warmth from her palm seeping through the fabric of your shirt.

“I know, I just feel so stupid being upset by it. It’s been almost 8 years of dealing with it. I mean god, I’ve been with them since I was 18,” you sniffle, taking a deep breath.

“8 years is a long time, they’ve been your safe place for most of your adult life. It’s hard to not know when you’ll get that security back. No one is judging you for having a hard time.” She adjusts Hope in her arms, switching her to the other hip. She studies you for a moment, before she leans in. “If there’s something you need to talk to me about, I’m a pretty good secret keeper.” Her eyes drift to your stomach before she looks back at your face. A suggestive smile on her lips.

“Oh, no! No!” You wave your hands in the air. “That’s not it at all, I haven’t even gotten my period back since Hope stopped breastfeeding. Soon hopefully,” you laugh, as the bus pulls up to the end of the street.

“Okay..” Maria hums, handing your youngest back to you. Theo runs over to you grabbing your leg as he watches the bus doors open. A few neighborhood kids get off before you 3 do. Joseph spots you first, his black backpack over one shoulder, he runs over. Kira and Isla follow.

“Are they home yet Mama?” Joseph asks, hope flaring in his blue eyes. Blue eyes that looked exactly like Johnny’s.

“Not yet Babe, soon though,” you pat his head, running your fingers through his short brown hair.

“It’s okay Mama,” he sighs, a frown on his lips as he shrugs his backpack up higher. Isla skips over, her bright pink sneakers lighting up.

“C’mon Theo I'll race you home!” Isla teases her younger brother, and they both take off. Isla clearly lets Theo stay ahead of her, she steps far shorter than normal.

“Stay on the side of the road please! And where I can see you!” You call after them. Kira and Joseph walk next to you. Both of them are unusually quiet on the walk home. Isla coaches Theo on stopping at each mailbox on the way back to the house. Always looking over her shoulder to make sure you weren't far behind.

“Everything okay?” You ask, bumping your hip into Kira’s shoulder.

Her blonde hair has started to come loose from her braid, stray tendrils of hair falling into her face. She shrugs slightly, kicking at a rock with her shoe.

“Someone said that we’re weird because we have 4 Dads and that there's no way we could have 4 dads that three of them aren't really our dads.” Joseph chimes in, swinging Hope's hand back and forth, as he walks next to you.

“That's not true, your fathers are most definitely your dads. They all love you,” you frown.

“But it’s true isn't it? I'm Daddy’s and Joseph is Da’s, Theo is Dad’s, and Hope and Isla are Papas… That's why my hair is blonde like Daddy’s and Theo’s skin is brown like Dads. Joseph, Isla and Hope all have blue eyes and brown hair because Da and Papa have brown hair and blue eyes,” Kira crosses her arms over her chest, one hand playing a strand of her blonde hair.

“Yes, you’re right about that. You may look like Daddy, but who reads you a story every night when he's home?” You touch her shoulder gently as you reach your driveway.

“Dad does,” She looks up at you with furrowed brows.

“And who makes you whatever you want for breakfast on sunday morning?”

“Papa…” she trails off.

“And who gives you the best hugs when you’re sad? Besides me of course.” You smile,

“Da..”

“And who plays whatever game you want, whenever you want?”

A smile forms on her lips, “daddy.”

“And all of those things are what Fathers do for their kids right?” You ask, setting Hope down in the front yard and she takes off towards Theo and Isla.

“Mhmm..” she stands in front of you, as you crouch down. Your hands holding hers, giving them a soft squeeze.

“So just because you might be Daddy’s kid biologically, doesn't mean your fathers don't love any less, or love any of the other kids more. All of them love so much, and they would do anything for any of you guys. They are no less your dad just because you don't have the same blood type or the same hair color. Because family isn't about who you’re related to, it's about who loves you. If you were to ask any of them how many kids they had, they would say they have 5 beautiful, smart, kind and caring kids. Kids they love more than anything in the entire world, and nothing will ever change that. A lot of people have more than one Mom or dad. You remember Sophie right, she used to live down the street before she moved.” You gently tuck some of the loose hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, Sophie had two Moms because her Dad married someone else after her mom died,” She nods a small smile on her lips.

“So see, people can have more than one or dad, because all that matters is that they love you. So next time someone is mean to you, you just remember that your fathers love you so much, Kira. And nothing will ever change that.” You pull her to you and hug her, her arms wrapping around your neck. Her blonde hair tickles your cheek as she hugs you tight. Over her shoulder you watch as Hope chews on Islas backpack strap, Theo and Isla rolling around in the grass, Isla doing forward rolls and Theo trying to copy his older sister. Joseph watches you and Kira from the front steps. A smile forming on his lips, as you smile at him.

Your poor sensitive boy had been worried about Kira, he didn't like it when she was upset. Even as a baby whenever Kira would cry his little body would stiffen up, all his muscles tense until someone comforted her. For the longest time you had them sleeping in the same cot. When you tried to separate them they screamed and cried. You had been worried about safe sleep, insisting that they sleep separately. It was Kyle who suggested putting them in the same cot. After 5 days of little to no sleep you finally caved, and as soon as you laid Kira next to Joseph they both drifted off instantly. Little bodies pressed against each other.

It made sense, when you thought about it. They had only ever known life with another person stuck to their side. They couldn't understand why it had changed when they were born.

Now looking at your almost 8 year olds your heart aches. You loved them fiercely and the thought of people giving them a hard time about their dads made you crazy. Why couldn’t people just leave it alone, it’s not like you were hurting anyone. Your lifestyle didn’t cause anyone harm, no one was dead because you had four husbands.

There wasn't some catastrophic event that would happen because you found happiness in the arms of four men.

“Okay, Mama,” Kira pulls back slightly so there's some distance between you two. “Can we get pizza for dinner?”

You can't help the laugh that bubbles out of you, and you give her a small nod. “Sure Baby, let's all go inside. I’ll help you with your homework and then we’ll order pizza.”

Your back rests against Theos bedroom door, your ass went numb an hour ago. He had stopped crying, the camera app pulled up on your phone showing him laying across his bed, little legs hanging off his bed. His mouth opens as he snores softly.

After dinner it was a shit show. Hope threw up all her pizza, Theo decided to draw on the walls, Kira and Joseph got in a huge screaming match over whose turn it was to pick a movie. And Isla had accidentally run into the glass cabinet in the dining room and broke it, earning herself a small cut on her hand.

Your night ended with Theo throwing the world's longest tantrum because his Papa still wasn't home to tuck him in.

You weren't sure how much more of this you could take. Your entire body hurt, your head pounded with each beat of your heart. Every muscle felt like you went 10 rounds with Simon. Your head knocks softly against the door, as you look up at the white ceiling of the hallway.

It was almost 2 in the morning and despite how bone crushingly tired you were, you couldn't find it in you to get up. To crawl into your massive bed and lay there, missing your men. Sleeping alone for most people was a luxury, especially for someone who had as big of a bed as yours. But to you, the empty bed with more pillows and blankets than one person could need was a constant reminder that they weren't home.

You had tried calling their cell phones earlier, knowing that it would just go straight to voicemail. You had just needed to hear their voices, hoping it would give you the strength to get through the night.

Tears prick the back of your eyes, your throat constricting with emotion. You missed them so much it was starting to physically hurt. You could feel the hole in your chest growing with each passing day. You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and they started to fall rapidly. Your breathing turns harsh and rapid as you fold over on yourself. Hands gripping your knees as you sob. Your spine digs into the hard wood of the door behind you, but you barely notice. The physical discomfort is no match for the bone deep ache in your heart. Each breath is like a million tiny needles embedding into your lungs as you struggle to pull in oxygen.

Your soft sobs echo through the hallway, and you’re honestly surprised you haven’t woken one of your children. Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth you bite back a scream that threatens to rip from you. Your vision becomes spotty as you hyperventilate, and eventually it becomes too much and you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Warm hands, soft voices, the smell of jasmine and vanilla. Another set of hands, these ones larger. A different scent, one of gunpowder and leather.

“C’mon Darling, open your beautiful eyes,” a gruff voice coaxed.

John.

“She’s not runnin’ a fever…” another voice, this one laced with an accent.

Johnny.

“Baby? Can you hear us?” A warm palm brushes over your forehead.

Kyle.

“Give her a minute, the poor thing looks exhausted.”

Simon.

Your eyes flutter open and you blink at the harsh overhead light from the ceiling fan over your bed. People swim at the edges of your vision and you rub your eyes, trying to focus. When you pull your hands away from your eyes, you have a sudden feeling of Deja vu. Four sets of eyes peer down at you. Two sets of blue, two sets of brown.

“There you are,” John's lips tip up in a small smile.

“I’m not dead right?” You whisper, voice hoarse.

“No, Baby, you’re alive,” Kyle laughs slightly, his warm hand coming to brush along your cheek. You lean into his hand, the warmth from his fingers seeping into the skin of your cheek. You look at the others, they’re still wearing their fatigues, you push yourself up onto your elbows.

“When did you get home?” You ask, your gaze landing on Simon. He stands against the wall opposite your bed. Eyebrows furrowed as he watched you like a hawk.

“20 minutes ago,” Johnny answers, slipping onto the bed next to you, he pulls you towards him. He cradles you against his chest, his lips brushing your cheek.

“You were asleep outside Theo’s door, you look exhausted Darling,” John puts his boonie hat on the dresser, and pulls his gun out of the waistband of his pants. He walks over, shoving Johnny over for a second to grabs his as well. John disappears into the walk-in closet and you can hear the beep of the electronic lock for their gun safe.

“Oh…” you murmur as Johnny tucks you under his chin, his hands rubbing up and down your sides.

“I take things have been rough?” Kyle sits on the other side of you. As if on cue, the baby monitor for Theo’s room screeches to life.

