#and there aren’t enough words or enough time in the world to express the full context of this thought

[napping-sapphic]

Love is so freaky and messed up to the point that sometimes i do wish and hope SO badly that no one ever has to suffer being in love with me specifically because it honestly sounds absolutely unbearable

[wheresarizona]

Bluebonnet

summary: Is Joel Miller your friend? No. You’re not even sure if he actually likes you or just puts up with you because of his kid. Then he kicks some guy's ass in a bar for getting handsy with you, and you’re starting to think maybe he might like you a little…

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, Grumpy Joel Miller, Protective Joel Miller, Soft Joel Miller, age gap (unspecified but reader was born before the outbreak), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), creampie, oral sex (f + m receiving), 69 position, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, spit mention, slight breeding kink, Joel has a big dick, Joel being kinda a dick, a random guy harassing you then getting beat up by Joel, canon typical violence, icing Joel’s knuckles, feelings confessions, Ellie being Ellie and the star of the show, AU where Joel doesn’t lie to Ellie and their relationship is still good)

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader

word count: 5.5k+

a/n: Literally, a scene in this woke me up from dead sleep at five in the goddamn morning, and I spent thirty minutes plotting the whole one shot while barely awake. This fic was very spur of the moment that I wrote in less than two days, so it’s unbeta’d. All mistakes are my own. Please be horny about Joel protecting you with me.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Masterlist

Is Joel Miller your friend? 

No. 

Are you on friendly terms?

You thought so. 

Joel isn’t the most social of fellas—he’s basically a feral cat that wants to be left alone.

If you aren’t friends with him, then how did you become the regular occupant of the seat across from his in the Jackson mess hall every breakfast and dinner? 

The answer is simple: Ellie. 

It all started months ago when you first got to Jackson and met the teen after being assigned to a job rotation with her. She was so excited about finding out you lived in Texas for many years before the world went to hell she invited you to eat dinner with her so you could meet someone, and that’s how you were introduced to Austin-native Joel Miller. 

He’s a bit older than you, never smiles, and isn’t much of a talker but still polite enough to answer a question if you ask it, even if it’s more of a grumble at the start of the day. With Ellie, though, it was different. He talked to her, and his voice was like coming home after a long day and settling in on the couch—that familiar Texan accent making you feel all warm and comfy, his words wrapping around you like a tight blanket and taking you back to a time when things were good and safe. 

The morning after the first dinner, Ellie had called you over to sit with them for breakfast, and again that evening, little bits of conversation happening between bites as you got a grasp on what the relationship was between this young girl and man—it was clearly father-daughter in nature even if she didn’t call him ‘dad,’ and you savored every word she wheedled out of him. 

It got to the point where the teenager didn’t have to beckon you over, and you just knew to set your food down in the seat in front of Joel to eat with them, always smiling at Ellie giving him so much shit, chatting with them or more the young girl, with Joel occasionally offering clipped anecdotes, and you trying not to acknowledge his handsomeness—you weren’t sure if he even liked you or if he was just putting up with you for the sake of his kid.  

He does have a lovely voice and is very attractive with those expressive chocolate-colored eyes that sometimes soften when he looks at his daughter; you could imagine his grey hair would be soft to the touch, and it’s obvious those full lips of his are kissable. Honestly, it’s surprising he’s not seeing anyone that you know of or Ellie is aware of, with how damn pretty he is.

His broad shoulders and how his flannels stretch over his chest. 

His neck. 

God, he’s sure nice to look at. 

And Ellie is a great kid who trusted you, coming to you anytime she needed advice or wanted to talk about something, and you were happy to be there for her. 

The breakfast and dinner routine had been going on for so long that even though Joel didn’t talk at length to you, you’d managed to learn quite a bit about him from questions he’d answer or conversations he had with his kid or brother in front of you. He definitely knew a lot about you, too. 

Now, back to why you’re not sure if he likes you. 

That morning when you went to breakfast, you were running on autopilot—piled your plate with food, grabbed your cup of shitty coffee that made you want to cry with how much you missed Starbucks, and set it all down in your usual spot, where you started to eat. 

When your brain finally began working, that’s when you realized it was abnormally quiet at your table, and you looked up to realize Ellie wasn’t there—it was just Joel. He must have seen some kind of look on your face since he grumbled out she was with a friend. Then when you asked if he wanted you to sit somewhere else, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he told you no before going back to eating in silence.

That put a point in the maybe he wasn’t just putting up with you for the sake of his daughter column and made you smile a little the rest of the meal.  

She wasn’t at dinner either.

This had you standing near your seat, chewing on your lip, debating on sitting elsewhere until Joel sighed loudly, setting down his fork to tell you in a tone that brokered no room for argument to sit, so you did. 

After a few bites, you almost choked to death when he asked how your day was. 

There was actual back and forth between just the two of you, and you were in heaven at how much he was speaking, another point going toward he might like you. 

Those interactions had you feeling really hopeful, and you were excited for breakfast the next day, wondering if he’d try to talk to you more. 

It’s been over half a year since you arrived in town, and you have managed to make some friends, who you knew for sure were your friends, and also closer to your age. When a couple of them asked if you wanted to get a drink that night and play some pool, you happily agreed. 

The place is practically empty when you arrive. 

Standing at the bar, chatting with your friend Mathias as you wait for the bartender to make your drinks, you can feel someone staring at you. Doing a quick glance of the room has your stomach dropping and is the reason you’re pretty fucking sure Joel doesn’t care for you; he’s sitting across the room at a table in the corner, glaring at you—not just glaring, if looks could kill you’d be deader than dead he looks so pissed off, and you’re about to go find out what his problem is when two things happen:

Mathias excuses himself to the restroom, and some man you’ve never seen, let alone spoken to, gets your attention on your other side. 

“Hey.” The interloper squeezes your arm, which makes your head turn toward him, shaking him off.

“Don’t touch me,” you reply. 

There’s nothing special about the guy—he’s probably younger than you, has floppy blonde hair, and a clean-shaven face, but something in his eyes made you feel uneasy. 

“My apologies,” he says, putting up his hands placatingly. “This is my first night here, and I’m just trying to make a new friend. Have a drink with me.” 

“Welcome to Jackson, and no, thank you, I’m here with friends.” 

“I’m sure they won’t mind if you have one drink with me.” His voice goes lower, “We could have some real fun together.” He has the audacity to grab your ass, and you step out of his reach. 

“I said don’t fucking touch me.” 

The bartender has gone into the back, Mathias is nowhere in sight, and your other friend is in another room where the pool table is with the jukebox playing. 

Something flashes in his eyes, and it has your heart pounding. 

“Don’t be like that. Just one drink,” he says, coming closer. 

You are readying to fight the bastard when all of a sudden, someone is grabbing his collar, and you see a fist connect with his face in a sickening crunch that makes you gasp. 

Joel yanks the guy in front of him. 

“She said not to fuckin’ touch her,” he grits through his teeth. “And that she didn’t wanna have a drink with you.” 

“I’m sorry,” the other man wheezes, blood oozing from his clearly broken nose. “I’ll leave.” 

“Yes, you fuckin’ will—after I teach you some fuckin’ manners.” 

With that, he punches him again and again and again.

You’re no damsel in distress—you’ve survived the fucking apocalypse for the last twenty years practically alone and could easily fight your way out of dangerous situations. But having someone stand up for you and protect you? It’s really doing it for you, except you’re genuinely worried Joel will murder this man, so you move toward him. 

“Stop, Joel!” you shout, pushing on his shoulder, and he does immediately, his eyes meeting yours. “He’ll leave; toss him out. Please, Joel. Don’t kill him.” 

His chest rises and falls as he pants, nodding his head once before hauling the groaning man to the door and throwing him out. The bartender chose that moment to come back, as well as your friend. 

There was a worried expression on Mathias’ face. “Is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you answer. The drinks are sitting on the bartop, and you gesture toward them. “I’ve got something to do, so take those for me, okay?” 

Confusion is etched on his brow. “Okay…?” He strategically picks up the three glasses and heads for the other room with the pool table. 

Your attention moves to the man behind the bar. “Hey, can I get some ice in a rag?” 

“Sure thing,” he replies, going to the block and using the ice pick. 

Joel didn’t return to you. Instead, he went back to his table like the last however many minutes didn’t happen, and it makes you sigh. 

His mixed signals have you so confused you’re ready to just get it all out in the open. 

The bartender hands you some ice wrapped in a towel, and you walk over to Joel, having to drag the seat across from his around so you’re next to him, seeing his right hand shaking around his glass with bloodied knuckles. 

He won’t even look at you. 

“Give me your hand,” you order him. 

“I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re not. Give me your fucking hand.” 

“No.” 

“Stop being a stubborn asshole, and let me ice your fucking knuckles.”

“I said I’m fine.” 

He won’t give you his hand, so you do the next best thing and press the ice against them while they hold his drink, Joel hissing at the coldness. 

His head turns to glare at you. 

“Don’t give me that look.” You glare right back. “I’m helping you.” 

“I don’t need your help,” he practically spits out. 

Taking a deep breath, you ready yourself for what you’re going to say. 

“We had a nice dinner,” you tell him. 

His eyebrows furrow. 

“What?” 

“We had a nice dinner with just the two of us where we talked—you didn’t smile, but it was the most you’ve ever said to me, and this morning, you let me eat with you. You’re not a people person, and I wasn’t sure if you liked me all that much, but our meals today made me think you might. Then tonight you were glaring at me—”

“When was I glarin’ at you?” he interrupts. 

“Before that creep started getting handsy.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t lookin’ at you…” His eyes dart away. 

You’re confused. 

“There’s like no one here. Who were you looking at?” 

He sighs loudly. “Your boyfriend,” he mumbles. 

“Huh?” 

“Your boyfriend—the guy you’re here with.” 

“Oh, Mathias? I’m not his type, and he’s already in a relationship. I don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, or a partner—I’m not seeing anyone. You should know this.” 

“Oh.” 

“Okay, so you weren’t glaring at me, you were glaring at my non-existent boyfriend, and then you came in hot like some knight in shining armor and beat the shit out of that asshole for doing me wrong. Sooo, you maybe like me?” 

He looked at you with a squinted gaze, like the answer was obvious. 

“I more than maybe like you,” he replies. 

That has your eyes widening. 

“Wait, in the romantic or platonic sense?” 

“There’s no point in talkin’ about this,” he sighs, looking down at the amber liquid in his cup. 

“Um, yes, there is because if I have a shot at breaking off a piece of this Kit Kat bar, I’d like to take it.” 

His gaze met yours, and you could see the hope swirling in the dark pools. 

“In the, uh, romantic or platonic sense?” 

Smiling, you answer, “Romantic—I’ve basically been crushing on you since I met you. We’ve known each other for months, almost a year. You’re such a good father to Ellie, a hard worker around town, and you let some random person sit with you during your meals—”

It takes your breath away when he smiles softly and talks when you pause, “You’re not some random person, and I would’ve been stupid to turn away such a beautiful woman.” 

“Oh, god, you’re hot and charming.” He chuckles, and your heart picks up in pace. “How are you making me like you more?” 

“I don’t know, Blue.” 

“Blue?” 

“As in Bluebonnet.” 

Which was Texas’ state flower and makes you feel so soft at how sweet the nickname is. 

“I love it.” 

The smile falls from his face. 

“You, uh, don’t mind my age?” He scratches at his mustache. 

Ellie had made you very aware of how old Joel was. 

“No? I think you’re extremely attractive. Does the age difference bother you?” 

“No.” He shakes his head. 

“What now?” you ask. 

“Jesus, it’s been so fuckin’ long,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I guess I’ll court you—take you on a proper date.” 

“Second option, that’s more immediate, and we can go with your plan tomorrow.” 

He looks at you. 

“Yeah?” 

“Is Ellie home tonight?” 

His eyebrows dip together. 

“Yeah?” 

Smirking, you say, “Okay, so why don’t we go back to my place, and I properly thank you for what you did tonight.” 

You see his throat bob as he swallows, his voice going deeper when he asks, “How do you wanna thank me?” 

A smile pulls up on your lips, moving forward to whisper in his good ear, “I was thinking I’d suck your dick.” His breath stutters. “Then have you fuck me however you want.” That makes him groan, and you grin. 

His hand moves out from under the ice and up to cradle your face, along with the other, when his body turns, making you look him in the eyes.

“I was stupid for leavin’ you alone ‘cause I assumed you wouldn’t want anythin’ to do with someone as old as me.” 

You snort. “Uh, yeah. You went a little hard with the leaving me alone, but I’ll forgive you if you kiss me right now.” 

No other words are said. His mouth crushes against yours, swallowing your surprised sound as he kisses you hard. Your fingers end up tangling in his grey waves of hair, your heart hammering in your chest and pulsing at the apex of your thighs. It’s obvious he hasn’t kissed in a while, and you’re in the same boat, both of you figuring things out until there’s a rhythm, and things are heating up with a slip of your tongue into his mouth to slide along his. The need inside you builds and builds until your lungs start to ache for oxygen, and you break apart, his nose nuzzling yours as you both pant with a smile on your lips. 

“Let’s go,” he says, and you don’t have to be told twice.  

He washed his hands before you left the bar, so it wasn’t obvious he’d just been in a fight. 

Having Joel lead you through town is like having a big, scary dog on a leash with how people get out of his way. It’s a little surprising he even knows where you live when you find yourself walking through your front gate. 

“How—”

“Ellie,” he answers before you even ask the question, his feet stomping up the two porch steps and you following. “She’s free to hang out with whoever and go wherever. I just ask she tells me where she’ll be.” 

“That’s very ‘cool dad’ of you.” 

You’re standing at the front door, him out of your way. 

“She’s not allowed to leave Jackson without me. If I tell her to stay away from someone, she stays away from them. I expect her to be a model citizen and do the jobs she’s required to do. Unless we talked beforehand, she must be home in time for breakfast and dinner.” 

“So, today, you knew it’d just be the two of us?” 

“She asked last night to stay at Cat’s house.” That’s Ellie’s best friend. “They’re staying over at our place tonight.” 

“Probably won’t even notice you’re missing then,” you say with a smile. The door’s unlocked, and you push it open before turning to grab Joel by the collar, pulling him in for a kiss as he walks you backward into the house with his arms wrapping around your back. 

It’s a tangle of tongues, a clash of teeth, one of Joel’s hands moving to massage your breast while your fingers worked open the buttons on his shirt, him shrugging it off by the time you make it to your bedroom door you led him to. Once inside, he strips you first, spending quite a bit of time licking and sucking on your tits when they’re bared and stopping you when you try to work open his pants, learning he’s really fucking strong when he easily tosses you onto the middle of the bed. 

Quickly, you’re sitting up on your knees, and you get a good look at the sizable bulge at the front of his jeans; Joel standing there with his hands on his hips, staring at your body with a hungry gaze, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. Scars are littering the golden expanse of skin on his front and arms of varying sizes, a newer one you spot on his lower torso, all of them telling you he’s fought like hell to make it to this point. 

Shuffling forward, you’re tired of waiting, your hands going to the button on the front of his pants. Joel’s palm engulfs yours to stop you, his head tilting down to meet your confused eyes. 

“You don’t need to suck my dick for what I did,” he says. 

“Okay. What if I just want to suck your dick for the hell of it?”

His lips tip up in a crooked smile, and you’re enjoying seeing his different smiles. 

“Then have at it, but I wanna lick your pussy until you come on my tongue.” 

You suck in a breath, your cunt clenching hard around nothing. 

“If you can get me off with your mouth, you’re not gonna be able to get rid of me.” 

His eyebrow arches. “Is that so?” 

“Yeah. You’ll be stuck with me.” 

There’d been enough talking, so you deftly popped open the button and pulled down the zipper, grabbing the waistband to tug his jeans down his thighs. You’re pleasantly surprised he goes commando, and then you get a good look at his hard cock, and it’s glorious. 

He’s thick, long, with a nice curve upwards, and you’re wondering if you’ll be able to fit him in your mouth—you’re definitely up for the challenge, licking your lips at the thought. Your fingers don’t even wrap all the way around him when you take him in hand, giving him a few quick strokes. 

“Wait,” he says, stopping your movements. 

“What?” you ask, looking up at him. 

“Hold on,” is all he replies, getting his pants the rest of the way down, kicking them off, and removing his socks. Walking around the side of your queen size bed, you’re turning in place to follow his movements as he gets on the mattress with a groan and the springs squeaking as he moves to the middle, his legs on either side of you, grabbing one of your pillows to put under his head that he lifts to look at you. “Sit on my face.” It’s an order, and he pats his chest to show you he means it. 

“I thought I was giving you a blow job…?” You point at his dick resting against his stomach. 

“You are,” he replies. “We’re doin’ both. Now, get up here,” he orders again, his face grumpy, patting his chest once more. 

“Sheesh,” you say, moving over his leg and up the bed, thankful you showered before you went out. “You’re really bossy when you’re horny.” 

When you’re within reach, he replies, “I’ll show you fuckin’ bossy,” and he puts his strength to work again, grunting while hauling you onto him with your back to his head and legs along his sides. His hand lands on the side of your ass in a sharp slap that makes you gasp, feeling the wetness between your legs, coating your inner thighs. “I’m eatin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he says, positioning you over his face, his hand giving your asscheek another hard spank causing you to clench. “And you’re gonna wrap that gorgeous fuckin’ mouth around my cock.”

You can’t respond because all train of thought leaves your brain when his mouth latches onto your cunt, feeling him groan into your sensitive skin, the sensations making your toes curl, and fire erupt in your center. 

“Oh my god, Joel,” you moan. “It’s so good. It’s so fucking good.” 

It takes a deep breath for you to focus on your task, spitting on your hand before grasping his hard dick in your palm, the tip red and shiny with his arousal, lowering your face to take him into your mouth. He’s salty on your tongue, your jaw open as wide as it will go as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head, stroking the considerable amount that won’t fit. 

His hands have a firm grip on your hips, pulling you farther down on his face, and you’re really worried he’s going to suffocate while he eats you out like a man starving. Pleasure in winding in your belly, tighter and tighter, with how he’s licking at your folds, your eyes rolling back in your head when he sucks your sensitive little clit between his lips.

He’s really going to make you come, and it feels so fucking good you’re having a hard time sucking his cock, so lost in what he’s doing to you—saliva is dripping out of your mouth and down his shaft, making your hand slide easily along him while you have half a mind to suckle on the head of him. 

You hit your breaking point suddenly, the coil inside you snapping, your body tensing up as you come with a loud moan, euphoria spreading out from your core. Joel groans into your cunt, his tongue pushing inside your sopping entrance to taste your release straight from the source, his hands grabbing handfuls of your ass and squeezing hard.  

He must get his fill because he moves you off his face, hearing him take a deep breath. 

“My good fuckin’ girl,” he says through panted breaths, rubbing your hips, his words causing a shiver to move down your spine. “Am I stuck with you?” 

You’d given up on blowing him, your forehead resting against his thigh. 

“Yeah,” you slur, sounding drunk. “How are you single?” It’s been a while since you’ve had that good of an orgasm. 

He sighs and taps your hip. “Turn around, baby.” 

Doing your best to turn, Joel helps you, getting you to straddle over his lower torso, your hands finding their place on his warm, flushed chest, seeing the grey hairs of his beard shining with your arousal and his lips frowning. 

“Like you said earlier,” he says. “I’m not a people person.” 

Your eyebrows knit together. 

“I’m people…” 

“No, you’re not. You’re my Texas Bluebonnet—my Blue.” His large palm comes up to stroke your cheek. 

You’re wondering something. “Why did you talk to me at dinner?” 

A sheepish look comes over his face. “‘Cause we were alone, and I didn’t have to worry about Ellie teasin’ me in front of you about my crush.” 

“She knows?”

He grimaces. “Suspects. Since there’s only three people on this godforsaken planet I like, and you’re one of them.” 

“And I’m the only one who’s not family—oh, that’s obvious.” 

“Yeah…” 

“Well, how do you want me?” 

He looks confused. “Huh?” 

“I said you can fuck me however you want,” you answer, sliding your hands up his pecs. “How do you want me, babe?” 

When he smiles this time, you get a glimpse of his teeth. “Ride me.”

His answer has you grinning. “Cowgirl, like a true Texan.” 

“I just love your tits,” he says, his big hands palming them. 

“Good to know,” you reply with a wink. 

Sitting up on your knees, you scoot back to get over his hips. His dick is still wet with your spit when you grab it and slide it through your folds before positioning him at your entrance. 

There are nerves swirling in your belly, your eyes landing on his dark ones as you slowly start to drop down, seeing his mouth fall open with a gasp, his hands grabbing onto your thighs. You knew there’d be a stretch, but he’s bordering on uncomfortable in how your walls have to expand for his size, feeling the slight burn. When you finally bottom out, you’re beyond full—you’ve never felt fuller, and it takes your breath away. 

“Jesus Christ,” his words are said through his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t move.”

His hard cock is throbbing inside you. 

“Been a while?” 

“Yeah.”

“Same. You’re so fucking big I’m gonna be sore after this.”

His dick jerks as he groans, “Don’t say that.”  

“Damn, you’re that close?” you ask, soothingly stroking your hands over his chest. 

You watch as his eyes blink open, the grumpy expression you’re used to appearing on his face. 

“Don’t make fun of me.” He slaps your ass. “I haven’t fucked in a long time, and now I’m inside the perfect pussy—you’d be strugglin’ too if you were me.”

“I’m not making fun of you, Joel.” You lean forward to cup his cheek, feeling prickling stubble under your palm. “I think it’s hot. Like, you have no idea how flattered I’d be if I made you come right away—talk about an ego boost.”

He doesn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing.  

“Are you just sayin’ that to make me feel better?”

“Nope.” To prove your point, you sit up, bracing yourself with your hands on his chest as you start circling your hips. 

His mouth goes slack, his eyes widening, a choked noise pulling from his throat that makes you smirk. “Fuck,” he pants. There’s sweat beading on his forehead, his cheeks a rosy pink. “You fit me like a fuckin’ glove.” 

You’re slowly building into an up-and-down motion, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock rubbing against spots you didn’t know existed, sparks of pleasure igniting in your center as you throw your head back. 

He must get a hold of himself because both of his hands come down on each of your asscheeks in loud, resounding smacks before he’s gripping them to help you move. 

Looking down at him, there’s concentration on his brow. 

“Your tight little pussy is takin’ me so fuckin’ well,” he says, hearing the wet sounds where you’re joined. “You love how I stretch you open?” 

“Yes,” you moan. 

You’re moving a little faster, moving up, and falling down a little harder, making the fire in your belly get hotter and hotter. 

“Lean down.” 

Doing as he says, your hands are on either side of his head while he continues helping you ride him. He lifts his face to pull a pebbled nipple between his lips, and the pleasure shoots straight to your pussy, making you gasp and more arousal spill around his length. 

He laves at one bud, then the other as you work yourself up, the new angle allowing the coarse hairs at the base of his cock to rub deliciously against your clit, and you know you’re close.

