#and it's nice to be talking to that group again

[illum1z]

Moonshine Peaches

Country Dilf! Choi San x F!Reader

tags: age gap, best friend’s dad, deep south, vacay in the mountains, southern accent(YUMMM), pet names (peaches, sweet pea, baby, etc.), teasing, dom san, fingering, oral(f!receiving), overstimulation, size kink, don’t get caught, san wants that cookie BAD, praise, BIG ARMS, headlock, reader is on birth control so he's INNIT...

wc: 8.6k

summary: Your best friend would not quit nagging you at joining her to go visit her family’s house in the mountains deep in the rural corners of Tennessee. Summer was here, some fresh air would be nice. Why not?

notes: a gift from me (raised in deep Tennessee) to you. Makes me miss home, but I get to visit this summer again so YIPPEE!!

You hadn’t seen a power line for miles. You might as well have been in heaven. Lying in the bed of your best friend's dusty taupe pick-up truck, the sun cast beautiful flowing masterpieces on your skin through the tall, looming forests of Fraser firs that coated the mountains like a blanket.

The air was chill and fresh, your ears still not used to the thinness, your hearing slightly muffled as the wind rushed past them. The sun was warm, and the air was comfortable, perfectly cool. The long, curving roads wound and turned seemingly endlessly. Around every corner was either a breathtaking view of the far countryside, tall green hills with vast acres of forest below that you would be bound to lose yourself in. Or vast, green fields with a couple of groups of brown spread about, which you could only assume were cows.

Your best friend was driving in the front seat, all windows lowered as “American Teenager” blasted from her little, busted-up radio. The sun caught her skin beautifully as one hand rested out the window and the other steered. She sang loudly and happily, you joining in from the back.

As the song played, you thought long and hard about the decision of coming out here with her. You and Arin had been together since freshman year in high school. She had been living with her grandma when you guys met, both city girls, it seemed.

Until you came over to her house for the first time, and her walls were littered with deer heads and fishing poles. She laughed at your reaction, excited to tell you all about her family and her lifestyle. About how she grew up deep in the rural south before moving closer to the big cities to help pursue better education and better job opportunities.

She lived with her grandma in the city, while her divorced parents remained in the countryside, with separate housing. Her mom lived in a modest trailer off a dirt road closer to the north, while her dad lived in a rustic, wooden house deep in the Smokies. 

Years later, both of you in your sophomore years of University, she had brought up the idea that to kick off summer break, you should come with her on her annual visit to her dad's.

You knew next to nothing about her father, only that he lived in the woods and was divorced. She never really talked about her parents, and you never chose to pry.

Ecstatic, to say the least, were you to hear that she wanted to bring you along. You always connected well with nature, and a week's trip into the woods would probably cure every little thing bothering you in an instant.

So here you were, 4 hours into the trip, 2 hours left as you both cruised through the mountains, literally never feeling freer in your life. 

Your lungs felt cleaner, and your bones felt like they were melting into your skin as you deflated in the truck bed, falling deep into a nap as your friend continued driving home, knowing the roads with the back of her hand.

The truck rumbling and your speed decreasing awoke you from your nap. You rose, stretching and yawning, cursing yourself for sleeping on such a bumpy surface. When you took in your surroundings, you noticed you weren't on the road anymore. Instead, you were deep in the forest, and every surrounding area was just tall, looming trees. The birds sang and the wind whistled, the sun barely peeking through the green canopy of leaves way above. The truck was slowly climbing up a narrow dirt road, even deeper into the mouth of trees.

“Are we almost there, Arin?” You continued to glance around, enamoured by the pure beauty and richness of where you were right now. 

“Just about a mile more and we’ll be up the driveway.” You snorted, and she sighed, expecting this. 

“This is the driveway? Bitch this is not real, you live in Narnia.” Arin laughed, waving her hand, urging you to crawl back through the back window into the backseat so she could talk to you better. 

Shimmying back in the window, you lay on your stomach in the back seat. “It is really beautiful out here, though, Arin.” You smiled and she smiled back, a bright, radiant one.

“Yeah, I missed it. But after a couple of days, I'll get sick of getting bit up by bugs and all the coyotes and their incessant howling.” She groaned and shrugged.

“But it's always nice to see my dad. He’s a super, like, handy guy, always fixin’ stuff and whatnot. I gotta ask him to look at my truck because it’s been making that weird scraping sound lately. I know he could fix it no ish.” You listened as she talked, continuing to talk about her childhood. Spew random facts about the local wildlife, and the best scenic spots as well.

Before long, a clearing appeared, in the middle of which was the most beautiful, quaint cabin. Fragrant cedar wood with black trimming; the house also had a decent-sized fire pit, close to the edge of the clearing where the forest swallowed everything up again.

It was so strange, the presence the cabin seemed to have. It was the center of attention, oddly out of place, but it still felt like it belonged. Like the forest accepts it as part of it. Maybe you were overanalyzing things, but you couldn’t deny how beautiful the whole scene was.

“Alright, and here we are.” Stopping the truck beside another, taller, and newer truck, she shifted into park and took out the key. She turned to you and grabbed your hands in hers. “Okay, so, let's get the luggage, I don't know where my dad is right now–” she stopped to mull and try to think if she might have a clue.

“He could be sleeping, I don’t know. But I know he’s here because his truck is here. I thought he would be out front to greet us like he said… guess not.” She shrugged and let go, opening her door and walking to the truck bed. You followed suit, stepping out onto the gravel with a satisfying crunch. You and Arin began sorting through luggage, trading bags and freaking out when you both realized you left the cooler back on campus. 

“Fuck!” Arin yelled at the sky in utter defeat. “We had to leave the whole cooler. I had moonshine peaches in there.” You sigh, upset about the cooler, consoling your friend. You rubbed her back in soothing circles as she dramatically let her forehead fall against the truck bed.

Before you could open your mouth to say anything, a thick, strong arm snaked around your waist and gripped you tight, fingers digging into your stomach. You were lifted into the air, your back pressed against a firm, built chest, before a scream started to bubble up. Arin screamed at the same time as you, feet also off the ground, with an arm around her waist, too.

“Gotcha.” A teasing voice sounded from behind you two, you were set down in a split second as Arin broke into a big smile and ran to hug the person.

“Dad! What the hell you scared the shit out of us.” You stood by the truck and watched as the two of them hugged.

Oh god.

Oh my god.

Yeah, this was insane.

Her dad was insanely hot. Sporting a black compression tank top that traced every curve and dip on muscle from his chest to his abdomen, dark blue jeans that hugged his thick thighs, and a beige pair of chaps. He had an orange and black flannel tied around his waist and a sturdy pair of cowboy boots on him. And don't even get started with his face.

Plush lips, defined nose, eyes like a hawk. His black hair was tousled, strands falling over his forehead, and a clear pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. His large, meaty arms wrapped Arin tightly in a hug before turning to you and smiling. He had that same radiant smile his daughter had. His pretty eyes crinkled as he laughed at your expression.

He reached forward and rubbed your upper arm apologetically. “I’m sorry for scarin’ you darlin’.” The pet name made the neurons in your brain go haywire as he stepped closer to you, his arms coming up and around to envelop you in a hug next.

His arms flexed as they closed around your waist, hand locking at your hips. Instinctively, your hands came up and wrapped around the back of his neck. A rather intimate hug that was over before it even began.

“I can't believe this is my first time meetin’ you, peaches. You’re all Arin ever talks about whenever she comes down and sees me. Makes me think she misses you more than her old man.” He pouts playfully, looking at Arin, who was rolling her eyes, then looking back at you. He smiled and leaned down to half whisper in your ears.

“See-” he pointed a thumb behind him at her. “She doesn’t even love me.” Arin stomped over and playfully pushed her dad away from you, picking up your luggage and walking away.

“Dad, stop being a baby and help us make a mess of your house with all our stuff.” You started picking up some luggage, and just as you went to reach for the last bag, Arin’s dad grabbed it. You looked up and locked eyes with him, seeming like he was already looking at you before.

He smiled at you again, warm and welcoming. “Mr. Choi.” You forced the words out of your mouth, trying not to trip over them. “It's nice to meet you, thank you for letting me stay.”

San waved a hand at you and scoffed like it was no big deal. “You are more than welcome, c'mon now. My daughter has never been happier since becomin’ friends with you. You’re doin’ me a favor by not sending her home to me all angsty and irritated. And please, call me San. No need to be so polite with me, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly, taking every inch of your willpower to look anywhere but his arms, holding the suitcase like it weighed nothing. Arin came back out with a new pep in her step as she wrapped her arm around yours and began leading you away. “Quit holding her up, now I have to show her around.” 

“Bye, honey, love you too.” He waves to his daughter.

 “See you soon, peaches!” he calls to you. You quirked your head around to look at him while Arin led you away, catching him staring you down intently just as you turned the corner into the doorway.

When he's out of sight, you turn to your best friend, trying to calm your racing heart. “Peaches? Is he serious, Arin?” She shrugged. like it was no big deal, leading you down the hallway to a set of bedrooms.

“I don’t know (Name), he just has nicknames for everyone, he always calls you that.”

After a couple of hours of unpacking and getting settled, you and Arin were sitting on the living room couch, cuddled into each other, reading your respective “assigned books” for the summer. You both were readers and were eager to reach a 50-book goal by the end of the summer. So you guys pick books for each other and read them together.

The fireplace crackled, and a warm, calming atmosphere descended on the room, nearly lulling you to sleep. You hadn’t seen Mr. Choi since meeting him outside earlier that day. You wanted to ask Arin where he went, but you thought she would think you were weird for wanting to keep tabs on her dad. So you just didn’t say anything.

But you must have been thinking about it too hard because a minute later, Mr. Choi walks into the living room.

“Arin, honey, will you go start up the bonfire for me, please? I wanna show (Name) here down to the lake.” Your eyes widened and stared at Arin pleadingly not to leave you by yourself, but she had already stood up and began making her way towards the fire pit excitedly. 

“Oooh! You’re gonna have so much fun out here with us. Go with him, it's so nice. I'll catch up when I’m all done.” And she disappeared. You turned to her dad, a nervous smile on your face. He looked completely relaxed, studying your anxious body language carefully, holding eye contact for just a second too long. But he suddenly turned around and began walking to the front door.

“Cmon, follow me.” You hesitated for a second before finding your feet again and walking fast to catch up with him.

It was warm outside, the sun in the last stages of a sunset, the sky a deep blue merging with vibrant oranges. Fireflies danced around the air in a light show of yellow deep within the forest. The wind rushed by silently, and the trees swayed in response to its whispers.

San wordlessly led you down the driveway a bit until he turned onto a small and obscure dirt path that led into the woods. The woods were silent but also so full of life. You felt as if you whispered something everyone and everything within a mile would hear.

But the toads were croaking, and the cicadas were singing in a way that could lull you to sleep again. It was a lot darker now that you had strayed from the house, the only light coming from the sliver of sun left through the canopy.

San stuck close to your side, careful not to lose you. He still hadn’t said a word, and it was beginning to unnerve you a little.

After a little more trekking, you came to a small lamppost that signifies the end of the path, and further past, you noticed a boat tied to a pier and one of the most gorgeous little lakes you had ever seen. Surrounded by tight walls of tall, dark trees, it stood still, and only the slight sloshing of water could be heard.

“Woah.” You walked past San and onto the pier, taking in the view before you. “This is doing more for me than any ibuprofen I've ever tried.”

That gets a heart laugh out of him, a handsome one at that. He's walked up closer behind you as you continue to gaze at the lake.

“Y’know I reckon it’s perfect weather to go swimming in, whaddya say?” Your eyebrows raise as you turn to see San staring at you with a sly smile and a teasing look in his eyes.

You immediately know what's coming. Quickly, you zip your body around and position yourself behind him. His gaze and his body follow you just as fast.

“Don’t you dare.” You warn, nervous giggles bubbling out as you speak, and genuine adrenaline rushes through your veins. San stayed put and didn't move, his shoulders hunched like he would pounce at any moment, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he kept his eyes locked on yours.

“Don’t dare what, sweet pea? What am I going to do?” The smile on your face was impossible to keep down as your heart raced.

“It's gonna be cold!” You squealed as he suddenly jerked forward like he was going to get you. He chuckled and suddenly relaxed his body. He stood up straight and put his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright, you can stop givin’ that look now I ‘m not gonna do it.” He smiled and backed away from you slowly, your eyes narrowed, hesitating to turn back and look at the lake again.

“If I turn around and you–” San leans his head forward and makes a stupid, confused face, pointing at himself as if to ask, “who me?”

“--yes, you. I’ll kill you.” He crossed his big, strong, thick arms across his chest and stared at you with an eyebrow raised in a challenge. But he quickly switched to playful intrigue when he caught the way your eye flicked down to his biceps and glued onto them for just a second too long.

You locked eyes with him again and stared for a good minute before you slowly turned back around to the lake. There was no sound of movement behind you. Maybe he really was done playing games. You turned around to give him shit about his behavior but he wasn't there anymore. Confused, you wondered if he jumped in or went back to the cabin.

You turned back around to the lake only to come face to face with none other than San himself. He had bent down so your noses were brushing, and he smiled before picking you up bride style and falling backward into the water with you in his arms.

Before you could scream, you had fallen in the water, wrapped in San’s arms. When you both emerged from under the water, you were both laughing hysterically. Splashing at each other and trying to swim back to land.

“Is this how you treat all your guests, Mr. Choi?” You panted as you lifted yourself onto the edge of the pier, legs dangling off the edge as you sat facing the lake. San remained in the water, swimming to float in front of where you sat, looking up at you.

His hair and his tank top were now soaking wet, the moon had come out, and the glow of it shone off his damp skin beautifully. You were staring, and he had noticed.

San swam closer, now directly in front of your legs. The toads croaked louder, and owls began calling into the deep forest. You craned your neck down to give him your full attention, your feet swung back and forth in the water, tracing patterns in the lake.

San watched you for a moment, This was the most relaxed you had been since arriving on the property. The sun slowly began to sink behind the mountains in the distance, and a chill wind bit at your skin as the sky faded into hues of blues and orange.

“My little girl’s got herself a real pretty friend dun’ she?” His large hands clasped around each of your ankles, tugging teasingly like he’d pull you in. Your breath hitches at the warmth of his hands around your cold, wet legs.

“Mr. Choi-” He laughed annoyedly, akin to frustration as his last name slipped from your lips yet again.

“C’mon, baby, what did I tell you?” You quirked an eyebrow in question, then he yanked you down back into the water. But instead of letting you sink, he kept one arm firm around your waist while the other held your shoulder. Your faces were inches apart, and he gazed into your eyes, not even blinking.

“You can’t seem to remember my name. Let's practice, okay?” His voice lowered to a whisper, with his chest pressed to your own, you could feel the rumble in your body from his words. The hand on your shoulder moved to your collarbones, drifting gently in barely there touches. Up the side of your neck, across your cheek until his thumb was on your bottom lip, pulling down slightly as he admired the plumpness.

“My name is San,” he mumbled, moving to trace the tip of his nose up and down the side of your throat. “Repeat it after me, peaches.” He mumbles in your ear, smirking against the shell when he feels you jolt. 

“S-San..” You tried to say it steadily, but your voice trembled just slightly. Of course, he caught it.

He breathed in deeply and smiled before moving his lips right in front of yours, hovering right above them, so close that a gust of wind could close the gap between them.

“I love how you say it, (Name).”He drawled lowly right against your lips.  It was the first time he had ever said your actual name around you, and you couldn’t deny the way he basically moaned around it had your heart racing. “You seem scared, babydoll, don't tell me you’re scared of me?” His eyes lock with yours in an intense staredown, lids narrowed with his lips stuck out in a faux pout.

Your hands shot out and gripped the straps of his tank top in each hand to hold yourself steady. He smelled so good, and the slow, condescending tone of his whispers was enough to make you a little dizzy.

“‘M not scared…” You whispered, gnawing at your bottom lip nervously, the tangy taste of blood flooding your tongue.

San held his mouth open right above your own, the thin layer of skin only slightly brushing, tickling almost. His breathing was shaky, and his eyes darted all over your face quickly like he was chasing a laser on it. His arm around your waist squeezed like he was restraining himself, his forehead resting against your own, and his hand cradling your jaw like it was sacred.

His brows knitted in frustration in the most pitiful expression when his eyes roved all over you, your body pressed to his, and the adorable “please” look in your eyes. “Mmm wanna kiss ya’ so bad,” San whined so quietly it was like he was talking to himself.

“Wanna touch you, taste you….” San’s chest hurt. He felt like such a sick guy, wanting his daughter's best friend as badly as he did. Every story he heard of you from his daughter painted you as such a sweetheart, and here you were in front of him finally, and oh…

There was no way San was letting you leave after this trip without him getting his hands on you.

“Wanna thank you for being so good to my daughter.” The smile on his lips contradicted his words. Like his body knew that the lie he just told was ridiculous. This had nothing to do with Arin. And he knew that. He wanted you for you. He wanted you for himself. Even if that makes him a bad, bad man.

You whimpered, you wanted to kiss him, but that means the line would officially be crossed, and there would be no going back. Your lashes fluttered, and his chest rose and fell, his hands came up, and his calloused fingers traced feather-light patterns on the back of your neck.

But before anything could happen, you could hear your name being called in the distance. “(Name)! Dad! Bonfire’s good to go!” 

Quickly, you and San separated with the speed of opposing magnets. You scrambled onto the pier as San stayed in the water, laughing at your frantic attempt to get back on land.

You sneered at him and stood up as your friend ran onto the pier. She saw how soaked to the bone you were and scowled. “Dad, did you push her in? He always does this shit…” he walked over and stared down her dad who was oh so innocently climbing back onto the dock.

“Nope, she got scared and fell into herself. Honest. I think she’s just a little jumpy.” You wanted to kick him, how did he act so innocent like he wasn’t the one who almost jumped your bones in the lake?

 Arin stuck her tongue out at her dad and turned to you. “Cmon y y'all will dry up by the bonfire really quick.”  You watched as she walked away, turning your head to see San’s eyes trained on you. The look in his eyes wasn't anything short of hot-blooded. You stayed for a moment, feeling like even if you moved an inch, he’d grab you and have his way.

His tongue clicked, and he nodded his head at the house, a grin creeping onto his lips. He walks past you as he speaks, a hand coming down and squeezing the side of your waist like an encouragement to move.

 “C’mon, sweetpea, snap out of it.”

You sat in a wooden rocking chair around the pit, the woods dark and looming all around, with the only source of light being the roaring fire in front of you. Arin sat to your left, rambling about a trip she took out of state with her sorority, scrolling through her endless gallery, insisting on telling a story for every picture.

Unfortunately, you were unable to focus. The fire dried all the lake water from your body, but not the wetness between your thighs. Your skin burned, and as you flicked your eyes over to San, who sat directly across from you two behind the fire.

As Arin talked, San’s eyes stayed locked on you and you alone. A stare hotter than the fire itself. Anytime Arin looked up from her phone, San’s eyes switched over and gave her his full attention. But every time she looked elsewhere, his eyes were all over you.

Tracing up your legs, staring at your tummy, up your torso, back onto your eyes. This was too much. He literally would not stop staring. It was taking every ounce of self control San had to not jump up and snatch you up, drag you beyond the tree line, and fuck you on the forest floor untl you were crying from overstimulation. All he wanted to do was play with you. Get his big, rough hands on your soft, pliant body. To have you writhing and bending at his will on his sheets and putting every orgasm you’ve ever had to shame.

If anyone needed to snap out of it, it was San. His fingers twitched as he forced himself to stay still. He found it so cute, the way you refused to look at him too long, or you’d get overwhelmed, thighs shifting in your seat, and your hands playing with the string on your shorts.

This went on for what felt like forever, San continuing to tease you when you looked at him, whether that be him playing with his big hands, measuring his fingers with his eyes locked on yours. Or playing with his belt buckle, the metal clink was quiet against the ambience of the forest, but loud in your ears. Just when you decided you had had enough and wanted to go to bed, San suddenly stood, clapping his hands.

“Well, ladies, I will leave you to it. I’ve got shit to get done tomorrow so I will be heading to bed.” Arin immediately began to boo and mime tomato throwing at her dad.

“Old man!” She whispered, shouted. “Don't forget your Tuesday pills, Gramps.” San rolled his eyes and waved her off. “I’m sure you’ll understand one day, you young folk have got all that energy in ya. My battery runs out faster than yours.” Arin rolled her eyes in response, leaning over to whisper to you.

“Guy can’t even stay up past 9 pm, I'm worried (Name), he's already got half a foot in the grave.” You both burst into a fit of giggles, San hearing what his daughter had said.

“Now you know I am not that old. Plus, even if I'm a little up in years, I still got it.” Without missing a beat, he moved into an obnoxious pose, flexing his arms and tipping the cap on his head. “Ladies.” He flamboyantly chirped, smiling handsomely,

“Ugh, oh my god, Dad, whatever.” They laughed, the light atmosphere easing the tension around the fire.

“Alright, keep me up any longer and I'll nod off standing. I love you, honey.” he came over and planted a kiss on his daughter's head. Arin smiled and lovingly tapped his ankle with her foot. “Love you too, Dad, it's good to be home.” He began to walk away. 

 Arin did the unthinkable.

“Ahem, Dad… what about (Name)? Hmm? Not gonna tell her goodnight? Rude.” Your eyes widened as all attention was on you. The tension returned as your eyes locked with San’s again. His eyebrows raised in surprise at his daughter's remark, but quickly shifted into a lazy smile.

“Of course, how rude of me. So much for southern hospitality.” San walked over and reached his hand down, squeezed your shoulder, and placed a chaste kiss directly on your forehead. “Goodnight, peaches.” He stood, waved, and walked into the darkness back to the house.

He was totally doing this on purpose. Teasing you in front of Arin. It was like he enjoyed seeing you embarrassed. Your best friend never made a note or commented on his behavior, seemingly accustomed to it, as if this was just how he was. Really friendly.

You sat huddled next to Arin, enjoying the sounds of crickets and owls from deep within the wood, the wind blew the orange flames of fire every which way like a frantic dance. It wasn’t until late into the night that you both decided to retreat to bed. You both stood, Arin extinguished the fire, and you both began walking back to the house.

Walking in the front door, you shut and locked it behind you, discarding your shoes on the front porch. The front entrance was barely illuminated, just a candle mounted on the wall in the kitchen, the light spilling from around the corner into the foyer. It was silent, just the wind from outside muffled and the occasional creak of the cabin settling. Arin walked down the hall, turning and making her way to the bedrooms. You followed close behind, almost unnerved by the unnatural stillness of the home.

Arin walked into the bedroom you two were sharing, turning on the lamp on the nightstand by the bed. You both began your respective night routines. Skincare, pajamas, medications.

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching Arin wrap her hair in a silk wrap.

1 day down. 5 more to go. You almost asked Arin if she could take you back to the city so you could call an Uber home. You would say you were sick or that your mother slipped and fell back home. When really you just knew you would feel like the worst person on the planet if you lost your moral compass and fucked her dad.

When she finished, you stood and closed up the drawers and picked up anything off the floor. A far-off rumble of thunder groaned from outside, the wind picking up and swaying the tree leaves in a graceful dance. 

You glanced over at the nightstand, an alarm clock sat next to the lamp.

11:23.

Arin sat at the top of the bed, shimmying under the covers while you lay on the other side, closest to the nightstand. You looked over at her, genuinely happy that she had thought of you when she was planning her vacation home, but you sincerely wished she hadn’t.

Or did you?

Too much thinking for so late into the night.

You turned to look at her, a nearly apologetic look in your eyes. “Thank you again for taking me with you, Arin. It's so refreshing to get away from the city. My lungs feel cleaner already.” Arin smiled and lay down under the comforter with her phone on her chest. 

“Who else would I take silly. Thank you for being so cool around my dad. I know he can be a little much.” She smiled embarrassedly, shrugging her shoulders. Oh, she had no idea. You reassured her with a gentle punch to her stomach.

“He’s not any worse than you are.” Arin’s mouth fell in mock surprise at your teasing.

“You just wait until I’m awake enough to care.” She narrowed her eyes at you, turning around with a giggle to settle into the bed.  You turned your upper body to switch the lamp off, shrouding the bedroom in darkness.

“Goodnight, Arin.” You rubbed her shoulder lovingly, returning the gesture by squeezing your hand. “Night, Name.” The wind howled louder outside the cabin, another crackle of thunder boomed in the night, the sky opened, and the rain began to fall, fat droplets hitting the roof like a soothing white noise. 

The alarm clock glowed an eerie, aggressive red on the nightstand.

2:13.

Arin slept soundly beside you, a loud crack of lightning that cast a bright white light about the room. Shadows splayed on the wall, and the house shook slightly. Your throat was so dry if you tried to take a breath, you would for sure choke. You needed something to drink.

Standing from the bed quietly, careful not to wake her up, you draped the comforter back over her and smoothed over your spot.

In nothing but a black tank top and athletic shorts, you stood by the entrance to your room, peering down the dark, looming hallway that led to the kitchen. The lone light in the kitchen cast shadows surrounded by warm, glowing light. The sound of the AC buzzing faintly in the background as the rain beat against the roof and windows. Silently shutting the door behind you, you made your way down the hall with one mission. A glass of water and a breather.

You walked to the kitchen sink, grabbing a cup out of the cabinet and pouring yourself a glass. You tipped your head back and chugged the glass, the cold water soothing your headache and chilling your insides. With a deep sigh, you set the glass on the counter. You rubbed your eyes, sleep overtaking you again as a yawn bubbled up.

You looked out the window that was placed above the sink. The outside world was dark, the rain pattering against the glass, and the droplets racing down the pane. The wind blew branches from trees around the perimeter of the house, causing them to beat against the walls and windows. A cacophony of different sounds that melded together to harmonize into a sleep-lulling white noise.  

“Hey, peaches…” Soft lips pressed against the shell of your ear as the smell of pine and vanilla engulfed your senses, an arm wrapped around your waist while the other gripped the sink, caging you against the counter. A broad chest pressed against the back of your head as the hand around your waist pressed its fingertips into your lower abdomen. 

San kept his voice quiet, like you were in a bubble, and the slightest noise too loud could burst it. “What’re you doin’ up so late, babydoll? Can’t sleep?” he whispered it teasingly, like he was making fun of you in your ear.

You craned your neck back to shoot him a glare. His eyebrows raised at your expression, before he relaxed at the promise that you’re about to give him a challenge. You looked back at the window in front of the sink. “I’m sick of all your teasing, Mr. Choi. I can’t tell-” the arm gripping the sink came forward and curled before pressing against and around your throat, gentle enough not to restrict airflow or hurt you, but just enough to warn you that he could if he wanted to

The hand holding your waist traced little circles on your abdomen, pressing down every now and then before slowly grazing down further until it played with the strings on your shorts. Twirling them around his thick, rough fingers.

Your head spun at his sudden decision to put you in a headlock, your eyes whipped down, and all you could see was the bulky muscle of his forearm curled around your throat so possessively, you almost let your knees buckle underneath you. His lips oh so gently nipped at the lobe of your ear, kissing down your neck and back up again.

“Aww, baby’s tired of the teasing?” His hand slipped past the waistband of your shorts, dancing over the hem of your underwear. “Want me to just ruin you already, huh? Is that what you want, sweetpea?” His fingers slipped past the waistband of your underwear, tugging away from your skin before letting it snap back against your flesh with a quiet pop. 

You nod quicker than you would have liked to, your body answering before your brain could rationalize your thinking. He laughed under his breath at your eagerness, then used the hand from the arm around your neck to grip your hair in his fist. He held it, guiding your neck to angle downward so your lips were pressed against his bicep.

“Bite down for me, baby.” You hesitated for a moment before opening your mouth, closing your teeth around a spot on the muscle, instinctively running your tongue along the spot to soothe it. San winced, barely, before dipping his fingers past the waistband of your underwear and cupping his hand around your pussy.

“Gotta keep you quiet, sweetheart. Don’t need your pretty little noises being heard. Be good for me and keep it down, and I’ll make you feel so good.” 

You furrowed your brows and focused on the feeling of his finger dragging up between your folds, stopping to massage your clit in slow, sensual circles. Your jaw tightened its grip on his arm, the muscle flexing in response to the stimulation. 

San dragged his finger back down, slipping his middle and ring finger inside of you, your thighs squeezing around his wrist in response as his arm slightly tightened around your neck. You moaned into his arm, your own hands coming up and gripping the arm snaked in your shorts and subtly but not so subtly ground your clit against his wrist as he fucked his finger into you, working you open and trying to perfectly hit that breathtaking spot inside you.

Deep in your cunt his fingers curled just perfectly, grazing your g-spot and causing a full body shiver to travel through you as your clit bumped the palm of his hand simultaneously. 

San pressed his open mouth against your cheek, mocking your heavy breathing and whining teasingly with his own voice, smiling when you clenched around his fingers.

“Nasty, nasty girl.” He clicked his tongue, pressing the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot inside of you, rubbing in pressurized circles. Your voice began to slip, the feeling too intense, toes curling as you drooled all over his bicep.

“San… oh my god, so good…” your head lolled back, no longer bothering to silence yourself as the rain outside grew so heavy it felt like the house was encased in TV static. 

San groaned, moving his arm around your throat and gripping your neck with his hand. He angled your head up and leaned his head down. Tracing his lips against yours as he continued to work further to your orgasm with his fingers, his lips slotted with yours desperately. You let yourself whimper and cry into his mouth, his tongue sliding down your throat and drinking your sounds up happily. He nibbled on your bottom lip, grinding his palm against your clit and massaging your spot harder.