“Mama!!! I want Papa!!” Theo’s little voice crackles over the monitor.

John pokes his head out of the closet, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpant. “That’s my cue,” he mutters, walking over to the bed and dropping a kiss to your head. He slips from the room, and a moment later you hear Theo’s bedroom door open.

“Papa?” Theo’s voice is small and sleepy.

“Hi buddy, you looking for me?” John says quietly.

Simon reaches forward and switches off the monitor. Before he disappears into the closet to change as well.

“Missed you Mo Chridhe..” Johnny kisses your shoulder and hair.

“Not as much as I missed all of you,” you smile, grabbing Kyle’s hand and squeezing softly.

“Go change MacTavish, you’re gonna ruin my sheets,” Simon grunts. “Stop hogging the wife too,” he crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at you and Johnny.

Johnny sighs and climbs off the bed and Simon slips into his spot, pulling you basically on top of him. His lips press to the side of your head as he anchors his arms around your waist. You look at his face, the dark circles under his eyes and a new cut through his eyebrow. Every muscle in his body is tense. You feel like you’re cuddling a rock wall more than your husband.

Kyle heads into the bathroom leaving you and Simon alone for a few moments. You rest your head on his large chest, his heart beating frantically against his ribs.

“It’s okay Si… you’re home now.. you can relax,” you gently rub your fingers over his jaw. The muscles twitching under your fingers.

He lets out a long breath, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks as he presses his mouth to yours. He pours everything into the kiss, his worries, his anxiety, the love he feels for you. He leaves you breathless as he pulls back.

“Get some sleep, Lovie. You need it.” Simon lets you go slightly so you can settle into your spot in the middle of the bed. Kyle flicks the light switch off and climbs in behind Simon, his arm over Simon’s body and resting on your hip. A few seconds later Johnny slips into bed facing you, his hand grabbing yours.your eyes grow heavy as he settles the blankets over you. The soft click of the bedroom door, followed by a slight shift in the mattress as John climbs in, the last thing you remember before you drift off to sleep.

You wake the next morning, bed empty, and you sit up. Did you dream of them coming home?

You glance around the room, but when your eyes settle on John’s boonie hat and Simon’s skull balaclava sitting on the dresser, you know you didn’t.

Slipping from the bed you change into a pair of leggings and a top, quickly brushing your teeth. You can hear laughter from the floor below as you walk down the hall. All the kids' bedroom doors are open, and the scent of pancakes floats up the stairs.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look, this one looks like a smiley face!” Joseph laughs.

“Nice job bud, can you make another?” Simon’s deep voice replies.

You round the corner and pause in the doorway, Theo is snuggled up on John’s chest, as John sits in a chair. His large hands rubbed the four year olds back.

Hope sits in her high chair, Kyle perched on the edge of the table as he rips up a pancake for her. Her tiny hands are grabbing the pieces faster than he can place them.

Kira and Isla are sitting with Johnny at the table eating, their faces covered in sticky syrup, chocolate from the pancakes on their fingers.

“Hi Mama!” Joseph is the first to notice you, your shadowy figure at the edge of the doorway. All eyes snap to you, your children smiling before going back to what they were doing. Your husbands regard you for a few extra moments. Gaz only momentarily before Hope smacks her hands on her tray, demanding the man in front of her rip her pancake faster.

John smiles at you over Theo’s head, his head tipping towards the full coffee pot. He knew you well, the first thing you needed in the morning was a caffeine fix. Johnny watches as you walk to the coffee pot, pouring yourself a cup and adding all your favorite mix ins.

“Did ya sleep well?” He asks, wiping syrup from the table with a wet cloth.

“I did, best I’ve slept in awhile actually,” you hold the warm mug between your hands. You peer over the kitchen island where Simon is standing with Joseph making pancakes. He pours the batter onto the hot griddle before Joseph carefully drops various toppings into it. Blueberries for some, and chocolate chips for others.

“What kind do you want mama?” The boy asks, a smile on his lips as he shoves a stray chocolate chip into his mouth.

“I’m okay baby, thank you,” you walk over kissing his cheek before stretching up on your toes to kiss Simon’s. Simon’s brown eyes flicker over to you, but he doesn’t say anything just observing you.

You slide into a bar stool and watch as they continue to make stacks of pancakes. Once they are out of batter Simon plates two pancakes for Joseph, steering him in the direction of the table for him to eat. You raise your mug to your lips taking a small sip of your coffee. Your nose scrunching as the liquid slides over your tongue. Your stomach rolls slightly as you take another sip. You set the mug down on the counter, looking up to see Simon once again watching you. His hands held the empty bowl of pancake batter.

“Something wrong with the coffee?” He inquires and you swear his eyes can see right through to your very soul.

“I think the cream might be bad,” you push the mug away from you. Suddenly John’s hand is wrapping around the mug and he takes a sip. He’s quiet for a moment before he sets the cup down.

“Kira, Joseph, Isla, get ready for school,” John looks over at the kids who are staring at all of you. They quickly scramble from the room. Their footsteps race up the stairs as they run to their rooms to change.

“When did you find out?” He asks, and you look up at him puzzled.

“What?”

“You don’t have to hide it, baby. We weren’t kidding when we said it before we left.” Kyle pulls Hope from her high chair and comes to stand around the counter with the other two.

“Said what?” You look between Simon, Kyle and John, your eyes flickering between them all. Johnny comes over, dropping the kids plates into the large sink.

“About wanting another bairn,” he crosses his arms over his chest. A smirk on his face as he looks at you.

“I’m not pregnant.” You blurt out, running your hands over your face. When you pull your hands from your face they’re all staring at you with doubtful looks on their faces. “I’m not!”

“The only time you don’t like coffee is when you’re pregnant,” Simon states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“When was your last period?” Kyle asks, shifting Hope up higher in his arms.

“I haven’t gotten one since Hope stopped breastfeeding, that’s normal though,” you cross your arms over your chest.

“Did you not learn anything the last time you thought that?” Johnny laughs, and you cheeks flame. Okay so maybe they had a point, the last time you didn’t get a period after you stopped breastfeeding was when you got pregnant with Isla 3 months after the twins were born.

“Sod off,” you grumble, getting off the stool and storming up the stairs.

“Lovie! Don’t be like that, we aren’t mad!” Simon calls after you, but you don’t miss the laughter in his voice.

“I’ll prove you wrong! Just gimme a moment!” You slam the bathroom door closed, and drop to your knees in front of the bathroom vanity. You pull out baskets of random items. Gauze, kids hair brushes, extra tooth paste, a Barbie doll that went missing months ago. A half used box of tissues, and more. You finally spot what you’re looking for, a box of digital pregnancy tests you kept in the back of the vanity.

You don’t bother shoving anything back under the vanity, as you quickly pee on the test strip and put the blue plastic cover on. You jog back down the stairs, the test in your hand as you place it on the counter in front of them. The little digital screen blinks, the bars creeping ever so slow as you give each of them a glare.

John puts Theo on the floor and the 4 year old runs off, his own tiny feet going up the stairs as he goes to find his siblings. Kyle sets Hope on the counter, and she smacks the countertop with her hands, laughing at the sound that echoes through the quiet kitchen.

“Darling, we want as many children as you’ll give us,” John reaches over and flips the test over so no one can see the digital screen.

“We already have 5, how many more could we possibly need?” You sit on the bar stool, as Simon hands Hope 2 wooden spoons for her to play with. She shoves one in her mouth and waves the other around, almost smacking Gaz in the face.

“I’d like 3 more,” Johnny answers, leaning his forearms against the counter.

“8 Children total?” You stare at him, unable to wipe the slightly horrified look off your face. “You realize that there would be 13 people in our family at that point right?”

“What's got you shaken up Mo Chridhe?” he frowns at you.

“I-I don't know if i can handle 8 kids alone….” You whisper, your voice shaking.

You could barely keep the 5 you had already alive when they were gone. Add in 3 more and you were sure you weren't going to survive. But you loved your children, and had always wanted a huge family. It was something you dreamed of as a child, and you knew how much each of your husbands adored the children. Were you really ready to never have a newborn baby again? Never experience the first time a baby smiles or laughs. Your gaze flickers to Hope, as she sits on the counter top, drool trailing down her chin as she gnaws on the wooden spoon. Kyle watches her, a smile on his face as she smiles at him.

“We talked a lot on this last deployment, and we agreed we would be stepping back a lot,” John comes to stand behind your chair, his hands rubbing up and down your back.

“But you’re the best at what you do… I’d feel terrible if something catastrophic happened because you were home instead of where you were needed.” You look between the 3 of them in front of you.

“Love, here is where we’re needed,” Simon frowns.

“We’ve been doing this for a long time, longer than most task forces. It’s about time we think about passing the baton to another task force anyways. We’ve been talking with Laswell and she’d sent us some files of teams she thinks would be a good fit. We would train them, and we would still be working on base. But we wouldn't be deploying as much, only when we were really needed.” Kyle adds.

“We’ve been asked to help train and teach new recruits, we’ve got a lot of experience in the field, and it's helpful for them to learn from people who have been out there, seen what we have. We’ll still be doing what we love, but we’ll get to come home to our family every night. You won't have to worry if we’ll be coming back every time we walk out the door. You’d get the help with the children, and we’d get to see them more. Spend time with them. We’ve missed a lot over the years and we don't want to miss anymore.” Simon runs hand through his blonde hair, and your eyes fill with tears.

“You’re not just doing it for me right? You want to step back right?” You look over your shoulder at John.

“You’re part of the reason, but we’ve all taken a beating over the years. And it was getting time for us to retire anyways, we’re just doing it a few years earlier. But trust us Darling, we want to be home. Being out there doesn't give us the same thrill it did years ago. Being here, with you, that's what we look forward to.” John runs his fingers through your hair, and you nod.

“Okay,” you breathe, your eyes falling to the flipped over test.