Joel is groaning loudly, clearly in heaven, with his dick inside you and his mouth on your tits. 

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he says around your hard nipple. “You gonna let me feel you squeeze my dick? Let me fuckin’ have it. Be a good fuckin’ girl and give it to me.” 

It’s all too much, everything coming to a head as you fall over the edge with a cry of his name, clenching so hard around him, you’ve stopped moving with his cock buried to the root, pleasure radiating through your body. 

Joel’s breathing hard under you, and you don’t sound any better while you come down from your high. 

His arms suddenly hug you close to him, and you squeak in surprise when he flips you onto your back with his dick still inside you and his hips nestled in the cradle of your thighs. Lips find yours in a searing kiss, moaning as you taste yourself, welcoming his tongue when it slips into your mouth to tangle with your own. 

He starts moving to chase his high, his thrusts hard and fast. 

The bedsprings are squeaking loudly, the headboard banging into the wall, hearing the wet suck of your pussy taking his cock and your muffled moans paired with his muffled groans. There’s no mistaking what’s happening in this bedroom, and you just hope your neighbors don’t complain in the morning. 

Your fingers have threaded into his hair, your bodies sweaty, his lips leave yours, opening your eyes to see his face screwed up like he’s in pain. 

“Where do you want it?” he grits out. 

If he’s asking, then he knows the risk. 

“Inside.” 

He opens his eyes wide. “Are you sure?” 

It is a rare thing to want these days. 

“Yes.” 

His pace speeds up, grunting as he pistons into you, resting his head in the crook of your neck, feeling his hot breaths. 

“You can fuckin’ have it,” he grunts. “Fuck you full of me—milk me fuckin’ dry. Fuck, you’re perfect.” 

You know he’s close when his thrusts get jerky, then he’s pushing in hard one last time with a guttural groan, feeling the hot spurts of his come filling you, his hips continuing to roll until they finally come to a complete stop. It’s obvious he’s wrung out with how he practically collapses on top of you, but you welcome the weight, pushing your fingers into his hair and scratching at his scalp, which receives appreciative hums. 

Minutes pass that neither of you speaks. 

“‘M sorry,” the words are murmured into your neck. 

“For what?” you softly ask.

“Makin’ you think I didn’t like you.” 

“It’s kinda my fault, too. I mean, I am aware you don’t like people but you’ve eaten two meals a day with me for almost a year, so obviously you must like me somewhat.” 

His head comes up with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips frowning. 

“I like you more than somewhat.” 

You smile. His hair is a mess, and you go about combing your fingers through it as you say, “Yes, I know that now. You like me.” 

“I do.” 

“And I like you.” 

“Good.” 

“I said you’re stuck with me, so can this be more than a one-time thing?” 

His eyes squint in that same way where he thinks something is obvious. 

“What?" he says. "I’m not lettin’ you go anywhere. You’re mine—my Blue.” 

“Good. ‘Cause you’re mine, too.” 

He kisses you passionately, and you lose yourself in it for a second until a thought has your eyes flying open and you pushing his face away. 

“What?” he asks, bewildered. 

“How are you going to tell Ellie?” 

“Shit. Uh, we can sit her down tomorrow night—”

“No, this is a conversation you need to have with her alone.” 

He winces. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow night after dinner...” 

Is Joel Miller your boyfriend? 

He absolutely hates you giving him that label, grumbling he prefers partner, but yes, he is your boyfriend. 

Did Joel sneak out of your house in the early morning hours to his own so Ellie wouldn’t know he was gone all night?

Also, yes. 

It’s the morning after, and you’re trying to act normal, ignoring how nervous you feel and the soreness between your legs as you sit down in your usual spot in front of Joel with your plate of breakfast. He’s changed into clean clothes and looks like he hasn’t slept, sipping on one of the two cups of shitty coffee in front of him, Ellie next to him already digging into some oatmeal with her spoon, which makes you realize—

“Ah, fuck,” you say, both of them looking at you. “I forgot to grab a fork.” 

“I’ll get you one, baby,” Joel says as he sets his coffee down and starts to get up.

The three of you go completely still. Your eyes are wide, Joel’s close in regret, his cheeks turning pink, and Ellie looks like she’s going to explode with excitement until—

“You guys FUCKED!” she shouts. 

People around the mess hall turn to stare. 

“Ellie,” Joel hisses, his head whipping toward her. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she says in a quieter voice, the rest of the room returning to eating. “I knew it! It’s about fucking time! So when are you getting married?” She’s looking between the two of you. “You know, I’ve always wanted a mom! And a brother! I’ll settle for a sister, though. Is she moving in with us, Joel?” She’s staring at him expectantly with a grin. 

Joel’s face is bright red. “I’m gettin’ the fuckin’ fork,” he grumbles as he gets up from his seat. 

Masterlist

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[pucksandpower]

Think I Need Someone Older

Fernando Alonso x Ocon!Reader

Summary: you know you should stay away from your brother’s ex-teammate, but if it’s wrong, why does it feel so right?

Warnings: 18+ content, manipulation, pregnancy

You look around with wide eyes as you walk through the paddock, following your brother as he gives you a tour. This is your first time at a race weekend, and the excitement and nerves are battling inside you. Esteban has told you so much about his world, but seeing it in person is entirely different.

The smell of rubber and gasoline hangs thick in the air. Mechanics and engineers are buzzing around the garage, focused intensely on the sleek pink and blue car before them. Esteban places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you forward.

“Here she is,” he says proudly. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

You nod, eyes wide. The carbon fiber curves of the car seem to shimmer under the lights. Your gaze sweeps over it, drinking in every detail.

“She’s amazing,” you breathe.

Esteban grins. “Just wait until you see her on track.”

He keeps talking, but you’ve noticed a man walking towards you. Even in a paddock full of fit, athletic people, he stands out. Shorter than your tall brother, but compact and muscular. Dark hair sweeps across his forehead as he removes his sunglasses, revealing sharp brown eyes.

“Esteban,” he calls in a Spanish accent. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely companion?”

Your brother turns, smile fading. “Fernando. This is my sister, Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Fernando purrs. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He takes your hand, brushing a kiss over your knuckles.

You feel your cheeks flush even as Esteban frowns. Fernando’s touch lingers a beat too long before releasing you.

“Don’t you have a setup to work on?” Esteban says sharply.

Fernando shrugs, eyes still on you. “The car is nearly there. I thought I would come meet my new fan.”

“I’m sure Y/N doesn’t want to be bothered-”

“It’s no bother,” you interrupt. Fernando’s presence is magnetic in a way you can’t explain. The intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken.

He smiles. “There, you see? The lady wishes to talk.”

Esteban huffs but doesn’t argue further. Fernando slings an arm around your shoulders, guiding you away. You glance back at your brother’s glowering face but allow yourself to be led.

Fernando steers you to a quiet corner of the paddock, away from the bustle. Leaning against the wall, he gives you another long look over.

“Tell me, Y/N,” he says conversationally, “How does a girl like you end up with a brute like Esteban for a brother?”

You laugh, surprised by his bluntness. “He’s not so bad.”

“No? The man has the personality of a rock.” Fernando shakes his head. “I do not understand it. Such a warm, engaging young woman. And him — cold and dull as a fish.”

You bite your lip. It’s true your brother can be reserved, but-

“You barely know me,” you point out.

Fernando touches your chin lightly. “I know enough. I have an eye for these things.” His fingers trail down your neck, along your collarbone. You shiver.

“We only just met,” you whisper.

His mouth twitches. “You felt it too, no? A … connection.”

You’re no longer sure if it’s a connection or merely intoxication. Fernando’s presence envelops you like a drug.

“I ...” You falter, words failing.

Fernando leans in as though to kiss you. At the last second, he veers, lips grazing your ear instead.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he murmurs. It’s not a question.

You nod helplessly. Satisfied, Fernando pulls back, putting professional distance between you again. Yet his eyes continue undressing you.

Over his shoulder, you see Esteban approaching, scowling. Fernando follows your gaze and sighs.

“Until tonight, my dear.” He squeezes your hand and walks away.

Esteban reaches you, glaring between you and Fernando’s retreating back. “What did he want?”

You stare at the ground, afraid your expression will give everything away. “Nothing. Just … talking.”

Your brother snorts. “I’m sure. That man always has an agenda.” His eyes soften, noticing your discomfort. “Come on, let’s continue the tour.”

You let Esteban lead you back into the bustle of the garage, his concerns about Fernando fading as he delves into explanations about the car. But you aren’t really listening. Your thoughts swirl with the memory of Fernando’s touch, his lips, his hungry eyes. The things he made you feel with nothing more than a look.

You’ve never reacted to someone like this before. The impropriety of it — your brother’s rival, a man nearly twice your age — only heightens the exhilaration. You should be appalled by his forwardness. Instead, you’re counting down the minutes until you’ll be alone with him again.

Dinner tonight. Your heart races faster at the thought. What will happen there? What might have already happened if Esteban hadn’t interrupted?

You glance around, half expecting Fernando to be watching you still. But he’s nowhere to be seen. Esteban guides you to look more closely at the car, oblivious to your distraction.

You try to focus on your brother’s words, on the amazing machine in front of you. But your thoughts keep circling back to Fernando — his intensity, his confidence, the promise in his eyes.

This weekend just got a lot more interesting. Fernando looked ready to devour you whole. And despite yourself, you want to be consumed.

***

You smooth non-existent wrinkles from your dress for the tenth time, nerves making you fidget. The hotel restaurant lounge is busier than you expected for a Thursday night. Groups of team members, drivers, and media fill the tables, the air abuzz with a mix of languages.

Scanning the room, you don’t see Fernando yet. You chose this public place with the hope it would feel safer, less intimate than being alone with him in one of your hotel rooms. But now, the crowded restaurant only ramps up your anxiety.

You check your phone again. Still no texts from Fernando. Your foot taps impatiently.

“Y/N.”

You startle at the sound of your name purred in that accent. Turning, you find Fernando behind you, looking sharp in a tailored suit jacket and dark designer jeans. His gaze sweeps over you appreciatively.

“You look exquisite tonight.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks from the hunger in his eyes. You resist the urge to fidget with your dress again.

“Shall we?” He gestures to a table, placing a hand on your lower back to guide you.

You tense at the contact, hyper aware of every point his body meets yours as you walk. Fernando’s hand presses more firmly, as if enjoying your reaction.

At the table, he holds your chair out with exaggerated chivalry, letting his fingers trail across your bare shoulders. You suppress a shiver.

Once seated across from you, Fernando lounges comfortably in his chair, perfectly at ease. You envy his confidence. One look from his intense eyes still makes you blush furiously.

A waiter appears for your drink order. You ask for a white wine. Fernando requests an expensive Scotch.

Alone again, his gaze bores into you. “Now, where were we earlier? Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

You wet your dry lips. “I-I’m not sure that was ...”

“Appropriate?” Fernando supplies with a wolfish grin. “And here I thought you liked my hands on you.”

Your blush deepens. God, being around him is intoxicating. You can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud, though.

Fernando leans forward. “I see the way you look at me, Y/N. Like a woman who wants to be … pleased.”

His use of the euphemism makes you squirm even as heat pools low in your belly.

“You’re my brother’s rival,” you protest weakly.

Fernando shrugs. “All the more exciting, no?”

When you don’t respond, he sits back with a knowing look.

“You pretend to be a good girl. But I see the passion in you waiting to come out.”

The waiter returns with your drinks, providing a temporary respite. You sip your wine, grasping for composure.

Fernando continues watching you like a cat with a mouse. “Does Esteban know you’re out with me tonight?”

You shake your head. Your brother thinks you turned in early, exhausted from the day at the track. If he knew ...

“Sneaking around on a date with his rival.” Fernando tsks. “What would he think?”

“This isn’t a date,” you retort, but the denial sounds weak even to you.

“No? Then why so nervous?” His foot brushes against yours under the table. “Why so willing to deceive your dear brother?”

You have no response. Fernando sees right through you. It’s terrifying and thrilling all at once.

His eyes glitter with victory. But his tone softens. “It is only dinner. No need for guilt.”

He refills your wine glass, coaxing you to relax as you order. The food provides a welcome distraction. He draws you into conversations about travel and music, keeping things casual. Bit by bit, your nerves unwind. Fernando is charming company when he wants to be.

You find yourself laughing at a story about his home in Spain. Your eyes meet and the air shifts. The easy rapport slips away, replaced by simmering tension.

Fernando’s fingers graze your hand resting on the table, tracing delicate patterns on your sensitive skin. Your breathing quickens.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmurs. “I wonder if all of you feels this good to touch.”

The images his words invoke make your head spin. His thumb strokes your wrist, feeling your racing pulse.

“Fernando ...” It comes out a half-moan.

Abruptly he releases you, sitting back. You stare, confused and bereft.

“Come.” Fernando stands, holding out a hand. “Walk with me.”

Heart pounding, you let him pull you up and guide you toward the exit. The night air hits your flushed cheeks. Fernando’s hand on your back urges you wordlessly down the street toward the harbor overlooking the city lights.

At the railing, he moves behind you, hands resting casually on your hips. You tense, every nerve aware of him surrounding you. His breath tickles your neck.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he commands softly.

You turn your head, body rigid. Fernando smiles, trailing a finger down your jaw. Eyes locked with yours, he presses closer until no space remains between you. Your lips part involuntarily. Triumph flashes in his expression.

“You want me to kiss you.” It’s not a question.

You close your eyes, unable to deny it. Fernando’s thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“Look at me,” he repeats.

You force your eyes open. His face fills your vision.

“Not here,” he says. “Not yet.”

You ache in frustration, but Fernando is immovable as stone. He releases you and steps back. The loss of his touch is a physical pain.

Turning you firmly, he nods at the view. “Enjoy the lights, hmm?”

On unsteady legs, you move to the railing. Fernando stands casually beside you once more. For long minutes, silence reigns.

When you finally chance a look at him, his lips twitch into a smug, satisfied grin.

“You’re playing games,” you accuse shakily.

He lifts an innocent brow. “Games? I merely enjoy a lovely view with a lovely woman.”

You frown, unconvinced. This whole evening has been him expertly stoking the fire between you, only to withdraw at the critical moment. It leaves you trembling with unfulfilled desire.

As if reading your mind, Fernando strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. “Patience, my sweet. I have no wish to rush this.” His eyes burn. “The anticipation will make your surrender so much sweeter.”

Surrender. The word sinks into your bones, igniting a yearning you don’t dare name.

Fernando glances at his watch. “Come. I will walk you back.”

The return to your hotel is silent, charged with restless energy. At your door, Fernando grasps your hand, raising it to his lips. The kiss undoes you in a way his mouth on yours might not have.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.” A promise lurks beneath his polite words.

You watch him walk away down the hall before letting yourself into your room on wobbly legs. Collapsing back against the door, you close your eyes, body humming.

He was right about one thing. After tonight, you’ll never look at Fernando the same way again. And despite the unfulfilled desire burning through you, part of you thrills at his control, his patience.

You don’t know what this game between you is yet, or what price it might exact. But as you lay sleepless in tangled sheets, replaying each burning moment, one truth rings clear — you trust Fernando to take you wherever this desire leads. And you’re powerless to do anything but follow.

***

The next two days pass in a haze of stolen glances and brief, electric touches that leave you trembling. At the track or hotel, Fernando finds ways to brush against you, to whisper heated words in your ear when no one else is close. But he never pushes further, leaving you a tangled mess of growing need.

Tonight is the final night before the race, the paddock thick with tension and excitement. You pick at your food during the Alpine team dinner, eyes drifting to Fernando at a nearby table with Aston Martin. He meets your gaze with a knowing smirk but stays focused on his own group.

You all but flee back to your room afterward, nerves pulled tight. Pacing the floor, you debate going to him, giving in to this madness. A knock interrupts your thoughts.

You open the door to find Fernando, hunger etched on his face. He steps inside, backing you to the wall. Caging you in place with his body, he strokes a finger down your cheek.

“No more waiting, I think,” he murmurs.

You sway toward him but Fernando holds you firmly in place, denying what you crave. His lips graze your ear instead.

“Say you want me, Y/N. I need to hear you say it.”

You shudder, clinging to the last frayed threads of resistance. Sensing it, he drifts lower, tongue and teeth teasing your neck in a way that ruins you. A gasp escapes your lips.

“Say it,” Fernando commands, the words vibrating against your skin.

“I-I want you,” you breathe, the admission cracking you open.

Triumph flares in his eyes. Then his mouth is on yours, claiming you in a fierce kiss. Weeks of pent-up desire explode as he devours you against the wall. Your fingers twist in his shirt, urgent sounds escaping between kisses.

When you’re both breathless, Fernando pulls back. Eyes wild, he strips off your dress in rough motions, leaving you in only lace undergarments. Ravenous hands explore your newly exposed skin.

“So perfect, just as I knew you would be.”

He lifts you effortlessly and you wrap your legs around his waist. Carrying you to the bed, he lays you across the sheets. You reach for him desperately but he catches your wrists, pinning them over your head.

“I am in control here. Understood?”

You nod, writhing beneath him. With a pleased growl, Fernando releases you to strip away the rest of your clothes. Then he’s above you again, letting you feel his need as he grinds against your aching core. Even through layers of clothing, it makes you dizzy with want.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands.

“You, Fernando, only you,” tumbles from your lips.

With a satisfied smile, he sits back to remove the rest of his own clothes, eyes scorching your bare skin. Then he covers you once more, warm skin against skin, teasing your entrance as his mouth finds your breasts.

Your head falls back, lost in sensation, but Fernando grips your chin. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes when I claim you.”

Holding your gaze, he enters you in one long stroke. The feeling of him filling you so completely wrenches a shattered moan from your lips. Fernando gives you no chance to adjust, pulling back only to drive into you again and again. You cling to him helplessly, taken over by a pleasure so intense it borders pain.

Fernando murmurs filthy praise and endearments in your ear as he possesses you. When his pace quickens, you shatter around him with a keening cry. He follows you over the edge with a growl soon after.

Still buried inside you, he brushes damp hair back from your face. “Such a good girl,” he praises, stroking your cheeks.

You cling to him, overwhelmed with sensation, with intimacy like you’ve never known. Fernando kisses you lazily before withdrawing to lay beside you. He gathers you close against his chest.

“Sleep now. You will need your rest to watch me win tomorrow.”

His arrogant assurance makes you laugh weakly. Fernando smiles, eyes softening.

“Laugh now if you wish. But after tomorrow, your brother will be the one sulking.”

His mention of Esteban pierces through the haze of bliss. Guilt twists your stomach. With everything that just happened, you forgot entirely about your brother.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Fernando tilts your chin up. “Do not look so troubled, hmm? Esteban need never know.”

You bite your lip. “He won’t approve. He warned me about you.”

Amusement flickers in Fernando’s eyes. “Did he now? And yet here you are.” His expression grows serious. “I will not share you, Y/N. Not even with family.”

The words, though alarming, send a thrill through you. To be wanted so possessively is disturbingly intoxicating. You know you should pull away, but you’ve already crossed so many lines tonight.

Fernando kisses you again, more gently this time. “Sleep, my sweet. No more worrying.”

Wrapped securely in his arms, you let the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you under. Everything else can wait for tomorrow. Tonight, you simply need to feel Fernando surrounding you, keeping you safe in the shelter of his embrace. Whatever comes next, you know you are his now. For better or worse.

***

Morning light streams through the curtains, rousing you from dreams of warm skin and demanding touches. For a moment, you reach across rumpled sheets, expecting to find Fernando’s solid form beside you. But you’re alone.

Sitting up, you spot a piece of hotel stationery on the pillow, his bold script across it:

Y/N,

Last night was magnificent. I wish I could wake to your beautiful face, but it is race day and I must prepare. Tonight, we celebrate properly. Wear something special for me.

Yours,

F

You trace the letters, a complicated mix of emotions swirling through you. The sheer joy of last night, giving in fully to each other. The guilt that creeps in with morning’s harsh light. Uncertainty of what comes next.

But most powerful of all is the magnetic pull towards him, this man who looked inside you and saw something even you didn’t know was there. Fernando unlocked it effortlessly, leaving you craving more.

Your phone buzzes with a message from Esteban, jolting you fully back to reality. He’s checking that you will be in Alpine hospitality for the race. You text back a vague confirmation, stomach twisting. Facing your brother today, pretending everything is fine while memories of Fernando claiming you play on repeat in your head, will be its own special kind of torment.

You take extra time getting ready, needing the armor of makeup and nice clothes before seeing the team. When you finally make your way trackside, the chaos of race day surrounds you. The garages burst with activity as crews make final preparations. Fans pose for photos and scramble for autographs. But your eyes scan only for Fernando.

You find him outside the Aston Martin garage, surrounded by engineers and PR reps going over last minute details. His race suit is unzipped to the waist, undershirt clinging to his toned chest. Fernando looks up and meets your gaze, desire flashing hot and quick across his face before he masks it.

Heart pounding, you flee to the Alpine suite before he can approach. The morning passes in a tense haze of avoiding Fernando and trying not to show your turmoil. You pick at food, choke down drinks, focus on breathing evenly.

When it’s time for driver introductions, Esteban finds you, pulling you in for a quick hug.

“Wish me luck out there today,” he says with a boyish grin.

You try to smile back naturally. “Good luck. I’ll be cheering for you.” The lie burns your tongue.

Esteban hurries off to prepare and you make your way trackside, pushing through throngs of fans to get a view of the grid. On the big screens, you watch the orchestrated chaos of the buildup.

Your breath catches as Fernando comes into view, prowling the asphalt in his fireproofs like a predator. His confidence and command fill the space around him.

The sight of your lover gearing up to battle your brother is surreal. But the excitement shining in Fernando’s eyes triggers an answering heat in you, eclipsing any conflicted emotions.

As the cars line up on the grid for final preparations, you spot Fernando scanning the crowd. When his gaze locks with yours, he presses two fingers to his lips then holds them out towards you.

Blood pounds in your ears. Everything else fades away except him. In this moment, nothing else matters but the connection between you.

The start lights flash and the cars roar to life, rocketing down the track. You’re jostled by the surging crowd of Alpine guests but keep your eyes glued to the screen, following Fernando’s bright green car. He keeps pace near the front of the pack, battling for position on each turn.

When he overtakes Esteban, your pulse leaps. You shouldn’t want your brother defeated, but the thrill of watching Fernando drive is too powerful.

The race unfolds lap by lap. Fernando runs a flawless strategy, overtaking rivals and avoiding risks. Esteban has moments of brilliance but spends more time defending his position than attacking.

In the closing laps, Fernando emerges through the chaos at the front of the pack, keeping two challengers at bay to the checkered flag. Your heart leaps as he takes the victory to the roar of the crowd around you.

On screen, Fernando pumps his fist before peeling off his gear and climbing atop his car for celebratory photos. Even with helmet hair and soaked in sweat, he looks like a warrior king surveying his territory. Exultant. Dominant. Yours.