“That's it. Don’t worry about anything else. Focus on that feeling. Focus on me.” His thumb rubbed into the side of your throat soothingly. A fire flickered in his eyes when he looked into yours and watched the way you practically melted at the look he gave you. And that was all he needed before he whipped you around to face him, slipping his fingers out of you. He ripped your shorts and underwear down and off your legs, tossing them somewhere into the darkness of the kitchen. His arms hooked under your thighs and lifted you up… up.. Until your legs were on his shoulder. He had you high up on the wall, back pressed against the cold wall. His big hands sank into your plush thighs as he held them on his shoulders, his face snug between your legs. He was standing… holding you on his shoulders like you weighed nothing.

You went rigid for a moment, for being so high up, and San between your thighs. It all happened so quickly.

His hot breath was clouding your cunt, the warm feeling causing your thighs to shiver and your eyes to roll in anticipation. His hands squeezed your thighs tightly in warning, his eyes meeting yours for a second.

“Quiet. I just need to taste you, just once… one time.” He buried his face in your soaked cunt, his nose bumping against your clit and his tongue sucking like a fucking man starved. Like he was drinking you.

Your whimpered crackled from your chest in no time, your hands flying to his hair to get a grip so you wouldn't fall off his goddamn shoulders. “Sannie.. Nghmm… can’t stay hah.. Quiet..” The noises were obscene.

The slurping and the wet open-mouth kisses. He would close his plush lips around your clit and suck like his life depended on it, which nearly pushed you over the edge in seconds. You were dripping down his chin, drops of your slick, and his saliva fell onto his tank top. Just filthy.

He ground deep into your cunt, shaking his head side to side feeling your body jolt every time his nose grazed your clit. “Gonna come for me, peaches?” he whined into you. “c’mon, you can do it. Give it to me, I need it… please. Please, baby, please.” Your fingers tightened their grip on his hair as you started to feel yourself falling apart, a breathless and silent “cumming” being mouthed by your wet lips.

“Yes. Yes,” he moaned into you like a mantra, coaxing you through your orgasm and helping you come down. San quickly let your body drop so that now your legs were wrapped around his waist. He carried you hurriedly through the living room, down the hall, and into his room, right across from Arin’s. His room was dark, the only light coming from his window when the sky lit up with lightning. 

He laid you on the edge of his bed, ripping off his tank top and lifting your legs up so your ankles rested on his shoulder. The view was gut-wrenching. His tall, rippling body. He looked so smooth, the ridges in his abs and his pecs so perfectly shadowed, it was like he was painted. His arms held your leg open on and his shoulder as he craned his neck to the side and looked you over like he wanted to snap you in half.

His legs hidden below the bed, but the sight of his hot, thick cock laying on your stomach nearly had you reeling. The pink tip twitched against your belly button as San did everything in his power not to start humping himself against your tummy.

One hand traced up your stomach lightly, around the peaks of your nipples, up your neck, and up against your lips. 

“Open.” San commenced, tapping his fingers against your cheek. You complied, feeling as he slipped his fingers in your mouth onto your tongue, pressing down.

 He leans forward, his chest grazing yours as he rests his forehead against yours. He guided him backward and angled the tip of his cock against your slick cunt.

“Shhh,” he whispered against your skin, pressing wet kisses on your ear. With the patience that San didn't wholeheartedly believe he had, he pushed himself inside of you. He pulled back to get a better look at him sliding in, but he paused, transfixed,

He stared at where you two connected, your cunt hugging him for dear life. He twitched inside of you before inching in more, opening his mouth to let out a low, perverted groan.

“She's takin’ me so well, sweetheart. Swallowing me up is so good…” His fingers curled down into your mouth when he bottomed out inside of you. His tip is sitting heavy right against your spot. Your eyes rolled, and you could clench at the feeling of him twitching in you.

San winced and brought a hand to grip your right hip, his thumb spreading over your stomach to your belly button and kneading your tummy gently while he held your hips down against the bed, He bit his bottom lip, eyes flicking up to yours in desperation before moving back down and locking his gaze back on your pretty pussy,

“Fuck, dont move babydoll. I’ll cum…. Just.. mmmf… be still. Let me…” he stayed still for a second, before pulling his hips back and moaning out loud and the slick sound your pussy made. He slid back until his tip was the only thing inside of you, before rolling his hips and burying himself back in you deeeeepp.

Your whole body twitched and your hands came up to grip the wrist of his hand that was currently fucking your mouth with his fingers. Every roll of his hips had your whole body shuddering in pleasure, and still his eyes stayed glued at your cunt. He was mesmerized by the movement, watching his own abs roll as your stomach slightly bulged every time he pushed back inside. In and out, in and out…

San forced himself to rip his eyes away from where he pistoned inside of you. He lolled his head back and squeezed your waist even more tightly, slipping his fingers out of your mouth and placing his hand on the other hip. He dragged your body up and down on his dick dropping his head back to stare at your body so pliant and willing for him.

The hands on your hips gripped you with iron strength, as San used your body as a fleshlight, fucking your cunt down on his cock, You took the sight before you in, San completely fucked out, pussydrunk.

His skin glistened from the heat of your bodies, stray strands of hair stuck to his forehead and covered his eyes, and the tip of his tongue poked past his lips as he focused completely on getting you where you needed to be. His abdomen rolled into yours so smoothly it's like he was dancing, his whole body shoving itself deeper into you, closer to your body.

He pushed your legs down so that your knees were bent and pressed against your chest, effectively folding you in half. His cock sank impossibly deeper inside of you, pulling a deep guttural groan from you.

Quickly, San pressed his lips back on yours, swallowing your cries with his mouth and licking soothing patterns into your mouth. He was so deep in your guts it felt like he was touching your ribcage, the way his body covered yours underneath him, his hands holding your legs up.

“Hush, baby, you’re being so loud. Be a good girl for me and hold it in, please, mkay? You can do it. Take it deeper, you can do it, I know you can.” He pistoned his cock into you, his head roughly kissing that spot deep in your tummy that had your back arching and your breathing staggering.

The living room was hot, and San’s body engulfed yours like you were all his. He rested his forehead against yours and his eyes roved down your body arriving back down to where his cock slipped in and out of you so smoothly. So deep and so determined. His eyes remained glued to the sight once again. His head swam with all the nasty things he wanted to tell you. To do to you.

Obsessed was an understatement, he adored watching himself slip in and out of you, the way you sucked him in so eagerly, the way your cunt dripped for him, a thin creamy ring around the base of his cock.

He locked eyes with you again, his hand squeezing around your throat, the spots of your peripheral vision slightly blinking out as his other hand came down and slowly rubbed slow circles on your clit.

San bit his bottom lip, watching as your face contorted into a cock drunk expression, not even caring to keep yourself quiet as he continued rubbing deliberate circles on your sensitive clit.

His hand cupped around your mouth and pressed down, his eyes boring into yours in a silent warning.

“What happened, baby? You were doing so well keeping it down.” He pouted mockingly at your pathetic attempts at silencing your moans. “Can’t take it after all, peaches?” A particularly targeting thrust knocked the wind from your lungs for a second, nearly pushing you into your orgasm.

His mouth game down, kissing up your neck before landing by your ear. “Can I cum inside you pretty baby please? Please?” He groaned, biting the shell of your ear lightly, continuing to fuck you into his mattress like he needed you to breathe.

He moved his hand away from your mouth, allowing you to answer.

“Im- ngh ah! On the p-pill. Oh, San, yes, yes, please inside, please!” Before you got too loud, San pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans in lingering, deep kisses. Slow and sloppy, his eyes rolled back as his eyelids fluttered shut.

“Yes, c’mon..” He sighed into your mouth, slowing his hips and aiming directly for that stomach-wrenching spot inside of you, deliberately rolling his hips to repeatedly and heavily press against it. So quick it was unbelievable, your orgasm crept up your spine and curled around your stomach.

“Right there, right there, right there…” You prayed into his mouth, eyebrows knitted in concentration. San laughed, sucking on your bottom lip as he moved the hand on your clit up to press his entire palm on your lower stomach.

“Right here?” He tilted his head as his eyes remained glued to your face, watching every single little change in your expressions, enamored, with a sinister smile on his flushed face. He pushed down, the pressure becoming too much as your body spasms for a split second, before the orgasm crashed into you.

San kissed you even deeper, trying his hardest to muffle the sounds that spilled from your pretty, swollen lips, his groans falling down your throat and nearly drowning out your own. His whole body twitched, and he finally let go, his hands gripping you so tight as he came so deep in your guts you felt him in your chest.

“Taking it all so well.” He pulled from your lips, his hips rolling gently to work you through your high. When your legs finally stopped shaking, he slipped out of you with slick, vile slowness, his eyes stayed glued as he watched his cock slip out of you, moaning quietly to himself when his tip popped out and his cum began seeping out of your cunt.

His eyes flicked up to you, splayed in his sheets, hair messy, drooling, chest heaving with exertion. So pretty for him. He crawled up the bed, coaxing you to lift your head on the pillow. He chuckled at your fucked out state. “When you can find your feet again, Bambi, we can go take a shower. I’m sure this old man did a number on you.”

You glared at him, his expression nothing short of goofy, pulling a smile from you. “Stupid.” You mumbled. San smiled back, hands reached forward and gripped the sides of your face, pulling you into a slow, deep kiss. He pulled back with a wet pop.

“Smile all pretty like that and ‘m just gonna have to fuck you again, sweetpea.”

Your heart stuttered before it dropped, suddenly remembering the predicament you were actually in. 1 day down. 5 more to go. Just how fucked were you.

[lvnleah]

her blessing | kyra cooney-cross x catley!reader.

You hadn’t planned on falling in love when you moved to London.

When Steph had called and said “Just come here for a bit, reset. You need a break and you know my door’s always open”, you’d packed your bags without thinking twice. 

You’d only just broken up with your boyfriend of three years and despite the nine-year gap between you and Steph, growing up she was your protector. Your safe space. And now, you were twenty-two and still felt safest even when she was on the other side of the world. 

That’s why you were currently clinging to her sleeve like a koala, standing awkwardly just inside the entrance to a loud, crowded pub filled with her teammates. It was a team bonding night and also Steph’s idea of helping you “get out more.”

“Steph…” you whispered nervously, voice barely audible

Steph looked down at you with a soft smile, her hand reaching to squeeze yours gently. “I’ve got you, squirt. You’ll be fine. Just stick with me for a bit, yeah? You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek and trying not to shrink into your clothes. The room was loud, filled with laughter and music and way too many confident women who all seemed to know each other. They were intimidating. You could feel your chest tightening just standing there.

You didn’t notice her at first. Not until Steph led you over to a small group and started introducing you.

“Everyone, this is my little sister. Be nice, or I’ll ruin your careers.”

That got a laugh, and a few friendly greetings. You gave a quiet “hi” and kept your eyes low, practically hiding behind Steph’s arm.

You already knew Caitlin, she’d played with Steph for the Matilda’s for years and had known you since you were ten. Kyra was another one you’d met briefly but only on a few occasions when she was pestering Steph after a match. She was a year or so older than you.

Caitlin gave you a warm smile and ruffled your hair, just like she used to when you were a kid. “Still as shy as ever, huh? Welcome to the madness, squirt.”

You gave a tiny smile, grateful for the familiarity. Caitlin’s presence made things feel a little less overwhelming. 

“Didn’t know Steph had such a cute little sister,” Kyra said with a grin.

Your face flushed immediately. You ducked your head, mumbling something incomprehensible and absolutely not cool in return.

Steph shot her a sharp look. “Kyra, leave the poor girl alone. Be nice to her.”

Kyra held up both hands, laughing. “I’m being nice! I swear. See? Totally nice.” Then, softer, she looked at you again. “You okay?”

You nodded, still mostly hidden behind Steph. “Just… crowds.”

Kyra tilted her head. “Same. I mean, not really, but I get it. Want to come sit where it’s quieter?”

You hesitated, glancing up at Steph. She gave you a gentle nudge and a reassuring smile.

“Go on. I’ll be right here.”

So, somehow, you ended up sitting in a quiet booth near the back of the pub, with Kyra sliding in across from you. She didn’t push you to talk. She just sipped her drink, made a few gentle jokes, and let the awkwardness ease at its own pace.

Eventually, you started talking. About random things. Childhood stories. Movies you both loved. The most embarrassing things your siblings had done in public. You had plenty of Steph stories. She would absolutely kill you if she heard you telling Kyra about the time she tripped over a wheelie bin and dislocated her pinky toe.

To your surprise, Kyra was easy to talk to. She made you laugh, like really laugh, which was something you hadn’t done properly in weeks.

By the time Steph wandered over to check on you, you were giggling, your shoulders more relaxed than they’d been all evening.

“Well,” Steph said, arms crossed and brow raised. “Didn’t expect you to be the one to crack her shell.”

Kyra just smirked. “I’m good with nervous people!”

Steph rolled her eyes, “Oh definitely,” she said sarcastically, “Just be nice to her. Don’t scare my sister or anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyra said with a roll of her eyes. “No funny business.”

Over the next few weeks, Kyra became a constant.

She texted you every morning with stupid memes and updates about what she had for breakfast. She dropped by Steph’s apartment uninvited, usually with snacks or some random object she “thought you might like.” She dragged you to cafés and bookstores, always patient with your shyness, always gentle with your boundaries.

Steph started noticing.

“You two are getting close,” she said one night when the two of you were curled up on the sofa, having a sister night watching a movie.”

You looked up. “Is that… okay?”

Steph’s face softened. “Of course. I’m just… keeping an eye on her. Kyra can be a lot and I don’t want it to overwhelm you, squirt.”

That should’ve been your first warning sign.

Because no matter how many nights you spent talking to Kyra until the early hours, no matter how many walks you took with your hands brushing but never quite clasped, she never crossed that line.

Every time something almost happened, every time your eyes lingered too long, or you leaned in too close, or your hand tentatively reached for hers, she pulled back.

With a joke. Or a distraction. Or just silence.

It hurt. More than you admitted to anyone. Even Steph.

You told yourself to be patient. Maybe she wasn’t ready. But one night, after another almost-kiss that ended in Kyra literally jumping away from you with a flustered apology and muttering something, you cracked.

You were sitting on a park bench, the wind chilly and your hot chocolate long gone cold.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said softly.

Kyra turned to you, brow furrowed. “Doing what?”

“This. I know you feel it too. I see it. But then you pull away and I’m left feeling like I imagined everything.”

Kyra was quiet for a long moment.

“I’m scared,” she finally whispered.

“Of what?”

“Of Steph.” She looked away, jaw tense. “She’s… she’s your sister. She’s my friend. She trusts me. If I mess this up then that’s ruined things between me, you and Steph. I don’t want that.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” you cut in, your voice breaking. “But you are hurting me, Kyra.”

That stunned her into silence.

“I can’t do this anymore, Kyra. I’m not a secret.” You sighed, “I’m not something to be ashamed of.”

And you walked away.

You didn’t talk after that. Not for days.

Steph noticed immediately.

You were quieter. Withdrawn. You barely touched the pasta she made. You didn’t laugh at her teasing. You didn’t even argue when she paused your favourite show to take a phone call.

And Kyra?

Steph saw it the next day in training. Kyra was off. Missing passes. Slow to react. Silent when usually she was all nonsense and being a pest.

Then, after everyone else had left, Steph walked into the locker room to find Kyra curled on the bench, shoulders shaking.

“Kyra,” she said, stunned. “What happened?”

Kyra didn’t look at her. “I broke her heart.”

Steph stiffened.

“What?”

“I thought I was protecting her. But I ended up pushing her away. And now she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Steph said slowly.

Kyra finally looked up, her eyes rimmed red. “I didn’t want to hurt her. Or make you feel like I crossed a line. But I love her, Steph. I’ve been in love with her for ages.”

Steph was silent for a long time. Then, with a sigh, she sat beside her.

“I never had an issue with it, Ky,” Steph said, “I just…you’re so different. I didn’t want you to clash and then things break down.”

Kyra gave a choked laugh.

“But,” Steph continued, “if you love her, and if you make her as happy as I’ve seen her these past few months. Then I’d be an idiot to stand in the way.”

Kyra blinked. “Wait… are you serious?”

Steph rolled her eyes. “Yeah. You might be a pest but you’re my favourite pest. You should go fix things.”

Kyra didn’t wait for another second.

You were in your room, curled under a blanket, watching reruns of something familiar and comforting when the knock came. You padded to the door and opened it slowly.

Kyra stood there, breathless, eyes still a little glassy, but full of hope.

“Umm…Hi,” she said, voice shaking. “I screwed up. But I love you. I really, really love you. And if you still want me, I promise, no more pulling away.”

You blinked, stunned.

Then you launched yourself into her arms.

She held you like she’d never let go again.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt her thumb brush gently under your eye, her other hand cradling the back of your head as you clung to her hoodie. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered against your hair. “I was so scared of ruining things, but I nearly lost you anyway. That was worse. So much worse.”

You didn’t respond right away. You just stayed there, wrapped in her, your heart finally settling after what felt like weeks of tight-chested confusion. When you finally pulled back, you looked up at her, really looked at her, and saw the way her eyes begged for forgiveness she didn’t need to ask for.

“I was scared too,” you admitted quietly. “Of getting hurt again. But you…you just made me feel unsure.”

She nodded, brushing a stray hair away from your forehead, “No more feeling unsure, okay? Not about this. Not about you.”

There was a long pause. Then she added, almost sheepishly, “Also, if you wanted to kiss me now… I wouldn’t run away this time.”

You huffed a soft laugh, watery but genuine. “You sure?”

Kyra’s lips curled into a grin. “Well, I was sure until you said it like–”

You reached up and cupped her cheek, the familiar warmth of her skin grounding you. “Kyra.”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up.”

And you kissed her.

She melted into it immediately, her hands settling lightly on your waist like she didn’t want to push, like she still couldn’t believe she was allowed to touch you like this now. It was slow and sweet, a little awkward because you both smiled halfway through, but it was perfect.

When you finally pulled away, Kyra smirked, “Okay, yeah, I was amazing at that. That’s in the top five kisses of my life.”

You swatted her arm lightly. “Top five?”

“I didn’t say where in the five! Maybe number one, maybe number four. You’ll have to kiss me again to beat the competition.” She smirked once again. 

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “You’re such a menace.”

“Yeah,” Kyra said proudly, tugging you gently back into her arms. “But I’m your menace now. That’s gotta count for something.”

You tucked your head under her chin and let the silence stretch, Kyra wasn’t perfect. She talked too much when she was nervous. She avoided emotions until they smacked her in the face but somehow she made you feel seen. 

After a long moment, Kyra broke the quiet again, her voice muffled slightly by your hair. “Sooo… when do you think is the right time to tell Steph we’re dating? Before or after I hide all the sharp objects?”

You snorted. “She already knows, Ky.”

Kyra pulled back slightly. “What?! You told her?”

“No. You did. When you confessed you were in love with me in her locker room, remember?”

Her eyes widened. “Wait…she told you that?!”

You grinned. “Of course she did. She texted me to say it was the most dramatic thing she’d ever seen.”

She mumbled something unintelligible into your hoodie.

You laughed softly, your fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

[lazysoulwriter]

jealous!pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluff, jealousy (but make it cute), celebrity crush moment, soft!pedro, cuddling, kisses, reassurance

---

pedro had known about your celebrity crush since the early days of your relationship. you weren’t shy about it — your teenage self had posters, favorite movies, interviews memorized. and even now, you still melted a little when his name came up.

“so if you ever meet keanu reeves,” he’d joke, “am i just chopped liver?”

“yes,” you always said with a sweet smile. “but you’re very cute liver.”

so when pedro invited you to a charity gala, and you found out keanu would be there, your soul briefly left your body.

you tried to be cool. really. but you fidgeted the whole way in the car, kept checking your lipstick, smoothing down your dress, whispering to yourself you’re not fourteen anymore. act normal.

pedro just watched with an amused smile, one arm over your seat, thumb stroking your bare shoulder. “you’re nervous.”

“no i’m not,” you lied.

he raised an eyebrow. “you’re literally whispering affirmations to your lip gloss.”

“shut up,” you muttered, blushing.

you saw keanu near the bar, talking to someone in a black suit. you froze.

pedro leaned down. “go on.”

“no. absolutely not.”

“baby,” he said softly. “this is your teenage dream. i’ll be right here.”

you hesitated, then walked toward him, heart pounding. you didn’t expect to actually speak to keanu — but somehow, he turned, noticed you waiting, and smiled.

“hi,” he said gently.

your voice barely worked. “hi. um. i just wanted to say—i really admire your work. you meant a lot to me growing up.”

keanu smiled warmly. “that’s very kind of you. what’s your name?”

you told him, and the conversation was short — kind, lovely, just enough to make your insides somersault. he thanked you, gave you a soft nod, and turned back to his group.

you turned around and pedro was already there. watching.

his arms crossed. head tilted. smile just slightly too tight.

“well?” he asked.

“he’s really nice,” you said, cheeks hot. “like... so nice.”

pedro just nodded. “mhm.”

you elbowed him lightly. “don’t be like that.”

he looked down at you. “i saw the blush.”

you opened your mouth to protest. then closed it again. “okay. maybe i blushed a little.”

“you giggled,” he said.

“pedro—”

“you giggled like a schoolgirl.”

you rolled your eyes, tugged him by the hand. “c’mon, drama queen.”

back at the hotel, you were curled in bed, makeup off, hair messy, his hoodie swallowing you whole. pedro climbed in beside you, arms instantly wrapping around your waist.

you kissed his nose. “you know you’re the one, right?”

he blinked at you. “i know.”

“but do you feel it?”

he sighed. “i do. i just—i’ve never seen you look at anyone like that.”

“pedro,” you whispered, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “he was my celebrity crush when i was a teenager. but you… you’re my love now.”

he softened immediately. buried his face in your neck. “okay, well. that helps.”

you smiled. “plus, keanu didn’t make me scream last night.”

pedro pulled back, eyes narrowing. “you did not just say that.”

you grinned. “oh, i did.”

he growled, tackling you back onto the pillows, kissing your lips again and again until you were breathless and laughing under him.

“fine,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. “i guess i can share your heart... with john wick.”

“please,” you giggled. “you’re so much hotter than john wick.”

he smiled into your skin. “damn right i am.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

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taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

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[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the ghost of the past. l Joel Miller

Summary: someone from the past found you in Jackson

Warnings: a bit of fluff but mostly angst, Reader is pregnant, fear and anxiety, some swearing, memories of life in QZ, talk of smuggling and life before Jackson, tears

A/N: .

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The creaking of the stairs was the signal his brain had been waiting for, because Joel woke up immediately. His sense of survival hadn't been lulled by life in Jackson, the soft bed, and the solid meals. The room was dark, except for the faint slivers of streetlights that shone through the uncurtained windows. Joel immediately looked your way, but your spot in the bed was empty. You couldn't sleep.

The last few days had been quite busy - new renovations, the patrol had brought in a group of new refugees, they had also met a few people who wanted to get to the lower states, and Jackson was a safe stop for them.

Joel had been spending more time away from home, and you couldn't help much. So you spent your time babysitting for people who needed it, doing odd jobs. And while you didn't complain, Joel had the feeling that you were feeling more and more removed from all your responsibilities.

You had become a bit withdrawn and tense, although whenever you saw Ann or another resident of Jackson, you plastered a beautiful smile on your face. But Joel knew you, he had seen it all.

The wooden floor was cool beneath his feet as he got out of bed and walked to the door, opening it quietly. The house was dark and quiet. The stairs barely gave way under his weight, but when Joel made his way downstairs, he noticed you curled up on the couch, covered in a warm blanket.

“Baby?” he said quietly, not wanting to scare you.

A quick movement, like wiping away a tear, and then your answer. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry, Joel. I couldn’t sleep. Please go back to bed, you have a lot of work tomorrow.”

But he didn’t turn around, quite the opposite - he walked over to you and sat down, placing his hand on the couch behind you. “Is everything okay? Do you feel bad or…”

That smile again, the one made for feeling bad. “No, everything’s okay. I just couldn’t sleep, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

But it wasn’t okay. He could see it all too well, even in this bad light and this late hour.

“You know you can tell me anything? I can handle it. The good and the bad.” His voice was low, warm and soothing. Tears quivered in your eyes as you drew in a quick breath.

You hesitated for a moment. You wondered if you should hide it more, but eventually you gave in.

"I have to tell you something, Joel..."

A few days earlier.

“We met a group heading south,” Shane announced, returning home from his patrol.

You and Ann looked up from the table covered in fabric and sewing equipment. Your friend had come up with the idea of ​​sewing new bedding for the baby’s non-existent crib, and you had been busy since morning.

“Do they have anything interesting to trade?” Ann asked. “I’d give a lot for a coffee.”

You smiled. She and Joel had similar needs.

Shane poured himself some water and sat down in the armchair, wiping his sweaty forehead with his hand. The weather was really nice and spring-like, and the sun was shining brightly for a long time.

“They have some interesting things. I saw a few people have already traded with them,” he replied. His dark eyes landed on you. “You’re growing,” he noted.

“And she's glowing too.” Ann quickly added, scolding him with her gaze.

“Of course!” he laughed. “Four more months, huh?”

“Yeah, I'll look like a baby whale by the end.” You replied with a smile.

“But Joel's still thrilled. I saw him when he…” Shane trailed off, your gaze quickly landing on him. He swallowed. “Never mind.”

Ann picked up the scissors and looked at her husband. “Shane Walsh, are you sure what you were about to say isn't important?”

He nodded.

“A hundred percent?”

Another nod.

"You know I don't believe him." Ann spoke to you in a half-hearted tone and you laughed. "But he'll sing me everything, I have my ways of doing that."

"I'm afraid of you." You said quietly.

"And you're right."

It was like a sudden tsunami, but you didn't see any signs that it would hit. You were unprepared as you exited the bakery and looked up at Tipsy Bison, where a group of loud men had emerged. You didn't know them, but you recognized a few from Jackson. They had to be newbies. But one of them...

You knew that walk and you recognized that voice immediately. As if struck by lightning, you stopped, feeling like your insides had suddenly disappeared. This couldn't be true. Not here. Not after all this time.

You had no chance of escape. You had barely taken a few steps when a voice behind you sounded, sapping the strength from you.

"Oh shit, is that you?!"

You held your breath. Your fingers tightened around the handle of the basket you were carrying, it creaked. A tall man in his forties appeared right in front of you. His dark hair was streaked with more grey than you remembered. His dark eyes stared at you, a delighted smile playing on his lips.

“It’s really you,” he said, looking at you intently. He paused a second longer over his rounded belly. “And you’re… Oh, fuck.”

“Hi, Nathan.” You replied, trying to hide your nervousness. “Good to see you. Alive.”

He tilted his head, scratching his stubbled chin. “Good to see you too, honey. You look really good. Jackson, huh? You’ve come a long way.”

“Just passing through, right? I don’t think you have any purpose in staying here?” you replied.

Nathan shoved his hands into his pants pockets and looked around the main street of Jackson with a lazy smile. “We were planning on going to Mexico. I heard about a big settlement there. You know, the Zone wasn’t safe for us anymore.”

“FEDRA?”

“As well.” He nodded. “But a few other people too. Oh, honey…” You looked at him in surprise. “I missed you so much.”

Nathan Hayes shouldn’t have ended up in Jackson, and you honestly didn’t think he’d ever leave QZ if he hadn’t been forced to. He was incredibly good at smuggling, and his group dominated the zone. But somehow he ended up in Jackson, and the thought of him leaving soon gave you some comfort.

But fate wasn’t on your side, and Nathan seemed to take every opportunity to run into you in Jackson.

“I heard you live with that Miller,” he mumbled as he kept up with you as you walked down the street.

“His name is Joel,” you replied, not even looking at him, but glancing around to see if you saw anyone you knew nearby. “What do you even want?”

Nathan laughed. “I missed you. And you didn’t miss me?”

“No,” you replied quickly. “And I’ll be really happy when you leave. How long do I have to wait?”

He grabbed your elbow and stopped you. But you quickly pulled away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You were nicer to me in the zone.” He said tartly. “And now what? Playing mommy-to-be, huh? Playing house? I saw Miller and his kid. Seriously, honey?”

You felt anger boil in your body. He was doing it again, trying to dominate you, control you again. You knew it all too well.

“It’s none of your fucking business.” You hissed. “You don’t know what Joel and I went through.”

“What we went through, huh?”

You winked. “You can’t be serious.” You snorted, crossing your arms over your chest. “What happened in QZ was just vegetation. Day-to-day living.”

“But we made a great duo, right?” Nathan smiled at the memory of those days. "You were great at smuggling. When you went with that group... Oh, honey. You broke my heart then."

You looked at him in disbelief and anger. For the second time in the past few days, he had returned to what had been, to what connected you, and he always said it with such fondness, like he really missed you. You had met him in Jackson, on the street or at Tipsy Bison. He had seen you with Joel and Ellie, he certainly knew where you lived. You felt more and more trapped with each passing day.

“Were you and him… Were you together at the time? In the zone that you escaped from?” Joel’s question was calm and quiet. He listened to you carefully, and you never said it directly.

“Not in the way I am with you, but...” you took a breath, “People knew that I belonged to him in some way, that we worked together.”

He nodded. Tess had crossed his mind. He'd never mentioned her to you, and he didn't see the point, but she would never make someone close to him feel threatened by her. And you definitely felt that way about Hayes.

"I was young. I had to survive somehow."