“No matter what it says, we’ll be okay,” Kyle reaches across the table and rubs his fingers over your knuckles.

“What do you want it to say?” Simon asks, drawing your attention to him.

You chew your bottom lip, what did you want it to say?

You were happy with the 5 beautiful children you had. The twins, Isla, Theo and Hope, they were amazing children and you loved watching them everyday. But your family didn't feel complete. You didn't feel done, your heart still longed for more.You loved how close the kids you had now were, they were never alone, they always had someone to play with. And when the time came and none of you were around, they would still have each other.

“I want more,” you finally answer, and all 4 of the men in your life smile.

“Even if it's negative, we’ll keep trying okay?” John kisses the top of your head. Taking one last deep breath you reach forward and pick up the test. You look at all of them as they wait for you to flip it over.

Your hands shake slightly as you flip over the little blue test, 5 sets of eyes peer down at the small screen.

‘Pregnant, 3+’ stares back at you.

Johnny is the first to move as he nearly climbs over Kyle and John to get to you. His arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you from the chair, and spins you around. His face is buried in your neck as he holds you tight.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mumbles as he presses his lips to yours.

“Get out of the way MacTavish,” John grumbles as he pulls you from Soap and into his arms, he presses a kiss to your lips as well. “I love you, thank you for giving us another.

“You don't have to thank me,” You laugh as you kiss him back.

Kyle is next, his hands settling on your waist as he pulls you in, his lips finding yours. “We do, because you’ve already given us 5, and we would never ask for more if it wasn't what you wanted.”

Simon is the last, he pulls you in, his large hands on your hips as he leans down, his forehead bumping yours as you share a breath there. “You sure this is what you want?” He asks softly, you can hear the others move about the kitchen. Kyle takes Hope to put her shoes on. John and Soap call up the stairs for the older children to get their backpacks as they slip their lunchboxes into them.

“I’m sure,” you smile, “I want this.”

“As long as you’re sure,” Simon presses a kiss to your mouth before he hugs you tight. You wrap your arms around him, leaning your head on his chest.

The sounds of footsteps running down the stairs pull you away, Isla, Kira, and Joseph file into the kitchen, their backpacks on, all dressed for school.

“We’re ready, can we all go to the bus stop this morning?” Joseph asks, looking between you and Simon.

“Sure bud, let me just put my shoes on,” you smile, you walk down the hall to grab your shoes and pull them on. The rest of your family waits, as you tie your sneakers. John holds Hope in his arms, Simon holds Theo’s hand, Johnny and Kyle head out the door first. The children followed. You fall in step in the middle of your group, it was warm today. Warmer than normal for this time of year, but you didn't mind it. Although the unusual warmth usually brought thunderstorms.

Those you weren’t too fond of.

As you approach the bus stop you see the normal group of parents waiting with their children. Maria stands next to her two older boys standing with a group of friends, Piper sits on the grass, her little head lifting as you all approach. She waves enthusiastically to Theo, and Theo pulls away from Simon. Running as fast as his little legs will carry him to his friend. They sit in the grass, building a stack of rocks to see who can get it higher.

Maria looks at you, a giant smile on her face as she sees your husband’s with you.

“I see they came back!” she exclaims, as you and the others stop a few steps from her.

“Pleasure to see you again Maria,” John hugs her.

“Glad you made it back,” she smiles, hugging each of them, even Simon who stiffly hugs her back.

“We’ll be around a lot more,” Johnny smiles, his arm snaking around your waist as he pulls you into his side.

“Oh?” Maria looks at them.

“We’re stepping back, we have much more important things here,” John explains, and Maria nods.

“I’m glad you’ll be around more,” she eyes you suspiciously. “Are you still going to tell me I'm wrong?” She gives you a pointed look.

“Ma- y- how does everyone always know before me! It's my bloody body.” You grumble, and Soap laughs.

“We know what to look for,” Kyle kisses the side of your head.

“I just knew because even though you looked knackered, you still looked like you were glowing,” Maria laughs.

“Simon figured it out because of my coffee,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I'm happy for you, dear. If you need anything let me know. Although I wonder how you’ll fit another in that house of yours. You’re quickly outgrowing it,” Maria adds as the bus pulls up. The older children all race off to get onto it, and wave you as they all climb on.

“We haven't figured that much out yet,” you shrug, “I'm sure we’ll think of something.”

“I’m sure you will,” she hugs you. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you hug her back.

“C’mon Theo! Time to go,” Simon calls and the small boy hugs his friend before he races over.

You wave again to Maria and begin the walk back to the house, Hope having fallen asleep in John's arms. Her brown hair falling into her face as she sleeps peacefully. You look between the four men that walk with you.

“What are we going to do about the room… we don't have any more bedrooms.” You place your hand on your still flat stomach. How long did you have to prepare?

Where would you even put a baby?

Isla still had her own room, and sure you could move Theo into there, but he still wasn't a good sleeper and you didn't want to ruin her sleep by him waking up.

You could move the new baby into Hope's room with her but it might still cause problems with how frequently new babies wake up. She would be almost three and a half by the time the baby was going to be ready for their own room. And you certainly were going to need a bigger dining room table to be able to fit everyone.

“We can always move, we’ve talked about moving in the past. Wanting to get out into the countryside more. It would be a good time to buy right now anyways, interest rates are low. And I'm sure there’s something out in the rural parts that would be plenty big enough for us, and we can always add on. We don't really have enough land with the current house to add on, we’d be building too close to the neighbors.” John explains, as you get to the end of your driveway.

You stare at your house, you’ve been in it for 5 years, having moved in when you were pregnant with Isla, a month before she was due. The twins were still babies themselves. You loved the house, but it was too small for such a large family. With only 5 bedrooms, and 3 bathrooms it was becoming crowded. Your kitchen, although big enough for now, wasn't going to be able to accommodate everyone for much longer. And you always wanted a house with lots of land for the kids to play in. You had a decent sized yard now but it was nowhere near big enough for the swingset the kids kept asking for.

And it wasn't like it was a small house. It had almost 3000 sqft, but when you have 5 children and one (possibly 2) on the way. You needed something bigger. Something with room to grow.

“Okay, we’ll start looking at listings.”

“So we’re gonna move?” Simon confirms.

“We’re moving,”

834 notes · View notes

carbonfiction · 8 months ago

Note

Saw that your asks were open today!! Just read your logan migraine comfort fic, and I loved it!!! So I was thinking, how about logan with like a reader being stressed out over exams? (I'm sitting for a mock exam tomorrow, and the days leading up to it have been hell!!) Back to the fic idea, he could like help her by holding the book for her, flashcards, etc. It can be any logan you like i had in mind origins logan in a cabin setting but up to you. Love your writing!!!

Hiii anon, thank you for the love on the migraine piece!! i hope the exam goes okay- ive been in a similar situation as of late and mocks or not they are so so stressful so i hope this lil drabble helps even a little <33

Study buddy (boyfriend)

Masterlist. Words: 753

A frustrated sigh falls from your lips, closing the textbook infront of you with a less than gentle slam. The chair creaks under you as you sit back, stretching your spine, then your shoulders you feel the fatigue tugging at you.

There was little more you wanted to do than cuddle up with your boyfriend, Logan, on the couch. Comfortable clothes on, belly filled with your favorite takeout as you sit amused by some show logan flicks on the tv- probably The Great British Bake Off knowing his soft spot for it; despite his vehement denial.

But instead, you'd been holled up inside the office space logan had cornered off for you inside the cabin. The lamp giving a golden hued glow to the room as the hours ticked by. Exam season was in full swing boy, oh boy was it taking its toll on you.

"Hows it goin baby?" logans enquires with a quiet knock, broad body momentarily leaning against the wooden doorframe. He's been watching you study, scribbling notes and reading over the information that sits on the desk.

You wip around to him with a soft smile, noticing the mug in his hand, steaming and hot as he begins to tread closer.

"Exhausting.." you sigh, peaking into the mug as he rests it on the coaster by your book. "'S that for me?"

"Ofcourse, exactly how you like it" he smiles, large hands coming to rest on your shoulders. His fingers messaging into the tense muscles as he stands behind the chair. "Figured you could do with it, been glued to that book for hours"

"And yet.. It feels like nothing is going in. No matter how much i do the practice papers or read.." you frown, taking a long sip of the hot tea and logan can practically feel the frustration coming from you. His heart squeezing in his chest at how hard your pushing yourself as your other hand reaches forward to rustle through more papers.

"Need a break sweetheart" he kisses the crown of your head softly.

"Cant.. Gotta get it in before tomorrow" You grumble back sadly.

"Alright" he sighs, fetching the spare chair from the corner of the room until it sits beside you at the desk. "if you wont take a break, at least let me help?"

"Logan you dont have-" you go to protest, but logan picking up a pen and tapping it repetitively onto the desk interups you.

"C'mon, Get me up to speed baby."

"It- its the history one, the civil war" you confess quietly.

"Your kiddin" logan huffs, amusement filling his tone as a grin speads across his lips. "All this time you've been in here, worrying your pretty little head.. While you could've just given me a call?"

"I- i didnt want to bother you.. Dredge it all up again in your head, know how hard you try to leave it behind.."

"Baby.." logan starts, a hand coming to rest on your thigh with a gentle reassuring squeeze. "You ever need to know anything you just ask me okay? If i can help then i want to.. use it for some good."

Another two hours tick by after that; the dimly lit office bustling with back and forth conversation as logan fills in the gaps to questions youve struggled on.

He's even alternated between holding the book, reading, recounting memory and testing you with the little laminated flash cards you'd made.

Its within this time, much to your joy, the information goes in and stays. Logans voice always full of praise as you correctly answer the last card.

"You got it baby, a ten out of ten!" Logan grins brightly as his arm comes to wrap around your shoulders. No longer do they sit hunched and tense under his grasp.