The screens cut to Esteban climbing from his car in the midfield, frustration etched on his face. Your joy dims slightly, guilt creeping back in. Seeing your brother’s defeat firsthand twists your stomach.

But before regret can take hold, your phone buzzes with a message from Fernando.

Come celebrate with the conquering hero. My room tonight.

Any hint of doubt burns away. Esteban will have the rest of the team to console him. Tonight, you belong to Fernando.

The hours until the evening crawl by. You pace your room, unsure what to expect from the night. At last, dressed in a slinky black dress, you make your way to Fernando’s room.

He opens the door bare-chested, hair still damp from the shower. Hunger flashes in his eyes as he looks you over.

“Exquisite. Come here, my sweet.”

He draws you inside, mouth finding yours. You melt into him, the kiss deep and claiming. This time when Fernando backs you against the wall, you arch into him, wanting more. But he lifts you effortlessly instead, carrying you to the bed.

“I believe a celebration is in order.”

With deliberate care, he peels your dress away, hands roaming your newly bared skin. Stretched out beneath him, you let Fernando relearn every inch of you, patient this time, focused only on your pleasure.

By the time he finally joins your bodies, you’re drunk on sensation, clinging to him desperately. Fernando’s pace builds unhurriedly, drawing out your ecstasy until you shatter around him with a cry. He follows after, praising you again and again as he finds his own peak.

This time when he gathers you close afterwards, there is no guilt, no conflict in your sated bliss. You know with absolute clarity that this man owns every piece of you now, mind, body and soul. And you would give yourself to him again and again, consequences be damned. For in Fernando’s arms, you feel truly alive for the first time.

***

The end of the race weekend approaches too quickly. You wish you could freeze time, stay wrapped up in Fernando without the outside world intruding. But reality awaits.

On the flight home, Fernando secures you a seat beside him, hidden away in a secluded corner of the private jet. He slips his jacket over your entwined hands, shielding touches and whispered words from prying eyes.

“I want you in Spain as soon as possible,” he murmurs. “No more sneaking around.”

You lean into him. “I want that too.”

The stolen moments already feel unbearable after having him so completely. Fernando smiles, fingers stroking your cheek.

“Soon, my love. I will show you my home, my life there. We will never be apart.”

His words paint a picture more tempting than you can resist. Still, doubts creep in.

“What about Esteban?” You whisper. “My family here?”

Fernando’s eyes harden. “Your life is with me now. They will understand in time.” He grips your hand tighter. “I share you with no one.”

You know you should argue, but the command in his voice thrills you too much. Esteban will be furious when he learns the truth. Yet the thought of losing Fernando cuts far deeper. Your brother will forgive you eventually. But losing Fernando would break you.

At the airport, Fernando kisses you fiercely, heedless of anyone who might see.

“I will come for you soon,” he vows. “Be ready.”

Over the next weeks, you make discreet plans and excuses, preparing to leave your old life behind. Fernando texts and calls when he can, reminding you what awaits. The life he paints, together in his Spanish villa, sounds like a fairytale.

Too soon, though, reality intrudes again. Alpine invites you to a sponsorship dinner before the following race. Declining would raise Esteban’s suspicions, so you accept reluctantly.

You take pains with your appearance that evening, needing the armor. But when Esteban greets you with an affectionate hug, guilt pierces through.

“I’m so glad you could come, little sister. It’s been too long.”

You blink back tears, letting him escort you inside. Other team members welcome you warmly, expressing what a delight it is to see you again. Their kindness cuts sharpest of all.

The only balm is Fernando, across the restaurant with Aston Martin again. His gaze finds you, a question in his eyes. You give a small, reassuring nod. This changes nothing.

Dinner passes in a tense haze of pushing food around your plate and avoiding wine, afraid your fragile composure will crack. You make excuses to leave early, feigning jet lag.

Esteban walks you out, frowning when you evade his offer to get dessert somewhere.

“Everything okay? You seem distracted tonight.”

The concern in his voice nearly breaks you. But before you lose your nerve, a sleek silver car pulls up, back door opening. Fernando steps out, beckoning you.

Your brother’s eyes widen in shock and fury. “What the hell is this?”

“Esteban-”

“Did you know he would be here?” Esteban demands. “What are you doing with him, Y/N?”

You back away, tears escaping. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Go? You’re leaving? With him?” Esteban looks between you and Fernando, comprehension dawning. “No. No you would never ...” He grabs your wrist.

Fernando is there in an instant, prying Esteban’s grip off easily. He pulls you behind him, staring your brother down.

“Do not touch her again,” Fernando warns, danger in his tone.

Esteban’s face twists in anger and betrayal. “She is my sister, not yours to take.”

“She belongs with me.” Fernando’s absolute conviction brooks no argument. “Accept that, and we will have no quarrel.”

He turns, guiding you gently into the waiting car. Needing to see Esteban one last time, you glance back. The hurt and confusion in his eyes tears at your heart.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper as the car pulls away. Fernando cradles you close as sobs wrack your frame. Grief wars with relief now that everything is in the open.

“Hush now, he will understand in time,” Fernando soothes, stroking your hair.

When your tears slow, he tips your chin up. His eyes shine with possession and pride. “You are mine now. Truly mine. Are you ready?”

You nod, no doubts left, your fate sealed. Fernando kisses you until the lingering guilt washes away. By the time you fall asleep cradled against his chest, you feel only peace. Your future stretches before you, boundless and breathtaking at Fernando’s side.

Stepping into it will mean losing so much and gaining even more. The path will not be easy, but with Fernando’s hand clasping yours, you know you can weather any coming storms.

This is your destiny now. All your broken, scattered pieces made whole in his arms. And you will let nothing stand between you, consequences be damned. For your heart belongs to Fernando alone.

***

The months that follow are bliss and agony.

Fernando whisks you away to his estate in Asturias as promised. There, you settle effortlessly into domestic life with him, days filled with sunshine, languid meals on the veranda, and nights spent tangled in silken sheets. Fernando dotes on you, lavishing you with attention and affection. Under his guidance, you blossom, leaving your past self behind.

Yet the guilt lingers. Esteban refuses your calls and texts, cutting you out fully. Your parents write you off as bewitched when you try to explain. Only Fernando’s steady reassurance gets you through those dark hours when you fear you’ve lost your family forever.

“They will come around, my love,” he murmurs against your hair. “One day they will understand this was destiny. That we belong together.”

Privately, you pray he’s right. Your new life feels hollow without your brother’s laughter and your parents’ warm hugs. But Fernando fills the void as best he can, surrounding you with his love.

As summer wanes into fall, you throw yourself into supporting Fernando’s training regimen and race preparations. The coming season will be pivotal for him at Aston Martin. You’re determined to be the perfect partner — encouraging yet not demanding, understanding of his grueling schedule and focus.

You savor each moment at home between races. Fernando takes you sailing along the coast, shows you his favorite local villages, and teaches you to cook traditional dishes. At night, his touch erases the lingering ache of your family’s rejection.

When race weekends come, you follow Fernando dutifully, maintaining a low profile. Those around the paddock eye you with curiosity and judgment, but their opinions matter little. Only Fernando’s happiness concerns you now.

The races become a test of will. Watching Esteban battle to succeed with Alpine as you lurk in the Aston Martin garage twists your stomach. But you bear the pain, focusing on Fernando’s victories and commiserating during setbacks. Your efforts earn you his praise and devotion. Slowly, the paddock gossip fades to background noise.

Months pass in a blissful haze. Fernando secures key podiums, cementing himself as a title contender. Off track, he takes you traveling during breaks — Switzerland, Dubai, the Maldives. The outside world and its judgements fade away.

When Fernando wins the season finale, you greet him with a tearful smile, so proud of his achievement. Lifting you off your feet, he swings you in giddy circles before capturing your mouth in a crushing kiss. Cameras flash all around, but his eyes see only you.

“This victory is yours too, my love,” he declares later that night, still elated. “You give me strength.”

Curled in his arms, you cling tightly, overwhelmed with emotion. Fernando has proven your faith in him justified, in both racing and your life together. Whatever sacrifices you made, his love has been worth it.

In the glow of Fernando’s championship, the offseason flies by. Before you know it, new season preparations are underway. Fernando secures a multi-year contract extension with Aston Martin, cementing his status as their star driver.

When you arrive for pre-season testing, the garage buzzes with anticipation. Fernando struts with authoritative confidence, embracing his role as the team’s champion leader. He draws you close when you appear, kissing you soundly.

“Look at them stare now,” he murmurs smugly. “You are untouchable.”

It’s true. No one dares whisper anymore when you pass. Fernando’s stature grants you protection, and with it, a new confidence. You hold your head high, welcoming the envious glances.

One person’s attention, however, you try desperately to avoid. Esteban keeps his distance, but you catch him watching sometimes, face unreadable. The renewed pain of his estrangement cuts deep. You cling to Fernando’s side throughout testing, avoiding any risk of confrontation.

On the final test day, you beg off going to the garage, emotionally drained. Fernando is reluctant but acquiesces to your needs, dropping you at the hotel to rest.

By late afternoon, guilt creeps in. You should be supporting Fernando now, not wallowing. Before you can lose courage, you head back to the track.

The Aston Martin bay is empty when you arrive, the garage eerily quiet. You’re about to turn and look elsewhere when hushed voices catch your ear. Fernando’s unmistakable accent, and one achingly familiar.

Heart pounding, you creep toward the sound, peeking around a supply crate. Fernando and Esteban stand mere feet apart, tension radiating between them. Your brother’s hands clench at his sides.

“I want to see her,” Esteban demands.

Fernando scoffs. “You lost that right long ago.”

“She is my sister-”

“She is mine,” Fernando cuts in sharply. “You rejected her. I gave her the life she deserves.”

Esteban flinches. “I was hurt. Angry. But she is still family.” His eyes turn pleading. “Just let me talk to her, Fernando. Please.”

Your heart lurches, desperate to run to him. But Fernando stands immobile as stone.

“No. I have seen how you make her cry and doubt herself. She is happy now, and I will not let you ruin that.”

“I just want to know she’s okay-”

“She is perfect.” Fernando steps closer, looming. “Go back to your garage and your racing, little boy. Y/N is no concern of yours anymore.”

Esteban’s face twists. For a moment it seems he might shove Fernando back. But finally he deflates, defeat in the slump of his shoulders.

Your brother turns without a word, nearly reaching your hiding spot before stopping short. His eyes find yours, widening in shock.

“Y/N ...” he breathes.

You stare, frozen. Esteban takes a half step toward you, hand extended. The months apart feel erased, love and longing surging-

“Y/N.” Fernando’s sharp voice lashes like a whip. You jolt from the spell, tears burning your eyes.

Esteban’s face crumbles. But he only nods once, a goodbye, before walking away.

Fernando is at your side instantly, clutching you close, a hand cradling your head as you tremble against him.

“You see now?” He murmurs. “He only wishes to hurt you more.”

You cling tighter, the echo of your name on Esteban’s lips haunting you. Burying your face in Fernando’s chest, you let him soothe away the renewed ache, the hope dying again.

Later back at the hotel, Fernando undresses you with gentle reverence, worshiping every inch of exposed skin until thoughts of your brother scatter.

“You are everything I need, my sweet,” he vows as your bodies join. “Only you.”

You know it’s true. Whatever Esteban hopes to reclaim, too much has changed now. The girl he knew is gone. Your fate lies with Fernando alone.

So you let your lover consume you with pleasure until nothing else remains. And when Fernando’s possessive whispers of ‘mine’ finally lull you to sleep, Esteban’s haunted eyes cannot follow.

***

And then a surprise is tossed your way. You throw yourself into preparing the villa for a baby, grateful for the distraction. Fernando dotes on you even more than usual, making sure you want for nothing.

At night, he lays you back with utmost tenderness, hands and lips caressing your changing form.

“You grow more radiant each day, my love,” he murmurs. “Motherhood suits you beautifully.”

Privately, you hope the coming baby might also soften your estranged family’s hearts. But Fernando shuts down any mention of reconciling.

“All we need is right here,” he insists, cradling your belly. “Our child will want for nothing.”

You try to take comfort in his words. With the new life growing inside you, loneliness for lost family cuts deepest of all. But you swallow the hurt, focusing on what lies ahead.

As your due date nears, Fernando reluctantly leaves for preseason activities. You encourage him to concentrate on racing, hiding any lingering sadness. This year must be his best yet with a child on the way.

The season opener comes quickly. Fernando wants you resting comfortably at home, but you insist on being there to support him. After lengthy persuasion, he concedes.

Stepping back into the paddock on Fernando’s arm, you keep your head high despite stares following your pregnant belly. Let them judge and gossip. You and Fernando know the truth.

Seeing the Aston Martin crew embrace you and Fernando as family sparks an ache you thought long buried. With Esteban still refusing contact, this child will have only one doting uncle on the grid in Carlos Sainz.

During the race weekend, you catch Esteban watching you pensively across the paddock several times. Each glimpse cuts like a knife. He always looks away quickly, his expression unreadable.

Sunday unfolds in a chaotic blur of pre-race pageantry and tension. From the cozy Aston Martin hospitality suite, you cheer loudly as Fernando battles fiercely for position. In the closing laps, he makes a daring pass to claim a hard-fought podium.

When Fernando emerges from the cool down room, still elated, he makes a beeline for you. Sweeping you up carefully, he kisses you passionately, heedless of the room’s occupants. You cling tightly, swallowing against stubborn tears.

The bittersweet reunion is broken by Carlos, swooping in to hug you both. He presses a hand to your belly with a grin.

“Let me properly meet my future sobrino or sobrina!”

His joyful fussing over you makes your heart clench. Glancing to the back of the room, you find Esteban watching silently, an array of emotions on his face.

As Carlos distractedly moves on to congratulate other drivers, Esteban turns and slips away. Impulse seizes you. Murmuring an excuse to Fernando, you hurry after your brother before he disappears.

You catch Esteban at the elevator, grasping his arm. He tenses but doesn’t pull away, eyes dropping briefly to your belly before meeting your gaze.

“Can we talk?” You plead breathlessly. “Just for a minute?”

Esteban hesitates, glancing down the hall where sounds of celebration continue. Finally he nods, gesturing you into the empty elevator.

The doors close and awkward silence descends. Now that you have him here, you’re lost for words.

Esteban breaks the tension gently. “You look happy. Pregnancy suits you.”

You offer a tentative smile. “I am happy. This baby will have two loving parents.” You bite your lip before adding, “But it could use an uncle too.”

Esteban looks startled, then conflicted. “Fernando would never allow it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t need his permission. Or yours.” Taking Esteban’s hand, you squeeze tightly. “You’re my family. I know we can’t go back to before, but can’t we find some way forward? For the baby’s sake? For mine?”

Esteban searches your face, hesitant. You see the longing warring with old hurts.

“Please,” you whisper. “I miss my brother.”

Your pleading eyes break him. Esteban crushes you into a hug just as the elevator doors open. You cling to each other, both crying.

Footsteps approach and you pull back to see Fernando standing there, concern fading to understanding. Over Esteban’s shoulder, you gaze at your lover beseechingly.

Fernando’s jaw tightens. For a moment, you fear he’ll force you to choose again. But then his eyes soften, nodding once. Relief crashes over you.

Esteban turns, instinctively shielding you protectively. Fernando raises a pacifying hand.

“It seems we have much to discuss.” His mouth quirks wryly. “Shall we find somewhere calmer?”

Cautious hope dawns on Esteban’s face. Together, the three of you retreat to a private corner of the Aston Martin motorhome. There, awkwardly at first, you begin reconciling.

It’s not quick or easy after so much hurt. But you now have a child’s future to consider. Heart by heart, the ice thaws between the men who both love you in different ways. They will never be friends, yet reach an understanding.

When Fernando pulls you close and whispers, “Whatever you need to be happy, my love,” you know this olive branch is genuine. You kiss him tenderly, letting your joy speak for you.

In the weeks and months that follow, bonds slowly rebuild between you and your family. Fernando keeps his promise, welcoming Esteban into your lives, albeit warily at times. He seems to take pride in your returning happiness, though.

Your daughter’s birth months later cements the change. A redemptive joy surrounds you as she’s passed gently into Esteban’s arms. Fernando looks on with unmatched tenderness, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Our family is complete now,” he murmurs. And you know it’s true.

The years that follow hold challenges and triumphs, heartbreak and healing. You watch your little girl grow surrounded by love. She becomes the bridge connecting two worlds once torn apart.

There are times old wounds threaten to reopen. Jealousies flare, harsh words spoken in anger. But you face each crisis together, choosing reconciliation over rupture. And your family emerges stronger for it.

At your daughter’s second birthday party, you pause during the chaos to take it all in. Fernando whirls the giggling birthday girl around while Esteban looks on grinning. Music and laughter surround you.

Watching your child beam, you feel only joy now, and gratitude. However painful the path, every sacrifice was worth it to arrive at this peace. You know the bonds connecting you now can weather any storm life may bring.

Fernando catches your eye, blowing you a kiss. His love gave you courage once to chase an impossible dream. Now you stand surrounded by the reality — a family woven together by resilience and forgiveness.

Your daughter toddles to you and you sweep her up, kissing every inch of her sweet face as she squeals. Over her shoulder, you meet Fernando’s proud eyes. In them you see the past, present, and future. And you know — you would do it all again a thousand times for this happiness you’ve found.

[perrywrites]

CAN U DO KAISER, NESS AND KIYORA FOR THE 'Asking them to hold your hand during your first time'?!?!!!?? IK KIYORA'S PART MAY BE CHALLENGING(u don't have to do him if you want ofc)) BUT YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD LIKE.. I LOVE IT 🗣️🗣️‼️

SDFHSDFSFD THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SWEET WORDS 🙈🙈🙈 I'm so honoured you like my writing, I hope you enjoy this!

Asking “Can you… Can you hold my hand?” during your first time together, part 6;

NSFW

Includes; Kaiser, Ness, Kiyora

Part 1 (Isagi, Hiori, Bachira) and part 2 (Barou, Shidou, Karasu) and part 3 (Reo, Chigiri, Nagi) and part 4 (Rin, Sae, Kunigami) and part 5 (Otoya, Oliver, Yukimiya)

Kaiser: he is smirking down at you, beyond smug and satisfied. Did you think you could resist him for long? Deny what you felt for him? Look at you now, after all that talk, writhing beneath him and whining so sweetly for his touch. Honestly, though, he’s in no position to be teasing you so much, the way his cock is twitching and leaking already - shit, look at what you did to him? He will never admit it to you, but he’s so sure what he feels for you is much stronger than anything you will ever feel for him. That’s just how it is, sweetheart, you render him weak with longing, don’t you see? Beyond the smugness the way he craves you so wholeheartedly? Dark siren eyes trembling slightly as his hands reach forth and claim your innocence in its entirety, his mouth robbing you of your capability to speak coherently as he fans your neck with his hot breath and wet open-mouth kisses. It’s then that you shakily breathe out such a cute little request - and there he is, chuckling against your neck. You’re too adorable. He pulls back to look at you, smirking all the while, and he can’t help but chuckle again at your flushed expression. The way your lips are quivering, you really are too adorable. What, did you think he was going to deny your adorable little request or something? Don’t worry, he’s finally getting to have you now, there’s not much he’d deny you right now. Ask him for the world and watch him condense it within the palm of his hand to slip it onto your finger. But don’t ask for mercy. He can’t give any of it when he needs you so badly. His hand intertwines with yours, and his eagerness is transparent as he leans in to kiss you, feverish, full of need for you. Almost there, he needs to feel the softness of those plush walls, feel you encage his cock in the same way you encaged his heart - the owner of this untameable emperor, aren’t you proud? You get to have him like this, ready to ruin you on his cock and give you absolutely anything and everything you desire - as long as you give yourself up to him. A fair deal, he’ll say.

Ness: You’re so beautiful. And absolutely divine. And all his - yes, his, yes. Reverently, he looks down at you, lovesick, so utterly struck by cupid, the air is thick and hot and his touch is searing. The only time he stops murmuring sweet nothings to you is when he kisses you, overflowing with passion, a well that never stops running - you’re so overwhelmed. But that doesn’t stop him as he loves on you, hushing you softly and lovingly when you whine and cry out for him, for more, deep inside you. You don’t realize what kind of an existence you are to him, his everything, his life, his heart - he’ll decide when it’s enough, when he can enter the sweet heaven of your cunt. Don’t forget it, okay? You don’t know anything, just let him take care of you, please. His mouth is obsessive as he slowly kisses down your neck to your ankle, a soft peck ending his journey of your body before he even thinks to allow his aching cock some relief through your precious cunt. Oh, so precious, all dripping and ready for him to claim you. You’re so pretty like this, all out of it for him, all whines as you cry, flushed, begging for him - he smiles. Don’t forget, he’s the only one that can fuck you this good, okay? He’s the only one that’s allowed to have you like this. Don’t forget it. Gently, he pushes your legs apart, renders you helpless as he positions himself - and then his eyes widen momentarily at your shaky words. You want him to hold your hand? Oh…? Eyes lovesick, he smiles lovingly, holding onto your hand reassuringly. You’re so cute, so naive. It’s good that you’re trusting him to have you, don’t worry. He’ll make sure no man will ever use you - to even get the opportunity to do so. So let him chain you down to him, alright? Well. Not like you had a choice at this point anyways, being so willing to let him have your body. Since he’s claiming your whole body like this, you belong to him forever, right? Right?

Kiyora: he makes a quiet vow to you with each kiss, robs you of your first time gently like a silent siren. You don’t know how much you mean to him, and he doesn’t know how to tell you. So he kisses you, again and again, tenderly at times, like freshly fallen snow, and passionately at other times, as if trying desperately to tell you ‘I love you I love you I love you.’ He pours his all into you to make up for what he can’t say in words, his touch is gentle as he cradles your cheek ever so lovingly. You let out the sweetest sounds, and he melts against your body, his breathing heavy as he nips kiss marks across your tantalising skin. He wants you so much, you have no clue. You’re so pretty, so beautiful. You don’t know, but to him you’re the prettiest girl ever. He grabs a handful of your thighs, his hands are rough but his grip is the opposite - firm but soft, oh so soft - and slowly spreads you open for him. Almost hesitant, but eager nonetheless. The feeling of your skin is addicting, and he can't help but keep being more and more greedy for you. He feels sick with how badly he wants to monopolize you, keep you all for himself. You’ll continue accepting him, won’t you? Accept all of him? You’re the only one for him, please never stop looking at him with so much love, never stop looking at him like he’s your whole world. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but still, if you allow it, maybe still he can indulge in you, right? As long as you let him, he can get to have you like this, right? When you ask him to hold your hand, his eyes widen, swirling with emotion as he tears up slightly. “... Is that all you need?” he asks, voice quiet and hoarse and strained, as he affectionately holds your hand to the bed, and when you say yes, he simply nods silently. Adoringly and ardently, he presses kisses against your face, unstopping, unyielding. He loves you so much, you don’t know. He’ll keep you safe, he’ll make you happy, so please, don’t leave him. You’re his only sanctuary, so please, don’t leave him cold and alone. He’s begging you.