“Sweetheart.” Joel took your hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “I’m not judging you. We’ve both done things to survive and not all of them were great or good. What matters is what we have now.” He swallowed hard and asked the question that really worried him. “Is this guy threatening you? What does he want?”

“I have no idea.” Tears sparkled in your eyes. “But I see him every time I leave the house. Sometimes I feel like he wants me to go south with him and…” your voice cracked.

You saw a grimace cross Joel’s face. A quick shadow passed over his eyes. “You know I would never do that, right? We’re family.”

He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, murmuring quietly, “I know, I know, sweetheart.”

"I… I ran away from him. Nathan was becoming more and more ruthless. FEDRA was on his heels, and I was taking risks with every step beyond the wall."

"Did he do something to you?"

You shook your head.

"Can he do something now?"

You couldn't answer. What was going on in Nathan's head was a mystery to you. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, and soon Joel's strong arms were around you.

“I’m scared he’ll do something stupid. Hurt you or Ellie…” You sobbed quietly. “I’m sorry I’m just now telling you this. I didn’t know… I thought he’d leave me alone, but he didn’t.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, stroking your shoulder, feeling the sobs that shook your body.

He couldn't tell what was going on inside him. So many thoughts and emotions were swirling inside him, and Joel was afraid of what would come of it. He would do anything to keep you safe, especially now, when you were more precious than anything else. And for Ellie.

He didn't know Nathan, but what you said was enough for him.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait @mmmunson @grace-928 @umadirectioner

[as-sweet-as-a]

can't rid myself of jealously - d.w.

summary; dean tried to make you jealous cos he thinks its hot, but it doesn't exactly go to plan warnings; drinking, kind of insecure!reader words; 940

It was late. Too late. You were tired and just wanted to crash back at the motel. But, since the job had been a success, Dean insisted you all went to the bar. So, here you were. Sam was nursing a singular beer, complaining about how he should be back in the room. Castiel was stood awkwardly by the bar. Dean, of course, had already had two beers, trying to get everyone more awake.

“Look, see, they’re having fun.” Dean grinned and nodded at a group of girls that were hanging around by the jukebox. You rolled your eyes and sipped your drink.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you mumble. After you’d finished your business and splashed cold water on your face, you left. However, when you went to rejoin the group, you only saw Sam and Cas. Dean was gone. You looked around and your eyes landed on the girls by the jukebox. One of them transferred their bright pink cowboy hat to his head, making him chuckle. He caught your eye and winked at you. You felt your stomach boil.

“You’re discontent.” You jumped, not realising Castiel had appeared next to you.

“Uhm, I guess.” You shrugged and took your drink back off of him, sipping it. “It’s Dean. He’s trying to make me jealous?”

Castiel tilted his head and shot you his confused puppy look. “Hm? But you’re not jealous.”

You nodded. “Mhm…”

Sam approached you and Castiel, glancing at Dean and rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, I’m about to head back. Dean said we’re good to take the car, something about not thinking he’d even be able to drive back later.”

You nodded and left the bar with Sam and Castiel, Sam placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You loved Dean, of course you did. His old habits? Not so much. Usually, you’d laugh it off. Or, if you were in a more confident mood, you’d go over and show yourself off to whoever Dean was flirting with while Dean grinned and wrapped an arm around your waist proudly.

He returned an hour or so later. You could tell because of the hushed voices of Sam and Dean in the hall. The lights were off in your motel room. You were under the sheets, swallowed by one of Dean’s hoodies and a pair of sleep shorts. Your eyes were fixed on some trash TV show about fishing.

The door creaked open and you heard Dean kick off his boots. He slid into the bed behind you. You could smell the beer on his breath and the sickeningly sweet perfume the girls were slathered in. You could also practically hear his grin. His arm fell over your waist as he began to pepper your neck in kisses. You shrugged him off, unamused.

Dean let out a low laugh. “Woah, hey. What’s this about, hm?” He joked, assuming you were playing hard to get or just messing around.

“Headache.” You mumbled.

He huffed a laugh. “Oh, really?” He leaned back in to kiss your jaw. You shrugged him off again. His eyebrows furrowed this time. “Sweetheart? What’s going on?” His hand began to softly run up and down your side and his tone turned gentler.

You stayed silent, curling up more.

“This is about those girls, isn’t it?” He asked. He took your silence as confirmation. “You know I only want you, right?” He nudged his nose against your shoulder.

“Mhm…” You couldn’t really help feeling insecure because of the bar. You were in dire need of a shower after runnng through the woods all day, your hair was dishevelled, eyes tired, and clothes dirty. Those girl were put together, nice dresses, well-groomed, pretty. Dean liked pretty. And right now, you didn’t feel pretty.

Dean sighed, mumbling your name softly with a sigh. He gently turned you onto your back, still rubbing your side. You didn’t realise you were about to cry until Dean was brushing your waterline with his thumb. “Talk to me.” He urged gently.

You sighed, unable to hide anything from the man you loved. “Dunno… just those girls from the bar.” You were almost whispering, hating how small you sounded.

“It’s never bothered you before. Besides, I think it’s hot as hell when you come over and show yourself all off and shit.”

You gave a weak amused smile at that. It was quick to fall. “It was different this time. I think I’m just tired from the hunt nd those girls were like… crazy pretty. I guess I was just feeling a bit off.”

Dean looked almost offended. “Pretty? Baby, they’re gremlins compared to you.” He explained. You shot him a ‘watch it’ look. “Okay, sorry, not gremlins, feminism and all. But, what I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to worry. I only have eyes for you. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world to me, okay?”

Despite feeling more convinced, you couldn’t help but tease. “But you have to say that, you’re my boyfriend.” You grinned.

“Hm, well, could those girls kill a wendigo in 2 minutes and 57 seconds?” He teased right back, leaning further above you, almost on top of you.

You rolled your eyes playfully and chuckled. “Probably not…”

“Damn right.” He grinned and leaned in to kiss you. You kissed back, of course,

The kiss got deeper until Dean was over you, trailing his lips down your jaw and neck. You noticed that he seemed distracted. “Dean, you okay?”

He paused lifting his head. You noticed that his eyes were fixed on the TV, squinting slightly. “That fish is fucking massive…”

[pazzispizookies]

High schooled

————————

as always all work is fiction.

Cw: 🍃🍃😉 ( very VERY exaggerated for entertainment, I’m completely aware this isn’t how most people are when they’re ⬆️⬆️ so yeah trust lol this isn’t accurate)

Also, hey guys!! I’ve missed writing so much. I hope you all like this stupidness to hold u until I release the fic I’ve been working on, so here’s something silly to pass the time. leave anons and comments!! I love you pookies.

Pairing: high school Azzi x Paige, teammates to lovers.

Word count: 2.5k

___ ____ ___

Paige and Azzi hadn’t really talked since tryouts.

They had that kind of quiet chemistry off the bench—electric in motion, like the ball just understood where it needed to go when it was between them. Both juniors now, they’d played together long enough to know each other’s rhythm.

But that didn’t mean they spoke.

Azzi had a different kind of high school experience than Paige.

She was that girl. Popular, pretty, the one everyone assumed had a line of people trying to date her and ten more waiting to join. The kind of girl teachers adored and strangers rooted for. Not because she was fake nice—but because she was quietly kind. Always helping someone. Always smiling. Always balanced.

Paige… wasn’t like that.

She was loud in her own way. Not obnoxious—just real. Known for zoning out in class and zoning in on the court. Since eighth grade, everyone knew she was gonna be something serious with basketball. She didn’t try in school, didn’t really try to make friends. Not because she was rude. She just didn’t need the noise.

No drama, no gossip, no fake laughing in the locker room. Paige just wasn’t interested.

Except… when it came to Azzi.

Something about her stayed in Paige’s head longer than it should’ve.

Azzi was a walking contradiction—soft-spoken but never timid. Composed but not cold. Like she had more going on under the surface, but didn’t owe anyone access to it. Paige tried freshman year. Reached out. Dropped some lines, tried to get close. Didn’t work.

She figured out real fast she wasn’t the type of person Azzi Fudd kept around.

So she stopped trying. Just admired from a safe distance.

And maybe, yeah, she passed to Azzi more on the court than she should’ve. Maybe she felt it when their plays clicked like clockwork, but it stayed on the court.

They were mutuals online. Occasional polite nods in the hall. Shared group chats with dry thumbs-ups.

So when Azzi found Paige slouched in a stairwell during fourth period, it was…unexpected.

**

Paige was bored. Like, kill-me-now level bored.

Geometry again. Her second time through it. Shapes and angles and numbers that had nothing to do with game stats. She was out of patience. She didn’t need geometry to steal a ball away or drop 20 on a D1 recruit.

So she left.

Asked to use the bathroom, slid her hoodie up, and took a stroll around the school—with a little extra on the side.

The new pen she’d picked up was hitting. Harder than she expected.

She’d only started smoking a couple months ago. Some college party, bad decisions… yadda yadda. But the high? Oh, the high hit like a deep exhale after a long day. Her brain got quiet. Thoughts slowed. Shit just made more sense—or didn’t have to.

No drug tests in-season for high school. So every now and then, when life got too loud, Paige took a moment.

She took one hit. Waited. Then another. Then three more in a row.

Five hits.

Which was about… four too many. For school at least.

“Fuck,” she muttered, staring at herself in the mirror. Her pupils were swimming. Eyes bloodshot. Movements molasses-slow. She looked like she’d just been dragged through a dream.

“Just act cool,” she mumbled, even though her mouth was already betraying her.

She splashed water on her face. Didn’t help. Her reflection looked like it was vibing to a song she couldn’t hear. That white noise hum in her ears made everything feel like a music video.

She walked up the stairwell, each step a challenge. Head bobbing slightly, hoodie half-on, breathing like she was auditioning to be a fog machine.

Then—

“Paige? Are you—uh, okay?”

Azzi’s voice. Light, amused. But with a thread of concern underneath.

Paige turned around way too fast, stumbled a little, then forced a wide, dopey grin. “Azzi! Yep. All good!”

Azzi tilted her head. “You sure? ‘Cause you look a little… lost.”

Paige glanced around, turning her head to sweep her surroundings. Maybe she accidentally took a wrong turn.

Nope, just in school…was this girl good?

Lost? What did Azzi mean lost?

She didn’t need a map.

She was on the fucking stairs.

“I’m on the stairs.”

Azzi fudd might be stupid. I mean she was on the stairs. Not in the ocean.

“Yes, you are indeed,” Azzi said, laughing softly. “I meant lost in a different way, genius.”

“Ohhhhhhhh” Paige chuckled out, realizing she was the stupid one.

That shouldn’t’ve been funny.

But somehow, that was the line that cracked Paige wide open.

Laughter spilled out of her like a floodgate had been waiting to blow. Real, breath-stealing, stomach-clutching laughter. The kind that made you bend over and slap your own knee.

Azzi blinked, half smiling. “Paige? What’s so funny?”

“I don’t—” Paige gasped. “I don’t even know.”

She tried to catch her breath. Failed. Then started laughing again, this time with tears creeping into her eyes. Her face was flushed, eyes even redder now, blue nearly swallowed by the haze.

Azzi moved closer, just in time to catch her as she stumbled forward.

“Whoa—hey, okay,” she said, steadying Paige with a gentle grip.

Paige leaned into her, loose-limbed, chin dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder like she belonged there. Like her body just knew this was a safe place to land.

“You smell good, Az…”

Azzi froze.

Paige’s own brain screamed in slow motion—why’d you say that?!

She hadn’t meant to. But weed turned her mouth into a traitor. And the thing was, it was true. Azzi smelled clean. Calm. Vanilla and something a little citrusy. Paige could’ve buried her face there and floated away.

Before Azzi could say anything, Paige pulled herself upright again. “Uh, thanks. Sorry.”

“Paige, wait—”

“Yeah?” Paige turned around, blinking slow, lips parted.

Azzi hesitated, then exhaled. “I’m… worried about you. I know we’re not really friends, but you’re obviously—not exactly clear-minded right now. So… you wanna just sit with me for a minute?”

She wasn’t judging. Just honest. Soft but firm.

Paige stood there, heartbeat thudding unevenly. If she went back to geometry like this, she’d be cooked. Suspended, maybe expelled.

“…Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

Azzi smiled, relief softening her eyes. “Cool. And, uh—thanks.”

“For what?”

“The compliment.” She grinned. “But we should probably leave before someone walks in.”

Paige’s cheeks warmed. She hoped it didn’t show, but knowing her winter-pale skin, practically translucent in the winter months—it absolutely did.

“Yeah. You right.”

They started walking together, slow at first. Quiet.

Until Paige squinted over at her.

“Wait… don’t you got class right now? I thought you were like, Miss Honor Roll.”

Azzi gave her a side-eye. “I don’t have a class this period. I usually help out around school. Staple stuff, prep club kits, support the special ed classrooms…”

Paige shook her head. “Yo. You’re like… annoyingly perfect.”

Silence.

“I mean,” she fumbled, “not like in a bad way. Just, y’know—like a little fairy princess of academic responsibility.”

“Paige.”

“Yeah?”

“I get it,” Azzi said with a small laugh. “I’ll take it as a compliment. Again.”

Paige grinned. “Good.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs when Azzi stopped and looked toward the side door to the lot.

“You down to maybe…” she jerked her chin toward the exit, “…skip the rest of the day?”

Paige blinked, jaw slack.

“You? Azzi Fudd? Tryna cut school?”

Azzi pushed the door open

Azzi laughed and stepped through the side door, shooting a grin over her shoulder. “Guess you’re a bad influence.”

The sunlight caught her curls just right, making her look like some kind of daydream, and Paige stayed posted up at the top of the stairwell, watching her go like her brain had skipped a beat.

Bad influence. Word.

She shook her head to snap out of it, blinking slow. Her high was still humming loud in her chest, but she remembered—oh right, legs. Gotta move ‘em.

By the time she made it down the stairs and out into the parking lot, Azzi was already halfway across the pavement, walking with that calm, light-footed stride like she’d done this a thousand times. Paige jogged a few steps to catch up, hoodie still half-off, one hand shoved in the pocket like she was just chillin’ and not, y’know, freshly ditching school with the girl who usually carried the whole moral compass of the team.

“This your first time skipping?” Paige asked, settling in next to her, pace casual.

Azzi glanced over, lips pressed into a little smile. “Yeah… first time.”

Paige smirked. “You nervous?”

Azzi shrugged. “A little. But you make it look kind of… fun.”

Paige raised a brow. “Fun? This is elite-tier boredom survival. I skip ‘cause geometry is straight-up brain poison.”

Azzi laughed softly. “You might have a point.”

The air settled into something soft for a second, the daylight beaming on both of them warm and honey like.

“Gimme your phone.”

Azzi stopped mid-step. “What?”

Paige held her hand out, palm up, expression calm but firm. “Your phone. C’mon.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Just trust me.”

“Right.” Azzi gave her a long, skeptical look but didn’t move. “Sounds like the start of a very bad idea.”

Paige kept her hand out. “You said you trusted me. One time. Promise.”

Azzi hesitated. Then sighed and reached into her back pocket, pulling out her phone like she already knew she was gonna regret this. “Alright. Just don’t break it or hack into my Pinterest boards.”

Paige grinned. “Can’t promise anything.”

She took the phone, thumbs already moving. “Password?”

“It’s my birthday. November—”

“I got it,” Paige cut in, casual like she’d cracked military intel.

Azzi blinked. “How did you…? Seriously?”

“I got good memory.” Paige shrugged. “You said it in that interview after the regional tourney last season. Mentioned your birthday fell on a game day.”

Azzi looked at her sideways, not saying anything at first.

“What?” Paige smirked.

“Nothing.” Azzi shook her head, amused. “I don’t even think my brother remembers my birthday.”

“John or José?” Paige asked without missing a beat.

Azzi stopped walking. “Okay, now that’s creepy.”

Paige turned to her, eyes calm but teasing. “I pay attention, Az. Don’t freak out.”

Azzi let out a breath, half-laughing. “Maybe I sold you short, Beuckers.”

Paige grinned. “Bet you did.”

They kept walking, the silence between them feeling more relaxed now, more like… space shared instead of space filled. Then Paige’s face shifted into focus again, thumbs tapping at the screen with quick, practiced confidence.

“Alright,” she said. “When I tap your shoulder, just cough real dramatic. Like you been in bed all week.”

Azzi stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“Cough, Fudd. Trust the system.”

Azzi looked like she wanted to argue again, but then Paige raised the phone to her ear, posture suddenly very official.

“Hello, Hopkins attendance. How can I help you?” a woman’s voice answered.

Azzi’s eyes went wide. Paige shot her a side glance and gently grabbed her wrist to ground her.

“Uh, yes, hello!” Paige started in the most ridiculous fake British accent Azzi had ever heard. “This is Miss Fudd’s nurse, and I’m terribly afraid she’s come down with quite the nasty cold. Poor thing’s barely able to stand.”

Azzi nearly snorted, choking on a laugh she had to bury in her elbow.

“Oh no! I’m sorry to hear that,” the voice replied kindly. “Also, you have the most interesting accent—”

“Yes, yes, I get that all the time,” Paige interrupted smoothly, trying to hold her own laughter back. “But unfortunately, I must be going. Tea’s getting cold, and Miss Fudd needs rest. Take care now, love.” She hung up with a little flourish.

Azzi was staring at her, mouth open in a mix of horror and hysterics. “Did you just—was that a British accent?!”

“Oi, love, mind your tone,” Paige said, still in character for half a beat before she broke and started laughing.

She handed Azzi her phone back like it was nothing.

“Paige, you are—” Azzi laughed, “you’re an idiot.”

Paige shrugged. “A talented idiot.”

Azzi shook her head. “That was insane.”

“You’re off the hook now. You’re welcome.” Paige threw a lazy arm around Azzi’s shoulder for half a second before pulling back, like she didn’t even realize she did it.

Azzi blinked, cheeks warm. “You know you didn’t have to go that hard.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Paige said, eyes twinkling.

They kept walking, the pace slow and unbothered. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had pressed pause—no classes, no pressure, no teammates watching. Just the two of them, skipping school like it was their own private rebellion.

“You ever thought about… not doing this alone?” Azzi asked suddenly.

Paige looked at her. “What you mean?”

“Like,” Azzi tucked a curl behind her ear, “I know we don’t talk much. Or, like… at all. But I could help you. If school’s a lot, if you’re slipping—I could tutor you. I’m serious.”

Paige hesitated, her eyes lingering on Azzi’s face. “Yeah… maybe. I’d like that.”

Azzi smiled, quiet and genuine. “Cool.”

The air between them felt different now. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just... full of possibility.

Paige rubbed the back of her neck, then glanced at her. “When you wanna start?”

“Friday work for you?” Azzi asked, her voice soft. Smile breaking though.

Paige held her gaze a moment longer, then nodded.

“It’s a date.”

———————

Hope you guys enjoyed!! Remember to leave comments and anons!! Let me know how u like this, and thank you for reading! <333

[corpsedogs]

✿ Chromatic Silence ( Jason Todd x Reader )

soulmates, alternative universe (no vigilante hero stuff), teacher jason todd, artist reader

sypnosis: The reader’s soulmate power is to see colors for the first time when she touches her soulmate. When she met Jason, her world bursts to color but not his. She fell for him quietly, but she’s not his and she’s torn between waiting for his colors to come or moving on. ao3 link

a/n: first i’d like to thank @harbours-lighthouse for proof reading this for me youre the bestest… SECOND!!! i finally know how to use the small text jesus christ now my fics dont look ugly. anyways this has been stuck in my brain for a while— and if i get some good feed back i might turn this to a series. i was also very inspired by this fic please check it out its genuinely so cool

Paint was littered all over your arms and fingers— some at your face and a bunch on your apron. You were painting, again… it was something you always did to pass time. In front of you stood a canvas, a soft forest scene painted across it— a fairy hut tucked between trees and ferns, and a small butterfly brushing a leaf’s edge. You hummed quietly, dabbing a thumbprint of color onto the curve of a painted leaf.

It looked good, you thought, but it wasn’t quite finished. The doorbell rang as you blinked, who was looking for you? Your footsteps padded softly across the paint-splattered floor as you opened the door— only to be met with a familiar smile.

He gave a quick smile, “Hey, I knew I got the address right.” You grinned back and embraced him, “Dick! It’s so nice to see you again.” you felt him pat your back as the two of you pulled away, “So you still up for dinner with the gang?”

You let out a nervous laugh, “I didn’t know that was today. I’m a mess.”

Dick had been your friend since high school. Even though college made the group drift apart, you all still made time for each other now and then.

You stepped aside to let him in. He looked at your living room, three or more canvases were laid on the wall with the one you were working on in the middle of the room. Paint with the randomest colors were all over the floor, layered over newspapers meant to protect the floor.

He crossed his arms as he examined your paintings, “Woah, the colors are getting better.” he complimented as you itched your cheek. “I had a friend who helped me pick colors.”

You then looked at him, “Why’d you visit?” you asked.

He shrugs, “I was driving around Gotham and I recognized your apartment so I decided to pay a visit.” he explained as he sat on your couch.

A soft smile played on your lips as you grabbed a towel to wipe your hands and face. “Hey, maybe you could come with me and we’ll head to the restaurant together?” he offered. “Awesome, thanks.” you said “I’ll just change if you won’t mind.”

After talking for a bit, Dick drove you in his car. You opened the door to the passenger seat and buckled the seatbelt, “Where are we going again?” Dick hummed— drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, “Remember that steak house Roy dragged us in back in highschool?”

You let out an ‘ah’ in response. It’s been too long since you went back to that steakhouse and fifteen minutes later, the two of you arrived. You could see the group already inside the building as Dick talked to the waitress about the reservation. You tilted your head a bit, you saw a man. You’ve never seen him before, white streak in his bangs, wearing a hood.

“Hey, Dick. Who’s that?” you asked, his eyes darted towards the man as he smiled.

“That’s Jason, he's my little brother.” he answered.

You’ve heard a lot about Dick’s family, but you’ve only met Cass. But you’ve heard about Jason less, he was quite the mystery to you but you never really thought about it. You entered and the two of you were showered with greetings.

The table consisted of Kory, Wally, Roy and Barbara. Jason was sitting beside Roy, with Barbara on the left. Dick went to sit beside Wally as you sat in front of Jason. “Hey! How are you?” Kory smiles as you smile back, “Great.”

“So, this is Jason.” Roy placed an arm around him as he rolled his eyes and shook him off, “Hello, I’ve heard a bit about you.” you said as Jason hummed, “I hope not too much.” he replied flatly.

“He’s a bit of a grouch but he’s easy to get along with.” Dick shrugs.

The night went on, all of you talked about the past, the present and the future. Hanging out with your old group of friends was something you enjoyed a lot. You’ve never expected to go this far. Jason was silent, occasionally giving his own comment or just listening idly.

Wally called out to you, “Hey, can you get the ketchup?” Barbara looked at him oddly, “On your steak?” he huffs, “Why not?” you chuckled as you reached out for the bottle, “Yeah okay, I’ll get it.”

You reached for a bottle—only for Wally to laugh. “That’s the oil.” Your cheeks flushed, a bit embarrassed “Sorry.” you nervously chuckled. Barbara smiled, “It’s fine, we don’t blame you.”

You were colorblind, the doctor claimed it was a part of your soulmate power… whatever that meant. Everything you saw was black and white, it was a bit difficult. Sometimes, when someone points you something in the distance— you’d often squint and take three more seconds to find it. You’d have to ask help from people finding the colors that fit your makeup. The light was often too blinding, your eyes get overwhelmed leading to discomfort or pain. One thing you were fond of was art. Since you couldn’t see, you would often take a bunch of paint you bought from the store and to others— your canvas burstingwith colors. Painting monochrome(ly) was easier after all… maybe.

“Hey,” Dick said with a nudge toward Jason, “he’s like you.” Jason stared back with a death glare, “Can you not?”

Apparently (from what you’ve heard) Jason too was colorblind, he didn’t have it as bad as you did, for his eyes weren’t as sensitive as yours. But still, another bond in the grayscale. Hoorah!

“Maybe you two are soulmates.” Roy teased as he nudged Jason, “Then I would’ve found out when I first saw her.”

He’s right, nothing happened to you the first time.. you’re seeing the same thing. But deep down, you were hoping it was true.

Though you weren’t in a rush finding a soulmate, you felt left out. Kory had Donna, Wally had Dick, Barbara had Dinah— hell, Roy had a platonic bond with his daughter. it was pretty much only you who didn’t have one. Most soulmates found theirs at seventeen or sixteen, and you thought you’d get yours around eighteen, it all varied from platonic and romantic. But no matter how many people you see, your world is still in shades of grey.

The night moved on, all of you went to the park. A few shops and stalls were on the side with dim post lights showing the way. There were gazebos on the left, a few people already sitting down in the area as well as people who sat on picnic blankets.

Ahead, led by Wally and Dick. Followed by Kory, Barbara and Roy with Jason and you behind. Since the others were immersed in their own conversation, you decided to talk to him.

“Hi.” you started with a smile. “Hi.” he says back. “Nice to meet you.” you said to which he replied, “Yeah, you too.”

Awkward..

You hummed for a bit, looking away at him and into the distance “I uh.. I heard you were colorblind too. Is it a soulmate thing?” you asked, you heard him sigh— as if he was annoyed at his own condition “Yeah, pretty much.” he confirmed.

“Are you waiting for your soulmate?” you asked again, he shrugs. “Not really, platonic or romantic, its whatever. My life would still be the same, I don’t think it would change once I have one.” he claims, “You?”

“Yes, but I’m not in a hurry.” you said “I’ve always wanted to see the world in color though.” you added.

Jason lets out an amused huff, “Yeah? What are you going to do once you see them?”

You hummed before answering, “Put them down in a canvas most definitely.” you replied, “Put them on a canvas. Ironic, right? I’ve been painting blind my whole life. Some people say my work is chaotic. Others say it’s unique. I just… I want to know what it actually looks like.”

He looks at you as you slightly tilt your head, “Is your job painting?”

You scratched your head, “I’m kind of jobless right now, I used to be an art therapist till the place shut down. So now I auction off paintings, they sell okay. Enough to pay rent and food.”

Jason crossed his arms, “Well, freelance is freeing. You’re your own boss there.” he says, you let out a smile as you looked at him “Yeah, it is nice. What about you? What’s your job?”

“English teacher, Gotham Academy.” he replies.

You blinked, him? An English teacher? Someone as tall and muscular as him? He lets out a scoff when he sees at your stunned look, “I'm not kidding, I really am.”

You chuckled, “Yeah? Quote a book.”

“Shine out a fair sun, till I have bought a glass, that I may see my shadow as I pass.”

Wow, okay he’s impressive.

“Richard III?” he looks at you, “Huh, yeah. Do you read?”

“Mom used to read me a lot of books.” You said, “That's nice.” in which he replied. You weren’t expecting to get along with him, the conversation flowed. He listens to you, and you listen to him. It almost draws you in, like a moth to a flame. It was almost weird why you felt this way.

Eventually, the two of you caught up with the group. Roy and Dick were talking to Jason while you and Kory walked side to side. You looked at Jason.. longingly? Whatever it was, your mind was internally telling you: ‘God, I really hope it’s you.’

Jason lets out a breath, amused at something Wally yelled to Dick ahead. You watched the way he lifts his mouth a bit when he smiles and the way his eyes squint ahead as he watches them in the distance.

He huffs, “You don’t seem like someone who’d hang out with all these lunatics.” you let out a quiet laugh, “Yeah, me neither.” you sighed.

The path opens up as the concrete ends and the seaside view takes over. The waves crash softly below and the horizon is a smudge of black and navy— lit faintly by the beautiful moon.

Kory smiles, leaning against Barbara “I forgot how majestic this spot is at night.” Roy lets out an amused sound, “Probably the only few places in Gotham where water doesn’t stink.” he said.

Wally whistles, “I can definitely swim from here over to that island over there.”

Barbara chuckled, “This is Gotham. A sea monster might pop up and swallow you whole.”

The wind rolled in, it felt cool and it smelled salty. You hugged your arms, you weren’t shivering though. The coolness meeting your skin felt relaxing.

Dick points at something off the distance, a yacht crossing under a bridge. The lights on the boat flickering in the distance as Dick tells everyone that Gotham yacht services were pretty cool. Everyone leaned forward to look, so did you. So did Jason.

And then.. it happens. Your world explodes.

Jason’s arm swings beside him when he shifted his stance— his bare arm accidentally touching yours. Just a single brief touch. It didn’t even last a second, but that’s all it took.

The color rushes in and you inhale sharply.

The yacht lights blaze like stars. The ocean below you turns indigo— frothing white where waves hit the stones. Your friends drenched in color, Kory’s beautiful curls flicker with copper fire, Barbara’s coat is pine green and Roy’s beanie is a loud maroon. The sky is black, scattered with small white stars.

And Jason.. he was all red and shadows, his hoodie the deepest rust and his skin warm in the golden lamplight. You blink, nearly stumbling as you grab the railing like it’ll hold your sanity in place.

But then you looked at Jason, staring at the distance like nothing happened.

You internally panicked.

He doesn’t see it.

He doesn’t feel it.

“You good?” he asks you absently, not even turning his head to look at you. You manage to nod, “Yeah, uh. Wind in my eyes.” you said nervously as he grunted in response.

Your knuckles, they go white around the railing. You looked back at the sea, it hums with millions of shades you’ve never had words for. You’re not sure what to do.

The rest of the night passed in a haze of color and effort. You hear your friends chatter. You smile on cue. You nod at jokes. But your eyes darted everywhere, your mind is caught in a world you never thought you’d see.