"Thats the.. The first time ive gotten them all right.." You trail blinking, unmoving for a moment, until you practically jump from your chair into his lap as logan playfully huffs at the drop of your body onto his.

His legs widen, arms wrapping around your back tugging you ever closer. Your head resting in the crook of his neck as you drape yourself over him. His body is warm and soft under your grasp and he feels the featherlight press of your lips kissing over him, smiling widely as you make each contact.

"Told ya you could do it, just gotta take a breath sometimes." Logan whispers, his voice like honey as calloused fingers brush your hair away. His own lips find your temple, mumbling quietly against your skin. "'M so proud of you."

Im awful at closing out drabbles/fics im so sorry but i really jumped at writing this since im struggling with studdying rn!! Plus writing for Origins!Logan is so much fun bc hes just so boyfriend in my mind!! Perfect timing anon, i really do hope you enjoy <33

#carbonrambles #logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #carbonsfics #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett fluff #logan fluff #wolverine fluff #wolverine x reader #logan wolverine

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pseudowho · 2 years ago

Text

Glory Glory: Higuruma Hiromi

An absolutely unhinged delicious "Help, I'm stuck!" series, where the reader is taken care of by the JJK guys.

18+ as always.

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Too many late nights and bottles of wine with Hiromi went this way; your conversations ran through a brambled path of half-Law and half-Jujutsu, as was in-keeping with the new path Hiromi's career had taken. His little office was dark, all old mahogany and panelled walls lined with case files, yellowing and dry. Hiromi liked to live life on the edge in this tiny office, by enjoying his wine with you by candlelight.

As you moved from one bottle of wine to two, the conversations turned from educated, to gossipy, and Hiromi participated eagerly with hooded eyes and a sardonic half-smile as you took turns to spill tea. A man who loves learning, loves information in many forms, you reasoned to yourself.

"I mean, Nanami Kento is absolutely right," Hiromi urged, his rich voice wine-drunk and sultry now, "Jujutsu sorcery is shit. And work is shit. I'm not sure why I do any of it. Maybe I should go back to my briefly attempted life of being a murderous reprobate." Hiromi drained the last of his wine, releasing a happy "mmmm" as he rolled his wine glass thoughtfully.

"And yet, we must work to live," you groaned, a dramatic arm over your eyes as Hiromi smiled at you, hooked nose crinkled, jaw resting against his hand. Pointing a finger at you as he arrived at a thought, Hiromi swung his legs down from the footstool before standing, reaching up to a shelf to start rummaging for a folder.

"I read something in an old case file the other day actually, and thought of you...hang on...where is it..." Hiromi mumbled to himself, hunting.

He gestured a hand back to you, still looking through the high shelves, "It's red," he pressed, "the folder, it's red. Help me search." You hummed your assent and went to the corner behind his desk, where a series of case notes stood perilously stacked on either side of a tight nook. Spotting a red folder at the back, underneath a large stack, you knelt on all-fours, and tried to weedle the folder out without causing disturbance to the others before--

-- a heavy paper rustle had you totally engulfed in swathes of case files, now falling open and tumbling over you, squashing your top half down with their weight, leaving you uncomfortably face-down-arse-up.

You heard Hiromi gasp behind you, "No no no, my filing--"

"Oh, 'filing' my arse, Hiromi, that was chaos--"

"-- I knew where everything was and now look at it--"

"--alright, alright, I'll just get out and you can sort--" as you moved backwards to pull yourself out, more stacks teetered and wobbled, collapsing onto you and Hiromi cried out his disdain, pushing you back into the nook with a strong hand on your arse.

You blushed, squirming against him, "Hiromi!" He held you in place, chastising you. He resisted the urge to squeeze you, arousal seeping into him at the shape of you in your delicious pencil skirt, nipping in at your waist and stretching over your arse and thighs.

"Don't move, you're making it worse!" He tutted at you, and you heard him rustling around above you, trying to correct the opened folders. After a few minutes, he sighed, giving up, the job too impossible to manage after so much wine.

Grabbing his gavel, he placed a wooden coaster on top of your outstretched arse, and tapped it sharply, once; "Guilty, of fucking up my filing system. Naughty." You giggled, wiggling your arse at him.

"Oh no, what's going to happen to me, sir?" Hiromi chuckled, humming, eyes darkening at you wiggling at him, god, you didn't know what you did to him, wine-drunk with him in the candlelight, your blouse slowly unbuttoning as the night went on, the gossip getting spicier and the inhibitions lowering, but never enough that you would come to him and let him taste the wine off your lips--

"Did you know," Hiromi pondered, pleased you couldn't see how solid his cock was against the thigh of his black trousers now, and Hiromi loosened his tie with one fine-boned finger, "that I can change the size and shape of this gavel?"

You paused, confused, wondering how this was relevant, but humoured him; "Oh?"

Hiromi hummed, stroking the gavel thoughtfully against your arse cheeks as you shivered, the wine bringing a blush, hot and fervent, to the surface of your skin.

"Obviously, I've considered its many applications," Hiromi continued, voice like satin now, convincing, alluring.

"Almost as long as I've considered you...in that skirt...in my office...all alone together, late at night." Your eyes fluttered shut as you bit your lip, soaking in his voice; you would be lying if you said you hadn't felt the same.

Hiromi's hands ran along the hem of your skirt, clever fingers rubbing circles underneath it now on the inside of your thighs. You let out a hushed moan, much to Hiromi's satisfaction. Emboldened, he continued as he rolled your skirt slowly upwards, thrilled to see the lace edge of your stockings come into view.

"Do you want to see...how it would feel? Inside you, getting bigger, smaller, longer, shorter...it could be fun. Something new." You gasped, pussy clenching at the thought of Hiromi pleasuring you, and you let out a happy murmur, too embarrassed to voice your agreement in words. Hiromi laughed, rich and bold behind you.

"Good girl." Your arse was completely exposed now, and Hiromi made quick work of disposing of your underwear, admiring the womanly curves and dips of you, tracing stretch-marks and dimples with his lithe long fingers. He grabbed his gavel, turning it in his hand.

You felt him kneeling behind you, Hiromi pressing his hips and throbbing cock hard once against you for relief, as he let out a crackling moan. He leaned down, nipping your arse a few times as you squeaked, punctuating the little red marks with wet appreciative kisses. You heard him growl, low and determined.

"I'm going to make you cum so hard, you forget your own name." You whimpered as Hiromi slipped his fingers through your folds, finding your clit with ruthless efficiency, removing them for a moment to taste you and spit on his fingers before pushing back into your pussy, rolling your clit between his fingers like a little pebble as you cried out and trembled at the sudden shocks of intense pleasure. You gasped, mewling, as your pussy clenched around nothing.

Hiromi watched your fluttering pussy, eager to be filled, and twisted his gavel, grasping it by the hammer now. Rubbing the handle up and down once, twice, three times between your folds, just as you were about to cry out and beg him, Hiromi slipped its length inside you to the hilt, and you squealed at the sudden cool wood inside you.

Hiromi continued, hushing you gently, continuing to rub small, tight circles on your clit as he planted soft, open-mouthed kisses to your lower back. He thrusted the handle of his gavel firmly in and out of you, tilting it just so that it rubbed insistently against your g-spot, and you shook and moaned.

"Could do with being a bit...thicker, though, hmm?" You squeaked in alarm and ecstasy as you felt the handle expand in diameter inside you, its added girth pressing flush against your inner walls, making you feel so tight as Hiromi continued to thrust it, harder now, and you felt pleasure coiling rapidly within you, your knees threatening to collapse underneath your shaking body.

"Or how about...longer?" You had a moment to gasp out in anticipation as you felt the gavel stretch inside you, pressing harshly against your cervix as you bucked and cried out. Hiromi revelled in delight as you fell apart beneath him, clever fingers working magic on you as you fizzed with ecstasy.

Hiromi's black spiked hair was unruly now and his shirt came untucked as he carried on working on you, thrusting the gavel into you at a relentless pace as he quickened his pace on your clit, and you begged, nonsense and pleas rolling off your tongue as Hiromi bit his lower lip, frowning and groaning at the white ring of cum forming around the base of his gavel as he thrusted and thrusted it.

Your orgasm was about to peak, when Hiromi rapidly reduced the size and shape of the gavel, and you cried out in utter disdain. Hearing a rapid rustle of fabric behind you, and a zipper being pulled down, Hiromi pulled the gavel out, throwing it aside, and thrusting his aching cock hard into you until he bottomed out with a sandy moan.

Folded over you to continue his frantic circles on your clit, Hiromi rutted into you with abandon. Your orgasm burst through you, white hot, and you would have collapsed had Hiromi not held you up, still slamming his hips against you with wet slaps, unadulterated wine-fuelled whimpers falling from Hiromi's lips as his orgasm hit him, pleasure crackling through him, eyebrows raised and mouth agape in agonised euphoria.

Hiromi held his breath as he came, releasing it in one shaky gasp as he came down, grinning and delighted. You slumped to the floor, utterly dazed, Hiromi's cum dripping out of you onto the dark oak floor.

Hiromi panted, leaning down to kiss your back again as he squeezed your hips. Nuzzling you with his hooked nose, he spoke casually.

"More wine?"

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writhyv · 4 months ago

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⋆｡°✩ celebrating valentine's day

title:pending | nishimura riki x male!reader + sim jaehyun x male!reader + park jongseong x male!reader

pairings: niki x male!reader | jake x male!reader | jay x male!reader

genre: fluff (something suggestive but its just ... a suggestion)

words: 3.6k

notes: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO EVERYONE!! i wrote some feel good stories for my three boyos right here, and hopefully they can fill your heart this lovely dayyy~

As you leaned back in your chair, you wondered how much longer this work could drag on. One hour? Two? Four? The thought alone made you feel drained.