Annnnnnd that's the end for this series! Hope you guys enjoyed it just as much as I enjoyed writing these 🤭🤭🤭

[lunargrapejuice]

hi! first of all, i wanna say that your writing is so good omg... i'm obsessed with your sephiroth fics, which is why i wanna request smth spicy and sweet like reading in bed together, perhaps? with lots of teasing that eventually ends up in a violent makeout session 😭😭 thank you <3

hi lovely!! thank you so much!🥺 it makes me so happy that you like them and i've been thinking about this ever since you sent this request sghdlkg🫠🥰🩷 thank you so much requesting!! i hope you like it💕 i really enjoyed writing it hehe

sephiroth x reader with no pronouns used

16+ please, heavy making out but nothing explicit

you aren’t sure you’d ever get used to the sight before you but it’s one you would never tire of all the same.

pale skin under dim light that looks as ethereal as starlight and carved from the most precious of marble by the goddess herself, surrounded by a halo of soft silver locks. cat-like eyes that sparkle like a million emeralds in the sea half hidden behind the binds of a book you can’t quite make out the title of with the long fingers that hold it in place. 

it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen any of these things either. sephiroth was always beautiful, chest on display in his uniform, his captivating eyes catching more than a few gazes and you often saw his skilled fingers that hold onto masamune. but it’s not comparable to this; with his back pressed against the headboard, completely shirtless, his arms exposed, the span of his toned stomach on full display and he looks so relaxed. fully and completely without a worry except why you weren’t curled in bed next to him.

a worry you’re quick to ease when, despite how awestruck you feel, you crawl into bed and slot yourself between his awaiting arm and warm chest, opening up your own book as you snuggle against him. his arm around you tightens in turn as if you hadn’t come quite close enough and the gentle press of his lips to the side of your head follows wordlessly. 

though a usual occurrence if you’re being honest, you’re distracted from your book by the man holding you against him. instead of your eyes wandering the words in front of you, they’re focused on the faded scars along sephiroths arm and the veins traveling up his hand that seems about as focused on his book as you are.

his fingers are warm, dipping under your sleep shirt and lightly grazing along your skin in a back and forth motion that makes you break out in goosebumps but it doesn’t feel like a mindless motion when they keep going, sliding ever so slightly under the waistband of your pants and back up again as if to get more of a reaction out of your body.

“is there something i can help you with?” you try to ask it as seriously as you can, trying not to be as heated as you feel just by this simple touch but your voice is full the effects it had left on your heart, and amusement, more than anything else.

you’re sure that not many would describe him as such but his expression is all innocence that you aren’t completely sold on when you swore you saw the upwards tug of his lips for a flash when you looked back up at him.

“what do you mean?” he asks, his tone not giving him away either.

with narrowed eyes, you study his face, your heart undeniably weak to him, and you catch a playful glint in his eyes that he couldn’t suppress when he raises a brow at you. you try to play it off cool, like you didn’t find what you were looking for on his face even though you know he’s doing it on purpose and return to the book you still hadn’t read a word of tonight but before you can get far, sephiroth has captured you in his grasp, your chin between his thumb and index finger. he brings your face back to his and you don’t resist his pull at all.

the world seems to slow as he hold you there, his book resting open on his chest, his thumb moving to glide over your bottom lip that parts at the first feeling of his touch while his index fingers keeps you right here, looking back and up at him with your neck stretched but its no uncomfortable and eyes closed, your face warm and your hearts beating in tandem, awaiting his lips on bated breath.

he finally does kiss you after what feels like far too many heart beats than you could bear without him and it’s tender and slow but devouring in a way that makes you dizzy. sephiroth takes advantage of the way you’ve kept your beautiful lips parted for him and dips his tongue inside, licking into your mouth with no urgency but all the heat that normally accompanies such desire.

but he pulls away before you’re ready, like his cheeks aren’t blushing a light shade of pink and his lips aren’t wet. his next kiss he gives you, right when your eyes open, is far less sensuous but full of just as much love, keeps you from whimpering out in protest and when another follows, even more chaste, your head is left in a fuzzy state that makes you not question when he’s returned to his book and you follow suit.

or at least in the same way you’ve been ‘reading’ since you got into bed with him. and now it would be even more impossible to do so properly. your lips linger with the taste of him, your face still burning with the warmth he drew out of you, and everywhere your bodies touch is tingling, the parts that aren’t aching for the same.

unfair, you think with a pout, stealing a glance at him and seeing he now looks completely unaffected and concentrated on his book, though you have no doubt he knows you are staring at him. 

you don’t know how long passes until you decide you can be unfair too. if it’s seconds or minutes before you’re closing your book and placing it on your nightstand, not even bothering to mark the page, and when you turn back around, the bed dips as you crawl on top of him with your legs straddling his.

he chuckles when your eyes meet, the sound making your chest flutter, and then closes his book too, letting you see all of his pretty features, and leaving it forgotten on the bed next to him.

a millisecond from when his book touches the mattress, so does your back and before the world even stop spinning in how quickly he moved you, sephiorth has a hold of your wrists and is pinning them above your head with one hand, using his other arm to keep his full weight from crushing you. your legs are still straddling him, spread wide and nearly resting on the sides of your chest that rise and fall with quick breaths, like you’re prey caught entirely by its predator.

you try to stop the little gasp that leaves your lips when he leans down, putting just a bit more of his weight on you, his hair falling over you both like a curtain of moonlight, your hips flush as his lips find your neck but he doesn’t kiss you, they only glide along your soft skin.

“perhaps it’s you that needs something from me?” he asks against your neck, his voice low, just above a whisper.

“you started-!” your words are cut off by the open mouthed kiss he leaves on the base of your neck, hot and mind melting and making your wrists wiggle in his hold with the way you writhe underneath him at the jolt of electrifying pleasure it sends down your spine and to every nerve in your body. 

you can feel him smile against your skin at the reaction and even in this hypnotizing state, you soak in the feeling of it, memorizing it so it might imprint on your skin for you to remember forever.

“if i recall correctly my love, you got on top of me first,” he kisses your neck again with the same fervor, his teeth grazing along your skin when he pulls away and the way you whimper makes his eyes darken, his voice dropping a dangerous octave. “you’re shaking already.”

you are. there’s no denying it or trying to stop it and it isn’t even about who started it at this point. you just need him and with the way he handles you with gentle strength, like you are delicate but never slipping through his grasp, you all but melt into it what he gives you and try your best to let out a plea for more.

“seph..” 

his lips are on yours in an instant, nearly teeth clashing in how deep he delves into your mouth and he groans at the feeling of your tongue on his and your hands tightening in his grasp at the ripple of bliss but he doesn’t budge in his hold. you swear you could cry not getting to touch him too. your legs around his thin waist, your chests more than flush with every little breath you try to take between having his tongue continue to explore yours, is not nearly enough.

you know you aren’t in control when you successfully, on the first attempt that was slow and with little force behind it, flip yourself back over so you’re on top of him. he lets go of your hands in the roll of your bodies, both of you ensuring your lips never break, and as soon as you can, your hands are holding his face, brushing the stray hairs from his temples with tender love before pulling him into your lips with overwhelming passion.

sephiroth can barely hold on. the way you touch him with the same care he does for you, goddess it’s so more than that, more than he can fathom or has ever had in his life, but with the same longing hunger that makes you lose your sanity just as much as he does for you.. he can hardly process how it feels but in the echo if it all is the assurance that you’re his.

the power he uses to pull you against him with one hand at your back, the other grabbing a handful of your ass, makes you whimper, your hands slipping into his silky hair and tugging lightly at the roots. it’s so intoxicating to have sephiroths strength slip, to feel just how badly he needed you when usually he would hold back, worried to hurt you even if every emotion he feels for you is all consuming but you both knew he never ever would and tonight would be no exception. 

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comments & reblogs would be so greatly appreciated!<3 thank you for reading ♡

[theodorenmyth]

OKAY! Another random funny fluff idea if you aren’t busy with requests 😭. I just seen a funny insta reel where a dude turns around quick because his friend says “don’t make it obvious, but look behind you..” and THIS DUDE SNAPS HIS HEAD SO FAST SAYING “I don’t give a fuck” and I can see that being Mattheo literally not caring for what reader says all because another student keeps staring them down trying to scare them but mattheo is like "take a picture, maybe it’ll last longer” LIKE MATTHEO GIVES THEM THE STINKEST EYE LIKE THE PICTURE BELOW 😭😭 it ends up with Mattheo protectively always be in front of the reader.

LMGFAOAO OFC yall btw im so FUCKING happy istg THATDAMNCHICKENNUGGET REPOSTED ONE OF MY BLAISE FICS AND IM TWEAKING HARD

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Don’t Make It Obvious

Pairings : Mattheo Riddle x M! Reader Summary : When another student starts glaring at you in an attempt to intimidate, Mattheo Riddle is quick to jump to your defense. In his typical brash style, he makes it clear that no one messes with you on his watch. What starts as a protective stance turns into a demonstration of just how much Mattheo cares, even if he won’t admit it outright. A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠) Warnings) : Nothing! Word count : 900+

The Great Hall buzzes with the usual lunchtime chatter, a symphony of voices mixing with the clinking of cutlery. You sit across from Mattheo, lost in a story about your recent Potions mishap. His dark eyes are fixed on you, a small smirk playing on his lips as he listens. It's moments like these that you cherish, where the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you.

"Don't make it obvious, but look behind you," you whisper, trying to keep your voice steady. Your eyes dart to the side, hoping Mattheo catches the hint without causing a scene.

Mattheo’s smirk widens into a full grin. "I don’t give a fuck," he declares, turning his head so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t get whiplash. You barely have time to register his response before he’s staring down the student behind you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

You can’t help but laugh, a mix of nerves and amusement bubbling up. "Mattheo, you can't just—"

"Take a picture, maybe it’ll last longer," Mattheo snaps, cutting you off. His voice is loud enough to draw the attention of several nearby students, and you can see the offender’s face flush with embarrassment.

The student, a Slytherin whose name you can’t quite place, quickly looks away, mumbling something under his breath. Mattheo turns back to you, his expression softening as he meets your eyes.

"Seriously, what's his problem?" you ask, more curious than concerned.

Mattheo shrugs, leaning back in his seat. "Probably thinks he can scare you or something. Idiot doesn’t know who he’s dealing with."

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips. "You’re something else, you know that?"

"Damn right," he replies, a cocky grin in place. But there’s a warmth in his eyes that tells you he’s pleased with your reaction.

The rest of lunch passes without incident, though you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every time you glance up, Mattheo is already looking, his gaze scanning the room for any potential threats. It’s both comforting and a little unnerving, knowing he’s so protective.

As you gather your things to head to your next class, Mattheo falls into step beside you. His presence is a solid reassurance, a silent promise that he won’t let anything happen to you.

In Charms, he takes the seat directly in front of you, his broad shoulders blocking your view of the rest of the room. It’s a bit over the top, but you can’t deny that it makes you feel safer.

Halfway through the lesson, a crumpled piece of parchment lands on your desk. You unfold it to find a hastily scrawled note in Mattheo’s handwriting: You okay?

You glance up to find him looking over his shoulder at you. You nod, giving him a small smile. He nods back, turning his attention to the front, but not before shooting a glare at the student who dared to look your way.

The rest of the day follows a similar pattern. Wherever you go, Mattheo is there, always positioning himself between you and anyone who seems to have a problem. It’s both endearing and a little exasperating, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.

By the time you reach the common room that evening, you’re exhausted. You collapse onto one of the couches, closing your eyes for a moment. When you open them, Mattheo is standing in front of you, a concerned look on his face.

"Rough day?" he asks, sitting down beside you.

You nod, letting out a sigh. "You didn’t have to do all that, you know. I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he replies, surprising you with the seriousness in his tone. "But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let anyone mess with you."

You look at him, really look at him, and see the determination in his eyes. It’s not just about protecting you; it’s about making sure you know that he cares.

"Thank you, Mattheo," you say softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

He squeezes back, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his usual bravado. "Anytime."

You sit there for a while, just enjoying the quiet and each other’s company. For all his rough edges and bravado, Mattheo has a way of making you feel safe and valued. And in this moment, that’s all you need.

───────♡───────

As the weeks go by, Mattheo’s protective stance becomes a familiar part of your routine. He walks you to classes, ensures you’re never alone in vulnerable moments, and always positions himself between you and any perceived threat. His fierce loyalty is both endearing and reassuring, a constant reminder of how much he cares.

One day, as you’re leaving the library, you encounter the Slytherin student again. This time, he doesn’t even look at you. Mattheo notices and chuckles. "Looks like he finally got the message."

You nod, grateful. "Thanks to you."

Mattheo’s expression softens. "I’ll always have your back, you know that, right?"

"I do," you reply, meaning every word.

He grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walk back to the common room. "Good. Because I’m not going anywhere."

With Mattheo by your side, you know you can face anything. His protectiveness is more than just a physical barrier—it’s a shield of trust and friendship that makes you feel truly safe. And as long as he’s around, you know you’ll never have to face your fears alone.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA my last fic of the day, i currently have like.. 20 requests in my inbox rn and in my drafts. Ill be posting 10 tomorrow and im still taking more. SO request anything

───────♡───────

[another-lost-mc]

DIAVOLO x gn!Reader 1.2k Words | NSFW | Explicit | Making Out, Marking, Oral Sex (m!receiving) CW: Mentions of alcohol. -> Prompt: Kissing in an Alley Behind a Bar [ Obey Me! Masterlist ]

Diavolo makes every date with you an adventure. He loves exploring all the things in the human world that you used to take for granted; everything excites him, and it’s difficult not to be excited too.

Tonight he asked you to join him on a date at a human world bar. Bars aren’t really your thing, and you don’t drink much at the best of times, but you agreed anyway. It’s hard to say ‘no’ to the demon prince that asks you for so little, while the love in his eyes promises you the whole world just for being by his side.

Most of the time when you go on human world excursions, Diavolo is overdressed for the occasion. He looks handsome, sure, but his large stature and expensive, perfectly-tailored suits draw a lot of attention.

(You try not to grumble too much when other people blatantly stare at him, or try to flirt with him even though you’re standing right there, your arm obviously linked with his. Even though he doesn’t say anything, he knows you get a little jealous—and he makes it up to you later in the privacy of his bedroom and shows you why you have nothing to be jealous of.)

You wait patiently for Diavolo in the main foyer of the Demon Lord’s Castle while he finishes getting ready. You grin and ask Barbatos which suit Diavolo plans to wear tonight, but he looks far too smug when he hints that you might be disappointed. 

Diavolo’s voice echoes when he greets you from the top of the staircase nearby. You turn towards the staircase and wave, but your own greeting dies in your throat. You expect him to come bouncing down the steps in one of his three-piece suits. You didn’t expect him to wear a black leather jacket you’ve never seen before, or the slim-fitted white t-shirt underneath, or the dark wash jeans that hang low on his hips and cling to his muscular thighs. 

His joyful smile sharpens when he’s close enough to slip his hand in yours, and you realize you’ve been staring (and probably drooling). Your mouth opens and closes a few times while you try to think of something to say.

I want to climb you like a fucking tree doesn’t seem appropriate in present company, even though Barbatos has caught you both in compromising positions before.

“You look nice,” is the most eloquent reply you can manage in that moment; your voice is a bit higher than usual, and you want to die when your voice cracks.

Also, when did it get so hot in here?

Diavolo beams at your compliment (and very obvious once-over). “I thought I would try a different look today, considering the very casual nature of our date location.” He escorts you to the portal Barbatos conjures for you, and he leads you in the direction of a local pub his butler located for you in advance.

The demon prince grunts when his back slams against the bar’s rough brick exterior, but his eyes glitter with anticipation under the flickering street lamp overhead. His devilish smile is wide and full of teeth, and he traces his fangs with the tip of his tongue while he drinks in your needy expression.

“If I’d known bringing you to such a place would have this result, I would’ve done so much sooner,” he chuckles as he tilts his head back to give you access. You moan against his neck and scrape your teeth along the skin of his throat; he exhales a shuddered sigh grips your waist to drag you even closer to him.

“It’s those fucking jeans, and that shirt, and it’s—it’s everything about you,” you nearly whine against his collarbone between clumsy, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. Your hands slide under the thin material of his shirt, and he twitches when you graze the ticklish skin of his belly. 

“I’m yours,” he promises in a rough voice, and his hand cradles your nape and forces you to look at him. “All yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“You big sap,” you scold him half-heartedly, but your breathy voice lacks any real heat. You push yourself against the firm, muscular planes of his chest and slot your mouth against his in a desperate kiss. You can taste the alcohol on his tongue when you lick into his mouth, and you chase the bittersweet taste with your own

He swallows your breathy sounds as he moves against you in a frenzied kiss. His own deep growls punctuate the wet sounds of his lips and tongue caressing yours. He jerks his hips when you run your hands over his chest and tweak his nipples between your fingers.

He’s hard and straining in these jeans he bought specially for you, and his body burns so hot he feels like you're consuming him. He's not going to last long no matter how you touch him. The only thing he knows is that he doesn't want to paint the inside of his pants when he can be inside you somehow instead.

“I want you,” he pants as you kiss a sloppy trail across his jaw and down his neck. Your muffled uh-huh tickles his skin and he pulls your hips flush against his. He grinds himself harder against you while you suck a mark below his ear.

(Diavolo knows Barbatos will disapprove of the mark and insist he cover it up later. He doesn’t want to, though—he would wear all your bruises and bitemarks proudly. He wants everyone in the Devildom and all the realms beyond to know that it's his bed you warm each night.)

The alley is dark and grimy and off-putting, but Diavolo still wonders how he can fuck you against the cold brick wall without roughing up the soft skin of your back. His train of thought breaks when you suddenly drop to your knees; the desire radiating from you in waves overwhelms him.

When he scents the air, he can smell your soap and your sweat, and below that, he can pick up the faint traces of the arousal that's dampening the inside of your pants. It makes his mouth water and he has to remind himself to be patient.

He throws his head back with a moan as his large hands stroke the sides of your face. “You’re so perfect for me,” he grits out. “I'm going to fuck you against this wall before I take you home.” He knows you're both desperate, and his dirty promises make you whine, a high-pitched noise that makes his cock ache. He tries not to buck his hips against your face when you rub your cheek against the rough denim covering his aching cock. He hears the soft sounds of metal clinking together when your nimble fingers loosen his belt.

“You'd better,” you mutter against him, tongue flicking against the wet spot of his boxer briefs before you pull them down.

You should've guessed all along what he wanted when he brought you here of all places. You wait until he looks at you properly—

—with his tousled hair and dark, lustful gaze blown-black, and his spit-slicked and swollen lips, and his chest heaving with anticipation and the control it takes for him not to push you against the rough brick behind him and impale you on his cock—

—and then you finally swallow him down.

[deepouterspacecandy]

Say My Name

It’s been a minute since I last posted, but I couldn’t go without expressing my gratitude for all the kind messages and asks I’ve received during my hiatus. Your thoughtfulness means the world to me, truly. Thank you for taking the time to reach out. I haven’t decided if I’m coming back full time yet, but I still enjoy writing for Abby and connecting with you beautiful souls.

This is a dialogue heavy, 8k word, friends-to-lovers piece with a post apocalyptic twist. We’ve got some angst, fluff, and even a half-decent helping of smut this time around. All my works are 18+ only. Violence and sexual themes.

“Tell me she ditched breakfast because you wore her out,” you say.

With a loud clatter, your faded plastic tray hits the table, making your juice wobble critically close to spilling and turning your sugared toast into a soggy sponge. The ballistic storm cloud swirling above Abby’s head shifts just enough to make space for you, her icy blue eyes studying the clumsy way you drop into the seat across from her. Her brief, elusive smile vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

The frigid breeze leaking through Abby’s porous mood is enough to leave daggers of ice dangling throughout the mess hall, but you’re likely the only person to notice. To the outside world, she appears as composed as ever, her true feelings hidden beneath a calm facade.    

“The weather girl didn’t quite make it to morning, then?” you ask, keeping your voice low as the fling in question enters the room, looking rather morose.

The moment she spots Abby from across the room, the brunette spins on her heel, her face contorted into a frown that suggests she’s never experienced pleasure a day in her life, before marching back out the door.

“Something like that,” Abby mumbles, stabbing an undercooked cube of potato with her fork and waving it before her like a disgruntled magician.

“Yikes. You good?” you ask.

“Hookups aren’t my style—I’ll leave the one-offs to Manny,” she says.

Abby is relentless in her self-judgment, almost cruelly so, and it’s apparent that she’s trapped in a cycle of self-loathing that is disproportionate to her actions. The pattern repeats itself each time. Out of nowhere, a beautiful girl approaches her, someone who she would have never suspected harboured any feelings. The pursuit ensues until Abby finally succumbs, but as soon as things get real, she discovers a reason to sabotage it or, more famously, she overlooks the minor red flags until a massive one whips her in the face.

You believe with every fiber of your being that she hasn’t encountered the right person yet, but Abby carries the burden of blame entirely on herself.  

“I hope you satisfied your sweet tooth, at least,” you say. “Or did you skip dessert, too?”

The cloud above Abby’s head is now a looming grey thunderclap and you have the good grace to lean too far over the table to reenact it for her. Unaware that your hoodie is benefiting more from your breakfast than you are, you playfully extend and retract your fingers, pretending to unleash bolts of lightning.

Abby barely lifts her gaze to meet yours, but when she does, she brandishes an eye roll so extravagant it leaves you in a fit of unbridled determination.  

“What even is that—what are you doing?” Abby asks, gesturing at your twirling hands. “Everyone’s staring, you know that, right?”

“I’m the storm above your head,” you exclaim, accentuating the cloud impression by puffing up your cheeks. “See?”

A sincere burst of laughter emanates from your dearest friend, only to evaporate against her kingdom of self-loathing. Your attempt at mimicking the sound of thunder is not as well-received by Abby, evident in her listless expression, which, of course, only urges you to resume your shenanigans.

“Who needs a weather forecast, anyway? I’ve got my very own cyclone right here, all blonde and brooding,” you say. “I know exactly what’s going to happen with this tornado.”

The battered table groans under the weight of your dramatic performance, and you refuse to sit back down until she gives you a sign. Any small indication that she won’t be spending the next three hours punishing herself in the gym.

“Brooding,” Abby snorts. “Pouting, maybe. Would you knock it off already?”

“No can do,” you say, your fingers transforming into a deluge of raindrops, patterning against an imaginary umbrella. “Here comes the torrential downpour, folks. You better saddle up.”

“What does that even mean?” Abby chuckles. “Okay—you look insane. Sit back down before you hurt yourself.”