You peek at him now and then.

His world was still grey.

You went home alone. Your apartment is dim and quiet, still buzzing with color that won’t fade no matter how much you try to ignore it. They will never go away.

The world was blinding.

It’s too beautiful.

You sit on the floor, surrounded by all the paints you never understood till now.

You closed your eyes and saw Jason. His face nuzzling against your bare stomach as he whispered against it, his eyes— light blue drowning into yours, your hand— holding his, afraid he was going to let go.

He must be the one.

You opened your eyes and stood up. Your hands move without thinking. You took an empty canvas and dipped your bare fingers into the colors you finally know the names of. Your old palettes felt like a stranger now.

You paint the seaside.

And then, you paint him.

A man in a red hoodie, hair streaked with white. The background glowing, golden, washed in the seaside light. His beautiful blue eyes looked away.

You saw your soulmate. While he saw someone with paint in her hair.

A tear lands on your canvas before all the paint dries.

part two

[sydwritess]

Poison

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Lando and his friends convince reader to have a nice dinner at readers apartment. When Lando gets stuck at a meeting, his friends and reader play a prank on Lando for when he gets home.

First Person POV

After the Monaco race, Lando's friends wanted to celebrate privately with him. No press. No cameras. Just a nice dinner. I had known his friends for a while now, sure. But never hosted a full on dinner. I was in the middle of prepping dinner when my phone buzzed. I walk over and see that Lando was calling.

"Hey Lan what's up?" I said cheerfully.

"Hey." He said sadly.

"What's wrong?" I said, noticing his tone.

"I have bad news. I got a meeting stuck on me today. I'm going to be late for dinner." He said, fixing the cap on his head.

"It's okay. Do you want to reschedule tonight?" I asked.

"No, no. It will be a lot. I'll just be late is all." He said lowly.

"Okay. Well good luck, do you know how long it will be?"

"Not sure. Maybe and hour tops?"

"Okay. I'll just push cooking back. It's no biggie." I said shrugging.

"Thank you. I will see you home." He said.

"Great. Good luck, love you." I said.

"I love you." He said, then hung up. I went to go put the ingredients back in the fridge seeing how dinner was pushed back. A few minutes later I heard the a knock on the door. I went to open it to see all of the guys standing there.

"Hey. Come on in." I said.

"Hey y/n." Lewis said.

"Hi." George said.

"Y/n." Kimi said cheerfully. All of the guys came in the apartment, and sat at the kitchen table.

"Lando is going to be late. Guess he got stuck at a meeting." I said.

"That's alright. We need to talk to you." Max said. I raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. We were wondering if you wanted to play a prank on him." Charles said, rubbing his hands together with a big smirk.

"Okay. What is it?" I ask.

"Well first we need to know what your cooking." George said.

"I was going to say that mate." Max said, sharply looking at George. George just gave him a glare.

"Hey. Focus." I said, snapping at the two.

"Yes. What are you cooking?" George said again.

"His favorite. Pizza. I said.

"Hmm. Not sure how that will work." Oscar said.

"What?" I asked again.

"We were thinking, maybe when you serve Lando's food tonight, you serve him fish instead of pizza." Carlos said.

"Oh. Wait that's good." I said smirking.

"Yeah. Can you do it?" Kimi asked.

"Since you asked so nicely." I paused. "Were are you going to get fish?" I asked. Lewis then held up a brown paper bag, inside was a piece of haddock.

"We're thinking of breading it. Putting it on a nice plate of lettuce." He said smiling. "Oh yeah, not to mention, it has it's head on and everything. We really want to mess with him." He said slyly.

I cringed a bit inside.

"Yeah. It's kind of hard to do with pizza. That's why were were hoping you were going to make something with breaded chicken or something. So he can eat it." Max smirked.

"Okay I won't torture him that much." I laughed.

"Alright alright, fine." He said, putting his hands in the air. The boys spent the next half an hour playing card games and watching TV, I eventually got started on dinner, everybody was laughing, and having fun.

I started saucing the dough. I made Lando's pizza first which was just a plain cheese.

"Hey what kind of toppings do y'all want?" I shouted to the boys, who were loudly chanting at the card game they played."

"Cheese."

"Pepperoni."

"Cheese."

"Peppers." Different voices said at once.

"How about cheese and pepperoni." I said. I got a bunch of yes's. The group started quieting down now.

"Hey Kimi, you sure you don't want to try pineapple." I smirked, turning around to him.

"Wow, that's an insult to the Italians mate." He said. Everybody laughed. I got to work on the second pizza when Lewis came over to get the fish out of the fridge.

"How are you cooking this?" He asked, holding the bag up.

"I'll probably throw it in the oven so he doesn't get suspicious on why the fryer is out." He nodded.

"Do you need help?" He asked.

"If you want to, you can work on that." I pointed. He nodded and got the breading out. We both got done and put everything in the oven so it would bake. Then we sat at the table.

"What do you think he will say to the dish?" George said.

"God, he'd probably break up with her." Charles said laughing.

"Awe that would be sad actually." Kimi said.

"It's a joke mate." Oscar said.

"You know." I said, breaking into the conversation. "You are literally the sweetest. You always say sorry, you are polite. I've never met such a person." I said, looking at Kimi. His face got red.

"Hey what about me?" Carlos answered.

"You yelled at me one time for "taking your boyfriend" Carlos." I said laughing. He tilted his head while nodding.

"What about me? Am I not?" Max added.

"Maybe. You are a bit snippy." I said.

"Isn't that true." George mumbled.

"What was that?" Max whipped his head to the other end of the table.

"I have no regrets." George said. Max looked sharply at him.

"Hey, you two better behave or I will make you sit right next to each other every time your over." i said, pointing at him.

"Way to go y/n." Charles said laughing. Just then the door opened. Lando walked in, dropping his keys at the side table and walking over.

"Hey Lando." the group answered.

"Everyone." he said, waving, nodding his head slightly. He pulled up a chair next to me and slouched in it.

"What are you doing?" he asked the table.

"Watching y/n parent the children." Oscar said.

"Children?" Lando repeated.

"Yeah children. George and Max just giving off death looks. But it's alright cause she threated to seat them near each other." Kimi laughed. Lando laughed after him.

"What's for dinner. I'm starving." Lando said, placing a hand over his stomach.

"Mate you just ate two hours ago before he left. A whole turkey wrap at that." Carlos said.

"I'm a growing man Carlos." Lando said smiling.

"It's a surprise." I said, answering his previous question.

"Oo, is it pizza!" He exclaimed.

"You'll have to wait." I said. Lewis had started passing out cards to their next game. We all played two rounds before the oven beeped. Signaling that dinner was done.

"I'll be back." I said, putting my deck down.

"I'll come help out." Lewis said, jumping up behind me.

"What are you thinking?" I asked quietly, while Lewis got the fish out.

"Here." he said, going to the fridge. He got out some lettuce leaves, and placed them on a plate. Then he topped it with the fish. I began cutting the pizza, grabbing plates and getting them ready.

"Oo pizza! My favorite!" Lando said excitedly. He then sat up.

"Yes, but you have to close your eyes. I did something special for you." I said smirking.

"As long as I get pizza" He said smiling. He had no idea what was coming. I first served everybody at the table including myself, then went back to the kitchen to get the fish.

"Your eyes closed?" I ask from behind the wall.

"Yup." He said, Lewis nodded, looking at me. I brought the fish out, placed it in front of him and sat next to him.

"Alright, open your eyes." I said slyly.

He opened his eyes and jumped up so quickly. I've never seen him move that fast.

"OH MY GOD! What is that!" He said, panicking like it was a bomb.

"It's your special plate mate." Charles said, hiding his laughter. The whole group was trying not to laugh.

"Mate oh my god! It's got it's head and everything!" Lando yelled.

"It's alright. You just chop it off. Like this." Max said, grabbing a knife and smoothly taking the head off.

"Oh my god! It's poison!" Lando argued.

"It's protein." George laughed out.

"Oh my god! I can't believe you would do such a thing." Lando said, still freaking out. Looking at me. I burst out laughing at him. The whole table did to. He flipped me off jokingly.

"Awe, are you emotional." Oscar teased.

I took the plate away back to the kitchen and got him his pizza.

"Oh my._" he said, looking at me.

"No no no no no!" He yelled as I went to set the plate down.

"What? I questioned. He just walked away, and eventually came back with a sanitize wipe.

"Mate are you serious?" Carlos laughed.

"I don't want fish remnant near my delicious pizza!" Lando said.

"It was a on a plate though." Max said, laughing and eating his pizza.

"It was near it!" Lando argued back. He threw the wipe away and sat down.

"Can't believe you would do such a thing. Teaming up with these idiots." Lando said, looking at me.

"Did we hurt someone's wittle feewings." Carlos teased in a baby voice.

"Yes." Lando said, eating his pizza.

"Your okay, it didn't jump at you. It was dead. On a plate." George said.

"It could've!" Lando said. The table laughed again.

"I can't believe you would team up against me!" He said in a whining tone, looking at me.

"You'll live baby." I said, giving him a quick hug.

"You won't." he said quietly.

"Oh was that a death threat?" I said.

"No-"

"Well, I might just have to cut the breaks on your tires then. Won't I?" I said, smirking.

"Not if i get to it first." He said back.

"You'll cut your own tires?" Lewis said.

"No- It came out wrong." Lando back up.

"Looks like Oscar is going to win the next race. Yeah?" Max teased. The whole table laughed, including Lando.

"Small and harmless prank." I smiled.

"Yes. Let's go with harmless." Lando smiled. We all continued eating, enjoying the night. After dinner we played games, watched TV, everything that concluded a celebratory night. And it was amazing.

Hey loves! Hope you like this one! Comment to be added to the F1 tag list!

[biwitchenergyz]

That Thing Called Love

Chapter 2 of 3: Sweet Death

(Warnings! This work contains references to suicide, period-typical racism and sexism, as well as mentions of the KKK!)

Amongst the hanging herbs and the glittering crystals of your home, loneliness sank into the very air. It had been five days since you kicked Remmick out. Leo wandered between rooms, meowing a call that remained unanswered. 

You didn't cry, although sometimes you felt you would from the sheer loneliness you felt. Annie came by after you missed a market trip, and you couldn't explain your distance or your melancholy. It seemed so silly when confronted by your sister, whose own grief was so much more real than yours. 

“Sun’s gonna set soon,” Annie observed with one hand held out to block the light of the sun from her eyes. Five days ago, you would have settled into Remmy’s room with Leo resting on the bed and your grimoire in your hands. When the sun was gone, you would have opened the shutters and cracked the window for your little crow to feel the breeze.

“Go on home. Nothing good comes out at night.” You remind her. Annie smiles like she's thinking you finally understand her worries, and she kisses your forehead, which brings tears to your eyes. She doesn't see them as she leaves, and you're so thankful she didn't notice it.

Leo lay on the dining table; you watched the pink sunset glow against him. Sitting with your head on your knees, you closed your eyes for a fleeting moment. When you opened them again, it was night.

“I ain’t scared of the dark,” you begin to talk, wondering if Leo will listen like Remmy did. “I love the night and the moon. Why should a creature of the night be any different?” You ask, but Leo doesn't respond; he doesn't even look at you, the damned cat.

“I ain’t never been lonely. I never missed Benny boy or Annie or anybody when I was alone. So why would I miss some silly bird?” Pure frustration filled your tensed muscles. Maybe it was the understanding in his eyes, or the specific little gifts he left you, but for some reason, you felt seen for the first time since your mother passed. 

Even after you tossed him to the curb, he still came back. Never knocking on the door or trying to get your attention, he left gifts instead. Bundles of rosemary on Tuesday and quartz from the river on Wednesday. Thursday, it was a group of colorful rocks. Friday, he left mourning glories, and Saturday, it was a brand new copy of The Conjure Man Dies by Rudolph Fisher. 

Each gift more meaningful than the last. He knew you, not because you willingly told Remmick, but because you bared your soul to Remmy. You hated the feeling of anger, it coursed through you like poison. Remmy was more than a bird; he was a demon of night, and he had willingly deceived you just to learn the most intimate parts of your life and the things you wouldn't even tell your sister.

Tap, Tap, Tap.

Nobody knocked on your door at night or during the day. He didn’t have to knock, not after you had given him a permanent welcome to your home, even though you had done it under false notions. Still, you were glad that he gave you simple respect, so you opened the door.

“I could fix ya’ car.” Remmick’s hair was neater than when you kicked him out. Most importantly, he was clothed. His pale frame was covered by a light blue button-up shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms. Navy blue jeans looked nice on him, so did the belt he cinched around his hips and the suspenders he added purely as an accessory. “I know you ain’t got that boy to fix it no more. Figured it’s the least I can do.”

You laughed, “What would you know about cars?” To be fair, he had a physique similar to Benny and the other town mechanics. Strong frame, not as imposing as the farmers, but just as capable. He didn’t seem as sheepish or timid as he did when you last saw him. There was an ease to the way he leaned against your porch, potentially a facade. 

“Been around since they made 'em. Did some work as a mechanic for a while back in the day.” He shrugged, naturally reminding you that this man was not like you. Though he appeared to be in his late 20s to early 30s, there was something much older in his eyes and his mannerisms—an ancient being masquerading as a boy.

“I’ll let ya’ try. Doesn’t mean you get to come in.” You retort, reminding him that he is a stranger to you. “I ain’t forget what you did and I damn sure haven’t forgiven you.” He nodded slowly as if he was trying to show his understanding. Without turning your back on him, you scurried back inside, locking the door. 

An hour passed, and you weren't even sure if Remmick was still outside. You changed into your white chiffon nightgown before letting Leo out to use the restroom and wander the grounds. Taking a seat on the porch swing, you caught sight of Remmick, suspenders falling from his shoulders and dirt covering his pants. He had found the toolbox you kept in the back seat; it wasn’t yours to keep, truth be told. 

“Figured you’d given up by now,” you hollered from the porch. Remmick would have heard your euphonic voice even if it were mumbled under your breath. His slightly pointed ears perked up, grinning as he sauntered over to the porch. So enraptured with the soft lines of your face, he hadn’t noticed the thin fabric of your nightgown until you were right in front of him.

“Well, I-I couldn't leave ya’ without a car,” his breath hitched at the sight of you, and his words stumbled out clumsily. In truth, he never lustfully considered your body. Even when he climbed into your bed at night, he was obsessed with the honeyed tone of your voice, your sparkling eyes, your soft and rich skin, and the way your curls fell around your face. The curves of your body were unfamiliar to him, but suddenly they were invading his mind.

“Remmick, your drooling.” His blue eyes, pupils blown wide and dark, shot up to your lips. Blood that was not his own rushed to his face and brought a bright red flush to his cheeks and ears. Quickly, he wiped the beady pearls of his saliva away from his chin. It entranced you, reminding you that this man was a predator, animalistic and primal.

“Are you…hungry?” Your eyes searched for Leo, begging him to return so you could go inside. The tabby cat was below you, standing at Remmick's side and brushing against his jeans—a fur-covered traitor.

“Nah. I ate earlier, sugar.” For a minute, his words felt casual, like he ate the same dinner as you, and not the blood of his prey.

“How did you eat the berries and nuts? When you were a crow.” Remmick thought for a moment, not as though he were crafting a lie but more like he was trying to explain. He inched up the stairs, making his way closer to you.

“When I was turned, my creator drained me of all my life's blood.” Remmick began, deliberately closing the distance between you two until he was directly in front of you as you sat on your swing.

“I don’t have blood of my own; that's why I have to take it from others.” You ignored the pang in your heart that came from the grimace on his face. “When I drink blood, it flows through my veins, and for a few hours, it's like being human again. I have a heartbeat, the ability to taste food and all that human shit. Blood powers damn near everything in the body, without it we’re just shells.” He shrugged his shoulders, “At least that's what it’s like for me.”

“It only lasts hours?” You couldn't imagine the misery of not being able to taste all the delicious food in the world. You’d die without Annie's famous fried fish.

“Depends. When you found me, I’d sucked two humans dry, filled my veins for a few days. Without new blood, the old dries up and everything’s useless again.” You expected disgust or hatred to curl in your stomach, but it never came. How could you blame him for surviving when you would probably do the same? You don’t ask for further details, right now you understand enough, and one thing is clear: Remmick did not choose this life.

“So what do ya’ think?” You inquired, slightly nodding towards the red Cadillac. Remmick misses the movement; his eyes are focused on the way your hands curl against your gown. He looked up, examining you from the roots of your hair to your bare feet.

“I like it.” He retorted.

“Talkin’ bout the car, Remmick.” He looks back at the Cadillac.

“Oh, it should be good.  Just needed to adjust the motor.” You nodded along, not understanding the more technical terms he started to use, but it was nice listening to him explain it. Clearly, he knew what he was talking about. He motioned for you to follow him, and reluctantly, you made your way to the car as he started it to confirm it was working properly. 

“Seems good.” You hesitate when he leaves the front seat and stands in front of you. “Suppose we could talk on the porch if you had any groveling or apologizing ya’ wanted to do. ” For an unknown reason, you felt the need to let him explain himself. You didn't regret kicking him out; it was the safest thing to do, but his constant attempts at forgiveness were enough to make you want to hear him out.

The two of you sat together, the porch swing once felt so big when you snuggled into your mother's side, now it felt crowded as if you were practically sitting on Remmick's lap. You didn’t realize the closeness it would bring. If he felt uncomfortable, he didn't say or show it.

Dying to fill the silence, you open your mouth to find words, but Remmick beats you to it. “ I was tryna’ get away from some dangerous people.”  He hesitated, trying to choose the best parts of the story to tell without scaring you away. “They wanted to kill me, but naturally, I deserved it. Not all my kind can shapeshift, you gotta be stronger and older than the rest. I know I'm older than most.” He chuckled, a low and joyless sound.

“Don’t know why I can do it besides, only thing I can turn to is a crow.” Remmick looked off, watching the property line like a spooked animal. Leo bounded back up the stairs and jumped right into Remmick's lap, casually affectionate.

 Absentmindedly, Remmy stroked the cat's fur as though it were the most natural thing to do. His navy blue eyes still examined the forest. You could never keep track of what color they would be next, but you were starting to understand. At his weakest, most human moments, his eyes were naturally blue. Still, you didn't know what to make of the changes.

“Think they shot at me with silver bullets, one must have clipped me because I could only go so far before falling.” Remmick ran a hand along his previously injured shoulder. “Was tryna crawl deeper into the woods. Then you found me, I’m mighty thankful for ya. I woulda’ve died out there.” His strong hand rakes through Leo’s dark fur, and the cat stretches his paws out as he soaks in the attention.

“I was too weak to turn back, but when I got better, I started sneaking out to feed,” Remmick explained everything as if he were teaching you basic English. There was a familiarity between the two of you, despite your eagerness to ignore it. Sitting on the porch together reminded you of late nights with a good friend. 

“Why come back if you were healed? Why’d you leave all those gifts?” You asked, finding the questions easier than asking why he crawled into your bed dressed down to his underwear. He didn't speak for a while. With a Gallic shrug, he let the air go silent. You let him think, listening to the black field crickets and the occasional purr from Leo.

“I thought the gifts were pretty, reminded me of you,” He began slowly, testing the boundary of what you would let him say. “As far as why I came back, I wanted to—never had a pretty girl takin’ care of me. And you're so damned smart; listening to you talk was the highlight of my day. Guess I took a liking to you.”

Brazenly, you tugged at one of his suspenders, trying to get him to look at you. He did so, slowly turning to meet your playful gaze. His eyes appeared glossy, desperate for something in the same way Remmy’s eyes had so often looked. “For what it’s worth, I took a liking to you, too. In crow form, that is.” You pull a soft laugh from him as he places a contemplative finger on his lips. 

“Perhaps, you could like the human side too? If ya’ got to know 'em.” Remmick's voice was unsure, feeble like the first call he made when you found him injured in the woods. Everything you learned was screaming at you to get rid of him. He’d confessed to being a vampire; he was something monstrous, the very creatures Annie had warned you about. 

Still, he was Remmy. The little crow that listened to you attentively and left you gifts that proved you had captured his attention. His presence made you realize you were lonely out here, even though you liked to pretend you weren’t. You wondered if your eyes mirrored the same desperation that his did.

“I could,” You began slowly, torturing the man for fun.“If you were to promise not to hurt me, because if you tried, I’d have to hurt you back, and it’s damned hard to get blood out of clothes.” He nodded vigorously, his eyes wide like you were giving him a gift, something more precious than just your reluctant words.

“Wouldn't hurt ya’. Never even thought of it.” He promised like he had something to prove, like his life was on the line. 

The eagerness he held was strange to you. Nobody had ever craved your attention, even the boys who tried to convince you to marry them were only after the prize of having you on their arm for show.

To them, you were just a pretty girl with a good enough income, but to Remmick, you were something to yearn for. He might kill you, might tear your throat out and leave you drained. His fanged canines promised this, but his eyes told a different story.

“Got work in the morning,” He knew this, he remembered your schedule. “I wouldn’t mind a certain boy coming back tomorrow. Preferably, at sundown. Any later and I might forget he exists.” You stood from the swing, bending down to pull Leo from Remmick’s lap. His eyes trailed the dip of your nightgown, and he swallowed hard when your fingers brushed against his thighs to pick up the sleeping cat.

“I-I’m sure he wouldn't mind that either.” Remick stuttered, lifting one leg over the other in an attempt to hide his lap. You didn’t notice. With Leo securely clutched to your chest, you used your elbow to push the screen door open. Without a goodbye, you closed the door, resting Leo onto the dining table so you could lock the front door. 

Remmick didn't move for nearly an hour. His head fell back against the wall, his long pale neck bared before the moonlight. I’m no child, he reminded himself. I am older than most who walk the earth.  

He couldn't explain the weak feeling in his knees or the way he constantly felt bested by you. The ancient vampire was no stranger to women; he was married once before, and he’d had a history of lovers, human and of his kind. Still, he was a stranger to genuine feelings that did not derive from lust or physical desire. 

Remmick finally leaves, wandering away from your porch desperately trying to figure out the feeling that settles in his chest like an anchor tethering him to you.

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

True to his word, Remmick broke through the tree line just as the sun fell away from the sky. You were back on the porch swing, with Leo lying at your side. The first thing the vampire noticed was the length of your hair, wet from a recent bath and longer than usual. Your scent hit him as he climbed the wooden steps, vanilla and lilies.

“You sittin’ out here waiting for me, sugar?” Try as you might, you couldn’t deny it. You sped home from work, made dinner as fast as you could, and took a long bath in vanilla extract and essential oils. You told yourself you would do it for anyone, just trying to look nice for a friend.

“Might be.” You teased, smoothing the lines of your skirt. His hands traced your movements. The outfit you wore was delicate. He’d seen you in it before, a white sweater-blouse with a high-waisted linen skirt and a black belt, more appropriate than your nightgown, but pretty all the same. Everything looked beautiful on you, he figured it was you who made it so. 

“Where do you go when you ain’t with me?” It was a question you pondered all day.

“Ain’t been in Missippi long enough to start a new life yet. I just came down from North Carolina. Got hurt on my third day in this damn place.” There was humor in his words, like he was used to the odds being stacked against him. “Usually, I find an abandoned home outside the town. Fix it up, get a simple job, and stay for as long as I can before the town notices all the missing folks and that I don’t age like them.”

“Do you make friends?” Remmick tilted his head, similar to the crow’s behavior, and he pondered your question as if it were something so confusing that he’d never thought of it. You imagined it was nice at times, traveling around and being someone new. You also imagined that it got tiring.

“I’ve made a few. Made some of 'em like me. Rare I meet another one of' my kind, but the friends I’ve turned are always with me, and I’m with them.” He tapped the side of his head, showing you where his friends were. “We all travel around, sometimes we meet. I don’t mind being alone, though. Grown accustomed to it.”

“I thought I was, too.” The ‘before you’ hangs heavy in the air. You didn’t mean to voice it aloud, but you couldn't help it.

“What, bout that fiancée of yours…boony?” Remmick asked.

“It’s Benny,” you correct. “I loved him, well enough. I couldn't balance my grieving sister and a needy fiancé, so I called it off. Not sure I would have been happy as his wife.”

Leo hops off the swing, stretching his arms out as Remmick steals his spot. The leg space you had disappears, but before you can throw them over the edge of the swing, Remmick takes the underside of your knees and lifts your legs onto his lap. He doesn't mind the weight on him; in fact, he seems to like it.

 You're stunned for a moment, but you won’t let him get the best of you. Sighing contentedly, you lean back into the porch swing until your thighs lie atop Remmicks, and your head lies on the armrest. You enjoy the way Remmick looks down at you and forces himself to look away.

“Mama always said a woman's duty was to her husband and children.” You watch Leo roll around in the dirt. “Don’t need none of that. She had a husband, and it killed her. She had me, and I couldn't even save her. I've got Leo, maybe he can be my only son.” Remmick laughs with you, a melody forming between the two of you. 

“You’re a good mother. Leo’s nothin’ but fat and happy.” It was nice to have someone who would agree with your little fantasy world, where you didn’t have to marry and your cat could be your son. 

“What about you? Didn’t think I noticed the ring on ya finger? Figure you have a wife and kids somewhere. Little vampires, perhaps?” As you observe him, Remmick gently tugs your skirt back into place, pulling it from where it's slipped up your thighs down to where it's meant to be at your ankles. He places his left hand right above your knee, the hand bearing his golden wedding band.

“Had a wife once. No kids, thankfully. Don’t know if I coulda’ve made it a thousand years as a father to little ones.” You make a mental note of that; he’s older than you originally thought. Still, you relax further into him as he taps his ring finger against your knee. “Liadan, that was my wife's name. Don’t remember what she looks like; it was arranged anyhow. She was a kind girl, didn’t fit well with me. I’ve always been a lil’ wild. Ain’t the proper way to behave.”

“Fuck propriety.” Your laugh startles him; he wasn't expecting it. “The best people aren’t always well behaved.” Danger encourages you to wink at him; you do it without hesitation. It’s funny to watch him squirm, his Adam's apple bobs, you wonder if he's trying not to drool again. You think he might eat you, yet you’re not afraid.

“Benny boy, that’s what the town calls him, he wanted a wife like the bible talks about. He didn’t want no witch and sure didn’t want no sinner.” The moon caresses your face, edging you on as you slip into a more casual way of speaking. “Ben liked me in the sunlight when everything had to be done a certain way. Told me he was gonna keep me from the dark, and it made me feel sick.”

“You’re gorgeous at night.” Remmick bites his tongue, shocked at his own words. “Sure, you're beautiful in the sunlight too, but you're made for this,” he gestures towards the darkness around you, lit only by a pale glow. “Thought you were an angel the night you found me. You were glowing like one, lookin’ like sweet death.”

Speaking like a poet yet refusing to meet your eye, Remmick was glad that he had not fed yet, or else you would have seen a flush on his face and potentially felt him poking against your legs. His thumb brushed the fabric of your skirt, circling the space below your thigh. He bites the soft skin of his lip, hard. Sick delight courses through you, entranced by the sheepish way Remmick avoids your gaze.

“Crows are known to be gift bringers. They like giving shiny things, and they never forget a slight or kindness.” It’s so random, so uniquely you, that he throws his head back and laughs. A real, genuine laugh, showing his fangs and closing his eyes. 

Despite his reaction, you continue, “They hold funerals and mourn their dead. Most importantly, they form bonds; it's not always exclusive, but sometimes, if they are lucky, they find the right one and mate for life.” You’re not sure if he remembers it, but last night he questioned why his second form was a crow. After talking to him, you feel you've figured it out.

“You’re so precious, sugar.” Remmick reaches out to push stray curls out of your face. You flinch back at first, gripping his wrist with your nails until you see the kind light in his dark eyes. From his sculpted jaw to his curved nose, you never paid too much attention to how naturally handsome he is. It’s subtle, but when you notice the curve of his lips and the strength of his neck, you feel compelled to let him do as he pleases. Cautiously, you release his wrist so that he can touch your curls.

 Remmick's thin, shapely eyebrows curl up like he’s in pain, but he smiles all the same. His hand doesn't leave you; he cups your cheek within his palm. You notice that his eyes are dark again, shining obsidian. You reach out to take his hand within your own, but he pulls back. Gently, but rushed, he places your feet back on the porch and stands, moving away from you.

“You've got work in the morning!” He shakes his head like he's waking from a trance. “ Sleep well, Lassie!” You look down at Leo, scratching at the screen door, when you look back up, Remmick is gone.

[redroomreflections]

Jurassic Lovers

Jurassic Park Au! Natasha and Black Fem Reader (just a drabble)

You pushed through the leaves, mosquitoes biting at your ankles, cursing under your breath as you tried to keep up with Natasha's pace. This summer was turning out to be a bummer. You had been forced by your parents to come on this dinosaur expedition on what was supposed to be a cool island. One thing led to another, and you'd somehow been separated from the group, and stuck with your arch nemesis (despite only knowing her for less than two days), you had been walking for what seemed like hours now. You could not believe you were lost.

"This is your fault," you snapped, swatting at your leg. "You said the trail was marked."

Natasha, a few steps ahead, didn't even flinch. "It was. Until you stomped off the path like a spoiled Shetland pony with a trust fund."

You narrowed your eyes at her back. “Wow. You’re so charming when you’re condescending. Must be why you live alone with your fossil collection.”

She stopped then, abruptly, and you bumped into her.

Natasha turned, deadpan. “Better company than a walking liability in five-hundred-dollar boots.”