Things like this wear you out the most. Having an online meeting is one thing, but dealing with foreign guests and board members—on top of a hectic schedule and the constant pressure—was something else entirely.

Suddenly, you felt a blistering, frozen kiss against your cheek.

"Ah!" You jolted, turning slowly to see your handsome lover holding out a drink for you. You wiped the sweat from your forehead as he brought the cup close.

"Bored?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

"You know it," you replied, rolling your eyes.

Ni-ki walked closer and set a drink down on your desk, landing it safely atop a small wooden coaster.

"Ohh! Matcha!" you cheered, spotting the familiar green hue. Of course, he ordered your favorite.

Ni-ki smiled at you, then playfully pinched your cheek. "Don’t get sleepy. It’s important, right?" he teased. And it WAS important.

"Ugh... they’re just talking." You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again.

"And?" Ni-ki raised an eyebrow, noticing how deflated you looked in your chair. "You gotta work. Unless you want me to drink that milk tea of yours?"

"Waa, no!" you exclaimed, your eyes wide.

Ni-ki laughed, doubling over as soft cackles escaped him.

"Leave it!" you pleaded.

"Alright, alright, I’ll let it be." Ni-ki turned to head back to the living room. "I’ll just be here."

"No work?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No work," Ni-ki replied casually, strolling out. "So you’ve got me for the day."

You barely noticed his last words as the volume of your meeting suddenly surged in your ear.

"Thank you for the drink, hon!" you called out, trying to shout over the noise.

Ni-ki smiled as he settled onto the couch, making himself comfortable while he waited for you to finish.

Sure, it was Valentine’s Day, but neither you nor Ni-ki needed a special occasion to express your love. Through ups and downs, you always found ways to mend mistakes and be there for each other. Ni-ki cherished your resilience and determination as you pursued your dreams while building a life together. He felt a sense of fulfillment, knowing he had a meaningful purpose beyond just being someone’s idol.

He was yours. And you were his. He was fulfilled.

"Oh lordie," you muttered under your breath, stifling a yawn. You slowly swiveled your chair and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Oh my god!" you gasped. "I’ve been here for that long?!"

Rushing to get out of your office, you quickly slipped on your inside slippers and sprinted to the door.

As you opened it, a gentle breeze greeted you, and you saw the television screen playing what seemed to be a Nat Geo documentary.

"Pfft…" you snickered. "Of course he’s watching ducks."

You walked slowly into the living room, taking in the comfortable couch and the equally comfortable man sprawled out on his side.

"Why is he hugging the couch again?" you mumbled, remembering how chaotic Ni-ki could be when he slept.

As you approached, you gently lifted one of his hanging legs to place it down on the couch again.

He let out a deep groan and turned onto his back, still lost in slumber.

You couldn’t help but admire his features; his lips looked irresistibly seductive at that moment.

With three cautious steps, you knelt beside him and laid your legs on the floor, inching closer to his face. Your fingers brushed against his soft cheeks.

"And you say you’re not cute anymore," you grinned, swiping a bit of hair from his beautiful face.

"Aren’t you something..." you pondered aloud.

"I want something," Ni-ki mumbled, eyes still shut, startling you for a moment.

"Goodn—What do you want?" you teased, holding his sleepy hand in yours.

"Isn’t it obvious?" he pouted, his lips teasingly close to a smile. With his eyes closed, it seemed he was pretending to be asleep, maybe just waiting for a kiss.

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but deep down, you loved this playful side of him.

Then, you leaned in and placed a perfect kiss on his lips, the warmth so fine and sprinkled with just the right amount of love. The moment felt surreal; who in their right mind would waste such a beautiful experience?

None. No one at all. Certainly not you.

"Mmh," Ni-ki hummed, "you taste so good."

You laughed, resting your hand against his chest as you felt yourself getting lost in the moment.

"You!" you sniffed playfully, inhaling a fresh breath of air. "You’re so annoying!"

Ni-ki smiled at you, his eyes slowly opening.

"I know," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And I know you can’t say anything else that works as well as that."

He cupped your face gently. "Thank you, hon."

"Mhm."

"For being here with me. Every day. Every second. Every passing moment."

You smiled back. "Heh… that’s so not like you to talk like that."

"So just listen to me," Ni-ki said softly. You nodded, unable to resist his earnest gaze.

"I will forever thank you," he continued, his heart full of gratitude. "Even if it’s Valentine’s Day or not."

You shot him a surprised look. "It was?!"

"Pff," Ni-ki snickered.

"Hey! Hon!"

"It was," he confirmed. "But it doesn’t matter; I had a good rest."

"But—" you gasped, realizing a thought. "Did you take the day off for us to go out?!"

Ni-ki burst into laughter, propping himself up from where he was lying. "I knew you’d say that! C'mon, hon!"

You looked at him with tears of joy in your eyes. "But!"

"There’s always tomorrow, and the day after that, and every hour we have together in this life," Ni-ki assured you, his hand gently cupping your chin.

"We’re always going to celebrate our love, one way or another."

"Hehehe..." You giggled as the wind blew, sending a shiver under your skin.

It was only natural; you weren’t used to this much cold, but it was okay. You were used to something else.

Someone else.

"Baby!" Jake called out, walking a few paces ahead as he tried to find something on his map. "Taking your time?"

"Yup!" you replied, diligently following the trail while rubbing your hands together. It was February, but the wind still felt frigid. You had packed the warmest coat you could find, yet it seemed you were still unprepared.

What you didn’t notice was Jake, glancing back at you with a long, hopeful look. He was concerned you weren’t tired, bored, or anything else negative about this trip. After all, it was his idea to push through. He felt guilty, knowing you still weren’t quite used to such weather.

"Aish!" Jake exclaimed, hurriedly tucking his phone away in his pocket.

Suddenly, your lover knelt in front of you—but not directly in front, rather with his back facing you.

"What are you—"

"I told you, use my back!" Jake insisted, offering his back for you to ride on. It sounded slightly dirty, but you got the point.

"Ugh, no way." You declined, playfully pinching his ear to tip him off balance.

"Hey!" Jake flinched, then chased after you.

After what felt like your two-hundredth step, a tight warmth enveloped you. It felt good, but not because it was necessarily warm. It was Jake.

"Baby..." he cooed, sounding a little dejected.

"I told you..."

"And I told you back!" He pouted. "Use my back!"

You sighed, a puff of steam escaping your lips. Jake walked to your side and held your hand.

"I didn’t work so hard to get rejected after proving my strength, baby." He looked at you, confidence radiating from him. You couldn’t help but laugh.

"Ugh, is this the part where you let me touch your muscles or something to prove you’re 'built right'?"

"I would!" Jake raised his hands dramatically. "But it’s freezing… we can skip that part. What’s important is that you get on my back."

Jake insisted, turning around again to offer his back.

"You’re hopeless." You sighed with a cheerful laugh.

"I am!" Jake replied, grinning. "In love with you~"

You playfully swatted his neck as he carefully hoisted you onto his back for a piggyback ride. With every step toward the top, Jake took his time to keep you safe.

"Why is it called a piggyback?" he suddenly asked.

"You're asking me that question?" you shot back.

"What? I’m curious!" he said, genuinely invested.

"Uhh..." you stalled, trying to think.

"Come on!" Jake continued walking, keeping the conversation going. "Between us, there are at least two brain cells. And they all belong to you."

You laughed. "Jake, if humans only had that much, I don’t think they’d be alive."

Jake gasped in mock horror. "Just answer me, babe! Why is it called piggyback?"

You sighed, burying your face in his nape.

"Etymology says that the word may have been corrupted or altered through time… they say the original word must’ve been 'pickaback,' then before that 'pickapack,' then 'pickpack.'" You groaned, regretting how useless that knowledge felt.

"See?" Jake cheered. "You’re the smartest, most handsome, and most adorable boyfriend one could love. I’m just so proud."

It always warmed your heart when Jake spoke like that. He was genuine, and you knew he meant every word.

"Were you thinking it was some kind of person carrying a pig?" you asked, holding onto his shoulder tightly.

"N-no...?" Jake glanced away, clearly having thought that.

You sighed. "No, Jake, you can’t tame a pig with carrots. And you can’t bait them with a carrot on a stick either."

"C’mon, that’s childish!" Jake defended himself. He had a reputation to uphold.

"Yet you still think Minecraft's based on real life," you snickered. "Fine, fine."

Jake laughed, knowing he might have looked a tad silly. But real or not, he knew his feelings for you were genuine.

You were real, and so was he. This relationship? It was real. This love? It was real.

"Hah!" Jake paused in his tracks after a few more steps, seemingly out of breath.

Once you both checked around to see if you were at the right spot, you quickly jumped off his back.

"You’re not bad," you jested, causing Jake to give you an incredulous look.

"Not bad?" he feigned offense, raising his voice playfully.

"Fineeee." You walked toward him and gave him a sweet kiss. "Five stars. Would ride again."

Jake blushed, pouting his bottom lip out with raised eyebrows.

"Oh come on!" You swatted his side as he reacted dramatically—predictably, yet still endearingly.

As you continued walking to where Jake had led you, he suddenly pointed excitedly.

"Baby, look!" Jake exclaimed, gesturing toward a field. "Here!"

Curious, you followed his finger and soon saw what he was excited about.

"AAAAAAAA!!" You swore you could’ve pushed Jake over the fence as you screamed in delight.

"Yeah! Yeah!" Jake cheered, obviously thrilled to see you so happy.

"LLAMAS!!" you shouted confidently, pointing toward the large herd gathering nearby.

"Close enough!" Jake chuckled, planting a kiss on your head. It was actually a herd of alpacas.

Walking slowly and finding your place in line, you couldn’t help but gaze at the adorable herd. And Jake? Well, he couldn’t help but gaze at you. You and only you.