“Sorry, but you’re not the boss of me, Abigail.”

“Don’t test me,” Abby teases. “I’ve got more pull with Isaac than you think.”

It’s not long before your excitement gets the better of you, the jagged charms of your bracelet snagging Abby’s hair and creating a tangled mess in a flash. She grabs hold of your arm, attempting to get ahead of the inevitable tugging of her hair and the sudden movement jolts through your body, forcing you to grab onto her shoulder with your other hand for balance.

The awkward position you take across the dining table sparks a deep, fast burning flush, and you feel it crawl up your chest to pool in the apples of your cheeks.

It’s a blunder you already know Abby will use against you more than once, just as soon as you untangle yourself from her. She and anyone from her crew who might be watching your antics at the most inopportune moment.

“Satisfied?” Abby asks.

“This is your fault,” you say, struggling to stabilize the tsunami of amusement and horror. “I told you this bracelet was a bad idea. Oh god, I’m really tangled here!”

The way her pouty mouth curls into a smirk, with one side slightly lifted, is devilishly captivating. A flutter builds between your ribs until it flips your stomach upside down. It’s evident to anyone with vision why Abby has become the most sought-after bachelor in Seattle.

Women across all sectors of the WLF either aspire to be built like her or desire to be in Abby’s company, and you get it. When you consider her skill in hand-to-hand combat and survival, it’s downright self-preservation to love her.

She is such a loyal human being that despite stirring jealousy up inside you a time or two, there’s been no reason to fret. Abby will always have your six.

“Are you going to help me out, or what?” you blurt. “My plank game is suffering.”

Abby braces your abdomen, her grip firm, as you struggle to untangle the charms from her hair in a hurry. The sweet fragrance of cinnamon and brown sugar, a lingering reminder of the breakfast that will soon lose appeal, accompanies the warmth of her breath against your wrist. Not only is it confusing all your senses, but the gentle tickle of her fingertips against your sides has you losing concentration.

“Hit the gym with me more often,” she says with a wince of discomfort, strands of her hair clinging stubbornly to the chain. “I’ll have your table Pilates up to scratch in no time.”

“How are you so calm right now? I’m literally sweating,” you huff.

With a knowing smile, Abby gives your waist an affectionate squeeze. PDA makes both of you uncomfortable, but she is especially adept at keeping her emotions under wraps. It’s not like this minor mistake is a profound admission of your feelings for her, but everyone at the stadium loves to gossip, and news about Abby spreads like wildfire.  

“It’s the Christmas light fiasco all over again,” Abby says. “You’re hopeless at untangling shit. Just take it off—it’s fine.”

“Take what off, Abby? Your hair is a freaking rats’ nest right now.”

“The bracelet! Just unclasp it,” she says. “I’ll cut it out if I have to.”

“I’m trying, but your hair has wrapped itself around everything! Maybe if you’d sit still—”

In the eight years of your friendship with Abby, every hug has left her blushing from head to toe. You can tell that she’s more anxious than she’s letting on, and the panic is pulling your spine bowstring tight. Every passing moment, the condition worsens as her hair becomes more enmeshed with your jewelry and you become less confident in your capacity to remedy it. The wispy tendrils of hair at Abby’s temple are curling, and you can feel drops of perspiration trickling down your back.

The moment a soldier wolf whistles at you on his way to the meal queue, your life as a yoga entrepreneur comes to an abrupt and impetuous end.

“Alright, time’s up,” Abby announces.

Hoisting you over the table with a soft grunt, she settles you onto her lap, directing an unfriendly gaze at the new recruit. It happens in the blink of an eye, her strength so effortless that it leaves you fumbling for a place to rest your hands.

“Better?” Abby asks, her stare remaining fixed on the offending soldier as she poses the question to you.

Abby is feeding the rumour mill with both palms today, the young soldier’s face turning pale as he reconsiders his decision to catcall unfamiliar women.

“I feel like we could’ve handled this differently, but okay,” you say, heart pounding against your ribcage. “You owe me breakfast. I’ve seen those lemon bars hidden under your bed.”

“And you have to fix my hair, or I’ll hang you from the motor pool by your thong,” Abby retorts without an ounce of malice in her tone. “Let’s ride, mi reina.”

“I hate when you say stuff like that,” you chortle. “Manny is a terrible influence.”

“Time to skedaddle,” Abby suggests instead, giving you a hard bounce on her lap, relishing in the speed she can burrow under your skin. “Ready to jet? Let’s hit the road. Come on, these are great!”

As you take in the sight of your disheveled table, food strewn about, you reach out and pull at Abby’s earlobes. When she closes her eyes, a goofy grin lights up her face, bringing to mind all the reasons you adore her.

“We gotta sort this out first,” you say.

One moment your juice is drinkable, and the next it’s only fit for slurping from your tray. Your thighs are now a spectacle to behold, covered in a sticky, cinnamon-infused brown sugar butter and Abby’s face is such a deep crimson hue you question her ability to recover.

At this point, it’s hard to tell if Abby’s glaring red flush stems from embarrassment or boiling rage.

You’re well equipped to handle any range of emotion from her, no matter how complex, but she surpasses you in physical strength in every scenario. Should she choose to decapitate a comrade for disrespecting you, all you can do is sit back, grab a bowl of popcorn, and enjoy the show.

“Earth to Abby. We need to clean this up and not murder random dudes in the chow hall, yes?” you say.

Abby shrugs, her breath catching in short, shallow gasps. The sensation of her poking at the mess on your lap makes you acutely aware of it seeping through your pants, leaving you with a sudden desperation to change your clothes.

 When Abby glances at the soldier behind you, her nostrils flare and you tap her forehead to redirect her focus.  

“Anderson,” you warn.

“I’ll handle it,” Abby says with a laugh. “I’ve got a pair of shorts you can borrow if you don’t want to walk back to your place.”

“Why are we even friends, huh?” you ask.

“You tell me,” Abby murmurs, the room growing hot as her squirming comes to a sudden stop, her fingertips skimming your hips like a hungry shadow.

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

While Abby indulges in a shower, you pace her messy apartment, skin buzzing with the weight of her earlier remarks. Prior to vanishing into the bathroom, she, being a woman of integrity, repaid her debts by throwing you her hidden supply of lemon bars.

Your mouth waters, but you just can’t bring yourself to eat.

Her side of the apartment is tidy, save for a few stray books and a stack of toppled dumbbells next to her sleeping quarters. Manny’s side of the room looks like a bomb went off and he tried to set things straight by ordering another blast.

Clad in Abby’s tattered shorts, you venture through a room that you’ve explored countless times before. Abby, the creature of habit that she is, has kept most things the same, but not everything is as it used to be. Your stomach tightens as you contemplate which roommate took off the pink bra hanging from the lampshade in the middle of the room.

It’s delicate and woven with lace, the kind of thing you wouldn’t typically consider wearing. Your days are so consumed with trying not to catch an arrow through the kidney and clearing infected from high-rise buildings that lingerie is the last thing on your mind.

“That’s all Alvarez,” Abby says, propping herself against the hallway wall to clear her throat. “I’m not that bold.”

Absentmindedly, she picks at the softened callouses on her hand, a result of washing off the morning. Stripped of her army fatigues and the need to assert dominance, her true gentle nature shines through. When she’s not overwhelmed with the responsibility of being in charge, she’s a selfless sweetheart, and you can’t help but feel sorry for those who miss out on this side of her.

“Not a fan of bra-tossing, eh? Finally, a sport you’re not immediately good at,” you tease.

“I never said I wasn’t good at it,” Abby smirks.

Water droplets from her wet hair have soaked her sports bra, leaving it damp against her freckled skin, while the towel draped low around her waist forces you to look away. The image of your best friend unhitching a lacy bra and flinging it off leaves the surface of your face licked white-hot with flames. You distract yourself with a novel on her bedside table, careful not to disturb the bookmark she’s tucked inside about midway through.

It’s the bookmark you made for her, back when you were just a couple of nerds tasked with organizing the FOB’s reading material together. You incorporated pressed flowers into the design, gathering them from an untamed garden outside the stadium walls. It’s seen better days, but Abby has salvaged it by carefully taping the areas where the lamination has peeled apart. 

“How come we haven’t gone back?” Abby asks. “We used to love that spot.”

“The rose garden? I don’t think it’s there anymore,” you say, absentmindedly thumbing through the pages of her book, the musty smell transporting you back to the quiet corners of an old library. “Isaac had that entire lodge torn down a couple of years ago. Back when he was all hellbent on expanding the lookouts.”

“Oh, I remember that nightmare. He’s always thinking so big,” Abby says, laying the sarcasm thick.

You hear the shuffle of her slipping into her favourite pair of joggers, followed by the soft thud of her towel landing perfectly on the post of her bed. She goes out of her way to throw it from afar, and as you turn to look, she winks at you.

“Your cockiness isn’t cute, just so you’re aware,” you lie.

“Duly noted,” Abby calls over her shoulder, escaping into the kitchen to quench her thirst.

Abby’s cuteness extends to even the most supremely annoying aspects of her personality, but you’d never tell her that. Your relationship has always thrived on unspoken understanding. Together, you have an undeniable synergy, making you an invincible team in combat.

You trust Abby with your life. With no explicit labels, the bond between you is tangible.

“Thinking about giving dating another go?” you ask, as you delve more closely into the book in your hands.

You notice that she’s dog-eared a page, marking a steamy section, the passage so erotic you’re obliged to slam it shut.

“What about that girl from the kennels? She’s been crushing on you for ages,” you continue.

With a tray of snacks in one hand and two jars of iced tea in the other, Abby rounds the corner. Her stern expression suggests that she has no interest in talking about her courtship woes tonight.

“The one who hijacks my morning runs to vent about her ex—telling me about all the dudes who hit on her when she leaves the FOB? Doesn’t make for great pillow talk in my experience,” she says. “Please take this before I drop it.”

“Hold up. You pillow talk your girls?” you ask.

Abby’s nose crinkles in annoyance, her silent plea for you to take the tray of snacks from her growing more desperate.

“Way to make me sound like a gigolo!”

“I’m just saying,” you jest, taking the tray of snacks from her and freeing her arms from their burden. “Is it like—sweet nothings or some seriously raunchy dirty talk?”

With a calming breath, Abby lets her arms go limp and juts out her hip, bracing for a harrowing interrogation.

“Oh my god, it’s super filthy, isn’t it?” you gasp.

“That’s enough—get out of my apartment. No movie night for you.”

Her words lack the bite she’s suggesting, and she’s already halfway through making the bed for you, piling up pillows for your gratification. The memory of helping her haul a new bed into her room brings back the smell of fresh paint and the feeling of accomplishment as she excitedly prepared her new, comfier space to sprawl out.

While she kneels on the bed to adjust the mountain of cushions to absolute perfection, you’re struck by the hard muscles of her back. She hasn’t skipped a day in the gym in several months and it shows.

It’s not just for herself that she pushes her body to the limit. The thought of serving the people she loves drives her to be the protector. The person everyone turns to for help, the one who ensures a peaceful sleep back home by handling the spooky things that go bump in the night beyond the ramparts.

“You’re not wrong,” you say, rehashing your earlier conversation. “If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t want to waste time talking about other people. I mean, I’m sure she’s a great girl for the right one. But you’re you. Plenty to unpack there without bringing other shit into the mix.”

With a swift leap off the bed, Abby settles herself on the edge of the mattress nearest to you, a curious grin spreading across her face.

“Come again?” she asks.

“You deserve to feel like the only woman in the room, that’s all,” you clarify. “I think it’s okay for you to want that—to wait for someone who really sees you.”

Abby sits with her hands laced together in her lap, tilting her head at you, her gaze glossy and welcoming against the dim light. Within the tranquil space, her shoulders exude a quiet strength and breadth, no longer needed for aggressive deeds. With her legs spread wide and her stature relaxed, Abby appears as if she is untouched by the perils of your violent world.

“Maybe the next one keeps you feeling secure all the time, you know what I mean? Puzzle pieces and all that mushy stuff,” you say.

She’s just staring at you, her long lashes catching the light, and you can feel the nerves creeping in through the soles of your feet.

“Is that right? Puzzle pieces,” Abby says, biting her bottom lip into a pale pink invitation to ogle at her mouth. “Tell me more about that.”

“Yeah, you know. The peanut butter to my jelly or whatever,” you say.

You linger a little too long, and as she snares you in the act, your attention shifts to the frayed strings of your shirt. You fiddle with the unintended tassels, hoping she isn’t seeing right through you.   

“Hey,” Abby whispers. “Come here.”

A sudden knock at the door causes both of you to jump, scattering in opposite directions like pyretic shrapnel. Abby’s hair, wild and loose, sticks to the small of her back as she pulls a sweatshirt over her head. She wrestles with her thick hair, trying to liberate it from the grip of her sweater’s collar, until she finally fashions it into a tousled bun.

“Where’s your damn key?” Abby barks, tearing open the door. “Oh, Jesus. What happened to you?”

Her previously relaxed posture withdraws as she stands rigidly, ready for whatever lies ahead.

Manny’s voice, tinged with fear, quakes as he speaks from the other side, leaving you with a sense of unease.

“They fucking got him. Isaac’s dead.”

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

For six long months, Abby spearheaded the war against The Rattlers, but eventually, the casualties and loss of resources became too much to bear. Neither side emerged from the battle unscathed, both factions left depleted, with survivors departing with only what paltry baggage they could carry.

You try to banish the memories from your thoughts as an endless canopy of trees whip past your peripheral vision, Abby’s motorcycle vibrating between your legs.

She steadies the handlebars with one powerful hand, the other securing your arms around her waist. Now and then, she taps your hands to prevent you from dozing off, turning her head just enough to better hear you checking in with her.

“I’m okay,” you shout over the roaring wind. “I’m good.”

Your fingertips graze against her smooth leather jacket, feeling the heat emanating from her stomach. You’ve been traveling for half a day, and exhaustion is starting to kick in earlier than usual. She nods at a motel in the distance, its algae-stricken neon sign nothing but a desolate ghost against an overgrown landscape.

The risk is too high, with the potential for a multitude of infected lurking around. Since neither of you have had proper rest or decent meals in weeks, it would be a fool’s errand to clear them alone.

With a head shake from you and a nod of acknowledgement from her, the cruiser lurches forward as she gains speed, determined to reach a safer destination.

The cabin you stumble upon is nestled miles away from the main road, hidden deep within the wilderness. It’s a time capsule, transporting you to a world that no longer exists—ivy and carpets of moss reclaiming the wooden exterior. Decaying chairs, some overturned, sit ominously across the dense lawn, perhaps a testament to the hurried departure of their previous occupants.

The air is thick with the scent of damp pine and when Abby slows the motorcycle to a stop, the forest around you falls silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves. The sound of gravel crunching under her boots sends an echo through the lonely property as Abby hesitates to dismount. She straddles the bike, taking a moment to absorb her surroundings, not yet giving you permission to hop off.

“This looks promising,” you say, leaning back to find support on the bike rack behind you. The metal is cool against your palms as you stretch your sore muscles. “We still have some time before it gets dark. Want to give hunting a shot? Pun intended, obviously.”

Abby puffs a quiet laugh as if your levity pulled her from a worried thought.

“You hate hunting,” she says.

“Yeah, well, we gotta eat. No way I’m sending you off by yourself.”

With a gentle tap on your thigh, Abby gestures with her chin, indicating that you should be the one to swing your leg off the bike first.

“Let’s scope the place out and go from there. We don’t need any surprises today,” she says.

Her statement is heavy with the burden of many unfortunate events that have accumulated over the past few months. An abundance of shocks to the nervous system, with a dire shortage of luck.

“Maybe this one’s got a gym,” you say, knowing full well the chances are paper thin. “I’m getting major health nut vibes.”

Night after night, the sound of Abby’s spirited grunts and the clanging of improvised dumbbells have disrupted your sleep. She lifted cinderblocks once, her sweaty, breathless performance well worth losing a little shuteye. While she may not have the same level of stamina on such restricted sustenance, she is still a formidable force.

You long to offer Abby something more stable, but she has never complained.

Swinging herself over the seat and regaining her sea legs, Abby stretches with such intensity that she momentarily lifts herself onto her tiptoes.

“Teach me Pilates,” she teases, a melancholic beauty imbedded in her tired smile. “You were killing it back in the day.”

The memory of that morning in the chow hall floods back, and a bittersweet ache fills your heart for the tight-knit community you once called home.

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

The cracked and dusty windows are a stepladder for twisting vines, as they make their way across the walls and onto the mantel of an imposing stone fireplace. A few of the stones have shattered, leaving a layer of rock dust on the old, mildewed carpet below. Moth-bitten curtains do little to filter the light, but anticipation fills you, eager to see how the sunset will paint the end of this era with a vibrant palette of hues.

“Check this out,” Abby says, leaning over a wobbly table near the entrance.

She’s browsing through an aged daybook, with its pages yellowed and curling. As you sidle up next to her, she immediately senses your presence, her hand gravitating to the small of your back.

“It’s a log or something. Looks like a couple people have come through over the years,” she mutters, before reading aloud a recent entry.  

We got bit playing truth or dare. It was fun while it lasted, but I wouldn’t suggest lowering your guard. I was so hyped about the wine cellar that I forgot to secure the door. Stupid, right? The booze is total shit, but it’s taking the edge off. Since she’s beating me to it, we’ve made up our minds to walk our butts away from here, so the next suckers have a better go. I never thought my girl would turn so fast. She’s always been so much tougher than me. I guess that’s the way it goes. If you’re reading this, don’t be a pussy. Seize the moment so you’re not stuck living with regret. I never quite got there for some reason. FYI, there’s a decent well pump out back. Dying is thirsty business. Cya.

Abby’s brows furrow as she glares at the note, causing a knot to form in the pit of your stomach. Every day in recent memory, gruesome death has confronted both of you without fail. You hoped that this might be the day you escaped any haunting reminders of the infected, but perhaps it’s just wishful thinking on your part.

“Are you alright?” you ask, resting your hand on Abby’s shoulder. “Let’s put this down for a while.”

Out of nowhere, Abby bursts into uncontrollable laughter, her infectious giggles filling the abandoned space. She is loud and full of sudden energy, causing her entire body to quake. You have never witnessed her so hysterical about anything, and concern niggles into the back of your mind. It’s possible that the never-ending mayhem is wearing her down and having negative consequences on her psyche. It’s surely affecting yours.

For a split second, Abby pauses in disbelief before collapsing with laughter again.

It’s difficult to maintain your composure when you hear these rare, gleeful sounds escaping her, no matter how precarious they may be. For the first time in a long time, Abby’s face is free of sadness.

“Sorry but—who the fuck dies playing truth or dare?” Abby wheezes, wrapping her arms snug around her abdomen, unable to stop the unbridled mirth from spilling out. “I mean, I’ve seen some shit, okay? I really have. But this. Oh, my god.”

The realization that you’re not finding it amusing only makes her laughter grow louder and more overwhelming. When you reach for her hand, the comradery in your approach seems to ground her, allowing her to catch her breath.   

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

The forest, mostly unexplored by humans and seemingly unaffected by any contagion, makes hunting a straightforward task. With Abby’s fastidiousness in preparing the meat and your efficiency in building the fire and ransacking the cupboards, dinner is ready in no time.

You eat until you can barely move, your sides aching from the excess. Positioned between you, a jug of fresh water is too refreshing to resist. The cool liquid drips down your chin and you’re too content to care.

“You look happy,” Abby says, her lips glistening with a hint of grease, evidence of a nourishing feast. “Did I do okay? I got a little sloppy with the cuts, but I was so damn hungry I just wanted to get it on the plate.”

Her gaze meets yours, and in her baby-blues, you see a spark of optimism intertwined with the orange glow of the flickering fire.

“Are you kidding?” you say between gulps of water. “Abby, you are sodamn good to me. If you only knew.”

It dawns on you, after uttering the words, that your voice has taken on a seductive undertone, a subtle shift flashing across Abby’s expression. It’s not a negative one from what you gather, but your heart races. Abby’s cheeks are rosy, leaving you to ponder if your praise had any influence, or if it’s the aftermath of a hearty meal and a toasty shelter.

While you haven’t had a proper chance to explore your feelings for one another, the pressure for you to do so continues to mount. With each lingering gaze, every timid touch, the countless hours spent together on the road, your desire for her deepens.

Abby takes a swig from the water jug and lets out an obnoxious burp. Your boots collide as you send her an impish nudge, prodding her to remember her manners.

“Excuse me,” Abby says, moving to trap your boot between hers. “Not very becoming of me to belch like a cowboy in the presence of a lady.”

“And all this from a surgeon’s daughter too!” you say, smitten by the way her eyes sparkle and her smile broadens when you mention her father. “Lucky it’s only me.”

Abby’s eyes sweep over you, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip. The flames in the fireplace surge and dance, a rich tapestry of light and shadow fighting for prominence on the wall. The mix of irregular pops and hisses, with a steady rhythmic thrum, turns the cozy ambiance into a blanket you can almost reach for.

“Truth or dare?” Abby asks, her arched eyebrows springing up.

“What?” you blurt. “Nuh-uh!”

Despite still having you trapped between her boots, with a confident show of docility, Abby shifts her body, settling onto her side. She patiently waits for you, resting her head on her palm with a wicked grin.

“You seriously want to play this right now—here?” you ask. “What if we die?”

“You really think I’d let anything happen to you?”

No matter how strong your defenses might be, no matter how diligent your efforts, things will unfold in this world with no consideration for your intentions. You’ve learned it a thousand times over. But you’re strangely motivated to live each day with more courage.

If anyone can keep you whole against all odds, it’s the girl whose seafaring eyes are glinting up at you with admiration, as if you were the pioneer of fire.

“Alright, fine. But remember, what goes around comes around,” you say. “I won’t hesitate to fuck your shit up if you make me do something weird.”

“I won’t,” Abby says. “Promise.”

“Okay, I pick dare then,” you say.

Abby smirks at you, gleaming with satisfaction, as if this was exactly how she wanted things to unfold. She scrambles to her feet in search of her backpack, returning with the canvas bag unzipped. This time, she drops next to you, her braid brushing against your arm as she hunkers down.

“I dare you to read me something from your journal,” she says. “But it has to be about me.”

“Jokes on you! I left that shit at the stadium,” you chuckle, struck by a twinge of sorrow for the memoirs you’ve both left behind. “And what makes you think I wrote anything about your cocky ass, anyway?”

“Oh wow, look what I found!” Abby says, retrieving the familiar sight from her backpack, a mix of excitement and devastation washing over you as she dances the diary in front of your nose.

You snatch it from her like you’ve poised the book to detonate in the wrong hands.

“You actually read it?” you ask, horrified. “What the fuck, Anderson? I should leave your sorry ass right now.”

“I didn’t, I swear,” she laughs, throwing her hands up in surrender. “Come on, I’d never do that—and as if you’d ever walk away from me.”

“Then how do you know I’ve written things about you, huh?”