“They’re vintage,” you hissed, stepping back dramatically. “And this ‘walking liability’ funded half this dig, so maybe try saying thank you instead of acting like a National Geographic reject.”

Natasha’s eyes flicked down to your boots, then up to meet your gaze. She leaned in slightly, smirking.

“Tell you what, princess, if a raptor drags you off, I’ll be sure to catalog your remains with full credit.”

Your breath caught.

“You’re such a bitch,” you muttered.

She smiled wider. “I know.”

"I can find my own way," You grumbled, annoyed. You began to step forward, but Natasha blocked you, one arm raised.

"Stay here," she commanded.

"What? Why?" You attempted to push past her, and she gripped your arm tightly.

“Because,” she hissed, nodding toward the underbrush ahead, “those ‘rocks’ you were about to step on? Not rocks. Nesting site. Velociraptor.”

You blinked. Then looked again.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Natasha echoed mockingly, her voice dripping with exasperation. She was so done with you. “Yes, oh. God, do they even teach basic survival at whatever castle you grew up in?”

You yanked your arm back. “Do they teach people skills in the lab you crawled out of?”

Her jaw ticked, but she said nothing. Just stared at you for a moment, really stared, then turned and muttered, “Follow me. Quietly.”

You hesitated, watching her move with calm precision through the thick underbrush, ponytail swaying, gun clipped to her belt like she actually knew what to do with it.

You sighed. Then followed.

But not without whispering, “Still not saying thank you.”

Natasha didn’t look back. “Didn’t ask for it.”

"You know, I'm sure I could set you up with someone to get all of that tension out," You offered after a beat of silence. "Peace would make you a little more attractive."

"I thought I asked for silence," Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Right. No problem," You nodded.

It lasted all of a minute.

"So do you like girls or guys? I can't really tell your vibe," You motioned to her body. What a nice body it was.

"You don't need to know my sexual preferences," Natasha replied.

"Come on, it's just a question," You pressed.

"No, it's none of your business," Natasha shot back.

"Well, you don't have to be mean about it." You crossed your arms.

"Oh my god," Natasha sighed, turning around.

"What?"

"Just stop. Stop talking. Please. We'll die before we even make it out of here," She turned around, her face red with frustration.

"Well, maybe I wouldn't talk if you were less mean."

"How are you this childish?" Natasha huffed.

"Because," You shrugged. "I am."

"You're unbelievable," Natasha muttered.

"And you haven't been able to stop looking at my tits since I stepped off the plane but I thought I would humor you," You grinned.

Natasha's jaw dropped. "Excuse me? I have not!"

"Have so. But it's alright. I have a great rack."

"Shut up," Natasha turned, her face a lovely shade of crimson.

"Make me."

Natasha froze.

Then she turned back, and she was looking at your lips.

"I'm here for work," She said. "I am not looking to be some conquest or project or whatever the hell you were thinking."

"Who says it has to be a conquest? Maybe I like the thrill of the chase," You smirked, stepping closer.

Natasha eyed you carefully, then took a step closer.

"I can assure you," She murmured, her voice low, "you would not like the chase."

You tilted your head, letting your smirk linger just a second longer. “You sure about that? You seem pretty invested in stopping me.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t move.

“I’m invested in getting us out of this alive,” she said, voice clipped but her gaze lingered, sharp and burning.

You leaned in just enough to blur the line between playful and provoking. “So… no to the tits, but yes to the glaring and territorial arm-grabbing?”

“I was protecting you.”

“I was fine.”

“You were about to walk into a raptor nest.”

“And now you’re blushing.”

Natasha scowled and turned again storming off a few paces but not before you caught the tiniest twitch of a scowl.

You followed, ducking under a low branch. “For someone so committed to staying professional, you sure have a lot of feelings about my rack.”

She stopped again, head tilted in disbelief.

“You’re insufferable.”

You grinned. “But you’re still not walking away.”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

You had won this round.

[solrburst]

shut me up — joel miller x reader

summary: When Joel keeps insisting you should be with someone your age, you decide to teach him a lesson.

warnings: smut (+18), jealous!jackson!joel, but reader knows how to handle him, lots of dirty talk, age gap, a little bratty behavior, soft aftercare, wall sex, orgasm denual/overstimulation, crying (from pleasure), handjob, light degradation (?), making love but it’a filthy

author’s note: i saw this post and i had to do something so tysm @eightestmonth

word count: 3,3k

You weren’t trying to start a fire. Not exactly.

But Joel had been fanning the damn flames for weeks — every time he pulled away after a kiss that went too deep, every time he muttered “you should be with someone your age” like it was a prayer he hoped you’d believe.

You were tired of it. Tired of the way he touched you like you were breakable. Like he was temporary.

So when the community center filled up with music and laughter, when Jackson’s monthly party kicked off and the moon rose high and easy in the sky — you decided to let loose. Just a little.

You wore something nice. Not revealing, not scandalous. But enough to make Joel’s eyes linger when you walked into the room. Enough to make him tense when you drifted toward the small crowd of guys your age huddled by the drinks table, half-laughing, half-staring.

You weren’t doing anything wrong. Just talking. Smiling. Maybe laughing a little too sweetly when one of them said something stupid.

Joel was across the room, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. Watching.

You didn’t need to hear the conversation to know what was going through his head. You saw it in the tight clench of his jaw. The flicker in his eyes. The way his beer stayed untouched in his hand.

He’d said it again just last night — that you deserved “something simple.” Something easy. A boy who hadn’t buried his hands in blood. Someone who didn’t wake up gasping.

Well.

If he wanted to push you away so badly, maybe he needed a reminder of just how badly he wanted to keep you.

You threw a glance over your shoulder. Met his gaze. Held it.

Then you smiled — slow, deliberate — and turned back to the boy in front of you just as your fingers brushed his arm in passing.

And Joel moved.

You didn’t see him cross the room.

One second you were mid-laugh, fingertips still lingering on someone else’s arm — and the next, a familiar hand curled gently but firmly around your waist.

“Evenin’,” Joel said, voice low, steady, and cool as winter steel. He nodded to the group around you, though his eyes never left yours. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

The guys murmured some awkward greetings, backing off like dogs that smelled a bigger wolf. One by one they drifted away, leaving just you and Joel in the warm glow of the lanterns strung across the community hall.

He didn’t say a word at first.

Just took you directly to his place. Of course, you didn’t say anything too. Let him have his moment, right?

But when Joel stops, looking at you like he’s waiting for an apologize or something like that, you smile.

You turned to him slowly, arms crossed. “Something you need, Miller?”

He raised a brow. His hand still rested at your lower back. “Just wonderin’ if you were enjoyin’ yourself.”

You cocked your head, sweet and innocent. “I was. Really nice guys, actually. Young. Smiled a lot.”

His jaw ticked. Just once. “That right?”

“Mmhmm.” You leaned in, eyes locked on his. “No one telling me I should be with someone else.”

Joel’s hand dropped. He took a step back. “I ain’t tellin’ you that ‘cause I don’t want you, baby.”

Baby. You love when he calls you that.

You took a step toward him.

“And yet you keep acting like you don’t,” you whispered.

Joel’s jaw worked, hands flexing at his sides like he was fighting every instinct that told him to grab you and take.

Joel didn’t say a word. Just stared at you — eyes full of heat, of guilt, of longing. His silence said more than any protest ever could.

And you smiled. Slow. Wicked.

You stepped into his space, your chest nearly brushing his. “Tell me to walk away. Right now.”

Instead of that, he moved.

Joel surged forward and kissed you like it was the only way he could stay standing — like your mouth was the answer to every question he'd tried to ignore. His hands gripped your hips tight, pulling you into him, and you could feel the tension in his body — all that self-control finally snapping.

He growled low into the kiss, the sound vibrating against your lips. “You don’t listen worth a damn, do you?”

You smiled, breathless. “Not when you say things you don’t mean.”

His mouth crashed into yours again — harder, rougher this time. Teeth. Tongue. His hands moved lower, grabbing your ass with both palms and grinding your hips against the thick, undeniable press of his cock.

“Fuck,” he breathed, dragging his lips down your throat. “You wear that little dress, flirt with boys who couldn’t make you come if their fuckin’ lives depended on it…”

You let out a breathless laugh — low and dangerous — as your fingers threaded into his hair and tugged.

“Someone sounds jealous,” you murmured, tilting your head back as he bit down just above your collarbone. “Don’t worry, Joel. None of them were offering anything you haven’t been too chicken-shit to give me.”

That made him freeze for half a second — just long enough for you to smile, all teeth and taunt.

And then he snapped.

His grip on your ass tightened, lifting you suddenly. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct as he slammed you back against the nearest wall, knocking the breath out of you.

“Oh, baby,” he growled, voice pure grit, “you just made the biggest fuckin’ mistake of your life.”

“Why?” you gasped, grinning even as your thighs trembled around his hips. “You gonna finally do something about it?”

Joel kissed you again — if you could even call it that. It was filthy, open-mouthed and brutal, his tongue claiming your mouth like he wanted to brand it. One hand shoved up your dress, pushing the fabric to your waist. The other yanked your panties to the side with a strength that made you gasp.

“You wanted me jealous?” he snarled against your lips, cock grinding into your soaked slit. “You wanted to rile me up like this?”

“You’re the one who keeps acting like I’m too young to take it,” you shot back, breath hitching as the head of his cock slipped just barely inside.

He stilled. His voice dropped to a threat.

“You don’t get to tease me and act like you know what the fuck you’re in for.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his. “Try me.”

And then he slammed into you.

You choked on a moan, nails digging into his shoulders as he buried himself to the hilt in one deep, brutal stroke.

“Oh my God—”

“That’s right,” he hissed, hips snapping into you again, relentless. “Say my fuckin’ name.”

“Joel,” you moaned, voice shaking as your back slammed into the wall with every thrust. “Fuck—Joel. You feel so fucking good—so deep—I can feel you in my stomach.”

He growled, head dipping to bite at your neck, sucking hard enough to leave proof.

And you loved it.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, lips brushing his ear, voice a throaty purr.

“You like it when I squeeze you like that?” you gasped. “You feel how my pussy’s choking your cock? Like it knowsyou’re mine?”

Joel let out a guttural sound — almost a warning — and slammed into you harder.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “That mouth’s gonna be the end of me.”

“Mmm,” you smirked, kissing along his jaw, still panting. “You think I flirted with them for fun? No, baby. I was thinking about how I’d come home and let you fuck me so hard I forget every single one of their names.”

His pace stuttered for just a second.

“You gonna let me?” you whispered, licking the shell of his ear. “Let me crawl into bed after this with your cum leaking down my thighs, still aching for another round?”

Joel growled again — feral, desperate — and shifted his hold, pulling you away from the wall without slipping out. He carried you toward the bed, cock still buried in your slick heat.

“You keep talkin’ like that,” he panted, “and I’m not stoppin’ ‘til you can’t fuckin’ walk.”

You grinned, eyes wild, lips kiss-bruised.

Joel dropped you on the bed like he owned it — like he owned you — and didn’t hesitate. He hooked one strong arm under your knee, shoved your leg up over his shoulder, and slammed back inside you with a force that made the bedframe rattle.

“Fuck!” you cried, arching off the mattress.

“No more talkin’,” he growled, pinning your hips down with his free hand. “You had your fun runnin’ that mouth. Now you’re gonna listen.”

He fucked you hard, unrelenting, the angle so deep you could feel every ridge, every vein, dragging inside you with devastating precision. Your moans turned high and frantic, but Joel didn’t slow down.

“You think this pussy belongs to you?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Nah, baby. This pussy’s mine.”

He thrust harder, making the headboard slam against the wall with every snap of his hips.

“You wanna tease me?” Another brutal thrust. “Flirt with boys who couldn’t handle you?” He leaned in, face inches from yours, sweat dripping onto your skin. “Now you’re gonna learn.”

You were gasping, barely coherent now, and he loved it — loved seeing you unravel under him, helpless under the weight of his body and the force of his cock slamming into your soaked heat.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, leaning in so close his chest pressed into yours.

“You’re gonna come when I say,” he growled. “Not before. You hear me?”

You nodded frantically, moaning, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it,” he barked.

“Y-yes, Joel,” you gasped. “I’ll wait — I’ll do whatever you say, just—fuck, please.”

His grin was all teeth, all wolf.

“That’s more like it.”

He pounded into you relentlessly, dragging you right to the edge over and over again. Every time your moans pitched higher, every time your thighs trembled, he’d pull back, keep you dangling — until your whole body was shaking.

“Beg,” he said.

“Joel—please, let me come, I need it—I need you, fuck—”

He leaned in, kissed you hard, then finally gave you what you were begging for — his thrusts brutal, perfect, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing rough, fast circles until your back arched off the bed with a scream.

You shattered under him, legs trembling, nails clawing at the sheets. Your pussy clenched around him so tight it made him curse against your mouth.

But Joel didn’t stop.

He didn’t even slow down.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, still grinding into you, his fingers never leaving your clit. “Thought you were gonna forget their names, baby. That was just round one.”

“Joel—” you gasped, squirming beneath him, your voice breaking on a moan. “Too much—fuck—it’s too—”

He grabbed your jaw, made you look at him.

“No it ain’t,” he rasped. “This body’s mine. I’ll fuck you through every scream.”

You tried to turn your head, overwhelmed, overstimulated — but he wouldn’t let you. His hips kept driving into you, deep and fast, and his thumb circled your clit with just enough pressure to make your thighs quake.

“Look at you,” he breathed. “Takin’ it so good. So fuckin’ perfect wrapped around me.”

Tears welled in your eyes — not from pain, not even from control. Just from the sheer intensity of it. From how much you wanted this, how much you needed to be ruined by him, for him.

And he saw it.

Saw your lashes fluttering, cheeks flushed, lips parted in wrecked moans as the first tear slipped down your cheek.

“Yeah,” he whispered, slowing just a little — but not pulling out. “That’s what I wanted. Cry for me, baby.”

You whimpered, tears spilling freely now as your second orgasm crashed into you like a wave, harder than the first, stealing the air from your lungs.

“Fuck—Joel—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he snapped, burying himself to the hilt and holding there, cock twitching inside your tight, spasming cunt. “You’re cryin’ so pretty, baby. And I ain’t done.”

His hand stroked your hair now — gentler, grounding — but his hips were still rolling slow and deep, dragging every last ripple of your orgasm out of you until your whole body trembled.

Your voice was wrecked, raw. “I want—fuck—want more…”

Joel’s eyes were wild, locked on yours, a mix of pride and possession and dark hunger.

“Yeah?” he rasped. “Then give me one more. Let me watch those eyes flood while you come all over my cock again.”

You barely had time to catch your breath. Your thighs were still trembling, slick and soaked, tears shining in your lashes. And Joel looked down at you like he was starving.

He slipped out of you with a groan, your pussy fluttering around nothing, leaking and pulsing and needing. You whined — high, weak — but he was already dragging you down the bed by your hips, spreading your legs wide, his hands rough and sure.

“Shh,” he said, his voice low, dark, too calm. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You blinked at him, dazed, completely pliant. “Joel, I— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he murmured, dipping between your legs. “Gonna make you come on my tongue this time. You got one more in you, baby. I know you do.”

You gasped as his mouth found you — hot, wet, unrelenting. He licked into you like he owned every part of you, groaning as he tasted the mess he'd made, as if he needed to have it on his tongue, in his throat, claiming you from the inside out.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, hips twitching. “Joel—oh fuck—”

He moaned into your cunt, the sound deep and filthy, like your taste was the only thing keeping him alive. His arms wrapped under your thighs, keeping you wide open, locked in place. And when his tongue flattened over your clit, slow at first, then fast — perfect — your back arched, a sob ripping from your throat.

“You’re already close,” he growled between strokes, voice muffled against your slick. “That little pussy’s fuckin’ beggin’to come for me.”

You nodded wildly, hands in his hair now, tugging, anchoring yourself to anything solid as your body bucked beneath him.

“Say it,” he growled. “Tell me this mouth’s better than any of those boys could ever fuckin’ dream of.”

“Yours,” you cried. “Only you—Joel, I swear—no one’s ever—fuck, please let me come—”

He sucked your clit hard, tongue flicking with purpose, and that was it.

You shattered.

Your whole body tensed, then shook — thighs clamping around his head as you came with a scream, tears slipping free from the sheer force of it. Your hands flew to your face, overwhelmed, sobbing his name like a prayer.

Joel groaned into you, didn’t stop licking, didn’t stop drinking you in until you were shaking, twitching, too sensitive to take another second.

He finally pulled back, jaw slick, eyes wild. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then your hip, then your stomach as he crawled back up your body, covering you with his weight.

You were breathless, wrecked, glowing.

He hovered above you, still hard, cock slick with your arousal and need. His breath was ragged, brow furrowed like he was barely holding on.

“You want more?” he whispered, dragging the tip of his cock along your overstimulated folds, just to watch you twitch. “Want me to fill you up again?”

You shook your head, breathless, your voice just a whisper. “No. Wanna see you. Want you to come for me now.”

Joel’s eyes darkened at that — heat flaring low in his gut.

“Yeah?” he rasped.

You nodded, slipping your hand between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his thick length. He let out a broken groan, hips bucking into your palm.

“Lie back,” you murmured. “Let me watch you fall apart.”

And he did.

Joel leaned back onto his elbows, then let himself fall to the mattress, legs spread, chest heaving, cock flushed and heavy in your hand.

You straddled his thighs, bent over him, and stroked him slow — tight, slick, steady — while your mouth dropped hot, open kisses along his chest, his stomach, right down to the trail of hair that led to where he pulsed in your grip.

“Look at you,” you whispered. “So fucking pretty like this.”

Joel growled — low and wrecked — one hand fisting in the sheets as you pumped him harder, your lips brushing the base of his cock, tongue teasing just enough to make his thighs tense.

“Fuck—baby—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” you breathed, dragging your tongue up the length of him. “Then come for me, Joel. Want you to make a fuckin’ mess.”

He let out a broken cry, hips jerking, and then he came — hard — thick ropes of release striping his stomach, chest, your knuckles. You didn’t stop until he was twitching, groaning, his body slack and spent beneath you.

You kissed your way up his chest, licking a drop from his collarbone, and smiled down at him.

“Messy enough for you?” you teased.

Joel caught your face in his hand and kissed you deep — slow this time. Heavy with want, with gratitude, with everything he’d been too scared to give before tonight.

“More than enough,” he rasped. “But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Joel was still catching his breath when your head dropped against his chest, your lips brushing the sheen of sweat that clung to his skin. His arm came around you instinctively, pulling you into his side, holding you like something precious — like something he’d almost lost.

You felt his hand slide into your hair, gentle now, stroking slowly as your breathing evened out.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The only sounds were your hearts slowing down, the faint creak of the bed under your tangled limbs, and the rustle of the sheets as Joel shifted to kiss your forehead.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice hoarse and quiet.

You nodded, lips curving into a lazy, blissed-out smile. “More than okay.”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound warm, vibrating through his chest. “Didn’t mean to go that hard,” he murmured, brushing his fingers down your back. “You just— Christ, you get me so worked up.”

You tilted your head, looked up at him through tired eyes. “I like when you go a little feral.”

He gave you a look — fond, amused, still a little dazed — and leaned in to kiss you. This time it was soft, lips barely brushing yours, just enough to say I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m not letting go.

“Still think I should be with someone my age?” you whispered, teasing, your voice soft against his mouth.

Joel sighed, hand sliding down to cradle your thigh as he tucked it over his own. “You shut me up pretty damn good, baby.”

You giggled, nestling closer, and he tucked your head under his chin. His other hand found yours between your bodies, fingers lacing together like they’d done it a thousand times before.

“I’m sorry,” he added, quieter now. “For pushin’ you away. For sayin’ that shit. Truth is—I’m scared. You’re… you’re everything. And I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

Your chest ached — not from the sex, but from the way he meant every word.

“You’re not fucking anything up,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “You’re it for me, Joel. Every version of you.”

He squeezed your hand, kissed the top of your head again, and exhaled like a man finally letting himself breathe.

“Then let me take care of you,” he murmured. “In every way.”

And he did.

He cleaned you up carefully, murmuring sweet, sleepy things as he wiped between your thighs, kissing your knees and cheeks and hands. He pulled you under the blankets, wrapped around you like a second skin, and didn’t let go even when sleep pulled you both under.

The boys at the party? Forgotten.

The insecurity? Fading.

What stayed was Joel’s arm around your waist, his breath in your hair, and the quiet, steady promise of this is real. This is yours.

[sluttywonu]

destiny 𝜗𝜚

pairing: nana tour idol!woozi x f!reader

theme: smut MDNI

synopsis: not thrilled to be on this trip in the first place, his mood changes running into you again.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: below the cut

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warnings: pwp, alcohol mentioned (wine), p in v, unprotected sex (pls don’t), oral (f rec), big tease woozi, love bite (just one), woozi muscles mentioned WOOOO, lmk if i missed anything??

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after completing the tour, the last thing the members expected was to be woken up at the ass crack of dawn and taken to italy…

sure. sounds great! who wouldn’t want a vacation? except… they’re working. the entire time.

cameras everywhere, vlog segments, competitions and even a talent show in the itinerary.

woozi works hard.

he works tirelessly to make sure seventeens music is the best around and with the announcement of a new album dropping when they return from italy, he doesn’t have much time to ‘relax.’

when they arrived, all the members were thrilled, ready for this trip even if it meant they had to hold a camera or wake up early to do some shoots. despite how exhausted he is, woozi decided he’ll make the most of it.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

when they arrived into italy it was late. jet lag wasn’t helping. while it was 8 pm in italy, it was 3 am in korea. not being able to sleep on the plane, woozi, along with half the members, were exhausted but na pd wanted to get some shots from tonight… couldn’t just have an episode all about the travel with no italy content, right?

they went to visit the rome coliseum and my word, it was beautiful. but after taking a few pictures, he decided he was finished for the evening, taking a seat on the curb beside jun. jun had a camera and was vlogging his point of view, the other members were excitedly talking about the site and history in front of them but woozi just really wanted to go to bed.

he sighed, pushed his long black hair out of his forehead and stood up. “you okay?” jun asked. woozi nodded, putting his hands in his pockets, “yeah. i’m just gonna take a walk. i’ll be back.”

jun nodded and watched as woozi slowly started to venture around the backside of the coliseum.

back here was much more quiet. just a few groups of people taking pictures and a few couples walking while holding hands.

a sweet sound voice behind him made him stop and turn around. “excuse me!” you called. “hi, sorry to bother you. could you take a few pictures for me?”

woozi smiled and agreed, taking a few pictures on your phone and waited for you to check them to see if they were to your liking.

he was handsome. you liked his longer black hair and stockier build— his muscles so prominent even under his t-shirt. your eyes weren’t shy as you took him in to be honest.

after reviewing the pictures, you thanked him and was ready to part your ways with him for the evening.

given his introverted nature, he offered you another smile and put his hands back into his pocket. “have a good night…” your words trailed off. “oh, um. jihoon. my friends call me woozi.” your smile put knots in his stomach. “y/n. nice to meet you, woozi.”

and with that, you left.

he sighed, tossing his head back in annoyance thinking he should’ve just said something to you… he is here for work after all. probably wouldn’t have much time anyways, he thought.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

the next day the members were busy all afternoon filming games to try and decide their activity for tomorrow before they were heading out to the wine festival in town. most of the members were excited but woozi doesn’t drink. he rolled his eyes hearing the activity planned for tonight but will make the most of it.

once inside the festival, all the members pretty much split up. woozi went along with jeonghan and hoshi, keeping close by as they started to drink some wine.

hoshi and jeonghan are busy talking about the wine, holding up the camera to film their reactions while woozi stayed on the opposite end, really avoiding the camera for right now.

“woozi?”

he looked over his shoulder then turned around with a smile, “y/n, hi!” jeonghan and hoshi were for sure raising an eyebrow at you two but chose to keep their mouth shut for now.

you noticed the lack of beverage in woozi’s hand, “haven’t found any wine you like yet?”

“i don’t normally drink..” you blinked at him for a moment. “then what are you doing here?”

good question, really.

“i’m sure one glass won’t kill you, wooz.” jeonghan smirked, draping his arm over the younger shoulder. “i’ll get a glass or two. walk with me?” you bit you lip and nodded, following close with him while jeonghan smirked.

woozi only had a few glasses but he really warmed up quickly, talking to you more comfortably.

you two were talking about your adventures so far of everything you’ve done in italy, hobbies and other basic ‘get to know’ statements and you realized you really like him. he was a simple guy, exactly what you needed.

after his last glass was empty, he let out a small laugh, “i think i overdid it a bit.” “you okay? do you need water?”

he shook his head no, pulling his phone out, “no, i think i just want to go back to the airbnb for a bit before everybody returns. you wanna come with me?”

normally you wouldn’t even think to head back with a man you’ve just met in a foreign country but something about woozi made you feel safe. his gentle demeanor put the thought at ease.

“sure, only if it’s okay with your friends..”

“they’ll be gone a while. it’ll be fine.”

gathering your things, he lead you through the crown with his hand on the small of your back, making sure to keep you close.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

you and woozi made it back to the airbnb, a smile on his face walking through the empty home— happy it’s just you two right now.

he gave you a quick tour before leading you two outside, his hands still caressing your body lightly.

“i’m having a good time tonight.” he smiled. you pushed yourself more into his frame, “i am too. i’m glad i was able to see you again~”

you looked up at him, stars in your eyes. you looked so pretty to him. without warning, he pressed his lips to yours.

you widened your eyes, not expecting it but welcomed it nonetheless, quickly melting into it. his hands held your waist as if you were going to disappear any second, keeping you close and pulling you so your chest was pressed against his.

he pulled away briefly, trying to gauge your reaction but you kissed him again, gripping on to his shirt to almost ground yourself.

the kiss deepened, growing rougher as the time passed, both of you getting lost into one another.

he kissed from your lips to your jaw then to your neck, small gasps leaving you while you clung to his shirt with desperation.

“jihoon— fuck.”

he smiled against your neck, grazing his teeth over the skin to tease you. “wanna head inside?”

you nodded quickly, not caring how pathetic you came across.

“hold on.” he requested, holding onto your ass for leverage while he picked you up in his frame, putting those large muscles to good use. you held him close, wrapping your arms and legs around him as he quickly made his way to one of the bedrooms. was it even his? who knows. he doesn’t care at this point.

laying you on the bed, he caged you under him, resuming the heated kiss. your hands went to the bottom hem of his shirt, toying with it in a way to silently tell him you want it off. he got the hint, pulling away from you only to rip it off his frame, allowing you to get a good look at his toned frame.

my god, was he built. you had an idea— seeing the ridges of his muscles under the tight athletic shirt he wore when you two had met.

he softly laughed seeing you gawk, a blush creeping up your neck.

he now removed his shorts, leaving himself in just his briefs that left very little to the imagination— prominent outline visible through the thin material. your mouth watered.

he took a seat against the headboard, nodding you over while he palmed himself. you were quick to move across the bed to his lap, already pressing yourself into his growing length while his hands went back to your ass.

you took it upon yourself to remove your shirt, making his lick his lips at your chest before reaching around and helping you undo your bra. what a gentleman :)

he hungrily kissed your lips then down your body to your breasts, massaging one while taking the other in his mouth, swirling his tongue over your sensitive nipple. he looked up at you, meeting your eyes and the sight had you clenching around nothing. you pushed your hips more onto him, making him groan into your chest and making his grip tighter.

hel pulled off, replacing his mouth with his other hand and looked back up at you, eyes dark with desire and pupils blown.

“lay down for me.”

rolling off of him, you laid on your back and he quickly went back to caging you under him, slotting one of his legs between yours. your mind went crazy— his large, muscular thigh lightly pressing into your middle while his tongue explored your mouth your hands found purchase in his long hair, small whimpers flooding into his mouth during this heavy kiss.

he kissed down your jaw to your chest, down your stomach to the waistline of your shorts. you lifted your hips, allowing him to remove them from you. when you were bare for him, his eyes raked over your body savoring every detail of you, trying to commit it to memory.

“shit.. you look so good, baby. can i eat you out? get you ready to take me?”

you nodded quickly, spreading your legs apart for him. his hand slid down your waist to your middle, teasing you with a few light touches to your clit. you squirmed, a soft whimper leaving you, “ji.. don’t tease.. please.”

he made his way between your legs, kissing your thighs and lower stomach but not where you want him most. “why not? we’re just getting started, baby.”

you whined, reaching for his hair to tangle your fingers into it.