"Happy Valentine’s," he whispered softly by your ear.

You rested your head against his padded chest, sneaking your hands inside his coat to feel that authentic Jake warmth.

"Thank you, my Valentine," you replied, your tone making Jake’s heart swell.

"Mhm…" he hummed back, caressing your side and hugging you like a koala. "Gonna hug you like this forever. Deal?"

"Never let go then." You looked up at him with a smile that could melt the thickest layers of ice.

Jake nodded. There were no other words but "Never." Or four. "Letting," "You," and "Go."

Or five. "Ever."

He showered you with kisses right then and there, each one tickling your cold skin. You flinched and cackled like a wacky, flailing inflatable tube man out of air. Hopefully, no one batted an eye at how loud you two were.

"Isn't this the set I gave you for your birthday?" Jay asked as he stumbled through your shared kitchen cabinets, clearly searching for something—a pot or two.

"Oh my god, yeah!" You shot a quick glance in his direction, setting down the groceries you had just brought from your car.

It had been a wild day, but maybe not that wild. You' and Jay had only gone to the grocery store for several essentials and missing ingredients, but there were huge lines everywhere. You could only guess everyone had the same idea as you and Jay 0 a nice Valentine's dinner at home.

"Oh!" Jay moved to the side as you quickly darted past him to grab the pots yourself. "What's the rush?"

"Ugh..." You sighed, taking a moment to catch your breath. "I just feel... awful."

"Huh?" Jay drew closer to you.

"I mean," you looked away, wiping the sweat from your brow, "you gave me this special set, and I STILL haven't used it..."

Jay looked at you, his expression softening as he understood.

"Jagi."

"Hmm?"

"Are you embarrassed because I brought you something like this?"

"I— No!" You looked away, flustered. "Listen, it's a good set! I'm just—"

Jay placed both his hands on your shoulders, reassuring you with a warm smile. "Jagi, don't feel bad." He moved a bit closer. "You must be keeping them for a reason, right?"

"Yeah." You looked away, fidgeting with your fingers. "I didn't want to touch them because they're a gift from you... you know me..."

Jay laughed lightly, looking at you once more. "Don't worry. We can have all the pots and pans in the world. If you treasure these pieces that much, we can—"

"We can!" You spoke loudly, catching your lover off guard.

"I—I mean... we can use it!" You smiled back at him. "It's time."

Jay couldn't help but beam with joy, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead as a 'thank you' before grabbing the pots himself.

"H-hey!" You tried to stand up as you took in that gentle moment for a bit. "I told you, jagi. I'm helping!"

He nodded as he prepared the pots and pans, wiping them down with a kitchen towel nearby. "Mhm."

"Mhm? I can?"

"You can." He pointed at the grocery bags behind him. "Have a start by taking out and preparing the ingredients."

Snapping back to reality, you immediately got to work. You knew how much Jay loved cooking, so you had to do your best, too.

In Jay's eyes, you seemed excited and engaged. It had been a while since you two had done a homemade dinner date. Usually, it was a quick pot of ramyeon or takeout from various restaurants.

But today was special—he was cooking with you.

Jay smiled wide as he watched you passionately prepare the food you brought home.

He took a moment to walk over to you, admiring how your hands expertly grazed the vegetables and meat with a sharp knife and precision.

"You do that so well," Jay said softly near your ear, making a blush creep onto your cheeks.

"Uh... I try..." You stammered, feeling shy under his gaze.

"You're an expert," he assured you, holding your hands together and guiding you as you cut the leeks. "But you always seem to be distracted every once in a while."

You knew what he was doing at that moment. All it took was Jay's fatal lower register and his breath close to you, his signature smirk playing on his lips.

"You're despicable..." You muttered, unable to hide your smile.

"Sure." Jay continued to gaze at you, admiring how your handsome face contrasted with his own. "And you're so undeniably delectable in every angle I see you." He traced your jaw with his own finger, slowly coming down towards your chest.

Without thinking, you turned around and kissed him right there. You set the knife aside, and Jay's fingers slipped inside your sleeves, pulling you closer.

With a gentle lift, you continued to kiss him, your back pressed against the kitchen column as all of his weight fall upon you. Jay's sorted collection of fine liquor on the column shook slightly with the movement.

"Be careful..." Jay whispered, but you couldn’t help yourself, kissing him again, indulging in the sweetness of his lips and letting yourself melt onto him.

In that moment, Jay could only confirm one thing: he couldn't control himself with you right beside him. And neither can you.

And that he loves you. He really loves you. So much. Okay, maybe that’s two things.

"This is so good!" you exclaimed, savoring the dish Jay had made, relishing the flavors that danced on your tongue.

Jay chuckled lightly, sipping a full glass of cabernet sauvignon. He loved having you as his drinking buddy; it made enjoying his wine so much more worthwhile. And the aftermath of the evening? That was definitely his favorite part.

You noticed Jay’s dazed look, almost seductive yet still curious.

"We just made out for 30 minutes," you said as you took a bite of the juicy sirloin steak on your other plate, not letting the moment go to waste. Jay did pay a hefty sum for it, no matter how much you insisted against it.

"Oh?" Jay replied, his tone inquisitive. "Pray tell, why are you aware of the time we spent doing so?"

You sighed in bashful embarrassment. "You and your urges..."

"Hmm?" Jay leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You don’t like it when I’m like this?"

"I don’t... know," you admitted, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "It's so unfamiliar to me that I feel like I'm cheating... o-on you... with you..." You buried your face in your hands, while your lover laughed at your 'misery.'

"Hehe." You sighed again, hearing him laugh it off.

"What?"

"You're adorable, jagi," Jay smiled earnestly. "I just wanted to be something different for Valentine's."

"I roll my eyes as my ridiculous boyfriend tries to seduce me," you muttered under your breath. "It's just—"

"I love you." Jay's hand inched towards yours, his eyes sincere.

You locked eyes with him, seeing the genuine affection and care reflected there. That was Jay.

"I love you," you replied. "But don’t be too forward again! Or atleast warn me? My heart can’t take it."

Jay burst into laughter, almost throwing his glass aside.

"Don’t laugh!"

"What?" Jay asked, adjusting his chair. "I always want you. I just seem so nonchalant about it, but today, I've crossed my own line, and I gotta admit... that was fun."

You sighed one last time. "Is this your Valentine's Day gift?"

You caught Jay off-guard yet again, who could only lay back in his chair and surrender. "You got me."

"Pfft." You laughed, clearly amused. "Thank you."

After dinner, Jay’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "How about we make dessert together? I was thinking leche flan."

You grinned, remembering how your family made it during special occasions. "That sounds perfect! I haven't made it in ages."

As you gathered the ingredients insise your drawers and so, you felt a rush of nostalgia. You come from a family that had always been so loving and family-oriented, and making leche flan was a tradition that brought everyone together. You shared stories with Jay about your parents and how they had taught you the significance growing, staying, living, and being in-love together.

"I've always admired your bond with your family..." Jay said, breaking your reverie. "It makes me cherish our time together even more."

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through your heart. "They taught me all about what they knew about love. It's not just about how one person seems attractive, or impressive ... it’s about nurturing those bonds. I have that with you."

Jay nodded, his eyes sparkling. "I feel the same way. It’s like every moment we share is part of a bigger picture."

As you began preparing the leche flan, you took turns mixing the ingredients, laughing at the splashes of sweetened condensed milk that ended up on Jay’s cheek. "Look at you! You look like a mess," you teased.

He grinned, playfully wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. "Well, I think it adds character." You then kissed the splash just right off his cheek and you swore he got beet red for a while.

You both poured the mixture into a mold, Jay holding it steady while you carefully added the caramelized sugar. "See how it blends? Gosh I'm pumped!" you exclaimed, picturing how it would taste once it was chilled.

"I can already sense this flan is going to be a masterpiece," Jay said, leaning in with a playful glint in his eyes. "Just like us—full of flavor, a bit unpredictable, but ultimately beautiful."

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought, feeling the warmth radiate between you. "Mmh... just like the flan, every moment we share makes it all worthwhile."

Once the flan was safely nestled in the fridge to chill, you turned to Jay and wrapped your arms around him, feeling the comfort of his presence. "Thank you for ... loving me."

He pulled you closer. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be." He then pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "Loving you, that is."

You chuckled, lightly tapping him. "We're so sappy..."

"Is that SAP-possed to be funny?" Jay shot a joke at you. All you can do is burst into tears. lounging on the floor like a loon.

You we're definitely his best audience for his stand-up comedy.

Happy Valentine's to everyone who celebrates it! If you're feeling lonely, your heart will mend in due time. Just believe and you'll see it through! ALSO might start making these unspecified series drabbles once in a while~

hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

my masterlist!

made by writhyv 💘

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phoodaanb2b · 6 months ago

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Comfortable Swivel Chair for Living Room – Style and Versatility

Upgrade your living room with our stylish swivel chair for living room, designed to provide both comfort and versatility. The smooth swivel mechanism allows for easy movement, making it perfect for conversations or watching TV without having to adjust your position. Upholstered in soft, durable fabric, this chair offers a plush seating experience while adding a modern touch to your space. The sleek design and sturdy frame make it a long-lasting addition to your living room décor.

#decorating coffee table #Square Centre Table #oval shape coffee table #Tulsi Planter Pot #Wooden Tea Coasters #wall clock decor

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fashion-83 · 1 year ago

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Discover unbeatable deals on high-quality table coasters. Our collection offers a variety of stylish and durable options to protect your furniture from spills and stains. Don't miss out on the best prices available online – order now and elevate your dining and entertaining experience with ease and style.