The side-bump you inflict on her is strong enough to send both of you tumbling down, but her smile remains wide and luminous, unaffected by the fall. Together, you both lie down on your backs, finding solace in the temporary disappearance of dread from your surroundings.   

“Prove you didn’t,” Abby says, her voice carrying a smoky timbre.

Reluctant to expose your vulnerability to exceedingly cheesy diary entries, you lift the journal above your head and scan to the most recent confession. You have a clear recollection of the dream you’d written about, so you know that this passage is about her.

Abby inches closer to you, dropping her head on your shoulder. The sound of a hard mint clinks against her teeth as she toys with it in her mouth. It’s comical to think that while rummaging through your room for your best-kept secrets, she couldn’t resist swiping them from your candy stash. If they’re stale as hell, she deserves it.

“Challenge accepted,” you say, throat squeaking as you swallow. “But I will resent you for the rest of my life—deal?”

Abby’s languid nod sends a surge of adrenaline through you, making your heart pound incredibly fast. The frantic tone of your writing is clear in this entry, with its cluttered letters and hastily scrawled words.

While you can remember the dream, you can’t remember the level of detail you recorded it. You find yourself praying for brevity.

I had a dream last night, and I woke up drenched. This time, not by sweat. But that’s not the worst part. I had to come home at lunchtime today to swap out my underwear, because the dream version of Abby turned me on so much. The things she did to me kept playing over and over in my head until I couldn’t focus on anything else. The ache lasted the entire day.

Abby shields her face with her hands, her chest jumping as she giggles in a pitch you know only comes out when she has lost all self control. In an instant, you’re hiding your face behind the lawless chronicle, your cheeks burning hotter than ever before.

“I hate you so much,” you squawk, voice muffled by the very tome that will be your undoing. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

“Honestly, dream Abby sounds like a God,” she says, bringing the tip of her thumb to her mouth and abusing it with her teeth. “Keep going.”

“This is the worst,” you groan. “Why are you torturing me right now?”

“A dare’s a dare.”

When she looks up at you through her lashes, you melt into the floor.

How am I supposed to face her when she comes home tomorrow? I literally rushed home after assignment just to get myself off to thoughts of her and it was the most incredible orgasm of my life, by the way, so I’m pretty much screwed. What if seeing her only makes it harder for me to get a grip? I’m scared she’ll never speak to me again if she finds out and I don’t want to lose her. I’ve never lied to Abby, but this feels like an enormous one. Am I falling in love with my best friend?  

You close your journal and hug it to your chest. Despite its insignificance in the grand scheme of things, the glassy chill of embarrassment engulfs you.  

“It’s my turn,” she says.

“Abby.”

“I’m not done playing,” she murmurs. “Unless you want to stop.”

Her knuckles graze your thigh, and you glance down to see her wiggling her fingers, summoning you to trust her. Relaxing the vice-like grip on your journal, you let your arm fall to your side. The temperature rises the moment Abby reaches for your hand, steering it to her lips.

“Do you want to stop?” Abby asks.

“No, I don’t. You’re still Satan, though.”

You shiver as Abby’s minty breath hovers expectantly, waiting for the green light. 

With a nod from you, she presses a slow kiss to each of your fingers, one knuckle at a time. In a deliberate serenade, the searing wetness of her lower lip drags along your skin. She teases the sensitive expanse of your wrist with the tip of her tongue, skillfully rotating your hand to ensure she accounts for every inch.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Abby says. “But I wish I knew sooner.”

“Truth or dare,” you ask.

“Truth,” Abby says, leaving you paralyzed by her sudden husky rasp. “Ask me something that’ll make me sweat.”

“My mind is blank,” you admit as Abby’s lips close around the tip of your finger. “Thanks for making it impossible for me to think!”

Heat pools between your legs as her teeth scrape over the delicate bone.

“Try,” she whispers softly, her simple plea simmering under your skin.

“What’s going through your head right now?” you ask.

“Nah, that’s weak—it’s too obvious,” Abby says as she pauses the torment, opting instead to let your hand rest over her erratic heartbeat. “Bring the pain. Get me back.”

You’re convinced that there is nothing this girl could say that would genuinely surprise you. However, she tends to be reserved, and it’s likely that some of her cards conceal undisclosed secrets.

“Spill the beans on something you’ve been hiding from me, something you never want me to find out,” you challenge. “A secret you’d take to the grave if it weren’t for this ridiculous game.”

You flip to your stomach and Abby laces her fingers behind her head, her biceps on full display as she gets comfortable. Following the seams of her shirt, your fingers glide beneath the fabric, riding the rise and fall of her breath.

“Okay, so this one is pretty humiliating,” Abby says.

“Cough it up! I showed you mine.”

Abby goes quiet for a few beats, her eyes darting around the room, as if she’s contemplating what she’s about to confess.

“So, back home, I kind of went through this rough patch, right? My head was a total mess and when I had some alone time to let off steam, I’d get myself close, but I couldn’t finish for the life of me. It went on like that for weeks.”

“Wait, to be clear, you’re talking about masturbating?”

“Good lord,” Abby says with a timid laugh. “Yes, I am referring to masturbating.”

“I think I’m low-key obsessed with this game,” you say.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Abby winces, her freckles blending into a charming flush of red on her face.

“Remember that oily stuff in the tiny purple jar you used to get from the commissary?” she asks, her body in constant motion as she becomes too restless to sit still. “That perfume or whatever, it had a peachy scent.”

“Oh, hell yeah! I ran out of it so fast every time. That stuff was liquid gold.”

“Well, when Isaac sent you on that crazy mission near the old mall and you were gone for forever, you gave me your key to water your plants, right?”

“Which you totally dropped the ball on, by the way,” you goad.

That assignment was an absolute disaster, and despite always entrusting Abby with your plants while you were away, you also granted her permission to stay at your place whenever she needed, particularly when Manny would use the apartment for his illicit escapades. 

“You wanna know the reason I dropped the ball so hard?” Abby asks, burying her face in her forearm.

You motion with your hand, encouraging her to carry on as you swing your legs behind you.

“One night, I finish my shift and let myself into your apartment and the scent of you punches me in the gut. It was such a shitty day, and something about it just put me on my knees. I see the perfume on your bedside table and pick it up to smell it. No big deal, I’m just missing my friend. Everything’s fine.”

“Uh oh, everything’s not fine?” you interrupt.

“Well, one thing leads to another and I’m thinking about crashing at your place because it’s late and my roommate is a total womanizer. I crawl into your bed, and I end up fingering myself like a total miscreant. When I hit that wall and can’t get myself off, I reach for that stupid jar. It’s insanely slippery—”

“Whoa, back it up! You or the jar?” you giggle.

“Both,” she confesses. “And it almost works, right? Just as I’m about to get there, the bottle slips from my hand and spills all over your sheets and my favourite jacket. Which, great, I will never get to wear this thing again without bursting into flames.”

“Also, oil tends to stain like a motherfucker,” you add, watching her grimace at the recollection.

“Exactly," she says.

You try to imagine this event unfolding, and the thought of not being there to both laugh maniacally and maybe even join in on the carnal scene is too much. After coming back from the mission, you found brand new sheets on your bed and concluded that Abby must have felt remorseful about leaving your plants in a drought.

“I think the only vulgar part of this story is that you wore your bomber to bed,” you say with a shrug.

“Come on, your room was colder than the Arctic Circle,” Abby retorts. “But hold your horses—I haven’t made it to the zinger yet.”

“So fast forward to Manny setting me up with that girl from the weather station. Funny thing is, she wore the same perfume as you, but it just didn’t smell right on her, and it was all I could think about. But then we start making out because I’m pathetic and horny,” Abby says, halting in her tracks to take a much-needed drink from the water jug. “I might’ve accidentally called out your name and got slapped across the face for it.”

“First things first—if anyone tries that again, I’m laying them out. Nobody puts hands on you.”

You cup her cheek in your palm, hoping to soothe the sting of an unpleasant memory. The scars etched on her face are silent reminders of the countless tribulations she has prevailed, but to you, they all look the same, indistinguishable.

“You remember who you’re talking to, right? You’ve seen me scrap it out with full-grown men armed to the teeth with guns. Trust me, it was nothing. She didn’t even leave a mark. But she asked me if I was in love with you,” Abby says.

“What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t know what to say,” Abby explains. “She called me an asshole and dipped before I figured it out.”

Even though the house is already sufficiently warm for the night, you’re compelled to add another log to the fire. The absence of any noise in the room heightens Abby’s intensity, her eyes fixed on you with laser-cut focus as you concentrate on your work. You step back to avoid a shower of sparks flying up from the impact as the embers descend into the iron mount. Sinuous white smoke gradually wanes, revealing a hammock of scintillating amber coals.

“Are you in love with me?” you ask.

On the dilapidated carpet, she sits up with her legs crossed, idly picking at the flakes of cracked leather on her weary boot.

“I am, yeah,” Abby murmurs. “I think I always have been. You’re my whole world—I’d lay my life on the line for you.”

You can see the secluded cabin as a potential temporary home, imagining yourself digging a vegetable garden and collecting provisions from the nearby town. Creature comforts and personal touches that make it your own.

The idea of finding a bigger group has been a topic of discussion, but it comes with its own set of risks. Perhaps you don’t have to resign yourselves to a nomadic lifestyle, either.

“It’s my turn,” you exclaim. “I choose dare.”

“I dare you to show me what we did in that dream,” Abby says.

If you didn’t know better, you’d swear your skin caught a thousand stray embers at once.

“Stand up,” you order.

Abby rises, her eyelids heavy from the treacherous journey and the oppressive heat radiating from the hearth. You kneel before her, loosening the muddy, ragged laces of her boots. You lend a hand as she pulls her feet free. Her socks, worn with holes, bear witness to the countless miles she walked to keep you safe.

“We’ll freshen up and then I’m going to eat you out until you scream. You cool with that?” you say.

The rapid thumping of your heart is dizzying, making the surrounding room spin. When Abby runs her hand through your hair and tilts your chin up, the light-headedness subsides.

“Only if I get to watch you,” Abby says. “But we’re not doing it here. I’m taking you to bed.”

The two of you have gone without the luxury of a proper bed for what feels like an eternity. You aspire to be a sexual acrobat, but the reality is, you both need comfort for your bodies to heal. With time, everything else will fall into place.

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

Shrouded in darkness, the ethereal glow of moonlight seeps in through a ruined windowpane. The faint beam provides just enough visibility to lead you to the timeworn bedspread. Abby puts in her utmost effort to remove the dust, paying special attention to the pillow you’ve claimed.

With the job completed and the blankets properly pulled back, she nervously fidgets with her hands.

You climb in first, feeling the smooth texture of the sheets against your bare legs, and after she takes a sizable breath, Abby follows. She cuddles up so closely that your foreheads collide, and your eager giggles fill the room with mythical light.

“Sorry,” she says.

“Don’t be.”

In the dark, she explores the contours of your face with her fingertips, causing your skin to tingle every place she touches.

“Can I kiss you?” Abby asks.

Your thumb glides across her bottom lip, and she nibbles at it.

“Where?” you murmur.

“Everywhere.”

You pull Abby into you, and your lips meet in a kiss that is so deep and electrifying, your body rocks against her hard thigh in search of release. She taunts your tongue before drawing it into her mouth, leaving you powerless to cling to anything but pleasure.

Keen to explore, Abby seeks out the precise areas on your collarbone that elicit delightful little whines when she indulges in them. You guide her hand to your chest, inviting her to experience the effect she has on you.

“Holy shit,” Abby breathes. “I want to taste you so fucking bad.”

The painful stiffness of your nipples prompts you to slide your hand to the back of her head.

“Start here,” you say. “Please.”

Abby savours you, flicking and swirling her slick tongue around your hardened peaks, until you’re making a conscious effort to refrain from pulling her hair. She leans over you to get a better angle, her leg offering friction where your dull throb has turned into a wild, delicious craving. You pilot her hand between your legs, and her touch is so intuitive, it’s as if she’s explored every inch of your body before.

“You’re so wet,” she says. “Let me make you come.”

You spread your legs to accommodate her, and she finds your sweet spot quicker than you can steady yourself. A fierce bolt of lightning shoots down to your toes and forces them to curl, spurring Abby to move faster. 

“Tell me how you want this to go down,” she demands in a hot breath against the shell of your ear.

“Your fingers,” you choke, as she toys with your earlobe. “Don’t be gentle.”

“Do you want my mouth, too?” she asks, teasing you until her hand is a sticky mess against your thigh.

“Please, Abby. Oh fuck, I can feel it.”

With no time to spare, Abby slithers down the bed and settles between your thighs, trailing kisses from your kneecap to your clit. Your body begins to shake, and you grapple the headboard, begging for her to slide her fingers inside before you reach the crest.

She fits two long fingers inside you, elevated by your arousal, and when she curls them, a burst of white light sparks behind your eyelids as you squeeze them shut. Her tongue finds the rhythm you need and your entire being trembles, your climax clamping her fingers tight.

“You’ve got me so fucked up,” Abby says. “Look at you.”

You drench her hand until there is nothing else left, each pulse of your core heightening the feeling of bliss until it becomes too potent to stand.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you pant, wracked with delirious spasms.

Abby obeys and huddles up next to you. She delicately brushes away the strands of damp hair that cling to your face, a tender gesture while she waits for you to come down.

“That was incredible,” you say, nestling into her neck to plant a lingering kiss. “Thank you.”

“I could do this all night,” Abby says. “I got a lot out of that.”

“Good. Because it’s your turn.”

Maneuvering yourself into position over her hips, you straddle her, stripping off your shirt to toss it into the abyss.

“How do you want this to happen?” you ask, playfully mirroring her method.

“Surprise me,” Abby smirks.

[wysteria-bloom]

rhythm of your heart -

dainsleif x f!reader

Warnings - none!

Genre - fluff

A/n - the way this man has an IRON GRIP around my heart. I take requests! Check my description for rules <3

“ You really don’t have to do this,” Dainsleif droned out for the 20th time that night, wincing as his headache worsened.

[name] gave him a deadpan expression, ceasing her healing for just a moment,” So… what? You want me to let you suffer, is that it? You’re my husband, you realise that right? Or has the erosion finally affected your memory?” She replied simply before she continued to heal him with her hydro vision, concentrated expression replacing her annoyed one.

Dainsleif’s eyebrow twitched at her words,” Uncalled for.” He stated.

” Mhm, no, I don’t believe it was.”

“ You’re rather feisty tonight, aren’t you? Are you perhaps mad at me?” He spoke out sarcastically, already knowing the answer.

[name] scoffed and narrowed her eyes at him,” Wow, no, how’d you guess?” She spat back at him with more sarcasm,” How am I not supposed to be when you ventured somewhere dangerous without me? You’re lucky the traveller was there to bring you to me, y’know?”

He didn’t argue with her, knowing full well she was in the right, swallowing his pride he decided to tell her so,”… You’re right.”

She didn’t respond, but upon seeing her slightly relaxed expression he knew that he had managed to appeal to her slightly.

“Why do you do this?” She sighed out tiredly,” We’re a team, aren’t we? I feel like you’ve only distanced yourself from me.” She spoke honestly, glancing into his beautiful eyes, tapping the side of his face that was covered,” And you barely take this off anymore. You said you trusted me enough to see that side to you… so what happened?”

“ The Abyss.” He replied to her instantly, feeling the guilt well up within him upon hearing her feelings,” I feel like I shouldnt have involved you with the Abyss in the first place… It’s only getting more dangerous every day that passes... I hate putting you at any sort of risk.”

She stared into his eyes with conflicted ones before she sighed once again and gave up on arguing,”… I’m glad you’re safe.” She flushed out reluctantly, looking off to the side stubbornly with furrowed eyebrows,“ just… bring me next time, okay? despite how you express yourself, you can be rather reckless at times.”

Dainsleif’s gaze softened at the endearing expression she had on her face,” Noted.” He nodded to her reassuringly,” Besides, I won‘t be adventuring for a while anyways… Paimon said I should take a vacation.”

[name] chuckled a little,” That’s a word that isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?” She teased him.

He only smiled at her,” That’s what I said to her and the traveller.” He chuckled lightly before staring at her with a soft gaze.

At his stare, [name] decided now would be a good time to kiss him.

Upon seeing her lean forwards to his face, Dainsleif’s eyes widened ever so slightly before he recuperated her actions immediately.

Funny how even after being married to her all of this time, the idea of merely kissing her was still enough to get his heart racing.

The two leaned in and closed their eyes when their lips were close enough.

Ready to share a sweet and tender kiss, time froze for them. There was nobody else in the world they cared about except for eachother at this moment.

But instead of sharing a sweet kiss, the two reeled back in pain, holding their heads with grimaces on their faces.

Yes, they had collided foreheads by accident, and no, this wasnt a random occurrence.

This was something that happened a lot within the many years they’ve been together. Its rather depressing how its become a habit at this point.

”Not againnn…” The woman whined out, rubbing her forehead furiously to get rid of the pain.

“I feel another headache approaching.” Dainsleif stated with his eyes shut tightly in discomfort, a grumpy frown on his lips. But he paused when he felt a soft warmth press to his forehead.

He opened his eyes in alarm but didn’t move away from [name]’s forehead kiss. Comfort spreading through him at the feeling of her soft lips on his skin.

She pulled back and gave him a kind smile,” At least we have matching bruises.”

He rolled his eyes at her words,” How adorable.” and then he pulled her into his lap for a proper kiss.

[theogonies]

HOW THEY LOVE ft. genshin boys

includes: diluc, kaeya, childe, ayato, and thoma

word count: 1.8k

content warnings: diluc's gets very mildly yandere-ish, with some references to injury and death. he just has an anxious attachment style really. slight implication of disordered eating in thoma's but it's very blink and you'll miss it. aside from that, all fluff <3

written with a gender neutral reader in mind, but there are some mentions of perfume, jewelry, etc. and kaeya's refers to them as beautiful.

THOMA: ACTS OF SERVICE.

He speaks the language of anticipation. Fresh sheets and dinner in the oven at the end of a long day. A hand knitted scarf every winter and fresh bouquets of wildflowers on your table in the spring. His love and attention aren’t abstract things; he weaves them into the fabric of the world itself until you can feel his presence all around you, as clearly as the clean air that follows a storm.

More often than not, being with Thoma feels like hanging out with a friend. He’s charming and talkative, but reserved in his affection, like there’s some hidden boundary he’s afraid to cross.

It’s not just that he’s beholden by the rules of propriety as a representative of the Kamisatos (although that is a part of it)–he’s also just a bit too empathetic for his own good. Thoma never wants you to feel pressured by him and by his political authority, physically or emotionally, and so in most cases, he leaves it to you to make the first move.

But quiet acts of service are a different matter. He learned a long time ago to recognize people’s needs without being told, and what’s the harm in cooking you a fresh meal when he notices you aren’t eating enough? Or lending a hand on household chores when he notices you’ve been stressed?

He tells himself that you don’t need to know it’s him; he can ease the pressures of your life from the shadows, let you think that your clothes folded themselves by magic and that the new scarf that arrived on your doorstep after your old one grew threadbare was a gift from a secret admirer.

But really, it’s obvious. It’s obvious in the polish of everything he does and in the prideful way he carries himself when he notices you seem less tired and stressed.

It’s most obvious of all in the way that Thoma loves you; he doesn’t need to lead the way, only to see you happy and content in your life, for you to understand how ready he is to support you on the path to your own dreams.

KAEYA: WORDS OF AFFIRMATION.

He’s a liar and a sweet talker–that’s what they all say. Maybe if they hadn’t, you would’ve become used to his shyness sooner. The way he avoids your gaze when his words come out too sincere, how a brush of your fingertips is enough to leave him stammering. It’s as if his heart moves faster than his mind, leaving his words to spill out half-coherent and all too tender.

Kaeya is a bit of a conundrum as a lover; while he’s always verbally affectionate and full of praise, when he truly cares about someone, it’s like he can go from his usual smooth-talking personality to shy and stuttering in an instant.

He is, unsurprisingly, a huge tease. There’s nothing he loves more than getting you flustered when you’re out in public together–whether that means loudly talking you up in front of all your friends, or secret words of praise and admiration whispered so only you can hear them. Give him time, and he’ll learn exactly what it takes to leave you flustered.

It’s when you get him talking about himself that Kaeya loses his composure. While he’s become used to lies and deflecting, it’s important to him that you understand he wants to trust you, wants you to know the true self that lies beneath his lazy and irreverent public persona.

He’s been so lonely for so long that sometimes his heart spills over with longing and affection for you. But he’s not used to expressing his feelings genuinely, and so his words become clumsy, less self-assured than usual.

As charming as his flirting may be, there’s something equally endearing in his stammered confessions.

They become more, not less, frequent the more time you spend together, too, until you find yourselves together every morning, Kaeya’s lips falling half-open as he searches for a way to express how beautiful you are to him with your hair tangled on the bedsheets and your eyes still heavy with sleep.

CHILDE: QUALITY TIME.

He loves with his whole body, hands and lips and eyes and ears. Not a sensual lover so much as a sensuous one, like you’re a vessel made to be filled with his boundless energy and adoration. Even when you fall asleep, he lies awake, drinking in your image and the sound of your breathing like wine: so precious that it leaves him lightheaded. Even when he travels, he carries the memory of your presence with him like a locket around his neck: so familiar that no matter how far he goes, it brings him peace.

No matter how much Childe wishes he could spend every waking moment with you, the Fatui always show up again with some new assignment to drag him halfway around the world.

It can be lonely loving him, sometimes, when it seems that you spend more time apart from each other than together. He writes you the sweetest letters, sends you souvenirs and photographs from lands you could only dream of, yet still, it’s nothing like it is when you’re together.

In most things, Childe is the most distractible person you’ve ever met. He’s so enthusiastic about everything that it does, but it’s like his high energy betrays him, dragging his attention away as quickly as it comes.

You’re different, though. From the day you met, his attention was all yours. Even in a crowded room, it was like the two of you were the only ones around. He was all questions, desperate to learn everything about you.

The tone of his antics changes around you, too; while Childe feels an intrinsic, personal sense of pleasure in the strength of his own body, he becomes much more of a show-off around you. He wants your eyes on him at all times, the same way his linger on you, completely unashamed to be caught staring.

Childe is very much a physically affectionate lover, but it’s not so much that he needs to be touching you at all times as it is that he’s content to go wherever his moods lead him. Sometimes that means holding you close; others it’s as simple as running, dancing, or even sitting quietly listening to you speak, his eyes full of worship.

No matter how much time you spend apart from one another, it’s like all that distance is forgotten the moment you see each other again. He gives himself to you fully: a playful, genuine kind of lover, present in every moment.

AYATO: GIFTS.