“plus, you sound so pretty when you whine~” he smirked against the plush skin of your thigh.

you tugged his hair a bit, looking down at him with desperation in your gaze that made his cock ache behind his briefs.

still holding your gaze, he planted a kiss to your clit, then another before giving it a little teasing kitten-like lick. finally getting some relief, you groaned, tugging his hair in your hand. he groaned in response and that urged him to finally give you what you wanted, licking up your slit with another groan.

focusing on your clit, he pushed his two middle fingers into you, only pushing you to grab his hair harder. you were moaning his name like a prayer, back arching off the bed as he brings you closer to your sweet release.

he could tell you were close, the way your body hugged tight on his fingers, moans growing louder by the second. “s-so close!” without a word, he sped his fingers up quicker, pushing you into your orgasm.

he helped you ride it out, slowly fucking you with his fingers until it was too much then pulled them out to lick them clean.

when you down from high, you blinked down at woozi, seeing he was now naked and between your legs. he raised an eyebrow and you nodded, signaling you were ready for him.

he ran the tip of his length through your folds to slick himself up then pushed in, biting his bottom lip while his hands found your waist. he was cursing under his breath feeling just how tight you hugged him… he was in heaven.

woozi moved his slowly at first, really dragging out each thrust while his tip hit your sweet spot. “fuck, y/n.. you feel so good.” he groaned, making you clench around him at the praise.

he watched where you two were meeting, tugging your body to help you meet his thrusts. all you could do was moan and reach for his bicep to ground yourself.

loving the feeling of your hands on his body, he slid his hands up your body and leaned down to cage you under his body yet again. you loved it. his lips connected back to yours while your hands found his hair again, this time at the nape of his neck. he groaned against your lips, thrusting so quickly into you, you felt like you could break in half. your orgasm was approaching and woozi wasn’t too far behind you.

he kissed down your jaw to your neck, leaving sloppy open mouth kisses in your hot skin. “w-woozi, gonna.. cum!” you whimpered out loudly. “cum for me, baby. wanna hear how good you sound.” he replied into your neck before grazing his teeth against the skin and beginning to leave a dark mark. the way you skin throbbed hot was enough to trigger your orgasm, squeezing your legs tight around woozi and a loud cry leaving you. god, did he make you feel so good.

after you came down from the orgasm, he chased his high, thrusts becoming sloppy yet pointe, really relishing on the way your pussy hugged him and fluttered through your high.

a few more thrusts and he came keep inside of you, your name leaving his lips. he stalled his hips and went back to kissing you, this time deeper and more passionately causing butterflies in your stomach. you smiled against his lips, giggling when you felt him smile back.

he pulled out of you and quickly cleaned you up before pulling you close to him, letting out a blissful sigh against your hair.

you two could’ve drifted off to sleep, he wouldn’t have cared but, he didn’t want to subject you to dealing with his members or management so after a quick cuddle session, you two got dressed and left the airbnb, you agreeing for him to talk you to your hotel.

on the walk, he grabbed your hand. “thank you for today, it was fun!!” you said with a smile that he reciprocated. “mhm, of course, baby. hey, do you think i could see you again before i leave?”

you nodded and smiled bright, “absolutely.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

after he got your number and dropped you off, he finally checked his phone and seeing a slew of messages from hoshi.

hoshi: we’re about to head back to the airbnb are you done

hoshi: jk we can’t find joshua

hoshi: ok now we’re on our way

woozi: i just walked her to her hotel now, im headed back myself

hoshi: nice

hoshi: was she good?

woozi: …

woozi: i’m not having this conversation with you

hoshi: i’m just saying, she was really cute

hoshi: if it doesn’t work out with you two… send her my way

woozi: absolutely not

woozi: id like to see her again before we go back to korea

hoshi: fine. sharing maybe? 👀

woozi thought about it for a single second, a smirk on his face at the idea.

woozi: maybe. we’ll talk later.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

a/n: i’m a massive, firm believer of hard dom woozi, it just didn’t feel right with the scene i set so i redid the entire smut 😭 oh well. hoshi next? hxw crumbs?

[cloudedangels]

Extended Leave ♡ (PT 2) 18+

Read Part One ♡

▪︎ Fem!Caleb x Fem!Reader ▪︎ AU ▪︎ 18+ No minors pls ▪︎ inspired by this drabble I wrote on my other acc ▪︎ 2,293 words

fic playlist 🎧

She heard you last night. You know. She knows you know that she knows. You wake up without her. Something's gone missing. But she's not going to mention it. It's like she's waiting for you to snap or maybe she's wanting you forget...

Tags/cws: fem!Caleb, fem!reader, AU, pilot!caleb, childhood friends to whatever this is, slow burn, domestic intimacy, teen years flashback, soft butch x soft femme, mutual pining, unspoken feelings, quiet yearning, hurt/comfort, fluff?, tension and tenderness, soft dom!Caleb, sapphic romance, military leave, found family, period comfort, implied masturbation, repressed desire, emotional intimacy, subtle possessiveness, soft angst, slice of life, bed sharing, love languages (acts of service), fem!caleb the panty bandit, she's a perv of the highest degree—understand and expect it, fem!caleb barely hiding the level of her obsession–for now >;), she's a lowkey yandere

The next morning, when you wake up, the first thing you notice is the emptiness in the right side of your bed. You grab your phone to see that it's eleven in the morning, and you already got one of Caleb's classic texts half an hour ago. Your heart skips as you open it.

you usually don't wake up before noon, so i will be back then

but if you do, don't freak out! i just went to the gym and the store.

i'll be back all sweaty and with gifts (／▽＼)♪

also laundry is already done and in folded into your drawers

pls close ur conditioner if u shower again (｀_´メ)

♡ jie jie ♡

You let out a breathy laugh at her messages. So she's not going to talk about last night again? It only takes a small scroll upwards to see her messages from the night before and your cheeks grow exponentially hotter.

Let me help next time. (≡・x・≡)

Classic Caleb. She'll tease you like this and then disappear. Act like nothing even happened. It's the same way she acted after the first time she kissed you.

☆☆☆☆☆

You were 14. She was 16. You'd gone with her to this party one of her friends from the varsity girls’ basketball team was having. She said you were too serious. Needed to learn to have more fun. You didn't play sports, but you went to every one of Caleb's games and eventually everyone knew you as Caleb's yes-girl and cheerleader, a title you wore with pride. You'd been saying how she never let you into her cool-girl world. So she brought you along.

Your crush was there. The lanky guy from the JV boys’ team. You were lab partners and he was relatively nice in class, nice to look at too—that was all a crush needed, you thought. When a group announced they'd be playing a frankenmesh of truth or dare and spin the bottle, you looked over longingly. Caleb took one look at you, you looked up at her, and in a split second she grabbed your hand and pulled you over with the rest of them.

“C’mon I'll go with you, if you want to do it we'll do it together.”

JV boy went first and your breath stopped when the bottle stopped at you, like a movie. You felt Caleb tense next to you. There was a short yet suspended moment between, where you wondered: would he kiss you, pick a truth or a dare?

Then he made a face. A disgusted face to be precise. But he leaned in anyway, with no time for you to process and kissed you before wiping his lips and muttering “gross”. You weren't even thinking as you got up and ran out through the back porch's screen door, tears singing in the corner of your eyes, Caleb trailing behind you.

“Mei mei, wait up!”

Your back was against the side of the house, your chest heaving up and down as tears you were trying to suck back in streamed down your face. The November air was too cool against your skin and it made you shiver.

Caleb appeared in front of you almost instantly, hands on either of your shoulders begging you to look at her.

“Hey, look at me, pipsqueak, that guy's nothing, you hear me? Boys are dumb—you can't let that get to you. He was probably trying to impress some other bitch, don't think about it too deep.”

None of that cheered you up, you started crying harder. She grabbed your face then. Two hands on either cheek forcing you to look at her. Her shoulder-length hair shaggy and brushing the tops of her shoulders.

“Close your eyes for me. Don't open until I say so, alright?”

You sniffled out a snot-nosed okay and closed them, confused at what she was trying to do. You felt the sleeves of her varsity jacket wipe your gross face, the sudden weight of it as she placed it over your shoulders. Felt her kiss on your temple. Then, like it was meant to happen, you felt her lips, soft and careful, on yours. Your heart almost stuttered its way out through your throat and your eyes flew open. As fast as it happened it was over.

“That was just so you’d know what it should feel like. Okay? You don't deserve to feel like that."

When you blinked at her, dumbfounded and a little confused, she shrugged it off.

“Don’t make it weird. I just wanted you to know. You can keep that jacket if you want. It looks better in you anyway, and it's cold, mei mei."

Then just like that, she grabbed your hand and she drove you back to her grandmother's house. Like the party never mattered anyway.

She never brought it up again, but she was gone in the morning. Texted you that she had to take care of something, came back in the early afternoon, and asked to watch a movie with you. The next day in class, your lab partner came back with two black eyes, a split lip, a refusal to tell anyone how he got them, and an inability to look you in the eyes. But you knew.

☆☆☆☆☆

You sit up and rub the heels of your palms into your eyes and will yourself to get out of bed.

“God, I hate her.” You don't. There's clothes laid out on the end of your bed, for after your shower you guess. A pair of jean shorts and a cute blue t-shirt. Looking at it the thought almost passes before you catch it.

‘The shirt's the same shade as—’ Your face goes hot again. You look in the drawers where she said she put your laundry. It's all so neat, reorganized, and color-coded. That's what makes it obvious. The sky-blue panties from last night aren't there. You run to your bathroom and check the laundry basket, your heart rate erratic and impossibly warm in the face. Nothing. It's empty.

You think about her hands touching them, you think of her laying in bed while you struggled to muffle your moans in your late night shower. You think of her texts.

trying to make me crazy…

let me help you….

“Fuck, Caleb. What are you doing to me?” You whisper out loud. Barely loud enough to even hear yourself. You brush your teeth and splash as much cold water as you can onto your face before walking into the kitchen. It's strange without her here, telling you to eat some elaborate curated-just-for-you meal. The air conditioner and the refrigerator hum as if to replace the sound of her shuffling around in her absence.

You open the fridge and the first thing you notice is a glass Tupperware with a sticky note on top.

I made you these ⚡️reheat 22 seconds if you're hungry ⚡️

rice is in rice cooker. should be warm!

♡, C xx

There's two badly drawn cats on it that make you laugh because they're obviously supposed to be the two of you.

Soy eggs!~ You don't bother warming them up but you eat them cold with chopsticks eating rice directly out of the rice cooker. ‘How does she manage to be everywhere at once?’ You wonder, but the food is so good it's hard to care.

You catch a glance at her unopened duffel on the couch. You could open it, see if… if what? If she took your underwear and put them in her duffel bag? You shake your head, and instead put her hoodie on. She left it lying on the back of the couch, and as you pull it over your head you notice that it smells good. Like her. Like her muscle balm and lavender deodorant, mixed with your body wash. You sneak an inhale, pulling it to your nose and telling yourself it's nothing.

But it smells so good…

You startle at the sound of an opening door. It's exactly 11:50, and Caleb's walking in. Shiny and strong, with bags and more bags in both of her arms.

“You're up early, pips. Trying to impress me?”

She's already zooming through the kitchen plugging items in their place, barely acting like you're even there. You clear your throat.

“Um… Thank you for cooking, the eggs were really good.”

You sound like a much smaller version of yourself than you mean to. She whips around and you get your first bagless look at her. She's glistening with sweat, sports bra and basketball shorts, her abs shiny and washboard-impressive. She's got the laziest smirk on her face. She walks over to you swiping a little pink gift bag off of the counter.

She leans in too close to you with one hand flat on the countertop and the other dangling the bag above you. She's so close you could… oh god. Even her sweat smells intoxicating and confusing.

“Of course I cooked for you, who would I be if I let you starve in a cold bed?” She coos low and saturated, still too close.

“I got you something.”

She dangles the bag just a bit too high for you to grab. You reach for it and she pulls it higher.

“Ah ah ah!~ Nope. You have to promise not to open it until the next time I go out, mmkay?”

“You're a sadist.” You mumble.

“Ah yes, a sadist who waits on you hand n foot, there are plenty of those…”

You stick your tongue out as if it's easy to be this silly with her chest and her bicep in your face.

“Ugh fine, you bossy bitch,” you retort. It comes out sharper than you meant for it to but she just grins even wider regardless.

“Woof.” She hands you the bag then.

There's a frozen moment. She's looking at you like it's a dare. You look in her violet eyes and you can't help but wonder what she's seeing. You feel like a cornered prey animal, and your eyes flick across her face. Eyes, lips, eyes again. You still can't read her expression. There's something underneath it, that you know. But what? You look away and turn to take the bag when she grabs you by the wrist and whips you around.

“Didn’t know ovulation was hitting you that hard, mei mei.”

“Keep looking at me like that and I’d think you wanted me.~”

Your jaw falls slack in… shock? Yes, shock.

“I-I'm not—”

She scoffs, her hands still gripping your wrist almost too tight.

“You definitely are, but whatever. I'll take those red cheeks as a compliment.”

“You're... intense, Caleb.” You practically whisper it.

“Tell me I'm wrong, then,” she challenges.

There's another frozen moment before you yank away your arm and shake your hand out, nervously blurting the words, “You're sweaty. You should shower.”

She bursts out laughing at that. “Not before I get my sweaty… preshower…. hugggg.”

Your face lights as she starts to open her arms, and you quickly put down the gift bag and dodge to the other side of the counter. “Gross!”

And suddenly you're kids again. She's chasing you in circles around the kitchen, long arms and grabby hands. You run almost too fast, half-tripping over your own bare feet when you barrel towards the bedroom and hop onto the bed as she chases you.

The two of you are wrestling like you did when you were kids and she'd say, "Kicking is CHEATING, mei mei!” And you would say, “Not when you're stronger, you ANIMAL!”

And here you are, giggling with a pillow between you and your feet in defence mode, as she's squealing and laughing with you. Eventually you feel yourself getting tired, a losing fight.

And just like that, with just that little bit of give, in your second of catching your breath, she's got you. Pinned under her, then wrapped tight in her arms, then spun around. You're on top of her, trapped in her iron embrace with her lying beneath you. Your face is buried in her chest. You stop laughing before she does, her giggles shaking through her, through you.

She rests her chin at the top of your head, her grip loosening a bit as you feel her inhale. You take that opportunity to get more comfortable and look at her, squirming a little to get into a better position. Her head buries into your neck.

She hums. “You smell good, pips.”

“N-no, it's probably your hoodie, I haven't showered yet, either. I didn't know when you'd be back and… I didn't want to use up the hot water.”

Her laugh sounds… pleased. “Hmm, so we're both gross. I’d almost think you wanted to shower with me, then.”

You don't have time to cover up your gasp before she's flipped you over and gotten up. She's already headed towards the door with you on the bed. Her back is towards you as she walks out, and her shorts have ridden down a bit—enough for you to see it—an unmistakable band of sky-blue lace.

She whips her head back in that sly, charming way of hers before she leaves the room.

“I’ll be quick. Don’t sweat.”

She heads into the shower, leaving you on the bed. You're flushed, aching, and unsure if you’re more or less sane than when she walked in earlier. You press your palms to your cheeks... as if it’ll cool the flush that hasn’t gone away since she walked in. You can still smell her on the hoodie you're wearing. You can still feel her… not on your skin, but underneath it, spreading herself into places you’ve tried to keep safe. But what from? How?

Tags 🏷: @chewbrry @grlpartdoll @jetterdonna

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series lmk in comments or reblogs! (Must have age in bio)

[scoupsakakitty]

Close Enough to Burn | idol!Wooyoung x idol!Reader | angst, fluff, slightly seductive

The beat was pulsing low in the walls of the KQ practice studio the kind of beat that stayed in your bones even after the song stopped. Y/N let her hand fall from her ponytail as she checked her reflection in the wall-length mirror. The new hairstylist, Minjae, had just tied it up for her again after dance practice, fixing the flyaways that kept slipping out.

“I swear,” Minjae said with a teasing grin, “this hair of yours has a mind of its own.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a soft laugh. “Maybe it just doesn’t like you touching it so much.”

“Oh?” he grinned, mock-offended. “Now that hurts.”

From the corner of the room, someone else was watching.

Wooyoung stood by the door, arms crossed, his black hoodie half unzipped over his tank top. His eyes were sharp, locked on Y/N’s reflection. He hadn’t said a word since walking in ten minutes ago. Not even when she greeted him.

Y/N’s gaze met his in the mirror. Her smile flickered for a second - just long enough for Minjae to notice.

“You okay?” Minjae asked, following her line of sight. “Oh. Wooyoung-ssi.”

Wooyoung pushed off the wall and walked into the studio like he owned it - like the floor belonged to him and the air needed his permission to stay still.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly, turning to him.

He didn’t answer her. His eyes lingered on her hair - freshly fixed - then flicked to Minjae. “You always this touchy with everyone’s hair, or is it just her?”

Minjae blinked. “It’s kind of my job, Wooyoung-ssi. Styling hair.”

“I noticed,” he said flatly. “You seem to really enjoy it.”

Y/N’s mouth parted slightly. “Wooyoung—”

But he wasn’t done. “You’re new, right? Minjae, was it?”

“Yes,” Minjae said cautiously. “First month here.”

“Interesting,” Wooyoung muttered. “You got comfortable fast.”

“Wooyoung,” Y/N said sharply this time. “Can we talk? Alone.”

Minjae, reading the air instantly, gave a tight smile. “I’ll go prep things for tomorrow’s schedule. Y/N, I’ll see you later?”

She nodded. “Thanks for today.”

Once the door shut behind him, silence stretched like a blade between them.

Y/N turned back to Wooyoung, arms crossed now, matching his stance. “What the hell was that?”

His eyes didn’t flinch. “That was me watching my girlfriend get her hair played with for twenty minutes while she giggled like he was auditioning for her attention.”

She stepped closer. “So you’re jealous.”

“Damn right I am,” he snapped. “Are you even surprised?”

“Jealousy doesn’t look great when it makes you rude to staff,” she shot back, voice tight.

“And letting some guy half your group age play with your hair like you’re in a drama does look great?”

“That’s not fair,” she said, her voice softening. “He’s nice. That’s all.”

Wooyoung gave a bitter laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, nice. With really friendly hands.”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment. Then, without a word, she walked to the speaker and pressed play. The music filled the room again - soft, mid-tempo, the song they had both once danced to together during her trainee days.

He frowned. “What are you doing?”

She walked back to him slowly, deliberately, step by step. “If you have something to say, say it. But don’t stand there like you’re some broken-hearted second lead in a drama.”

Wooyoung scoffed. “I’m not broken-hearted.”

“You’re acting like it.”

She stopped right in front of him, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath.

“I’m with you, Wooyoung,” she said, firm and low. “You. Not him.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Then why does it look like you’re enjoying his attention?”

“Because I’m friendly,” she said, stepping even closer. “But I never look at him the way I look at you. And you know it.”

He looked at her now - really looked. And damn it, she was right. Her eyes didn’t wander. Her smile was still only his. And even when she was mad, her heart didn’t move.

Still, his voice came out hoarse. “I hate the way he looks at you.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Then remind me who I belong to.”

He didn’t need another invitation.

Wooyoung didn’t say anything for a second.

His eyes were locked on hers, stormy and unreadable. The music thumped low in the background, and every breath between them felt thick - like the air had to squeeze through the heat building in the room.

“You want me to remind you?” he said slowly, voice deeper now, lower.

Y/N didn’t back away. “I want you to stop acting like I’m going to run the second someone looks at me.”

His jaw clenched. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

She raised a brow. “So what? Every time I talk to a guy, this is how it’s gonna be? You barge into the studio, glare at him like he committed a crime, and then throw shade because he touched my hair?”

He moved before she finished the sentence.

Not harsh. Not angry. Just urgent. Needy.

Wooyoung closed the space between them in a second, hand sliding around her waist, the other coming up to cup the side of her neck. His forehead touched hers.

“You don’t get it,” he breathed.

“Then help me understand,” she whispered back, chest rising and falling.

“I’ve waited for someone like you for years, Y/N,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “And now that I have you, every time I see someone else trying to get close, it’s like… it’s like I can’t breathe.”

Her hands moved up to his hoodie, fingers curling in the fabric. “I don’t want anyone else to get close.”

“But they do, don’t they?” His voice dropped again. “He was standing close enough to you earlier that I couldn’t tell where you ended and he started.”

Y/N’s heart thudded hard, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she reached up and ran a hand through his hair - the same way Minjae had brushed hers. Soft. Close.

“You think I’d let anyone near me like this if I didn’t feel safe?” she said.

Wooyoung closed his eyes for a moment. Her touch melted something in him.

“Then why do I feel like I’m constantly competing for something that’s already mine?”

She pulled him even closer. “Because you’re scared. Just like me.”

His eyes opened. Dark, sharp, vulnerable.

“I’m not scared of you leaving,” he said.

She looked up at him. “Then what?”

“I’m scared of losing myself in you,” he admitted. “Because when I see you laugh like that, or when you walk past me with your hair tied back and your skin glowing from practice… I forget everything else.”

Y/N blinked. That was the kind of confession no one expected from a guy like him. Not on stage, not off stage. But that was what made it real.

“You already lost yourself in me, Wooyoung,” she said softly. “And I’m right there with you.”

His lips parted slightly.

She took a step back, slow and teasing, fingers slipping from his hoodie. “If you really want to remind me who I belong to…”

She nodded toward the mirror. Toward the floor. Toward the studio.

“Then show me.”

His smirk came back - slow, crooked, dangerous.

“You want me to dance it out?” he asked.

Y/N grinned. “I want you to fight for me.”

He didn’t hesitate.

The song changed. He walked to the speaker, tapped through the playlist, and picked something darker. A sharp beat. Closer to the kind of song they both trained with - something that made the air feel electric.

And then: he turned around and moved.

Each step was precise. Confident. Fluid like water but dangerous like fire.

Y/N watched - mesmerized - as Wooyoung poured his feelings into every hit, every body roll, every snap of his head. He danced like she was the only one watching. Like the jealousy, the tension, the claiming was all being told with movement.

And then he reached for her hand.

“Come here,” he said.

She stepped forward, matching his rhythm instantly. It wasn’t choreographed - but it was instinct. Their bodies remembered each other. The push, the pull, the unspoken language between them.

His hand slid around her waist. She turned into him, chest to chest. They danced like tension - fast and close, almost too close. When she spun out, his hand caught hers, pulling her right back.

At one point, he backed her up slowly toward the mirror. Her spine hit the glass.

His palm rested flat next to her head.

“Still feel like talking about Minjae?” he whispered, eyes burning.

She smirked. “Minjae who?”

He chuckled - low and breathy. And then he kissed her.

Not sweet. Not careful. Possessive. The kind of kiss that said I see you, I know you, you’re mine.

When they finally pulled apart, he pressed his forehead to hers again.

“You’re not allowed to laugh like that around other guys anymore,” he said.

“And you’re not allowed to ignore me for ten minutes when you’re jealous,” she shot back.

“Deal,” he muttered. “Now come here.”

His lips ghosted against hers again, softer this time. Less anger, more want. The kind of want that lingered even when the fight was over - slow, magnetic, impossible to ignore.

Y/N breathed in against his mouth. “So this is what jealousy tastes like?”

He smirked. “No. This is what you taste like.”

His fingers slid down her arms - deliberately slow - until they found her hips. His thumbs pressed into her waist, firm but never forceful, like he was grounding himself there.

Her hands settled on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the black hoodie. “You know we’re in a studio, right? With glass windows.”

“Let them watch,” he muttered, leaning down again. “I’m not hiding how much I want you anymore.”

His lips brushed her jawline, trailing lower. Not rushed - deliberate. The kind of touch that spoke louder than anything he said earlier. His hands moved behind her, sliding under her oversized practice tee just enough to rest against the warm skin of her lower back.

Y/N inhaled sharply. “Wooyoung—”

“You’re mine,” he whispered against her neck. “And if someone forgets that… I’ll remind them.”

Her breath hitched, pulse wild. She tilted her head just enough to whisper near his ear, “Then do it properly.”

That snapped something in him.

He turned her gently - but firmly - pressing her back against the mirror once more. His hands braced on either side of her head as he leaned in, nose brushing hers.

“You always challenge me like this,” he said, breath hot, lips barely touching.

“Only because I know you can handle it,” she said, voice steady.

He smiled. “You’re dangerous.”

“And you’re obsessed,” she whispered.

He kissed her again - slower this time. With more depth, more emotion. Less fire, more want. The kind of kiss that didn’t just claim - it promised.

By the time they finally pulled apart, their foreheads were pressed together again, their breaths tangled like threads.

“Come back with me,” he said suddenly.

She blinked. “To your dorm?”

“No,” he said. “To mine. My room.”

She raised a brow. “You serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said. “I’ll order ramen. You’ll steal my hoodie. We’ll lie on the couch, and you’ll tell me about every scene that plays in your head when you smile at nothing.”

Y/N bit her lip, touched. “You want the soft version of me after all that?”

Wooyoung smiled - and this time, it wasn’t cocky or jealous or teasing.

It was warm. Real.

“I want every version of you.”

⸻

Later That Night…

She curled up next to him on the couch, in his hoodie — exactly like he said. Her makeup was wiped off. Her hair was down. No mirrors, no tension, no stage. Just her. Just him.

He pulled the blanket over them, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

“You’re so much more than I deserve,” he whispered.

She looked up at him. “You’re exactly what I needed.”

Silence fell. The good kind. The kind that felt like peace.

“I’ll fight the whole staff team if I have to,” he said suddenly.

She laughed, hitting his chest. “You idiot.”

His arms tightened around her. “But I’d still let them do your hair. As long as I get to do this.”

He kissed her temple. Her jaw. Her nose. And finally, her lips.

This time, it wasn’t fire.

It was home.

[n0t-evenhere]

I got it! I finally figured it out, I see the pattern! Okay so, the issue that my ask box is having is the format of the ask! That’s why it’s happening to some and not others! It’s when askers number the questions and the questions go over 6! Anything over 6 questions messes up the formatting. Hahaha! It’s a pattern! So from now on, just make sure to be mindful. I hate to ask again and I’m sorry for making you put more work into the asks but, if you asked me something and you numbered it and the question wasn’t answered, ask again. 🥰 thank you for the patients!

Moving on from that, I have more HEADCANONS some special summertime ones too!

-man is a breakfast skipper, not on purpose entirely. It’s more of a wake up, get the day started and drink coffee to wake up but then it’s already time to go by the time he’s ready for breakfast. He doesn’t wake up hungry to start. However, this could be easily changed. If you live together with him, he may take more initiative to eat breakfast because he’s making breakfast for two. Moreover, it’s possible that you put in the effort to make breakfast and coffee. He’ll happily partake in your cooking.

-Despite him not often eating breakfast, he is a HUNGRY man. With how much energy he uses and burns up, I guarantee he eats three times as much as you do. So imagine, you guys go to a Chinese buffet for a nice dinner. He’s eaten four platefuls and you only ate one or two. He’s getting all kinds of looks like, “how do you keep that figure?!” And he pays that no mind. Adding on, he’s got good table manners so, doesn talk with his mouth full or anything of the sort. Worst he might do is have elbows on the table.

-he may even be a snacker, he keeps it healthy as much as possible with fruits and veggies. He certainly has the means for all the food he eats.

-Ray absolutely is full of knowledge about the food groups and how much a person should eat, what percentage is grains, protein, etc. he’s a real stickler about it too when it comes to you. He's making sure you eat what you need to stay healthy, drink plenty of water and all the things to keep you alive.

-Ray is one of those types of dudes that if it’s late, and you decided to watch a movie, five minutes in his head his back eyes closed, snoring. You have to flick him or jab him in the ribs to wake him up if you are fully wanting him to watch the movie. So, best start early. Unless it’s a marathon, he’ll try better to stay awake.

-takes special care of his teeth, not just because it’s required he is a hygienic kind of person. Good showers, washing face, that kind of thing.

-speaking of teeth, he’s got those sharp canines. Like Luke Evan’s teeth. Sharp….attractive….dare I say hot. A habit he formed as a sort of self soothing was running his tongue along those sharp teethers, maybe even a little bit of chewing on the lip.

Summer time headcanons! ☀️ 🍉

-When it comes to watermelon, he is an avid hunter for the perfect watermelon. He checks all the boxes, which ones are sweet, which one is watery and which one is ripe. He’s good at it too! He prefers his watermelon sweet I think, slicing the watermelon is an art for him. Shapes, and little fun things.

-Ray does NOT tan at first, he burns. He gets crispy. 😂 he’ll be red for three days and then tan for two days. It’s a slow tanning process. The redness turns to a tan which looks nice on him.

-if swimming in public, he definitely wears those long sleeved swimsuit tops with a zipper, for bottoms, he’ll wear swimming trunks and might just have athletic wear underneath. Breathable. Easy and covering. If the swimming is more in a secluded environment than he’ll do without the shirt and athletic wear. You know what, not a hair on that chest. Clean look for pictures and what not. However, wholeheartedly believe he does get a happy trail sometimes cause the sexappeal for that is good. You best believe that the NAHA dyes it too.😂 blonde. They are fickle, they might have it shaved too.

-For a man who wears sweaters during the heated weather, I just know this man goes through deodorant left and right. Uses the strong stuff too just to make sure he’s not too sweaty.

-love to go swimsuit shopping with you. He’ll be honest about how each looks on you. “Mmm, not your best color.” Or “looks nice but I think we can do better.” He’ll just sit there in the dressing room with you. It’s like a fashion show! His personal summer fashion show staring you.

Ever draw your art and wish you could just…consume it! Like you pause and your like, what have I done? This is delightful. I could eat it.

No color sketch. Color sketch

[maukree]

Masterpost with all parts

Heyyyyy, I’m back. Again.

Did you miss me? Don’t answer that, I’m fragile.

Anyway, I just posted Chapter 5 of my increasingly 616-obsessive winteriron fic (you know, the one that this recap was meant to be for and all, not that it got away from me or anything), and it suddenly hit me that I may have jumped the gun there a tiny bit in terms of canon context.

Oops.

So here I am, crawling back into this super short (ha. HA.) recap series to catch up with my own fic timeline before anyone starts shaking receipts at me in the comments. And yes, I’m painfully aware that my very fancy, very curated, very aesthetically pleasing cover art doesn’t actually list half the comics I’ve ended up referencing in these posts, but we’re still on track: from when Bucky pops into the 616 continuity just before Civil War, through all the post-Civil War fallout, and heading straight toward Fear Itself.

Yes, other events are going to pop up in between. No, I’m not updating my Photoshop files to reflect that. Just squint, pretend it’s all intentional, and move on.