#coaster #tea coaster #coaster set #wooden coasters #tea coaster set #acrylic coaster #coasters set of 6

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queerprayers · 2 years ago

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Waiting for God is like... You're expecting a guest. You haven't seen them in ages. You know they're coming, although you forget the exact time. And you don't need to impress them—they'd probably sleep on the floor, but why wouldn't you give up your bed? And it's not clean enough and you don't have matching curtains and they're not gonna care because they love you but you'll still probably do your best. Scrub the counter, at least. So you try to stay up to greet them but they're late or you were wrong about the day and you keep dozing off. All you really have to do is be at home when they knock and you'll wake up and figure everything out when they get here—but who wants to answer the door half-asleep? And you can probably get a few more things done while you're waiting. You can light a candle—that's welcoming, right?

So maybe you stay up doing dishes or maybe you give up and go to bed, but the knock makes you jump either way. It's light outside when you let them in, and that's not right, it can't be morning already. The windows are dark. Anyway, you're pouring them tea and apologizing for the mess and you realize they're not a guest at all—they live here, actually. Have your whole life. They probably make your lunch every day. Your house isn't yours at all, now that they're here, now that they've arrived and always been here. It's been yours, plural, yours together, and isn't it lovely that you don't have to worry about the curtains matching anymore? They've already seen them and chosen to stay every time.

There's another knock at the door. They arrive and you pour them tea. You get some sleep. You stop being surprised when your lunch is ready to go. You're expecting a guest. They make themselves at home; they are at home; they've been making themselves a home.

Your days are spent opening the door. They've been gone for so long; how could they have left you; why are they always forgetting to use a coaster and leaving icy circles on the wooden table; why can't you have any privacy in this house; you can't find them anywhere; this is only home when they're here; they keep arriving and you keep making tea do you think they'll ever get tired of tea do you they'll get tired of you opening the door half asleep do you think they're secretly annoyed by the mismatched curtains

Someone knocks on the door. You are interrupted. You keep forgetting you're expecting a guest. You were hoping they'd come and interrupt you. Someone knocks on the door. You're awake. You always make enough tea for two.

Eventually someone doesn't knock on your door. You find them on your doorstep waiting. You've been expecting a guest. The windows of your house are open all the time now, even though it's dark and cold, and you make your home some tea. It's never cold inside, as if opening the door let in warm air instead of cool. The candle you lit has been burning without getting smaller. You can't remember why you used to be surprised, why waiting was frantic. You wash the dishes because that's the next thing to do; because you wash the teacup of your not-guest like it's the chalice of a king.

One day you don't have a door anymore. You can see through the walls of your house and the whole galaxy spreads out before you. They're expecting a guest. You walk outside. The universe makes you tea.

#what if the bridegroom arrives but you're already married to him!#alternative title: unedited time loop jesus #Average Advent Enjoyer #come lord jesus be our guest and let thy gifts to us be blessed!!#no i haven't slept why do you ask #originals #advent

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luxehome01 · 1 year ago

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Discover how these small, often underestimated objects have not only protected surfaces but also elevated aesthetics, adding flair, personality, and charm to interior spaces.

#tea coaster #cup coaster #tea coaster set #wooden coaster set #coaster dining table

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batsyforyou · 11 months ago

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When Steven is Upset

Tags: Non sexual nakedness, depression, showers

Author's Note: I just thought that if I hide in my bathroom when I'm down than Steven can also hid in his bathroom. It made sense to me.

When Steven is upset he doesn’t show a single soul, no complaint leaves his lips. His reputation is that he is a cool, calm, and collected man who has the answers for when things go wrong.

Even if he wasn’t in the public eye he wouldn’t dare let his mask crack. Who knows who may be watching? What privacy does a famous champion, an up and coming heir to a major company, and a well known and desirable bachelor have in Hoenn?

So, instead he retreats to his house trudging his feet while his head and body fall numb.

He retreats to the one place he knows he can be alone from prying eyes.

In his home he drops his keys at the table. Lets out his Pokemon and provides them food and water, even opening the back door so they can play in the backyard if they so desire.

He goes to his desk and empties his pockets and whatever bag he might have used for the day, sorts everything out and answers his emails.

And by late evening he makes a cup of steaming tea. He only sips at it before he calls his Pokémon into the house and locks the door.

Finally he takes his tea to his bedroom with an array of Pokémon following him. He takes a long big sip of his drink and places his cup on a simple wooden coaster before stripping naked, tossing his clothes into the hamper and heading straight into the bathroom.

He sets about his usual routine, his bathrobe cleaned and hanging on the small closet door with his slippers right under it. He sets the temperature to as hot as he could withstand before climbing in and sitting down on the cool white tile.

His head hangs over his chest as the water beats down his back and he pulls his knees up, resting his arms on them.

And there he’ll sit with an empty head and no energy. He’ll stay until he hears his Pokémon whine and scratch at the door, until the water turns cold and his skin prunes.

Then he just gets up, shuts the water off, towels himself down, dresses in his robe and slips his feet into soft slippers. Barely does he remember to brush his teeth and comb his hair, so when he opens his door his team looks at him with concern but they’ve been here before.

Steven flips the lights off and puts on a pair of briefs before laying flat on his bed, above his covers, blankly staring up at his ceiling and the crack he couldn’t be bothered to fix.

Skarmory rests its head on his belly and closes its eyes. The others follow its lead and try to get close to their trainer and comfort him. For those too large, like Metagross, they stay beside his bed and rest.

As night falls the room is quiet and full of slumbering bodies and the strain of a silent, invisible cry from the only man in the room.

His bathroom shower has and will always be Steven’s safe place.

masterlist

#steven stone #chapmion steven #pokemon #pokémon #Steven stone #steven stone x reader #pokemon x reader #pokémon x reader

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wildflowersandvibranium · 10 hours ago

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Muscle Memory : Chapter Seven

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything. sorry its so vague just don't want to give too much away!

Word Count: 2.8k+

Chapter Warnings: Domestic abuse themes , implied self harm and treatment of injuries , emotional breakdown (reader) , toxic relationship dynamics themes , references to past trauma/PTSD , alcohol consumption , blood / minor medical injury detail

A/N: hey babes... grab a drink , a snack maybe a fluffy blanket and buckle up buttercups! xo - flower 🌷

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight coming soon

Wanda Maximoff’s living room looked like a bridal wedding dream magazine exploded and puked all over, then was lovingly reconstructed by a perfectionist with a glue gun and an eye for sparkle and elegance.

Bolts and yards of fabric—ivory silks , delicate lace , soft rose tulle , hung from windows and draped over chairs , trailing like flower petals down to the plush rug covered floors.

Every available surface held something related to the big day: velvet boxes of pearl-tipped hairpins , bubbling champagne flutes perched on bell-shaped coasters that read "Mr. & Mrs." in precise cursive , and carefully labeled trays of bridal and bridesmaid jewelry sparkling under the sunlight spilling through her tall French styled windows.

The whole place looked sacred , and yet , lived in—like a church that had hosted one too many wedding banquets and rehearsals.

It was messy in the most intentional way—every detail dripping in love , chaos , and beauty with Wanda’s meticulous attention to the smallest detail.

Finger foods were arranged artfully on marble and wooden boards throughout the space , though barely anyone had touched them.

After all, it was hard to be enthusiastic about shrimp cocktails and fresh tomato cucumber bites when you were being cinched and stitched into the finest formalwear.

Still, the scent of fresh mint , citrus, and honey from one of the carefully curated tea blends floated lazily in the air a sweet aromatic soothing balm.

Y/N stood off to the side of the group , arms tightly folded across her chest and front.

Her eyes were fixed on the intricate beadwork lining the sparkly bodice of her bridesmaid dress , a soft lilac gown with ripple-like layers pooling at and past her feet.

It was pretty , elegant even. But she didn’t feel all that beautiful.

She didn’t feel much of anything—except frayed. Tired.

Like the day had taken too much before it even began.

This was the first full fitting for Wanda’s entire bridal party.

A day meant to be lighthearted , indulgent , champagne-fueled and framed with compliments and laughter.

Stray happy tears were expected and ready with waterproof makeup and tissues.

But so far Y/N hadn’t smiled once since arriving to the home.

She shifted from one foot to the other mindlessly as the tailor took Wanda’s waist measurements once again , her heels pinching with every twist and movement.

Her dress felt like it was clinging a little too tightly to her skin and body , the satin rubbing against her ribs and sternum.

Maybe it was the fabric. Maybe it was the memories.

The room quieted when Wanda stepped into the groups view from the long hallway.

Her gown was beyond stunning. White satin with layered lace trimming , sweetheart neckline , long sleeves with small snap pearl buttons , and a veil that looked like it belonged in an art gallery like the MET.

She twirled once , her laugh soft and breathy as the veil caught under a gleaming sunbeam.

“Oh my god,” Inaya gasped , hand over her heart tears springing in her eyes immediately. “Wanda… you look like you just stepped out of a fairytale novel.”

“She is the fairytale bride…wow,” Laura added , dabbing her eyes with a soft tissue.

Nat elbowed her teasingly, rubbing her arms soothingly and nodded in agreement playfully whistling.

Wanda giggled , doing another spin and adjusting the veil as Darcy fumbled for her phone to snap a thousands more pictures. "Okay, okay! No more spinning—I’m getting dizzy!" she laughed , camera shuttering a million times a minute.

Then Wanda’s eyes landed on Y/N.

“Well?” Wanda asked , voice lilting. “You gonna say something or am I gonna need to fish for compliments from Vision when he gets home?” she teased.

Y/N straightened slightly , forcing a smile at her gorgeous friend. "You look beautiful , Wands. Really. It’s… it’s perfect."

Wanda’s expression softened—but not with pride or swell from the words. She was distracted as her gaze dipped to Y/N’s hands wringing and picking at her own palms.

The diamond bracelet hung on her wrist had shifted under the sunlight , revealing angry scabs and small bruises along her knuckles and palms.

Raw red lines , scraggly and angry.

The kind of wounds that weren’t caused by mishap and tiny kitchen accidents.