He’s an old fashioned lover: not bashful, just patient. When you’re together, he sometimes moves so slow that it’s hard to believe he likes you as much as you like him. But it’s the moments that come between where he reminds you what you truly mean to him: bouquets of your favorite flowers quietly delivered to your doorstep, kimonos cut from silks softer and more delicate than you knew possible. Let love come as it will and someday, he promises, all the good and beautiful things in this world will be yours.

It’s no secret that the Kamisatos have more money than they know what to do with. Even if they weren’t one of the wealthiest families in Inazuma, Ayato doesn’t exactly get many opportunities to go out or spend on frivolous things for himself.

And that’s not to mention the gifts they accumulate as thanks for Ayato’s hard work. They have entire rooms in their home filled to the brim with fine art, expensive liquor, furniture and clothing crafted by Inazuma’s best artisans. Someday, he promises himself again and again, he’ll figure out the best way to put them to use.

He finds his answer when he meets you.

Ayato moves very slowly in relationships. Considering how sensitive his work is, it’s difficult for him to find someone he can trust, and he prefers to take his time putting you at ease while confirming your loyalty.

Even if that weren’t the case, Ayato is a busy man. It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend every waking moment with you–he just can’t.

But what he can do is have little gifts delivered to your door: bouquets, bottles of perfume, the expensive jewelry he saw you eyeing last time you walked through the marketplace together. Proof that he’s thinking of you, even when his mind ought to be busy with other, more responsible things.

He’s not an easy man to love (or so he tells himself)–but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make you feel like the precious, treasured thing you are.

DILUC: PHYSICAL TOUCH.

His chin, resting on the crown of your head. Your face, buried in the collar of his coat. His fingers, skimming your cheekbones, running down your arms: desperate, needy, afraid. The only time he’s fully at ease is at night, with your body folded against his chest. His every breath is a whispered prayer to you, his home and his place of worship.

Diluc is all too aware of how easy it is to lose the people you care about. Between his father’s death and his falling out with Kaeya, he’s extremely anxious in his affections, even though he does everything he can to hide that side of himself from you.

He doesn’t want to come across as possessive, or for you to feel stifled, but still, he can’t keep his mind from racing when you’re apart from one another.

Every time you’re reunited–whether it’s been weeks or mere hours apart–he greets you as if you've been separated for years. The embrace of a long lost lover, the kind of kiss that poets write ballads about and that generals go to war for. He's a romantic to the bone, and it shows.

Things are different when he returns to you as the Darknight Hero, though. Hunting the Fatui is an emotional high to him, so intense that he can forget himself. It’s only once he’s home, safe with you, that he’s able to come back down to earth. It’s at these moments when he’s the most desperate and unreserved in his affection for you.

On more than one occasion, he’s come home a wreck, terrified of finding you missing, hurt, or worse. He spends those nights carefully inspecting every inch of your skin for injuries, kissing even the smallest bruises and cat scratches until he’s absolutely sure that you’re safe. The whole time, he whispers small reassurances, although it’s not always clear whether they’re directed towards you or to himself.

Over time, though, even those old wounds close as his trust in you grows. Every time he comes home to you, holds you safe and secure in his arms, his faith grows stronger. Your presence alone is all he could ever ask for.

[katelynnwrites]

Everywhere, Everything (I Wanna Love You) | Felicitas Rauch

warnings: insecurities and world cup hurt

word count: 1692

summary: your girlfriend comes back from the world cup after germany’s unexpectedly early exit

a/n: i had a fever and was sad when i wrote this so it’s kinda all over the place sorry…anyway it’s been exactly a week since we got our hearts broken ❤️‍🩹

‘Cinny let your mom sleep okay?’

You softly murmur to the small brown poodle who seems intent on burrowing under the covers.

Sitting up, you move her and lift the duvet on your side of the bed so that she remains happy while Feli is able to continue sleeping.

Gently, you run your fingers over your girlfriend’s bare back.

Her body is so tense, the bags under her eyes remaining apparent.

You usually joked that Felicitas has been making eye bags sexy since 1996 but now her usual eye bags are made even more obvious by the fact that she had been crying.

Your love had returned from Australia jetlagged, exhausted and devastated.

So devastated that she hasn’t spoken a word to you since.

Other than accepting the tight hug you had given her at the airport, she has been following your lead.

When you suggested she shower, she had gone to the bathroom but had waited for you by the bathroom door with a pleading gaze.

The same had happened when you suggested she take a nap. So just like earlier in the day, you had joined her.

In the shower, you had held her close under the hot water, letting her silently cry, allowing her tears to mix with the clean water.

In your shared bed, you had tucked her in and curled your body around hers protectively as she fought sleep until she had eventually given in.

You are hoping she will open up to you when she wakes up but for now, it’s all you can do to make sure you’re there for her.

******

Felicitas wakes up, hours later.

She wakes up and hurriedly grabs onto your hand, with that pleading look in her eyes again.

‘Feli I’m not going anywhere.’ You assure but she refuses to let go.

‘Okay then.’ You accept and squeeze her hand.

Cinnamon barks in excitement as she realises that her mom is up. She had been lying on the floor but once she hears you talking, she jumps up onto the bed.

Felicitas blinks at the wiggling ball of fluff in her lap and then cautiously pets her dog.

You frown at the tentativeness in her gesture. It’s almost like she’s afraid Cinnamon would disappear.

******

Feli still isn’t talking and it’s been almost a full day since she’s returned.

Feeling awfully guilty, you text Kathy and ask her for help. She’s one of Feli’s best friends and you hope that she has good advice for you.

You know you can’t understand the grief she is going through, you aren’t a professional athlete like her.

Your relationship with Feli was still in the early days when she had lost the Champions League final so you hadn’t known the true extent of what she had felt then. That meant that you couldn’t possibly comprehend that feeling of loss either.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, you also didn’t know what it was like for her after she lost the Euro final in England. It wasn’t something she liked to talk about.

It’s scaring you, how quiet your girlfriend is being so it’s to your immense relief when Kathy texts you back.

She tells you that Feli is normally silent with her grief and would need a lot of reassurance from you. The older Wolfsburg player urges you to make sure she eats, warning you that she has a bad habit of skipping meals after particularly harsh losses.

You reply her text with a quick thank you before turning your attention back to your girlfriend.

Thanks to Cinnamon, she hadn’t realised you were on your phone.

She’s completely focused on her dog, a sort of unreadable expression on her face as she plays with Cinny.

Taking Kathy’s advice to heart, you gently ask your girlfriend, ‘Are you hungry?’

Feli looks up immediately and shakes her head.

‘Feli you have to eat. I don’t know when you last ate but it must be a long time ago.’

Felicitas shakes her head again and you kiss her forehead lightly.

‘Liebling you have to eat. Even if it’s just something small.’

Felicitas frowns but doesn’t resist when you stand up, with her hand still in yours and lead her to your kitchen. Cinnamon follows suit.

Cinny had been staying with you while Feli had gone to Australia so the majority of her toys are scattered throughout your apartment.

Her ball is in your kitchen and that’s what she runs to as soon as the three of you enter.

Feli’s frown intensifies and you squeeze her hand to draw her attention back to you.

‘Hey liebling, why don’t you sit down over there?’

Felicitas stiffens and you have to nudge her into the chair at your kitchen table.

Letting her hand go for just a moment, you walk over to your fridge and take a pot of soy yogurt out for her.

It’s only something small but it’s better than nothing. Your girlfriend’s stomach has been empty for a while and the last thing you want is to make her sick.

‘Here Feli.’

Your girlfriend looks at the yogurt you’re offering before bursting into tears.

‘Feli I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ You rush out, hating that you had somehow upset her.

‘No no don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.’ She sobs.

‘Felicitas hey. It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.’ You soothe, wrapping your arms tightly around her.

Her shoulders are shaking with the force of her sobs and she chokes out, ‘I did. I disappointed you.’

Pressing kisses onto the top of her head repeatedly, you promise, ‘You didn’t. You did no such thing.’

‘But I did. You saved up your leave just so you could fly down to Australia to watch me play in the knockout stages and now that’s wasted.’

There’s nothing but truth to your words when you say, ‘I love you Felicitas. I’m incredibly sorry the tournament didn’t go the way you hoped but that doesn’t mean my leave is wasted.’

Your girlfriend shakily takes a breath in, her voice small as she says, ‘Not only did I not win the trophy, I didn’t even qualify for the round of sixteen.’

‘I know and I am sorry for that. However, it doesn’t change the fact that you tried your best Feli.’

‘Well my best isn’t good enough! Especially for you.’

‘Felicitas, you tried your best. That’s good enough for me. You haven’t disappointed me because you did everything you could.’

Feli buries her head in her hands, fresh tears escaping from her eyes.

‘I don’t deserve you. You do all this for me…’

She glances at you, picking up the pot of yogurt on the table and continuing, ‘You know I love soy yogurt and you even remember to buy the brand that I’m not allergic to. When I’m away, you look after Cinny for me and send me photos because you know it makes me smile. You keep doing all these things that make me fall more in love with you. I don’t deserve to have you love me the way that you do.’

‘Feli-’

‘I can’t even begin to repay you for all that you do for me. The least I could have done was to play in the World Cup and make it worth your time. I couldn’t even do that.’ She finishes, having interrupted you.

‘Felicitas listen to me. Listen okay?’

You gently take her hands in yours, kissing her knuckles and waiting for your girlfriend to nod.

She does and you say, ‘I love you. I love you and I want to show you that I love you. There’s nothing for you to repay. Felicitas, you are not and will never be a waste of my time. I love watching you play, regardless of whether you win or not. My love for you isn’t dependent on things like trophies. I love you because of who you are. Yes, it’s because you are a football player but it’s also because of all the other things you do. Like when you order pizza with pineapple even though you don’t like it because you know I do. Being a football player is a big part of you but it’s not the only part of you that I love.’

Felicitas sniffles and uses the back of her hand to wipe away her tears.

‘I keep thinking you’re going to leave me. Sometimes I think that Cinnamon is going to leave me too. I know it sounds silly because she is my dog but…’ She shrugs hopelessly, her gaze dropping to the floor.

‘Feli…Cinny won’t leave you and neither will I.’

Your girlfriend shrugs again.

‘Felicitas how long has this been on your mind?’

‘Since you asked me out.’ She mumbles.

‘Feli….’ You breathe.

‘I’m not good enough for you. This World Cup just proves that.’ She adds.

‘Felicitas how can I show you that you are? Because I really really love you.’ You desperately ask.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Will it help if you talk to me? If we talk about this together?’

‘I-I think so. Just maybe tell me that you mean it? That you think I’m good enough for you?’

‘Feli I don’t think you’re good enough for me. I know that you are. I mean it liebling. You are more than good enough for me.’

You squeeze her hands in yours, keeping your expression open and honest, willing her to believe you.

Feli must after a while because she whispers a tiny, ‘Okay.’

Kissing her knuckles one more time, you nudge the pot of yogurt towards her.

As she finally starts to eat, taking small bites with a spoon, you know it’s not the end. There would be a repeat of this conversation, another time that Feli goes silent on you but that’s okay. You’ll learn more about her, about how to better be there for her.

Right now, you’re content to watch her eat. Her eyes may be swollen and there may be tears drying on her cheeks but you’re happy to simply be with her, in your own little bubble, just the two of you and Cinnamon.

German Translation:

liebling - love

[stvrchaser]

façade

( pairing ) : ben hargreeves x reader

( about ) : inspired by s3ep8 — ben wants to know what was so special about the old ben. the reader lets him know that they’re not so different.

( warnings ) : some angst, profanity

( words ) : 1800

( note ) : i wanted to write a multichapter fic but i literally can’t commit to anything so here’s one if my fav ben scenes this season! hope you enjoy! (and i’m really sorry if it’s a little specific for an x reader. i haven’t written anything in about a year and i used to strictly write x oc fics. but appearance-wise, there aren’t any descriptions, so feel free to imagine whomever you’d like)

It’s weird to see Klaus all chummy with Reginald. They’d always had so little in common, so you wonder how messed up the timeline has to be for the two of them to suddenly form this weird bond. It seems like a lot of things are different here, but that’s not your main concern right now.

Klaus is on a mission. You’ve watched him strike up a conversation with nearly everyone in the room and, not only is it killing the mood, it’s also alarming. If there was anything you learned about him growing up, it was that he couldn’t be stopped once he’d made up his mind about something. And, so far, he seems dead set on convincing everyone to accept Old Reggie into the family.

It’s a lot easier said than done.

Your eyes follow him as he walks over to Ben, alone at a table now that Allison has abandoned him. He’s sulking, more so than usual, with a plate full of shrimp and a half-empty bottle of wine. Even from across the room, you can see his brows furrow and his bottom lip jutted out. It was a classic Ben expression, very predictable considering he was at a party. He never did like big events. It’s small similarities like that you find endearing.

You watch him and Klaus bicker back and forth for a few minutes, a sense of nostalgia setting in. They used to do this all the time. You could almost pretend that this was normal, that Ben had lived until this moment, to attend Luther’s properly-timed wedding as if you aren’t waiting for the world to end. Again. It isn’t until Ben throws a shrimp at Klaus that you decide to intervene.

“Play nice, children,” you tease.

“Y/N!” Klaus claps, like some kid exited to meet a favorite celebrity or hero. “I’m so glad you could join us!” He nudges Ben’s foot under the table, a gesture he most certainly does not appreciate.

“What are you up to?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

“Oh, we’re just taking a stroll down memory lane. My memories, of course. Our new buddy-roo seems pretty interested in our lovely, lovely brother. You know, his more pleasant look-alike?” Ben looks like he’s about to explode.

“Klaus, play nice,” you remind him. “We’re at a wedding.”

“Oh, you’re no fun! You’re not even drunk, Y/N!”

“Well, someone has to keep you kids in line. Can’t have you setting the Hotel on fire just as we’re sucked into some weird black hole, can I?” Klaus whines.

“Okay, okay! But if I can’t have any fun, you can deal with Bitchy-Benny over there. I don’t think I’m drunk enough to deal with him for the rest of the night.”

“Well, you can’t just leave.” You try your best not to sound panicked because you do not need to be left alone with an overly-intoxicated Ben right now.

“Eh, I’ll see what Vik is up to, maybe congratulate the newly-weds some more. Oh! Maybe Five will let me sing another duet with him!”

“No, no. Klaus, please—“

“Have fun! Don’t do anything I would do!”

“You son of a—“ Your voice trails out as Klaus continues his… well, whatever he’s doing. You force your eyes away from him, ending up face-to-face with very irritable company.

Ben glares at you through half-lidded eyes, his face held in his hands.

“What?” you snap. “Is it past your bedtime?” You look around the room, hoping for an opportunity to escape. Maybe you could clean up that table over there, or help with the music selection. Five already downed half of the champagne, maybe you should get more—

“Why do you hate me?” You turn your head back so fast you think you might have pulled something in your neck.

“Why do I… what?”

“All you idiots talk about is the other Ben and how he’s sooo much nicer. You all act like he’s the best. What about me? Why don’t you like me?”

Oh, God. This isn’t happening. He couldn’t honestly be asking you to compare them, not now. Not when you’ve managed to bottle up every nasty thing you have to say about him. This was supposed to be a fun night.

“Are you serious?”

His jaw shifts and his lips press into a frown.

Oh, it’s happening.

“Well, you’re an insufferable bastard.”

“Okay, but you like the other Ben.”

“Yeah, we love him.” He whines, unsatisfied with the answer. It’s like arguing with a child who asks too many questions.

“Why? What was so special about him?”

“He wasn’t an insufferable bastard.”

“But Klaus said he was a know-it-all.” You hum in agreement.

“A smartass.”

“A scold!”

“Worse than anyone I know.”

“Like— like a dark cloud on a perfectly sunny day.” You figure he’s quoting Klaus. The description sounds weird when he says it, like imagery shouldn’t be his preferred method of expressing things. That’s unexpected, considering the old Ben loved to draw. He could see the world differently, through the eyes of an artist, something you never really understood.

“Yeah, he was always a bit emo. I don’t think he would have ever outgrown it, honestly. I mean, look at you.”

“So what’s so good about him? All of those sound like bad things.”

“Yeah, but they looked great on him.”

“He sounds like a jackass.”

“Well, you have that in common, don’t you?”

“So how come I don’t deserve what he gets? Why is it so easy to like him but not me? If he was so insufferable, what makes him any different from me?”

He’s upset. Well, he always is. But this is different. Ben sounds vulnerable and panicked. His voice sounds hurt and it feels wrong. Asshole or not, in this universe or the next, seeing Ben fall apart is just wrong.

“That was just how he was.”

“So he’s just naturally an asshole but everyone loves him anyway! How is that fair? Dad thought I was good enough to be Number One. I’m so much better than him! Why do you still like him better than me?”

Underneath the part of him that isn’t so desperate to claw his way to the top, you find something familiar. You hear the old Ben who, as a kid, was so eager to find his place — the one who hated missions with so much passion but obeyed every order Reginald had to give. It’s heartbreaking to watch him fall apart all over again when you couldn’t even do anything to help him the first time.

That’s when you feel every bad thing you’ve ever thought about him dissipate. Reginald Hargreeves is tearing Ben apart again, and you’ll be damned if you make the same mistake twice.

“It’s because you’re not Ben.”

“I know that! Everyone’s always telling me that.”

“No, I mean you’re not… you.”

“But I am! You just don’t think I’m good enough!”

“Ben Hargreeves, get that bullshit out of your head,” you say, fuming. “Nobody decides whether you’re good enough or not. Nobody but you. I meant, you’re not yourself because you’re too busy trying to be Number One. You’ve spent your entire life doing every single thing Reginald tells you to do, and you think you have to keep it up all the time. News flash: you don’t.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You have a family.” His voice gets quieter. “The academy is all a have.” Your head leans to the side, subconsciously challenging the statement. You don’t mean to, but it’s almost an instinct to prove him wrong.

“Is it?”

“Yeah, or it was. Because now they’re dead. All that’s left is Sloane and Dad, but you stole them. You… it’s just me, now.”

“They haven’t been stolen from you. They’d just rather find people who care about them than be alone. You know, you’re welcome to do the same.”

“No, I’m not. They hate me.” He mumbles. “They didn’t even invite me to that stupid bachelor party.”

“They don’t hate you. They love you. It’s just… this isn’t you. You’ve been so busy proving yourself worthy of being Number One, you stopped being Ben. And we want the real Ben, not the one who’s constantly forcing himself to be someone he isn’t.”

“But I’m not your Ben. It wouldn’t matter if Dad was here or not because I’m never gonna be your Ben.”

“You are,” you assure him, and you believe it. “You’re always going to be my Ben.”

“We’re not the same.”

“You don’t have to be!” you say, louder than you meant. “I don’t need you to be a shitty dancer or to sing in the shower like you want to shatter the bathroom mirror.”

“Good! Because I don’t!” he shrieks, outraged. Undoubtedly offended. You laugh because you know he’s lying.

“I don’t need you wipe my tears away after a bad day or let me clean the blood off your face after a bad mission. I don’t need you to buy me souvenirs every time you sneak out with Klaus or try to play every song I like on the piano by ear.”

“He did all that?”

“Yeah. He did. But I would have loved him anyway, if he didn’t.”

“Why?” His voice is desperate, pleading.

“Because there isn’t a single thing that wouldn’t make me fall in love with Ben Hargreeves.”

The silence hangs in the air, thick with tension. Ben frowns. You think the moment will end there. Maybe he’ll be offended, or worse, maybe he wouldn’t care at all.

“I would have done the same.”

He looks into your eyes, dark irises swimming with something you’ve never seen before. Not it this Ben, at least. It melts your heart just enough to flood your body with warmth. It’s like the sun peering through dawn.

“If I was your Ben, I would have wanted to do those things, too. For you.”

You let your heart bask in the moment, afraid to let go. This was, and is, Ben Hargreeves. He was the soft patter of rain above an empty house, the whistle of the wind across an open field — the reminder that life holds more than you and the isolated path you tread.

Ben Hargreeves is everything lovely about the world, and it’s a shame he’ll only grace it for the next few hours.

It is, perhaps, the greatest loss the universe will ever know.

You choose to make up for lost time right then and there, coaxing the corners of your lips into a smile. You unravel the knots in your heart and watch his face relax, a new day on the horizon.

Ben Hargreeves will spend the day getting to know love, the world be damned if you didn’t make sure if it.

“I think I would have liked that.”

[whumpsoda]

Small Talk - Nevan & Adrastus

WOHEO Masterlist Just a little more of Nevan and Ad talking together because I love these twos relationship sooo much

cw: hypnosis, captivity, minor negative self talk

———————————————————————

“What’s that?”

“Hm?” Nevan responded, stirring a pot of boiling hot noodles with one hand, the other flipping the page of a worn cookbook.

Adrastus' face was pure curiosity as they stood behind him, carefully watching their thrall work. “What are you humming?”

Nevan stopped his motions for a beat, surprised. He searched his mind for an adequate answer, evidently coming up with squat. “Oh, um… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Some… times music just, just pops into my head…” he stumbled, brain heavy with a mixture of their natural hypnotic aura and genuine puzzlement. His brows furrowed, face contorting. He’d never really thought about it, but now that he was it appeared odd.  Where did the music come from…?  “‘N it’s always nice… dunno… dunno where it comes from, though…”

“How silly.” They cooed, ruffling his hair sweetly and scattering his thoughts with their touch. “Silly Nevan. What is silly Nevan making for dinner?”

His expression lit up. “Oh, Master… I’m, I’m preparing some pasta for me and Malak!”

They grinned, tenderly running their fingers through his flowing hair. “How delightful! And it of course smells no short of delicious. No surprise there.”

“Thank you, Master.” Nevan’s face flushed with the warmth of praise, glee stirring inside of his chest. His second master always gave the best of compliments, always beating bubbly joy inside of him.

“You do have wonderful cooking skills, dear. Have you always enjoyed it?”

“Oh, yes, Master. I’ve always loved making my own food so my master doesn’t have to. I get all warm and fuzzy inside when I remember I’m taking off responsibilities of my master.” His eyes glazed over at the flick of a switch, shoulders drooping at the thought of such subservience.

They chuckled, patting his head. “That’s so kind, dear, but I meant before.”

“Be… before what, sir?” He stumbled, brain gradually slowing with confusion once again. He had no idea what they could’ve been referring to, before a familiar mantra floated to mind. “I’ve… I’ve always been Master’s thrall… always… always… Master’s thrall…”

“Nevermind, love, Master was just confusing themself. No need to worry your pretty little head about it.” They were quick to jump in, a honeydew smile drifting his attention back to them. “Say, may I ask what else you like about cooking?”

Easily distracted he was, face draining of difficult thoughts. “Yes, Master! I love everything about it! Most of all, um,  I love seeing Malak get all, all smiley and giggly when he eats something I made, ‘cause then I know it’s good… and I like seeing him all sleepy after he eats ‘cause it means he’s happy… ‘n I like seeing Malak happy…”

“You are just a cutie patootie, aren’t you?” The vampire exclaimed, pinching his cheek like putty, an action that elicited an airy giggle from Nevan. “This meal smells magnificent, by the way. Sometimes I do wish I could eat a full meal prepared by you. Alas, my body is sadly not built for it. I can always take a tad bit, though. It’ll have to be enough.” 