Now, as for this specific part, if you read this, you’ll find out:

What happens to Tony as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

What happens to Bucky while Tony mostly flails under the weight of the world's dumbest job offer.

That there are some intersections between them, but this is canon, folks, and, sadly, they both spend time banging people completely wrong for them (just my opinion, calm down).

Still, this is the part where, if you make it to the end, you’ll finally know how the hell Tony ends up deleting his own brain after the Secret Invasion—because he’s just that dramatic—and who he sends the only backup to. It’s Bucky. Sorry, I just knew the suspense would be killing you.

Quick reminder: we left off Part 3 with Tony handing Bucky Steve’s shield, Bucky agreeing (somehow??) to let Tony mess around with his brain, and both of them pretending this was totally normal behavior and not the fandom equivalent of swapping promise rings.

Anyhow, let’s go.

Holy shit, you clicked again. What’s wrong with you? Kidding, please stay.

So… Tony has finished emotionally decimating the superhero community via Civil War, and also just had his sexy little moment with Bucky in Captain America (2004–2011).

I might repeat myself a bit here, but I’ll at least try to keep it only to the relevant shit you came here for. (Lies. I will likely repeat myself a lot here, because only a crazy person would re-read their own ramblings to see where I actually stopped. And I will very likely add a ton of completely irrelevant information and too many bad jokes, but if you are reading part 4, you might be sorta into it, so that’s your problem, not mine.) 

We are roughly over in Invincible Iron Man Vol. 4 (2004–2007), around Issue #15, where Tony bullshits himself into thinking he’s ready to lead. Despite the fact that he’s been freshly dumped by his entire friend group and is still grieving his dead boyfriend who asked him—in writing, to make it legal and binding or something—to take care of his very stabby former possibly-love.

This stretch of comics in general is fascinating because it’s less about the suit and more about Tony vs. The System, which is hilarious when you remember he is the system now. He’s balancing national security, superhuman politics, his own guilt, and the absolute circus that is post-Civil War America. I mean, you might love him, you might hate him, and he did make a spectacular mess of things in Civil War, but the man’s trying, okay? And the art is really nice. 

Invincible Iron Man (Vol. 4) #15–18: The Initiative 

This tiny arc is mostly foreshadowing and starts off Tony’s tenure as Director with exactly the kind of subtlety you’d expect from him: by pissing off everyone. Especially Dum Dum Dugan, who, as I’ve mentioned before, is around, is very ginger, has a very impressive mustache that deserves its own comic book run, and has some very strong opinions.

So, let’s talk about Dugan for a second. Because my man is not having it. Tony rolls into S.H.I.E.L.D. with his futurist swagger, immediately starts running it like a Stark Industries satellite office, replaces a beloved cook named Cookie (rip legend, we never knew you, but your name lives on) with a private chef, and suddenly—for completely no reason at all, honestly—Dugan's looking one fabulous lunch away from full mutiny.

I mean… he kind of has a point? From the very beginning, as soon as he takes the job, Tony is so hands-on as Director that it's a miracle anyone else at S.H.I.E.L.D. has anything to do. He’s micromanaging ops and personally suiting up to punch bioweapons, which is, arguably, super effective, but also very infuriating for hardened pros. I kinda agree with Dugan here in a sense that Tony’s behavior is giving the entire agency, who already has deeply repressed authority issues from Fury, too many reasons to call Tony both daddy and their emergency field response unit.

But don’t worry, Sal Kennedy is here to try and convince Dugan that Tony’s fit for the job. If you were around for Part 1 of this totally useless recap series, you’ll remember (or not, I don't remember if I told you about him) Sal from Extremis—Tony’s chill tech philosopher BFF who wears sandals on government property and speaks exclusively like a walking TED Talk. He is ride-or-die Team Tony, which we respect, and Sal spends most of Issue #15 trying to convince Dugan that installing childcare on the Helicarrier is a boss move (it is) and that Tony isn’t an actual threat to the republic (debatable). He’s the only person besides Jarvis who talks to Tony like a human being, which, of course, means he is absolutely doomed.

More on that in a minute.

Meanwhile, over in the “Should’ve Stayed in Jail” department, Maya Hansen is still around. Remember her from Extremis, where she invented nightmare fuel, emotionally manipulated Tony, got him nearly killed, and then helped him inject that nightmare fuel into his bloodstream? Good times.

So, yeah. This gal. Unofficially working on Extremis for Tony, officially killing Tony’s chances of having a normal relationship for the foreseeable future, and vibe-check failing in every panel. She and Tony have that tragic pseudo-ex energy that won’t fucking die already, mostly because she keeps hanging around long enough to remind us she still exists.

And Tony, poor bastard, is just trying to get to the part where he can start obsessing over Bucky in peace—but no. Maya is here with her Extremis research and suspicious side-deal offers behind Tony’s back because everyone in this comic is after Extremis like it’s a completed, no archive warnings applies, slow burn, good smut on AO3.

Also, yes, in case you’re wondering who’s looming in the background all mysterious and villainous—since there’s always one of those per series—it’s The Mandarin. Yay? Different from the MCU, for sure, and you don’t know that yet in these issues, but I do, and now you do, and I’m telling you this man will haunt Tony’s entire run like the yoga-practicing demon asshat he is. He doesn’t do much here at the beginning aside from loom and look ominous and flex his yoga poses, occasionally making me confuse him with Sal (’cause both could use a haircut), but…

Anyway.

By the time we hit Issue #18 and Initiative wraps up Tony’s intro to being Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., things go from “shaky office politics” to “oh no, Tony’s having a trauma spiral again.” 

Sal dies. 

And it is gnarly. It’s really gross, people, and it leaves Tony absolutely gutted and flashing back to a few folks he’s recently lost, starting with Steve.

Thankfully, this is not a Captain America comic book, and reminiscing about dead friends is more of a Steve move, so the writers of the Iron Man comic book promptly decided that this specific moment could wait and instead gave us an epic naked scene to round this arc off—for which I am willing to forever visit comic book shops on Wednesdays and buy so many I am running out of storage space, hoping for another naked Tony scene.

That. Yeah. Tony takes off his clothes and uses the power of being hot, upset, and nearly dead to defeat an Extremis-inspired biotech weapon. It’s symbolic. It’s sweaty. And yes, I will be including those panels.

This arc ends with Maya, the sweet summer traitor that she is, taking that shady offer and wandering off to go work for the Mandarin. Seriously. Get Bucky on the phone. Or someone else on the phone. Because this isn’t the person Tony should be banging, okay?

At this point, it should be painfully clear that the only person Tony should be entangled with in the 616—or any continuity—is either:

A) A traumatized assassin with a metal arm and an obsessive lip-licking habit

B) A traumatized, mouthy, currently unemployed and on-the-run photographer who goes by Spider-Man

C) Okay, fine, a guy who used to have a shield, but is currently dead, so not dealing with trauma, lucky him

Unfortunately, Peter is busy dealing with his own angst in New Avengers, Steve is, in fact, still dead, and Bucky is somewhere punching fascists and feeling feelings off-panel—which brings us to a small detour to discuss World War Hulk, because I briefly mentioned it in my fic, which I will continue aggressively plugging because it’s Tumblr and nothing is free in this life except maybe actual fanfiction.

Invincible Iron Man (Vol. 4) #19–20: World War Hulk 

Ah yes. The event where Marvel looked at the most damaged and in need of a break heroes and said, “Want to be punched in the face?” And Tony, being Tony, said: Sure, I’ll go first. Make sure to hit hard.

A while ago, Tony and his big-brain boyband—also known as the Illuminati, or, as I like to call them, powerful assholes with terrible ideas—decided it would be a genius move to yeet Bruce Banner into space. For reasons, obviously. Because he was too unstable, dangerous, big green feelings, etc., and because nobody in that group has ever heard of successful therapy.

Naturally, Hulk comes back from space with an army, a lot of rage, a spaceship (well, you kinda need one to come back from space, but it’s a cool spaceship), and a very short, extremely pointed “Puny humans, I’m gonna wreck your shit” speech.

This is an actual Marvel event, but in issues #19–20, we stay tight on Tony’s perspective, while others, presumably, have their own tragedy happening. Since I read this event in full donkeys ago and don’t feel like doing it again just yet, here is a basic recap as it pertains to Tony.

Tony is spiraling hard. He feels genuinely awful about what they did. But guilt doesn't stop him from immediately dusting off the Hulkbuster armor to fly straight into Hulk’s fist, since 616 is peak martyr Tony. This is “let me throw my body at a problem because I deserve it and maybe also it’ll prove something to Steve, who’s still dead and everyone would not shut up about it, and Bucky, who’s probably watching” energy. It’s so Tony. And if by now you are at the very least not interested just a little in reading 616 comic books, idk what I’m doing wrong here.

Anyhow, Maria Hill and Dugan, who were skeptical at first, are fully Team Tony by this point. They’re trying to stop him from the full-on confrontation by reminding him they have protocols, but Tony always needs to suffer because he hates himself a little, so suffer he does, and he absolutely does not win. 

In fact, Avengers Tower gets leveled, which is deeply rude to all the fic writers who imagined Bucky moving into that specific version someday. Tony gets captured, but still looks great while doing that, assuming you’re into him being all chained up and in a lot of trouble. Panels included for all interested in that dynamic, you perverts. But I am not deleting those screenshots from my phone, so you are not alone. Isn’t that nice?

The actual World War Hulk is pretty fun, and a lot of shit does get wrecked, but Tony isn’t the one to save the day. It all boils down to the very shirt-ripping showdown between two of the most overpowered boys Marvel has ever created: Hulk vs. Sentry. And yes, if you’re here just after the new Thunderbolts movie, it’s that Sentry. Our boy with sad eyes and weird slippers—Bob.

I’m not gonna spoil anything about Bob (much), but 616 is different from the MCU, so don’t worry too much, I guess? The point is, both of them go full God Mode, and for a few glorious panels it’s “trauma vs. trauma,” gamma rage vs. unstable sun-god energy, and absolutely no one wins except the artists who got to draw it and readers who forked out $3.99 per issue for it.

In summary: this is a cool event, Tony gets his beatdown, gets humbled once again, and the city gets a facelift. I wasn’t yet a winteriron shipper when I read WWH, so I actually do not remember what the hell happened to Bucky during this event, but there are no Captain America issues that cover it, so… possibly not much? I assume he punches things. 

On a completely unrelated side-note (but also kind of important because I can’t stop thinking about it):

The second I mentioned Sentry, my brain—filthy thing that it is—flashed me straight back to that one issue of Mighty Avengers that ran during the same timeline as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and I had to cackle when I remembered Tony got turned into a girl, and the first thing he did as soon as he came to after it was over was check that all of his body parts were still there.

Like. No “is my heart okay,” no “do I still have functioning lungs,” just straight to “do I still have my Stark Industries, patent-pending, nanotech-augmented dick.” Iconic. (I’m kidding about it being augmented, btw—that man has big dick energy, we all know it.)

And no, I am not recapping Mighty Avengers fully here, unless I have to. Because if I do that, I’d have to go back and cover New Avengers properly, and that’s no longer a recap—that’s me writing a wiki.

Just sort of assume that there are many other issues, adventures, and semi-shippy shit happening at the same time as the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. We nod, acknowledge, giggle at Tony pawing at his boy-parts in front of his new team (Bucky excluded for the moment), and, yes, move on.

Invincible Iron Man (Vol. 4) #21–28: Haunted 

In this arc, Tony is just trying to do his job, save the world, maybe cry in peace over Steve’s memory, and instead gets absolutely steamrolled by the government, by biotech horror, by Maya “Poor decision making is my thing” Hansen, and, finally, by Mandarin.

It’s important to remember that during his time as Director, Tony is doing the best he can under impossible circumstances. And by “impossible,” I mean: the government is always on his ass, Norman Osborn is also on his ass, Norman Osborn is also just... an ass, and Tony can’t stop losing people.

This lovely eight-issue arc begins with Tony getting mindfucked on his own balcony by hallucinating Steve standing there looking all blond and tragic and judgmental, which is extra delicious for Stony shippers—especially since this is a very tender hallucination moment that hurts in all the right ways. But if you’re here in winteriron goggles, Bucky is currently wearing the stars and stripes, and if Tony saw someone in that somewhat similar suit and had a flash of “Steve?”, there’s a very real chance his brain could've hiccupped and whispered “Bucky?” first.

Anyway. Real Steve is still dead at this point (ish), so hallucination Steve disappears, and Tony is left spiraling. Again.

Then he gets… mindfucked. Also again—this time by Maya, when he’s told she’s dead. Maya, in her defense, doesn’t know she’s being accidentally evil, which is kind of her brand at this point: smart-stupid. She possibly thinks she’s helping humanity but is really just aiding Mandarin who is doing Extremis experiments on kidnapped humans and superheroes in a very evil-looking lab.

Tony, upon learning all this, reacts the way anyone in his position would: by launching an actual investigation. The government, in turn, puts him on probation, and if there’s one thing this arc reinforces, it’s that no one appreciates Tony unless he’s saving the world shirtless and bleeding.

Maya eventually does discover she’s being evil, but still manages to nearly cause a full extinction-level event, since Mandarin’s very classic plan is to unleash Extremis on the world, knowing full well only a tiny percentage of people (Tony included) can survive it.

You’d figure that instead of trying to make it more difficult for him, the government would back off—but instead, Tony gets collared with a device that dampens his Extremis connection, has to use his clunky old Iron Man suit, gets blamed, blocked, and nearly blown up. Which is where it builds to a massive showdown between Tony and Mandarin that includes a lot of sci-fi body horror, Maya yelling science things too late to be helpful, Tony nearly dying, Tony mutilating his own body to rip off the collar and reconnect with Extremis (ugh, that was very ick), and Tony saving 99.9% (or something) of the planet while bleeding out.

It’s pretty epic. It’s horrifying. It’s kind of hot in a very unwell way. And yes, I recommend reading it. At the end of all this, the same government that was just about to fire him suddenly goes, “Oh wait—you’re a hero,” and lets him keep his job.

It’s, obviously, a very squished recap of what actually happens, but do you want me to write up in detail Tony having to slice off his own heel to save the world? Nah, I didn’t think so.

Bucky’s not around in these issues, but he’s wearing the suit, carrying the shield, and probably somewhere hearing the news about Tony almost dying again. Personally, I like to imagine him muttering something like “idiot” under his breath while lowkey loading a sniper rifle labeled “In case of Osborn.”

Invincible Iron Man (Vol. 4) #29–32: With Iron Hands 

So, these four issues are technically the final arc of the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. era in this run (unless you count some stuff about War Machine doing War Machine things)—even though Tony keeps clinging to the Director title like it’s an unhealthy relationship (which it is) through the beginning of the next series. Honestly, the timeline is a bit of a mess (classic Marvel), and the next run kinda starts before this one fully ends, but for all narrative purposes: this is where Invincible Iron Man Vol. 4 drops the mic. Gently. Into a crater. While on fire.

You’d think, after everything Tony’s been through—bio-horror of Extremis, Maya-related betrayal, his support system and friends dropping dead all around him, government gaslighting—they’d give him a proper send-off. But no. Then again, maybe it’s perfectly fitting that this run closes out with two separate murder plots, a mini-nuke or two, and literally everyone and their mother acting like Tony on purpose handcrafted their personal trauma in a Stark Industries lab.

The arc is about Tony winning (barely) yet another fight, but also looking like he desperately needs a nap, a decent lay (you know with whom), and five minutes where someone isn’t trying to lecture, blame, or explode him. This arc also has two villains—sorta—because, heaven forbid Tony gets a single uninterrupted crisis. Bad Guy #1 is a former friend turned nuclear hobbyist, since in Marvel, failed friendships don’t simply end in blocked numbers. Bad Guy #2 is a salty ex–S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist-slash-weapons designer who is so terminally offended by Tony’s brilliance that he hijacks a superweapon just to scream “NOTICE ME, SENPAI.”

To the shock of no one—and please tell me you are seeing the pattern here—Tony nearly dies while trying to sacrifice himself.

I could walk you through the whole plot—the plans, the explosions, the monologuing—but it’s frankly boilerplate Evil Genius 101. The real meat of this arc is in the ending, where Tony takes the win and the guilt in equal measure. Broods. Reflects. Self-flags. Stares off into the distance while flashbacking to everyone he’s ever failed and—no, this time fully dressed.

If you’re feeling MCU nostalgia, this is “I remember all of them” mood before the Russos gave that line to Bucky for drama purposes (panel included). This is OG 616 Tony Stark, kinda constipated when it comes to expressing his feelings but fully aware of every ghost he carries around in his tortured Gucci luggage.

Depending on who you ask in the 616 fandom, Tony from this era—with Civil War and all—is either a fascist, a martyr, an idiot genius with bad boundaries, or just a problematic fave with better hair than everyone else.

I say he’s a man doing his fucking best.

Yes, I’m biased. Yes, my "I Heart Tony" goggles are welded to my skull. But this run makes it very clear that Tony always believes he’s doing the right thing—or at least the best possible thing when everything is already falling apart, and the best possible thing is, okay, occasionally, a still pretty shitty choice. And unlike a lot of other superheroes who love to grandstand and sulk from rooftops, Tony actually steps up every time and doesn’t run away from hurt. And, boy, do comic book writers love to hurt him.

616 Tony is wildly flawed, emotionally repressed, and so bad at self-care it makes fanfic-level angst look tame, but he always shows up for people—whether they want his help or not. He tries, even when he knows that his past choices made it impossible for some to even say thank you. Could be why S.H.I.E.L.D.—for a hot second here—actually respects him at the end of this run. Sure, he’s a control-freak boss if there ever was one, but they don’t just tolerate Tony; they believe in him because he never asks his people to do shit he isn’t willing to do himself. And yeah, that belief is going to implode spectacularly the minute we step into the next run and Tony helps to level the whole organization, but shhh. That’s future drama.

We’ll get there.

Okay. So we’ve been elbows-deep in Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. for a while now, and at this point, you might be reasonably screaming: “What the hell is Bucky doing during all this, and please don’t tell me he’s off-panel polishing a gun?”

Well. I'm glad you asked.

It’s time to treat ourselves to Captain America (2004–2011) and catch up with our favorite murder-angel-turned-America’s Sweetheart boytoy.

And yes, before this gets more confusing—let me for the tenth time shout it loud and clear for those in the back: comic book series all happen at the same time, simultaneously, in parallel but out of order, written by four different caffeine-guzzling writers on a gazillion separate timelines. 

It’s a fact, no matter how sad, that it’s logical to suspect they don’t even read too much into the issues that do not relate to them directly. And while the guys who wrote Tony’s run didn’t think to include Bucky (we deserved at least one rooftop scene with heavy breathing and unresolved sexual tension), the guys who wrote Bucky’s Cap run did include Tony, because they clearly know he can’t resist orbiting drama that isn’t his.

Quick refresher: this picks up right after Bucky officially steps into the Captain America role, courtesy of Tony, who is secretly funding and outfitting him like it’s his side hustle. Of course, Tony lies about all this to his government bosses because honesty is not for people who are just after meeting the love of their life.

At this point, Bucky’s already thrown a few punches in the suit, decided he’s definitely not Steve, and fully committed to his own personal combat aesthetic: gun in one hand, shield in the other, a lot of fucks suddently left to give. This man is perfect, and his main bad guy to deal with is Red Skull who is lurking in the background like a racist cockroach. 

Sharon is still around (we love her), but girl is having a time. She’s pregnant with Steve’s baby, which is already a lot, was the one to kill him (oh, honey, I know brainwashing ain’t fun), and she’s also currently being mindfucked by Red Skull, which is somehow the least of her problems. Last we saw her, she faceplanted over a mysterious sci-fi tube in an evil lair she’s currently hanging out in, inside said tube finding someone who looks suspiciously like her dead baby daddy.

Captain America (Vol. 5) #37–#42: The Death of Captain America Act 3: The Man Who Bought America

This arc is super packed. Not plot-wise (meh), but emotionally, sexually, and with more sweaty men in tight costumes than a single arc should be legally allowed to contain, and this is me saying it.

Things get rolling with Tony trying to explain to Sam (Falcon) that his whole “I gave Bucky a shield, lied to my bosses, and started secretly outfitting him like a blushing sugar daddy” thing isn’t what it looks like. 

Sam’s not buying it, and neither are we, because let’s be honest: this smells strongly of love at first sight. That shield was not handed off platonically, okay? You don’t break protocol for just any guy with cheekbones and a murder record, and nobody can convince me otherwise. You can, of course, try, but when was the last time you won an argument on the internet?

Right.

Anyhow, Sam, who is hanging out with both unregistered heroes and Tony because he’s a good guy like that, is very unofficially—but also very emotionally—asked to “keep an eye” on Bucky. Aw. Again, that’s either babysitting, low-key stalking on Tony’s part, or the 616 equivalent of “he needs someone who isn’t me to make sure he eats.”

As for the actual plot, yeah, yeah, evil guys are trying to install their own president via independent candidate blah blah political corruption blah, but who the fuck cares when the shippy content is this loaded? 

Such as: Clint shows up at Bucky’s place while Bucky’s sweaty and angsty (arrrr), and they proceed to have a feelings-heavy pow-wow about what it means to wear the suit and be Cap and carry that legacy and—yeah. Winterhawk is practically canon-adjacent, tbh, and the sparks are flyyyying as Clint and Bucky have their first interaction in this timeline.

This is where we pivot to Sharon, who’s still being held hostage in Red Skull’s lair of awful and finally stumbles into a tube containing... someone who looks a hell of a lot like Steve. But… sadly not Steve. Clone Steve, since this collective trauma lasagna clearly needed more layers. So, back in evil plot town, the bad guys are still pushing their off-brand evil president, but now with a combo pack of cloned Steve they’re trying to pass off as Captain America. If you’re a little confused, we’re in this together. Let’s just assume the bad guys think this is a cool, normal, stable plan.

Some things do progress, such as: Bucky going head-to-head with evil Clone-Steve in a mutual homoerotic recognition; Sharon getting into a bit of a fight with Red Skull’s demented daughter Sin (who Bucky fucked up a few issues back); and Sam saving Bucky from falling to his death (allegedly—Bucky probably had a backup plan, but sure, let’s give Sam his moment). Bucky and Sam then set off on a shady-motel road trip to track down the clone, who sorta escapes.

I am going to repeat this again:

Sam. Bucky. Bucky and Sam. Go on a road trip that includes very shady motels, and while we are not explicitly told they’re sharing a bed, I only see one, and this was giving off so many gay vibes that Marvel editorial immediately had to send in Nat to join them before folks got the wrong idea.

On a more serious note, by the end of this arc, Sharon finally gets saved by the good guys, but loses the baby she also now doesn’t remember ever being pregnant with, which is heartbreaking. She also gets kinda fired for it, and I am not sure I am with Tony on how he handled that particular HR dispute. Sin is to blame for the baby loss, which was sorta easy to see coming and gutting to read about, and I assume was added in so we have one more reason to hate her annoying AF character. 

Bucky, of course, performs like an absolute beast under pressure, wins hearts and minds, and everyone stops side-eyeing the New Cap—though he’s still technically illegally running around as far as Tony’s official stance is concerned.

And the end of this arc—because Marvel giveth and Marvel taketh away—has Bucky celebrate by starting a cozy little hetero-flavored romance with Natasha, which I personally choose to ignore in favor of yelling “winteriron supremacy” all over Tumblr when I’m not busy yelling about winterspider, starker, or, occasionally, winterhawk. 

And while I think Anthony Mackie is one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever had the privilege to water-damage my keyboard over from excessive drooling, I am honestly blanking on what the Bucky/Sam ship is even called, which should give you all you need to know about how much I care about it. I will, however, be fair and keep my own eye for any shippy Sambucky (looked it up, are you people serious with that name?) panels.

The clone doesn’t die, btw—he’s still around and cracked crazy—but a few bad guys do get what’s coming to them. Just not the main cast. Obviously.

Captain America (Vol. 5) #43–#48: Time’s Arrow Arc & Old Friends and Enemies Arc

Okay, I’m not gonna lie—by this point in the reading order, I’m running out of steam, out of chill, and possibly out of character limit. So consider this a speed recap of the two arcs that are very much worth reading, where Bucky is doing some extra brooding, Natasha is being very bendy and helpful, and I am rapidly losing patience because Secret Invasion is coming and so is the Tony-deletes-his-brain moment we’ve all been thirstily waiting for.

But first, here’s what matters for these two arcs—which really should’ve just been one, because they both deal with the same issue, technically. The big mood for this stretch of time is: Bucky has trauma (shocking), Nat has abs (glorious), and Bucky is having some trouble sleeping. Which is unfortunate for him but also possibly unfortunate for all Bucky/Nat shippers, because instead of having healthy sex with his extremely attractive girlfriend or at least cuddling her in bed, Bucky chooses to brood and monologue about the ghosts of his past. I mean…

These arcs are basically the closest thing we get in comics to the Bucky vibes from The Falcon and the Winter Soldier show, minus Sam, who is just... not here. What we do get initially is Bucky staring into the distance, whispering “I remember them all,” and quite possibly in this timeline at approximately the same time Tony is doing the same dramatic whispering with a nearly identical speech/thought bubble.

Yes, yes, I know I joked about this line belonging to Tony and being given to Bucky, but here’s the actual beautiful winteriron parallel: both of them, simultaneously, are struggling with their past mistakes. Yes, Bucky’s guilt isn’t his fault. Yes, Tony’s guilt is kind of his fault. But I’m calling it: soulmate behavior and winteriron brainrot symmetry at its finest.

Now, about Bucky/Nat. I know I’m biased—deeply, unreasonably biased—but I don’t fully ship them? Like… at all? Even though I love them separately to bits? Yeah, they’re canon. Yeah, there’s chemistry. Yeah, they are still, sorta, going strong in the comic books. Yeah, she shows up in most of these arcs wearing strategically unzipped spy suits, and he’s out here looking like a beefcake with PTSD who is super into that, allegedly, but. Okay. Okay. Hear me out.

They have history, sure. Soviet conditioning, manipulation, sexy espionage nights, all that jazz. But both of them were stripped of agency for most of their lives, and now you want me to believe that makes for a solid romantic foundation?

No, Marvel. That makes for trauma buddies who should’ve stayed very emotionally intense besties without benefits. And yes, I do have a panel of Bucky below doing some next-level brooding on a motorcycle while referring to Natasha as his “best friend,” and if that’s not textbook “we should’ve just stayed friends” energy, I don’t know what is. Please don’t throw tomatoes, this is just a woman’s opinion. 

Back to plot: Bucky, Nat, and Namor (that fishy guy in charge of the oceans that I don't care about because DC got Jason Momoa to play Aquaman first) head to Asia and deal with some bad guys. That’s pretty much the whole plot aside from aforementioned brooding and too many (never enough) panels of Nat almost flashing us her behind. 

The bad guy in question is someone Bucky had encountered in his Winter Soldier days when he was like… 12 years old or something. Said bad guy is a super-genius with a world-ending virus, and he’s a bit salty since Winter Soldier may or may not have killed someone they love. The bad guy has a plan to use a body of Bucky’s old buddy Human Torch from the 50s (they had one when Bucky was with Steve in the Invaders) to unleash a deadly virus on the world (while, yes, Tony is preventing Mandarin from doing the same with Extremis—and are you seeing what I am seeing here?). 

There’s obviously more to this very generic bad guy and very generic bad guy plot, but the key takeaways are that Nat does cool flips, looks flawless, and occasionally side-eyes Bucky’s descent into angst. Bucky wins. World doesn’t end. The virus stays in the plot fridge.

The end.

TL;DR: Before Secret Invasion kicks off, Bucky’s haunted but doing well as Captain America. Nat’s hot but emotionally evasive, sorta. They flirt, fight, presumably do fuck. The whole dynamic is sexy, but mostly friendship-coded with a side of spy kink, and I won’t be convinced otherwise. Bucky clearly wants someone to say, “You’re enough as you are,” and I would like a word with whoever is in charge of making these decisions about why that someone couldn’t be Tony.

Anyway.

That’s it. That’s the recap. Nice arcs. Great art. Solid Bucky development. You should read it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s finally time for Secret Invasion: proper trauma porn, and Tony fucking up so bad he has to resort to turning his entire brain into downloadable content.

How do Marvel Events actually work?

Alright. Quick but necessary explanation I probably should’ve done in Part 1. Because if you’ve ever opened the Marvel Unlimited app (recommended), tried to “just read Civil War,” and suddenly found yourself 26 tabs deep in something called Front Line, you’ve already been here. Welcome to hell. We have tie-ins.

So how do Marvel events work? Well. Every once in a while, Marvel goes, “You know what would be great? Making every superhero’s life miserable at the exact same time.” That’s an event.

Here’s the basic structure: Main Event Run — usually around 5–10 issues, sometimes more. This is the “core” storyline. Think:

Civil War (2006) #1–7

Secret Invasion (2008) #1–8

Fear Itself (2011) #1–7

You can also think of Infinity War—that was an event in the MCU. Everyone gets wrecked, regardless of how well their franchise is doing. Sure, they called it a “phase” or whatever, but an event is where the big bad stuff happens to everyone and overlaps other plotlines: alien invasions, political fallout, exploding cities, Steve dramatically dying (again), Tony spiraling (again), Peter being stuck in the middle (also again), etc.