Wanda’s brows drew in focused then eyes flipping to look in Y/N’s. “What happened to your hands?”

Y/N’s eyes grew wide as she quickly pulled her hands behind her back , too fast too guilty. “Oh—it's um..nothing. I dropped a glass bowl at home. Shards of glass went everywhere. Just dumb , i tried to pick them up but you know.”

Wanda didn’t believe her. It was clear in her eyes.

“Be careful with those surgeon hands , darling,” Wanda said lightly. “I may feel like falling apart with stress , but I need all my girls intact.”

Y/N nodded too fast smiling. "Promise. I'm okay."

The large front doors creaked wide open.

Bucky stepped carefuly inside , navy henley snug across his broad chest and sleeves pushed to his elbows.

He carried his grey suit bag in one hand and a bottle of sparkling seltzer water in the other.

His eyes scanned the room like clockwork , and when they landed on Y/N, it was like gravity settled him. He smiled big, easing with her presence.

She felt it. But she didn’t look up.

Instead , she moved quickly , closer to Darcy , adjusting a strap that didn’t need adjusting , ducking her head as if Darcy had asked for help.

Just pretending to be busy finding any excuse.

Bucky gave a nod to Wanda , offered a quiet compliment on the gown she was swaying in , and handed his suit to the tailor telling them what needed adjusting.

But his eyes , always and continued to flick back to her.

After a few shrugs on confusion and interesting gazes.

The fitting continued on.

Wanda twirled again for the girls and now bucky waiting for the other groomsmen to join . As they did, jokes flew by. Someone tripped over their hem and blamed the champagne bubbling in their system causing a roar of laughs.

The laughter bounced off the walls of the vaulted ceilings. Then it was group pictures time , some were posed, some chaotic and silly others serious with their sunday best smiles.

Someone started a game of "who knows the bride best" with absurd trivia questions Wanda made up on the spot , and the room lit with laughter.

Y/N laughed when she had to , when it felt a little safe to. Spoke only when directly addressed or asked something specific.

Her smile looked perfect in the mirror , but only to people who didn’t know her.

Bucky sat in an armchair to the side of the room as the tailor pinned and marked the seam of his jacket sleeves.

He didn’t try to make conversation with anyone else while there. Just watched her , his brow tight with something unreadable as he tried to read her.

Wanda stood infront of the seamstress when she was done with Bucky , with arms stretched pointing , letting the tailor fuss with the caught and stuck zipper.

Moving out of the way Bucky stepped closer to Y/N.

“You’re gonna make the dress look bad with all that tension you have in your shoulders , doll ,” he murmured only so she could hear.

“I’m fine.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t.”

She didn’t look up. Just smoothed invisible creases from her skirt down.

Shrugging away his words.

It stung more than he admitted to.

Later , when everyone gathered for a massive group selfie in the large standing mirror , Y/N slipped into the back of the smiley group , away from the front.

Bucky found her after looking at all the pics everyone took , perched on a nearby sofa , chewing her lip absentmindedly , eyes distant and shallow.

“Hey…” he began gently , sitting on the armrest of the couch. “You know this is all reminding me of …remember that time senior year , when we helped Wanda sneak into that vintage dress shop in Brooklyn and she tripped into the mannequin and then—”

“I think we’ve had enough stories for one day,” she cut in sharply, stopping his words.

Her voice wasn’t angry.

It was wounded.

That hurt worse than if she had yelled at him.

She stood up , brushing past his shoulder with hers passing him, muttering something about the bathroom.

He didn’t follow, just watched her walk away.

Eventually , the fittings were done.

Dresses bagged , pinned and labeled. Suits zipped up into garment sleeves and matching shoe bags attached.

Wanda was glowing brightly as she hugged each bridesmaid and groomsmen goodbye.

She mouthed a quick "thank you" as she took a call from Vision , disappearing into the grand upstairs.

Most of the others had already gone and dispersed by then.

Only Y/N and Bucky remained alone in their thick silence.

They stood on the front steps of the porch , near the many fountains Wanda loved and adorned across the property , under the muted glow of late afternoon.

The clouds were rolling in slowly , painting everything soft dull and gray.

Y/N dug through her coat pockets searching for her keys. Bucky watched and decided it was time he spoke up , he took a breath.

“Hey.”

She didn’t look at him just kept her head low and focused on finding her keys..

“Can we talk?”

She got the keys out and tugged on her sleeves fixing her coat , tensing at his question but still ignoring him.

“Y/N.”

She finally turned looking up at him, gritting her teeth. “What?”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You have been all day.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to be around or talk to you , Bucky. Did that ever occur to you that might be what I want?”

His shoulders dropped slightly at her confession. “No. Because that’s not how we do things doll. Talk to me. Please.” His voice cracked slightly at the last word.

Her voice broke as tears flowed from her cheeks she didn't even realize where building. “You wanna talk? Fine.”

She stared at him , eyes glassy now with something brittle and sharp. “I don’t love you anymore , Bucky.”

The air shifted and the wind howled.

“I love him , I love Tyler ,” she snapped , louder now , voice shaking but not yelling.

“You don’t get to come back here with your soft voice and your sad puppy dog eyes charm and make me forget what he’s done for me. What he’s been for me.”

He opened his mouth , but no words came.

“You didn't even have to say anything,” she continued. “You just stand there and make me want things I’m not allowed to want or have. You make me feel like maybe I didn’t mess up everything. And I did. I messed up everything.”

“You didn’t,” he said , finally , quietly stepping forward to her.

“You think I forgot what it’s like to need someone who doesn’t need me back?” she hissed , stepping backward from him. “Do you think I haven’t been enough for people before? Don’t you dare do this to me again.”

He reached for her hand as she went to walk past him.

She recoiled fast, twisting her body , wincing , but not fast enough.

Their fingers brushed and hands collided.

And when she pulled away , the pain was felt and spread across her hand immediate.

A smear of red appeared on his hand.

Blood.

Her blood.

He stared down at it , unmoving mouth agape. A healing wound torn open by the gentlest touch he gave.

She didn’t look back as she descended down the steps holding her hurting hand close.

Her coat flared behind her like wings made of burned paper. Fragile. Ruined.

She got into her car. Sat there for a moment letting the tears just flow then she shook her head refusing to feel this way and turned the key in the ignition and drove off hastily.

Left on the porch steps Bucky stood in the entryway just staring at his hand.

The crimson blood was already drying down; it was just a speck, just a small dot.

But it felt enormous.

He didn’t feel it on his skin.

He felt it in his chest.

And no amount of scrubbing would make it disappear.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Y/N’s house was cold when she stepped inside. Not in temperature , but in spirit. Quiet. Still. Like the walls were holding their breath waiting for her next move.

She closed the front door behind her and leaned against it , pressing her forehead to the wood for a long moment before finally locking it shut.

Her coat slid off her shoulders piling onto the floor, forgotten.

The silence wrapped around her tighter than the corset bodice she’d worn all day had.

She didn’t even bother turning on the lights. Instead , she walked through the living room with practiced steps , through the hallway and into the bathroom, flicking on the dim vanity lights only.

Her reflection stared back at her, pale and wilted , lips raw from being chewed on. Hair messy from the wind. Eyes rimmed with the redness from her many tears.

But it wasn’t her face that caught her attention this time.

It was the blood staring back at her.

Her palm pulsed , sharp and hot.

She turned her hand over and saw it clearly now—a stitch had popped wide open , thankfully just one but still needing attention.

The scab that had tried to form when healing was gone , replaced with the angry red of reopened raw skin.

Blood had smeared onto her fingers and dried there.

She hissed quietly as she moved it, turning her hand over.

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes , but she blinked them back and opened the drawer beneath the sink , pulling out the white first aid kit she kept stocked for emergencies or now after Tyler has had his way with her body like it was a sand bag.

She’d learned long ago during her days at the hands of her father to keep one always hidden and on hand. When she was younger she ended up keeping a spare one at the Barnes too , when she would run hers down to just simple bandaids that weren't ever enough.

She flipped down the lid and sat on the toilet , popping open the plastic case.

Alcohol. Gauze. Steri-strips. A needle and thread for emergency sutures—ones she was very used to not just on her patients but also used more than once on herself.

She sterilized everything carefully , the cotton ball soaked in alcohol stinging as it met the raw edge of her skin making her muffle her hiss by biting on a towel.

She worked in precion and silence , threading the needle with shaking trembling hurting fingers. Each time it punctured her skin , she grit her teeth and breathed through her nose , refusing to cry out refusing help.

One stitch. Then another. Then a third to secure it from reopening and causing more damage.

Like muscle memory for her.

By the last tie off stitch , her eyes blurred , but not from pain.

It was Bucky’s face she saw.

The way he looked at her—not like she was broken. Not like she was fragile. But like she was real. Like she was remembered. Like she was still someone.

Even in her lowest moment spewing hurtful nonsense , and breaking down right in front of him.

He still looked at her like she was something more.

She hated it.

She hated that he still saw her.

She hated that she’d told him she didn’t love him.

She hated that some part of her had meant it. Or wanted to. Needed to believe it.

“I don’t love you anymore.” She whispered the words again aloud , just to test them in the air of her own home.

They didn’t sound real.

They didn’t sound like her.

Like them.

She tugged the end of the stitch and snipped it clean with scissors. Wrapped her hand in gauze and taped it up tight.

Then she stood slowly on wobbling legs , walked back to the sink , and stared at herself once again.

This time she dared to look longer. Past the blood. Past the bruises.

She looked for the girl she used to be.

But she wasn’t there.

Only to be met with the echo of her.

And she had just ruined the one thing that kept the only tether of possibility that , that girl still was in her-

How Bucky sees her.

-end

as a "yay for making it halfway through my first ever series" here is a sneek peak of two of my future series moodbords here!

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