“You’re… I love you Master… You’re so very kind to a meager thrall like me.” He mumbled, melting to a puddle by their lingering touch.

They gave him a caring smile, a smidge saddened by his words. “How could I not want to smother you with my affections, sweet? How in the world could I not?”

Nevan chuckled, accompanied a dopey smile and draped eyelids. “I wanna… smother you in my affection, Master.”

They shook their head with a knowing, but gentle look, cupping his chin. “Of course you do, dear. Thank you for your benevolence.”

———————————————————————

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @mylifeisonthebookshelf @mis-graves @3-2-whump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[peaches2217]

Traduzione, Per Favore?

EDIT: AO3 link!

~~~

“What would my name be in Italian?”

Mario studied the princess’ face briefly. Her sapphire eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun, full of sincerity and curiosity; he almost wanted to make something up, something exotic-sounding yet convincing enough that those crystal eyes would shine even brighter.

But she was far too clever for that. She’d see right through him. Or worse — she would be so giddy that she’d believe him, then eagerly relay what she had learned to Luigi, and then his brother would never let him live it down. Mario, impulsive as he could be, knew how to calculate risk and reward, and that was one risk not worth taking.

“...Peach.” Uttering her name sent a chill through him that he only barely repressed— no, that felt so wrong, far more intimate than he was permitted to be with her. “Principessa Peach,” he corrected, and he pulled his cap from his head, absently fanning himself with it. It was a warm day. He could easily pass the color he felt pooling in his cheeks as a consequence of the weather.

The princess’ face fell. “Oh,” she said, soft, but curt. Her brows furrowed, and her lips gathered into a gentle pucker. Suddenly, Mario was happy he hadn’t given into his earlier temptation, because how many people had ever seen the beautiful and regal Mushroom Princess pout?

It caught him off-guard enough that he chuckled, and that in turn softened her downtrodden expression. For a moment, she graced him with a gaze full of the fondness and warmth he’d become so familiar with… and then the pout returned with an indignant force. And, of course, that only made hiding his amusement that much harder.

“Don’t look at me like that!” she chastised, though the dimples that formed in her cheeks betrayed her lack of sincere ire.

Mario, already luckier than most, supposed his day couldn’t get much better than this. 

Oh, he was so glad she had expressed interest in learning his native tongue. It was an interest she’d held for some time now, she had confessed — “It never felt right to ask,” she admitted one day, looking down as she tapped the tips of her fingers together, “since it’s one of the few things you and Luigi were able to bring from your birth world. I… felt that asking to partake in it would be overstepping.”

Mario had never seen it that way. To him, it was one more thing he could share with her. One more wall between them that didn’t seem quite so insurmountable anymore. 

Granted, he didn’t fancy himself much of a teacher, so he mostly just taught her assorted words and phrases over their bi-weekly tea and pastries (merenda, as she had learned last week; today he was greeted with an uncertain yet cheerful “Facciamo merenda!”, and were he any bolder, he would have asked her to repeat it over and over again, just for him). And as endearing as it was, the thought of the princess privately straining to overhear one of the brothers’ personal conversations just so she could enjoy the foreign melody of their otherworldly tongue, he certainly enjoyed this approach much more, and could say with certainty that she did too.

Still, as she sipped at a fresh cup of peony tea, something a hint sour lingered in her expression. 

“You’re disappointed, Princess?” he guessed. She hesitated for a moment, clearly prepared to deny the accusation, but she sighed instead and leaned back into her chair.

“It’s so silly, I know.” She shook her head with a small grin, as if in disapproval of her own behavior. “I just thought… well, I’m named after a fruit. Surely you have a word for ‘peach’.”

“Yes,” Mario agreed, pulling his hat back onto his head now that he was properly cooled, “in which case you would be Principessa Pesca. But you’re not a peach, are you? You aren’t small and round and fuzzy.”

“No,” Peach agreed in turn, “that would be you.”

The force with which she clapped her hands over her mouth sounded downright painful. 

In the ensuing silence, they gaped at one another, him in astonishment, and her in pure, stupefied horror; the white silk of her gloves only served to make her flustering features look redder still. And that did him in.

The shock of her response melted into pure mirth, and Mario buried his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking and his breath coming in gasps. “Hey, there’s a new phrase for you to practice!” he offered where he could find air. “You can tell people, ‘Il mio amico Mario è tondo e peloso, come una pesca!’” Somehow, he found himself hoping she actually would. Never had he been so delighted to be 5’1, over two-hundred pounds, and scruffier than his own father. 

And that was before the most wonderful, most heavenly sound he’d ever heard even hit his ears. Once it did—

It was like windchimes on a cold winter morning, singing out into bright and beautiful emptiness. Like laying out on the rooftop of the high-rise he and Luigi once inhabited and watching the stars, forgetting about bills and budgets and feeling for one fleeting instant like he was alone in the universe. She was laughing, really and truly laughing, bent ever so slightly forward under the weight of her amusement, eyes screwed shut and brimming with unshed tears.

Mario forgot his own amusement, even as Peach sputtered apologies and wiped at her eyes. He’d never heard her laugh. Giggle, yes, but nothing like this.

She looked up at him, eyes still brimming and squinting, face still pink with shame and humor. Her light lipstick was smudged at the corners of her mouth, and he noticed now that it stained the palm of her right hand as well. This was, to some extent, the most human she had ever looked.

A dull but urgent pain coursed through Mario’s body, and only then did he realize he’d stopped breathing.

He could die, he thought as he sucked in a breath as quietly as he could manage, he could honestly die here and now, and that thought didn’t worry him nearly as much as it should have.

“...Princess.” Mario scrambled his head for ideas. He needed to hear that laugh again. “What… what would my name be in English?”

Peach looked confused for a moment — right, it wasn’t called English here, though what it was called had escaped his memory — but she connected the dots quickly enough, and her lips began to quiver.

“...Mark?”

"Oddio!" Mario called, almost choking, because a well-meaning but sheltered Brooklynite had once suggested the brothers advertise themselves as Mark and Louis to attract more business and fewer bigots. Had Luigi told her that story?

The laughter began anew, with renewed vigor, and Mario stifled as much of it as he could into his glove just to hear hers better. It was even more wonderful the second time.

“No,” she said as the last of her giggles died down, “I can’t see you as anything but Mario. Your name is perfect as it is.”

“And yours is too!” Glancing down, Mario caught sight of a miniature tart on the tiered tray between them, lemon-flavored, from the looks of it. “You have a lovely name, Princess,” he assured her, plucking the delicacy from its resting spot. All that revelry had made him hungry again. “It needs no translation.”

“I’ve learned today that I especially like hearing you say it.” 

Mario blinked, the tart in his hand suddenly forgotten.

Peach’s eyes locked onto his and commanded his full attention. She dabbed a cloth napkin at the corners of her mouth, correcting her makeup, and smiled softly. A feeling not dissimilar to his earlier air-deprived pain returned, as though his entire abdomen were being tied into knots like a big balloon animal, though he knew for a fact he was still breathing.

“You needn’t be so formal all the time, you know,” she said. When she set her napkin back onto the table, she looked once more as she always did: perfect, as though she were carved of marble. “You are my friend.”

Was that… an invitation? Mario gulped at the thought. He knew full-well how Peach cherished him, and she in turn knew he loved her just as much (and then some, but that she would never learn about, he’d decided long ago). But she was still… and he was just…

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” he finally said, nervously glancing back to his tart, “Princess.”

The silence that fell between them as he chewed wasn’t uncomfortable, per say, but it felt oddly heavy. Something in Peach’s smile changed, and she glanced down as well. But before he had time to analyze what that change was or why it made his chest feel tight all of a sudden, she reached for the teapot sitting beside the tray.

“Now,” she said, leaning forward to fill Mario’s half-empty cup, “walk me through that last one again, please?”

Mario raised an eyebrow, because speaking through a mouthful of lemon curd would be unbecoming. He wondered for a moment if a bout of such poor manners might make Peach laugh again. 

Peach struggled through a few syllables as she refilled her own cup: “Eel-mee-oh, um, ah-mee…”

Mario made a noise of understanding, swallowing the last bite of tart and wiping the crumbs from his mustache. If he couldn’t hear her laugh again yet, he could at least hear her still-untrained accent, and that was almost as good. “Il mio amico Mario,” he started, initiating a call-and-response sort of game. And when she learned what she was saying, she laughed once more, a sound Mario knew he would be addicted to by day’s end.

Maybe one day he could return the boldness she’d shown in teasing him today. Maybe one day he could accept that invitation, could call her la mia amica Peach instead of la principessa, could really and truly feel he deserved her presence, her companionship, her friendship. 

One day, maybe.

[heilith]

You are spoiling us!! 😍 ! Okay I wish you would write something with Boromir, maybe where he is tired and reader takes care of him :") something soft ♡

@noldorinpainter So sorry it took me long. :) Also I deviated from your request, but just a little. Hope you enjoy. Oh, in case you're interested, the songspiration was Gorod 312 - Pomogi mne - loosely, but still. The art is by The-Wizard-of-Art

Tagging @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @lathalea @fizzyxcustard @absentmindeduniverse @court-jobi @middleearthpixie @sotwk @emmyspov @evenstaredits @guardianofrivendell @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @asgardianhobbit98 and sorry, sorry if I forgot anyone, I got lost somewhere between Discord and Tumblr.

Ok, here it is:

Before the Storm

“Your lips are softer than they look,” you lean out of the kiss unhurriedly, basking in the feeling of his breath upon you face.

“Hmm?”

“Your…lips…are…soft,” you alter your own statement – and the sense of it, too, “But only when I kiss you. Why aren’t they soft, when you kiss me?”

You don’t need the answer as much as you need to see that deceitful mouth twitch and tighten, as too predictable images float up before his mind’s eye. The sight is fleeting, yet you cherish it better than any words he could say.  

“You utter the strangest things, dove,” your Captain states with no particular expression.

His eyes are still closed. Your heart forgets how to beat, shrinking in sweet pain, as you touch the very tips of his eyelashes and stroke them as carefully as you can afford it.

“I do them, too,” you whisper more to yourself than to him.

He looks so distant, and so close, and stern, and defenseless.

The armchair by the fire is built sturdy enough to hold the weight of you, curled on his laps and clinging to his exhausted self like bindweed.  

It is unkind – wicked of you to enjoy such moments, when you have to thank his tiredness for that.

For a blissfully long sting of minutes all you can think of is how his breath becomes more and more even, tamed by the movements of your hand, running through his hair over and over again.

“I must go down.”  

“Yes, do,” you agree easily, “Nobody wants you here.”

“Shall I stay and make them?” there’s no single kind note in his voice, but the gleam in his eyes makes up for it to the full.   

You allow yourself a laugh that is more of a sigh.  

“Stay and sleep. They will look for reasons to put up with you meanwhile.”

The arm, which was up to now slack around your waist, gains strength and presses you to him too hard for a caress.

You lose yourself in another endless kiss.

“Consider this one,” offers he as evenly.

You nod, not ashamed of letting him see how you’re learning to breathe again. Lifting his spirits is worth the fear of denial in your book.

“I’ll bring you the furs,” you say, as he finally relaxes back into the tattered seat.

“No,” the protest is sharp and almost order-like.

Startled by this sudden harshness, you pull back, yet he doesn’t let you to slip away too far. It is not his embrace, but his look that stops you this time. The weariness and despair in it drive a knife through your chest, wiping out everything except your love for him – that and pity you hope he’ll never know you harbour for him.

“Please, dove,” asks he under his breath, “I need…”

“I know,” you cut in, unable to bear it any longer, “Take your rest, Boromir.”     

 His palm ghosts against your cheek in gratitude, and you wish you could shut out every emotion that comes with it. You wish for it to end and to go on.

You close your eyes, too, and dissolve in his arms, longing to be reborn into a safer world tomorrow.

With him.

[lunargrapejuice]

never alone

kaveh x fem!reader | 2.5k+ words

warnings: hurt/comfort, unspecified sadness(reader pov), unestablished relationship, mentions of reader being shorter than kaveh

it's been a crappy week and i wasn't originally gonna post this but maybe someone else needs my self induglent comfort too<3

kaveh knew something was wrong, even though you hadn’t looked his way or spoken a word to him yet, even when no one else had noticed as you approached their table at the lambads tavern and the rest accepted your half hearted welcoming smile as genuine proof that you were fine. you didn’t need to speak the words out loud for him to know.

he swore it was as if your heart had whispered it to his own, making his chest tight and his eyes soften in worry.

and perhaps you knew that too, which is why you avoided his gaze and took the seat next to alhaitham that nearly hid you from kavehs view. you only truly look at him when he calls your name and he leans forward to get a better look at you, offer you a warm smile, hopeful that maybe it might make you feel better like your smile had done to him countless times.

the water in your eyes makes him worry he’s done the wrong thing but you return his smile, more honest in your feelings this time then you wanted to be. your lips wobbled, a slight tremble that kept you from saying a sweet hello like you wished you could have, and normally would have for him.

you’re thankful the waitress comes by with a drink then, pulling your attention away before it could become too clear as to what lay behind your eyes. you didn’t want to cry, not here and in front of your friends, in front of kaveh, not when you were trying so hard to keep it together. you wouldn’t normally have come out after a day like today but when the sweet architect that unknowingly held your heart asked if you would be coming to join everyone tonight, you couldn’t say no and thought maybe being around your friends would help lift your spirits.

when it doesn't, one and a half drinks down and still unable to join in the fun atmosphere of your friends playing cards despite trying so hard to forget your troubles, you excuse yourself. apologizing for leaving early, with the reason of feeling tired, you hurry out the door without looking back or noticing kaveh following steps behind you. all you could focus on was trying to keep yourself together and holding back the tears you didn’t want to shed.

it broke his heart to see you like this; hurting all alone, not letting him in, pretending to be okay. he had pretended plenty, smiled when it hurt and got back up even when there was nearly no reason to. and it was worth it, a choice he’d make again and again but, since you had come into his life, he had learned it was so much easier to do with you by his side, so much better when you encompassed him in a hug and told him it would all be okay.

maybe you hadn’t known the full extent of what it did to him, how much you stole his heart each time you touched and cared for him. he didn’t know if you could love him in return but right now, he didn’t let his own worries hold him back, he just desperately wanted to give the same comfort to you, to bring back your smile. he would give everything, the entire world, to take away every ounce of your pain, even if meant taking it on himself.

today maybe it isn’t a lavish gift to sparkle in your eyes or an expensive dinner to fill your tummy or soft fabric to adorn your skin but tonight he can give you himself and hope maybe he will be enough to help soothe your aching heart, remind you that you aren’t alone. because no matter the nature of your relationship, even if you forever reminded nothing more than friends, he would never let you be alone again.

you don’t get far from the tavern before he calls your name. a few feet from him, you turn, surprise in your eyes, tears on your lashes that you try so hard to wipe in time before they escape and he can see but it’s too late. you can tell by the way his expression falls, making you even sadder.

“i’m sorry kaveh,” this was exactly what you wanted to avoid. you hadn’t meant to ruin kavehs fun night or make him sad either.. “i promise everything’s al-”

all the while you spoke he was closing the distance between you, blonde hair rustling inthe breeze, but before you could continue, lying to him when you knew you could tell him anything, he’s pulling you into a quiet corner of the city, away from curious eyes and against his chest. he’s so warm and you can hear his heart racing from where your face rests against his chest, pressed tenderly there by his hand cradling the back of your head. 

“you don’t have to lie to me y/n.. what’s wrong?” he asks, voice low and gentle against your ear. his other hand tightens around your waist, keeping you pressed against him.

you don’t say anything, can’t say anything when you're so quick to tears in his embrace. your hands are slow to follow, coming around his middle with shaking, hesitant, fingers but once you hug him in return, you aren’t sure you’d be able to let him go. 

“i-i’m sorry,” you hiccup, shaking your head back and forth like it might help you stop crying. it didn’t, nearly nothing could when you were in this state, and you aren’t sure what else to do besides hold onto him like he was your life line, the precious hands that held your aching soul in its palms. “i-i just need a minute..”

“take as long as you need.” you both tighten your grip on one another just as a particularly hard sob escapes your throat. “it’s okay,” he whispers, his heart breaking hearing you cry like this. “i’ve got you.”

the wetness of your tears drips down the skin of his exposed chest, stains his shirt, your hands bunching up the back of the soft fabric, wrinkling it in your vice hold but he didn’t mind. it was so hard to hold yourself up but kaveh never let you slip, never let you falter from his hold. his hands felt so soothing on your back and in your hair, his pink lips touching your ears and forehead as he whispered more assurances to you.

you had held it together for so long.. tried to swallow it down and not let it bubble over but all it took was kavehs embrace to have you crumbling. an uncontrollable sobbing mess in his arms. if your feelings weren’t so suffocating already, you may have been embarrassed at such a display in front of him but right now.. weak and vulnerable, you want no one else in this whole world other than the man embracing you so lovingly. trusted no one else to hold you together while you broke against your will.

his own eyes sting at your weeping state. the little sounds you try so hard to swallow, burying your face into his chest to try to hide, plucking his heart strings one by one. but even if it hurts to see you this way, he's so thankful you are not alone and that he was the one to be able to hold you.

it takes some coaxing, minutes he doesn’t count, words he would have said a million times if he needed to, to get you to mostly steady breaths. fewer tears soak into the skin of his chest, your sobs turning to quiet hiccups but neither of you release your hold on each other, his hand stroking over the back of your head not stopping. he feels you begin to relax against him, the weight of your head heavier over his heart, the beat of it a calming white noise to your once racing thoughts.

you swear you might begin to cry again when you feel him move, worried he was leaving you and while he had taken a small step back, it was only to move you a bit from his chest, enough to look at you. though it does take gentle fingers under your chin, lifting your gaze, for you to actually look back at him, getting lost in the rose color of his eyes. 

you’re sure you look like a mess, puffy eyes and wet cheeks, messy hair and flushed skin and archons knows what else after you had sobbed for far too long in his arms.

“there you are, pretty girl,” he coos with a quirk of his lips, his heart skipping a beat yet again at the sight of you. no matter what he had always found you utterly beautiful and now was no exception. 

your own heart was not in a better state. kaveh was so breathtaking but the way he looked at you right now, ruby eyes glistening in the moonlight, sensitive and kind, looking at you with emotions you might have called love, left you at the mercy of your fluttering heart and the heat that courses through your veins under such attention. 

letting out a weak laugh, you break your gaze from his, his fingers easily moving from your chin when you force yourself from his touch and nuzzle back into his chest without a second thought. “i’m just a mess right now.”

“that’s not true.”

“it is..”

at the sound of your voice breaking a bit he’s quick to wrap his arms around you again, his scent invading your noise at the proximity but you’re more calm now to properly relish in it. 

“please don’t cry anymore y/n.”

“i’m sorry.. i’m not upsetting you too, am i?” you grip onto his shirt tighter, like you want to pull away but can’t bring yourself to. kaveh felt for everybody, shared the pain of those he did not know and of course those he cared for. you felt lucky to be in the latter but hated that your pain bled into him too. 

“no. it’s okay,” he promises, earnest and sweet. “i hate to see you cry but y/n.. i would do anything to make you feel better.”

“you already are making me feel better,” you admit, quiet against his chest, your voice hoarse but still filled with that lightness he had missed so much, that he hadn’t heard from you all night. “thank you for holding me..” you feel the heat rise to your cheeks and you wonder if it’s warming the little bit of skin you can’t help but rest on just to feel closer to him.

“you don’t need to thank me,” he says softly, his lips now on your forehead. he hesitates, as if he’s unsure if he should speak more before he says into your skin. “.. i will hold you always, when you’re happy and when you’re sad.”

“will you.. keep holding me tonight?”

“yes, of course.”

wanting to get you somewhere more comfortable, ensure you had privacy and as much time as you needed, with you wrapped around his arm and his hand resting on top of yours, rubbing back and forth on your soft skin the entire way, he leads you back to his and alhaithams place. his voice a lovely distraction to your lingering despair, he talks the whole way; drawing your attention to the stars hung above you, the flowers you pass by that look like the color of starlight in the evening glow, the beautiful architecture that meant so much to him in the distance. 

by the time you make it there, you feel as though you’re in a daze; your body exhausted from finally crying everything you had been holding back, your heart fuzzy from the man you secretly loved caring so deeply for you, how he looked as though he had needed, not just wanted, to make you feel better. 

he’s quiet as he walks you through the familiar living room of your friend's house and down a less familiar path that leads to his bedroom. you hold onto him the entire way, leaning your head on his shoulder and feeling your body fill with comfort and a wave of tiredness upon entering his room. the strong scents of him and the parchment he often used for blueprints clung to the air, pulling you from the sadder thoughts to nothing but thoughts of kaveh.

you didn’t speak or protest when he helped you remove your shoes, having you sit on the edge of the bed as he kneels before you and slips them off your feet after you had undone the ties. you’re thankful that your mind is too tired and too occupied to worry about being this close.. this intimate with kaveh. you didn’t want to worry right now, to overthink it until you decided once again to not reveal or give in to your feelings and run away.

you just wanted him.

from his place on his knees in front of you, he looks up, catching your gaze already on him. his heart pounds in his chest, his hands moving on their own; one resting on your thigh, the other coming to cup your face. you lean into his touch, the coldness of his rings feeling nice on your heated tender skin, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“i’ll be right back,” he assures you, wanting to make some lavender and chamomile tea to help you calm down even more but at his words he sees a fresh wave of tears in your eyes, even in the dim moonlight filling his room.

you thought you had started to calm down more and maybe it was just your new found tiredness, the emotional exhaustion or the way you’ve always needed him, or a bit of it all and then some, that makes the thought of him being not within arms reach feel like you won’t be okay.

“don’t go.. please..” you choke out, closing your eyes, grabbing onto his hand and arm that's stretched towards you. his heart aches at the sadness of it.

he can’t bring himself to note out loud that he wouldn’t be far, that it would only be minutes before he returned. not when you beg him like this. so he promises to stay, standing to take off his accessories and shoes, letting you get comfortable in bed before sliding into the place next to you, pulling the covers over you both and wrapping you in his arms, pulling you flush against him. much like you had been all night and still so unable to part from it.

“it’s going to be okay,” he promises you, placing an actual kiss on your forehead, unable to help himself when he held you more than he ever had before tonight, when he had felt you like you wanted and needed him, and it was still far from over.

with your face in the crook of his neck, your breath falling in sync with his own and his fingers tickling up and down your back, it’s not long before you drift to sleep in his arms, your legs lacing comfortably with his. his own eyes feel heavy at the lovely weight of you so near to him and the scent of your shampoo in his nose and even in his sleep, as the sun rises he holds you close and reminds you that you will never be alone again.

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