And you probably sorta get this already, but tie-ins to events specifically are where Marvel interrupts your regularly scheduled programming to say:

“Hi, we know you were enjoying Spider-Man’s personal arc, but now we’re hijacking it to show you what he was doing during this big crossover event. You will be very confused as to what the fuck is going on unless you suddenly subscribe to about a dozen other runs you never had any desire to pay for before. You’re welcome.”

Every major character, side character, and pigeon that’s ever been near a superhero gets a tie-in. Some tie-ins slap (Iron Man, Captain America), some are emotionally devastating (Front Line), some are hot garbage. But they’re all technically canon.

So when I say Secret Invasion had about 98 issues related to it (I counted once, while scrolling), I mean: the main run, a bunch of spin-offs and all those pesky tie-ins.

Am I a well-adjusted person who read all of these once like a sane casual reader? No. I read them three times:

Once for fun, because I love comic books and already finished my list of 100 classic books to read before I die, so everyone can fuck off with it not being an adult hobby (do you know how expensive it is to collect runs that completed decades ago?). Second time a few months ago for a few fic paragraphs, to make sure I got the canon right. And third time for this recap, which is less of a recap now and more like 60% my weak analysis of trauma (and repeating the words trauma, again, and hot too many times), and 40% my unhinged shipping headcanons.

I never claimed sanity. I do, however, claim to have a comic book collection, three fireproof longboxes, and a boarding technique that would make your LCS weep tears of pride—just for this event alone and the event-adjacent other runs. But that’s my cross to bear, I digress. Yes, if this amount of space for only 98 issues is confusing, well… I can’t possibly slot, say, New Avengers into my event without, like… having the whole New Avengers run. So there’s that.

I am not actually going to cover all tie-ins, just what I think is somewhat relevant to Tony and Bucky, for once.

Avengers Groups: Explained Poorly but Accurately Enough, I Hope

Okay, now that you do suspect I’m a bit crazy, let’s clear something up before Marvel gaslights you into thinking there’s only one “Avengers” team in comic books. Here’s the cheat sheet for this specific stretch of time:

Mighty Avengers

The Clean-Cut Government-Approved Avenger Experience led by our professional mess, Tony.

Includes: Carol Danvers, Ares, Wonder Man, Sentry, and others whose names I keep forgetting because they never seem to be around when Tony is having a breakdown and needs a hug.

New Avengers

The Underdog, Off-the-Grid, “We Don’t Follow Your Rules” Vibes Team—essentially Steve’s resistance crew.

Led by: Luke Cage, and occasionally (they come and go), featuring Spider-Man, Wolverine, Jessica Jones, and Doctor Strange. Clint’s around—I'll tell you about him banging Wanda in a second (whoops, let it slip too early).

Basically, they’re the scrappy, emotionally exhausted, chaotic little brother of the Avengers world. And yes, for those who’ve seen Thunderbolts, I just need Marvel to call Sam’s team the Mighty Avengers and my life will be complete.

There’s actually a new New Avengers run planned? Bucky’s on the cover. Arrrr. I can’t wait.

So… let’s assume that just before Secret Invasion, Tony is running S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Mighty Avengers, and Bucky is Captain America and mostly aligned with New Avengers vibes—though he’s not technically with them where we left him before Secret Invasion and is mostly doing his own thing as Cap while also doing Nat, who works for Tony. Neither team seems to know jack shit about what the other one’s doing 90% of the time, though Tony does spend a lot of time trying to talk his pals on the other side into giving up already and coming back to him.

It does involve the New Avengers sitting very quietly inside Strange’s magicked-to-look-like-crap mansion and pretending they are not home while Tony is standing outside with a small army, scratching on the door like a sad rejected puppy and asking for Peter to come out. I am not kidding.

Back to more important things: it is now canon in my brain (and it was planted there by the evil mastermind known as @massivespacewren) that during this exact post–Civil War, pre–Fear Itself period, Tony and Bucky were absolutely having a secret relationship. Like, think about it: Tony helps him, even though they’re on opposite sides / they’re both grieving Steve / they’re both emotionally compromised on the account of feeling too much guilt, weaponized hot, and need someone on their side privately who just wants them for them / neither of their respective teams knows where they’re going at night or why they keep showing up with mysterious bruises and better moods (Ugh… fine, this is pure headcanon, whatever.)

Still. Tell me that’s not peak forbidden romance setup. Tell me that’s not operationally inconvenient, emotionally catastrophic, and deeply sexy. You can’t. You won’t. Right? 

Anyway… now that you understand how events work (not that you didn’t before, after I alluded to this about 20 times), that Marvel dabbled in money-grabbing before Disney, and how the Avengers are more of a rotating trainwreck than a team, you’re ready to tackle Secret Invasion. Good for you. Keep reading. You know you want to.

Secret Invasion Event

When I didn’t say but very much implied that tie-ins can joyfully fuck themselves with a chainsaw, I meant it. I wasn’t exaggerating—and yes, I meant it with the full force of a person who has willingly, repeatedly, and stupidly read every tie-in to Secret Invasion, not once, not twice, but three times. That’s… not dedication so much as a personal obsession I’ve accepted. I’m not putting you through that insanity. Instead, I’m giving you a bite-sized recap of how it kicks off and what you actually need to know.

Well—bite-sized by my standards, and if you want to know more, just… read comic books or something.

So, let’s begin, like I always do, with someone emotionally repressed and traumatized making it everyone else’s problem.

Clint comes back from the dead.

This was pre–Civil War business (long story, Wanda killed him) but, as I’ve repeatedly pointed out, nobody commits to permanently dying in comic books. So, here he is, very much alive again.

After checking in on the emotional wreckage of his friends, Clint finds Tony, chats briefly about the concept of being Captain America, politely declines, and then goes off to find Wanda. To clarify, this happens just before Tony chokes on Bucky’s super-thighs and slaps that shield on him.

Now, what Wanda’s up to is happening in a completely unrelated comic I didn't read, because, contrary to what it looks like, I do actually have a personal life, the cutest dog to ever dog and full-time job. But yes, Clint finds her while Tony and Bucky are sadly not banging, bangs her, does not get the closure he’s looking for (since he’s still very much in love with his presumed-dead wife), pops up in Captain America to say hi to Bucky, considers falling in love with him on the spot and moving on just for him, but changes his mind (postpones), and decides to reinvent himself instead.

While Clint was dead for, like, five minutes in comic book years, a spunky gal stole his Hawkeye brand, and Clint’s a giver, so he lets her keep it instead of asking for his shit back. He’s a bit upset with Tony, just like everyone else, even though he missed entire Civil War and has no fucking leg to stand on, so he heads off to Asia with the New Avengers (Luke Cage, Peter, Spider-Woman, et al.), wearing a mask, wielding a sword, and being unnecessarily sexy about it as Ronin.

While in Asia, they fight Elektra, they kill Elektra, and then her body turns into what I can only describe as a very unattractive green alien lizard-zombie thing. Not even the weirdest thing that’s happened in 616, but there’s usually a bit more lead-up when a popular (ish) character like Elektra dies and is then revealed to be an alien. So this is the moment the New Avengers take a collective shaky breath and go, “What the actual fuck?”

That’s when the event kicks off.

Spider-Woman (whose arc in 616 is wildly underappreciated, btw) promptly fucks off with the Skrull-Elektra corpse, finds Tony back in his bedroom in New York (not for a sexy, slightly complicated Avengers hookup… this time) but to drop the suspicious-looking dead lady in Elektra’s clothes on his floor and ask, him being Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the guy allegedly in charge of Avengers with a big, government-approved A, what exactly he plans to do about it.

I am not a mind reader, and while Tony—who, at this point, has been holding his career together with sheer delusion and willpower, who does not need this job, who is increasingly unsure whether the clout was worth the collapse of every meaningful relationship in his life—gets out of bed, I can only hope he at least starts to wonder if he should’ve opened a winery in Malibu instead of becoming America’s scapegoat-in-chief.

But, yk, he does get involved. Of course. 

Which brings us to…

Who the hell are Skrull and what their deal is?

Green. Shapeshifting. Space assholes. That’s the short version.

The longer one is that they are a race of green-skinned, pointy-eared alien shapeshifters from a planet called Skrullos (come on, Marvel, you can do better than that). They’ve been around in comics since the 1960s, which means they’ve had decades to cause a bunch of bullshit.

They can look like anyone, down to DNA-deep impersonation. I mean, it’s not the shittiest power. You want to be Tony? Cool, now you are. You want to be Peter and perfectly mimic his resting trauma face and bubble-butt? Sure, go for it. The Skrulls started out as just one of many alien races Marvel cooked up to make the Avengers’ lives harder, but then they got kinda interesting and actually got good plotlines. Their history is unclear on some points and clearer on others, but basically for the purposes of this event:

The Skrulls once had an empire.

Then their shit got blown up.

Then they got very religious and very desperate.

Then they said, “Hey, let’s infiltrate Earth by pretending to be their heroes and sow paranoia even though… we could probably just invade.”

Which… I mean, it is still a much better plan than to keep cloning superheroes for plot reasons (cough, Thor, cough, Steve). 

And Skrull are not actually always evil by default, but Secret Invasion makes sure you think they are. If someone was a crazy-obsessed lore-hungry lunatic, one might know by now that there are good Skrulls, bad Skrulls, sexy Skrulls (hi, Teddy), and just deeply tired Skrulls who don’t want to shapeshift into your dad anymore and would rather go back to pretending to be cats in Brooklyn.

But in this specific arc they’re mostly fanatical religious terrorists with a God Complex and a master plan called “He Loves You” (the he is God, or possibly Reed Richards who they used for evil purposes, depending on how cracked your interpretation is). So yeah. They infiltrate Earth. They replace a bunch of heroes and hero-adjacent individuals—some A-list, some Z-tier (RIP whoever was pretending to be Dum Dum Dugan), and sit quietly in the background for years, waiting to strike.

In addition to their normal shape-shiffting thing they’ve got going on for them, in Secret Invasion, they’ve upgraded. They’re not just Skrulls anymore—they’re Super-Skrulls? Which somehow means they have composite powers of multiple heroes. Essentially, imagine fighting a guy who’s Spider-Man, Wolverine, Cyclops, and has Carol Danvers’ energy blasts. Now imagine there’s 20 of them. Now imagine Tony—poor, trying so hard, nobody loves him anymore Tony—emotionally compromised and under pressure, trying to tell who’s real and who’s a lizard in Steve Rogers’ pants (who, duh, is still dead).

I personally both loved and hated this event, because literally anyone could be a Skrull. That sexy panel of Natasha? Could be Skrull. That dramatic moment where Sue Storm leaves Reed in Civil War and tells him about an oily fish dinner? Actually is? That villain who suddenly got a redemption arc? Guess what. Essentially, the main reason not to love this event is that if you care about canon and character development, especially given the clusterfuck that was Civil War… well, fuck you, your favorite character might not even be the real person. So, the basic wisdom of this event, as it stands is: trust no bitch, she might be Skrull.

Main Secret Invasion Event

While we’re talking about Secret Invasion—because Tony deleting his entire brain (god, I hate that phrase too) is a direct consequence of what goes down during this event—you are not going to get a lot out of me (again, by my standards). 

Unlike Civil War, which I lovingly dissected like it was a frog in a high school lab, I’m not as emotionally invested in giving you the full play-by-play for everyone involved. So here’s me speed-running through most of it until we hit the juicy Bucky content, because, let’s be honest, that’s why we’re all here anyway.

The main event has 8 issues. Issue #1 opens strong with Tony’s meltdown arc, Season 87, things kicking off in the Savage Land. You might remember that place from that one amazing ’90s X-Men cartoon with the dinosaurs and inexplicably shirtless Charles Xavier. This is where a Skrull ship lands, so, both the New Avengers and Mighty Avengers decide to crash the party.

And just a quick side note while we’re at it: while this group of unrealistically hot people is off playing jungle lizard whodunnit, Skrulls are already running amok around the globe too. People are turning mid-sentence, Tony’s tech is getting absolutely wrecked by alien malware, S.H.I.E.L.D. is compromised, satellites are offline, and somewhere there’s probably a Skrull that was pretending to be you, stopping drawing hearts on the poster of Sebastian Stan and getting to work.

Both Avenger squads show up in the Savage Land with maximum distrust, immediately run into each other like exes in the same shop aisle, both thinking they totally had the right to be there first, some yelling happens, insults are exchanged, and everyone is kinda sweaty until the Skrull ship dramatically opens and spits out a lot of heroes.

Including Steve, which is not cool, Marvel. And Peter, who is already there, making the whole situation extremely awkward and extra uncool. No one knows who’s real, everyone is sus, the vibe is mostly paranoia, and Clint has a full-on oh no my dead wife is alive but what about Bucky moment when Bobbi Morse steps out looking sexy but possibly lizard-coded. It’s emotional. It’s also probably a Skrull.

Issue #2 is technically not filler, but it sure does feel like everyone in the Savage Land just woke up, had a group panic attack, and decided violence was the best love language. We’re deep in jungle fever now—with everyone, yes, sweaty, pissed, and staring down their dead friends in the world’s worst family reunion. Like I said, the Skrull ship has popped like a horrifying piñata full of imposters. Some of them look like old-school Avengers, some are presumed-dead exes, and others are “please God no” duplicates of people who are already standing there. And they all think they are the real deal. Spider-Man vs Spider-Man standoff freaked me out, and is literally the only thing that could make his life worse than it already was. (Besides, you know, One More Day. But we don’t talk about that anymore.)

Teams split into smaller groups to punch each other because you can’t keep stuffing 50 people into a single panel, and paranoia hits a ten. Outside the Savage Land, the rest of the world is still watching S.H.I.E.L.D. crumble, big scary spaceships land and the general question floating about is: “Are we about to get bent over by our new scaly overlords?”

Issue #3 is gutting. It’s trust no bitch, take 3—but now with the addition of not trusting your butler. The issue itself is also a banger. I love it. Peak chaos.

So. Everything’s blowing up. S.H.I.E.L.D. is fully compromised, strategic facilities around the globe are detonating like it’s clearance week at Doomsday Depot, no one knows what the fuck is happening, including the reader who is now losing track of who is alien and who is not, refusing to believe, and the only consistent thing is that literally everyone is accusing each other of being lizards.

Like—Maria gets called out for possibly being a Skrull purely because she’s competent, organized, and doesn’t flirt with Tony. Which, in 616 logic, is apparently suspicious behavior. She’s also a robot who gets very much beheaded. Long story, all good there. But the biggest betrayal of all is Jarvis. My sweet, soft-spoken, murder-capable butler is also a Skrull. The betrayal cuts deep, and this is why we can’t have nice things.

Tony, for the moment, doesn’t know he needs to start looking for another British emotional support blanket, and is hiding in a cave in Savage Lands. No, really. Tony, billionaire genius futurist, is once again dying in a dinosaur-infested jungle cave. He has no Wi-Fi, his Extremis is crashing harder than his social standing post–Civil War, and his fancy suit might as well be made of wet cardboard. Then—just to add insult to internal bleeding—Spider-Woman walks in. You’d think: “Oh, cool, someone here to help and finally give him a hug.” No. Absolutely not.

She slinks in all sultry and suspicious, looks him dead in the eyes, and says something that sounds awfully similar to: “Hi babe. You’re one of us. Surprise! Congrats! You’ve done so well! Mommy Skrull is proud.” The Skrull Queen claiming that Tony—the man who already hated himself more than the public does—is the greatest Skrull weapon of all time is just…

You know what? For a second there, it makes sense, and would explain a bunch of things and his recent fuck-ups. But no… they just let Tony be Tony, that’s all. Which is somehow worse. Give him enough rope, a registration act, and control over national defense systems, and boom: StarkTech in everything and the Skrulls are waltzing in—all thanks to the damaged but still very lovable unintentional war crime with facial hair I don’t approve of in these runs. 

Issue #4 is somehow both eventful as hell and weirdly filler-adjacent, in that a bunch of important shit happens, but also half of it is setup for the finale and the other half is just everyone still being sweaty and confused. Tony is still not enjoying his caving experience, looking like he’s just lost a three-way fight between a Skrull, his nervous system, and the concept of self-worth. Thankfully, Nat kicks in cave’s non-existing door, with guns blazing and hair immaculate, delivering the closest thing Tony gets to aftercare in, like, a decade of comic books. She scares the Skrull Queen away, sees Tony mid-breakdown, and is like, “Jesus Christ, you look like shit.” Then she shoots him up with adrenaline, because she’s awesome like that.

Back on the mainland, Nick Fury finally crawls out of his hidey-hole, just after finishing binge-watching all of Netflix and is now ready to kick some things. He’s got a new crew, a trench coat, and approximately zero time for anyone’s bullshit. Thor shows up too, back from the dead, officially. Not a clone. Not a Skrull. I don’t actually remember why, but I assume it happened in his comic book. The point is, the big blond thunder daddy is back and is descending from the sky to say, “Alright, who the fuck broke Midgard?”

I don’t know if Bucky found out about Skrull on TV or opened his door in New York to find a Skrull on his doorstep trying to sell him girl scout cookies, but he’s joining the fight too and doesn’t currently know how much trouble Tony is in. 

Issue #5 is… kinda skippable. It's the narrative equivalent of holding your breath and hoping nobody asks if you’re a Skrull. The Skrulls decide it's time to go full reality TV and broadcast a heartfelt global message starring Tony, a few random politicians (lol, "trusted officials"—Marvel, be serious), and a touch of “we come in peace” bullshit. Classic intergalactic gaslighting, now with better production value. Shockingly, some civilians buy it and start chanting “Take us!”—which is maybe kink, maybe cowardice, but definitely not the way to be saved.

Issue #6 has Thor, Tony, and Bucky-Cap gracing the cover, which is the stuff of dreams for me, honestly. Thor and Bucky share a weirdly intimate, testosterone-heavy moment where Thor’s like “Who the hell are you?” and Bucky’s like “America’s rebound, nice to meet you.” Meanwhile, Tony is still out here having a crisis inside a crisis, his Extremis all but useless, but also gearing up to save the world while nearly dead again. For the love of God, someone hug this man already. Or at least offer him a sandwich and tell him he’s doing okay.

The rest of the issue is just Marvel flexing every team-up they’ve got. New Avengers, Mighty Avengers, Young Avengers, probably someone's cousin from the West Coast Avengers—all yeeted onto a battlefield in New York. The Skrulls are out here led by Queen Veranke, who is still doing her sexy Spider-Woman cosplay, and the issue ends with the general vibe of it’s everybody-vs-everybody-else-but-green and “Avengers Assemble!” energy. It’s very symbolic post-Civil War, it is. I just wish they didn’t touch Jarvis, that was a low blow.

Issue #7 is 90% punching, 10% emotional damage, and 100% shipping fuel if you’re feral enough (hi, it’s me). The big battle’s in full swing now, and we finally get a panel with Tony, Bucky, and Peter all in the same frame—which, if you know me at all, is basically my OT3 doing a full-body naked Eiffel Tower in my brain. We eat.

Tony is grumbling that his suit’s duct tape, since Extremis is toast. He mentions it while punching bad guys, and then Bucky—who is surprisingly tender when he wants to be—looks at him and goes: “Go fix yourself. This isn’t the place for—damn!”

Now.

I’m not usually the type to hallucinate ships out of nothing (bold lie, moving on), and I’m sure someone out there will claim “He just meant Tony was complaining and Bucky just needed him in top shape to fight,” but no. No. Because this isn’t just a professional concern. This is “I’m trying really hard not to say ‘baby’ in front of the Avengers.”

There’s a pause. A cut-off word. That’s comic book language for feelings, people. He might as well have whispered, “Get to safety, love, I’ll hold them off,” and slapped Peter on the ass just to make Tony jealous.

Panel included. Because I’m a giver too. You’re welcome.

While you rejoice and want me to shut up already to scroll to that panel, we cut to Jessica Jones, who has been hanging around for a while like a relatable, exhausted mom trying to finish one (1) cup of coffee before a new level of shit hits the fan. She’s mostly been off-panel burping the cutest baby in the Marvel universe, which she made with Luke Cage, obviously. Power couple. Literally. But now, while sipping her juice and watching the Skrullpocalypse unfold on basic-ass cable, she clocks her man Luke out there getting his ass handed to him and goes, “Yeah, no.”

She panics. She tears up. And in the ultimate I’m-a-bad-bitch-and-a-bad-mom-sometimes-too move, she grabs her jacket, tosses the infant at Jarvis, and fucks off to join the battle. Yes. You read that correctly. She leaves the actual, literal Avengers baby—the Marvel equivalent of America’s Next Hope—with Jarvis, who, friendly reminder, is currently a Skrull, which we know and are crying about.

So, good issue. While Jessica is off joining her man in battle, Bucky is here being a supportive, leather-clad husband, telling Tony to “go fix yourself” while casually sticking around to bodyguard Peter—the traumatized child they co-parent via mutually unresolved guilt or, like, do other unspeakably awesome things to, since he’s—I am tired of saying this to everyone—not underage in 616 (dude was married) and, since it’s about time you all quit it, is also not underage in the MCU anymore. Starker, winterspider, and winterironspider for life, every ship is valid. I give you SamBucky, Stony and Stucky in equal measures, give me that.

So let’s break that down:

Jessica says, “I see my man suffering—I’m going in.” Bucky sees his man suffering—says, “I’ll take care of our kid while you go put some make-up on, darlin’.” Jarvis is in the kitchen being like, “Would now be a bad time to reveal I’m not actually me?” The symmetry is gorgeous. The emotional neglect is peak Marvel. And the shippy content is everything you want it to be.

Issue #8 is where the event technically “wraps up,” as in, we won—but at what fucking cost? The Skrulls go down, the planet is saved, sure, whatever, congratulations Earth—but emotionally this issue breaks Tony over its knee like a cheap broomstick. The final kill shot doesn’t even come from one of our main heroes. Norman Osborn is who gets the last shot in on Queen Veranke, who is already dying anyway. And that one move—that one media-perfect, camera-ready “hero” moment—is all it takes for the world to decide he is the new face of heroism. As opposed to Tony and everyone else who busted their ass and didn’t roll in at the last minute like the criminal with greasy hair and government connections and the moral compass of Elon Musk he is. 

One last Skrull ship opens its door on the battlefield (because drama), revealing the real Dugan, real Spider-Woman, real Jarvis, and real Bobbi and some other real folk. It's supposed to be a big moment—yay, everyone who was a Skrull is now not a Skrull and are technically back, just missed the last few however long—but the only one who really gets anything good out of this is Clint, who starts making out with Bobbi immediately. That is, of course, until Bucky becomes emotionally available for some mutual pining in Hawkeye and Winter Soldier run, which I really should cover one day, ‘cause Tales of Suspense slap.

And while Jessica and Luke promptly realize that their baby has been kidnapped…

Tony. Is. Ruined.

He’s bruised. He’s exhausted. He’s so happy to see Thor again—you can literally feel the baby-hope coming off him in waves. He’s already smiling, already probably planning post-battle shawarma and a group therapy invite—and then Thor tells him to fuck off. Just, “No, you don’t get to be part of this.”

And then everyone walks away. Yup. Every hero on the battlefield, including Bucky, turns their back on Tony. Like he didn’t just risk everything (again). Like he didn’t just crawl through this entire event bleeding from the brain and still trying to fix everything.

And look—I’m not saying this is the moment that broke him, but if Tony was still on the fence about deleting his own brain before this? Yeah. This is the last straw. He’s lost his rep, lost S.H.I.E.L.D., lost the narrative, and now he’s lost his people what feels like for good.

Which leads us—seamlessly, tragically—into World’s Most Wanted and Dark Reign, which I’m going to skim past because if I don’t, this recap will hit 15k and nobody is that committed to reading my shit unless it involves actual smut. Not that I have any illusions that anyone’s still reading this except maybe Googlebot and the 2.5 mutuals who also cry about 616 Tony at 2AM, but I’m stubborn as hell and I need this finished—for me. Because I have plans. I have fics. I have so many winteriron and others ideas shoved in my notes app related to 616 I will die on this hill.

So… we keep going. Just for a few more issues and the brain deletion. But, like, we sprint, okay? 

Invincible Iron Man (2008–2012) #8–#19.

Or, as it will be known from now until the solar death of the internet: Brain Damage Is a Love Language.

Note: The first 7 issues of this run feature Tony still as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. pre–Secret Invasion, with Issue #7 featuring both Tony and Peter on the cover—for my brand of perverts—but we’re gonna skip those, because they’re not that relevant.

So here we are, post–Secret Invasion, and boy, are things just peachy. By “peachy,” I mean Tony has been very publicly fired, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been deleted from the timeline for the foreseeable future, and Norman Osborn—yes, the former Green Goblin—is now in charge of national security. He’s renamed the operation H.A.M.M.E.R. after firing everyone else, which everyone from the MCU probably finds at least a bit confusing (the name)—since, what about Justin? Idk, nobody cares.

Tony is not coping well, sure, and he’s once again been abandoned by everyone. He’s been ousted as Director, publicly humiliated, accused of handing Earth to the Skrulls (it wasn’t entirely his fault, okay?), and now Norman “I Put the Creep in Creepypolitics” Osborn is breathing down his neck demanding the superhero registration database. You might wonder why he needs it, but Norman has an uncomfortable fixation on Spider-Man that will make Quintin Beck seem very subtle and boyfriend-material, and if Norman can’t bang Peter, he at least wants to fuck him up—or, at minimum, know his legal name.

If you’ve been paying attention, you might recall that during One More Day (gross), Peter traded his marriage and the knowledge of his secret identity to Mephisto for Aunt May’s life, like the messy Catholic masochist that he is. So now no one remembers he unmasked during Civil War, not even Tony. This is prime Starker identity-porn brainrot territory—Tony doesn’t remember Peter’s face, but there’s this haunting familiarity, this vibe, this urge to protect the mouthy little spider. Delicious. But this is not about Peter, so this is all you get on this for now. (Pause for mournful sigh from the Starker corner.)

So, this is the real start of Norman’s Dark Reign era: Tony disgraced, on the run, hated by everyone, but still hot and surprisingly functional until becomes a lot less functional but remains hot even when in a coma. We are nearly there, I know you are tired.

So while Peter is swinging around anonymously again and Norman is salivating over his IP address, Tony is quietly deciding to erase his memories from existence. Because that’s what you do when:

Your public image is in the toilet

Your tech has been compromised

You’re personally holding the most dangerous database in the world inside your brain

And literally everyone you love has left you or been brainwashed or died

As in: Tony takes one look at the hellscape that is Norman Osborn’s Dark Reign, knows he’s about to be officially hunted, and goes, “You know what might fix this? Me, but less,” and starts planning his brain deletion.

Like… is this him giving up? Is this him taking a mental health day? Is this a long-overdue vacation into clinical dissociation? I am honestly unsure—it’s a bit unclear. All I know is, he thinks wiping his brain like it’s a crusty hard drive is a good idea, and unfortunately, nobody can stop him.

Now, to be fair, Pepper and Maria both try to talk him out of it. They give him the whole “Tony, sweetie, maybe don’t” routine. But their voices of reason are quickly overridden by the even louder voice of comic book logic, which says: yes, deleting your own memories to protect the superhero registry from Norman Osborn is a totally normal decision. It’s also extremely yummy when it comes to angsty fanfiction follow-ups, so we are gonna call this a splendid move on his part, cool?

Anyway, here are some greatest hits from this extremely questionable arc:

Tony leaves Stark Industries to Pepper, but then tops it by giving her her own Iron Man suit, because apparently you can’t be CEO of SI without having a repulsor of your own.

He also bangs her goodbye. As in, “Sorry I’m about to erase my personality, wanna hook up real quick?”

Then Tony gives the only backup of his brain to Maria Hill and pretty much tells her, “Take this to the one man I trust with my entire mind.” Maybe not in those words, but sending his chance to ever wake up again to Bucky has to mean something, right? Let’s pause and feel that. Bucky. Who Tony, allegedly, met only a handful of times. Like… Maria is there. She could just hold onto the drive. But… no. Give it to Bucky. Do I even need to say more here? How are there not, like, 10000 fanfics about this?

Then, of course, Tony bangs Maria goodbye too. Which I’m honestly fine with because it’s weirdly sexy, but also a clear sign that the brain deletion is working and we’ve officially entered the “Tony regresses emotionally to horny self-destruction” portion of the arc. For further clarity, the brain deletion is not instant, hence all the random banging, not that it’s not already Tony’s brand.

To my extreme disappointment, this whole storyline is not just “Tony on the run, being clever.” I wish. It’s Tony getting increasingly dumber by the issue, Maria losing her mind trying to keep the backup safe and delivered, Pepper doing something I really couldn't be arsed mentioning, and Norman Osborn looming like an asshole he is, making his crush on Peter everyone’s problem. It all culminates with Tony finally going full potato, Norman about to kill him, and then having to back off because it’s being broadcast live on TV.

By the end of the arc, Tony doesn’t get fully dead, but does fall into a coma, Norman doesn’t get his database, Bucky is doing Bucky things and about to properly team up with New Avengers, Peter included, and that’s the big ending of the World’s Most Wanted arc which will be promptly followed by actual panels of Bucky and Peter standing over Tony’s unconscious body and resisting the urge to hold his hand, on either side of the bed, respectively. 

And that—that’s where I leave you. Also where I left you in my fanfic, since my refreshed canon knowledge and my AO3 published shit like to meet at the exact same tragic midpoint. Sorta. 

I’ll be doing some more comic reading this weekend, so expect another recap soon, my trusty Googlebot. Later.

P.S. Yes, I’m including the panel of Tony banging Maria—not just because I’m weirdly into it (I am), but because Marvel gave us a full visual of Tony going at it against a wall and this needs to exist on the interwebs.