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watchtowerlibrary · 9 hours ago

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He knows you’re not seeing anyone else thanks to a very in the heat of the moment exchange, with him, on the verge of coming, asking you, because he needed to know. When you said no, he pulled out, ripped off his condom, and finished on your stomach with a rough, “Good.” (When you mentioned that he should do that inside next time, he made a sound, slid back in, and came a second time, like the admission had given him some sort of feral, possessive second wind.)

We stan a king. What a move. 😅 I mean, ... both of them.

He finally pulls the gloves off his hands, tosses them into a clinical waste bin and looks at you expectantly as he brushes his fingers through his silvery curls.

Oh shit abort that's the wrong fucking person to have around as a witness 🤣

“Saw Abbot’s shit-eating grin and wanted to get you out of there before he started asking you a million annoying que–” His voice dies down, and you can practically see the penny drop. He puts his hands on his hips, narrows his eyes at you, and swipes his tongue over his bottom lip before demanding, “Tell me.”

Is someone afraid Reader won't show up at Robby's work place in case someone scares her off? 😅

“No one’s gonna see,” he slurs. He sounds wrecked already, and you haven’t even done anything but kiss. “No one fucking comes here, need a badge and they all take the elevator, I swear.” He kisses your neck, scrapes his teeth along that spot that makes you sigh. He’s playing so incredibly dirty– “Just… let me finger my girlfriend.”

Damn, someone's pussy-drunk already 😅

Throw Away The Oars

Michael “Dr. Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader | 6k words | explicit

Summary: You feel like Robby’s distancing himself from you. A slip of the tongue to the wrong person when you visit the pitt feels like it could be the final nail in the coffin of your undefined relationship.

Tags/Warnings: female reader (female anatomy), semi-follow up to Home Again but you can read this as a standalone, semi-established relationship, feelings/angst/fluff, insecurity, miscommunication but like with a fun outcome?, swearing, therapy (mentioned), emergency department horrors (mentioned), blood (mentioned), rats (mentioned), other pitt characters, smut (fingering f receiving, unprotected piv, public sex, dirty talk, creampie, spanking) – let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: Two fics in as many weeks? Unheard of. Genuinely feel like I was possessed when I wrote this, so if it isn’t good or sexy or fun, blame the Demon. I think the song is pretty obvious from the title, but it's mentioned more in the story. Hope you enjoy! Huge thank you to @javier-pena for proofreading, general enthusiasm, and for saying there's a line in this that should get an Academy Award for Hottest Line in a Fic.

– – – – –

Pittsburgh looks sad tonight. It isn’t particularly cold, but it rained all day and there are at least six different dark shades in the sky, like it’s saying, Hey, give me a good enough reason and I’ll have it pouring in no time.

From the row of red taillights to the left of the sidewalk you’re on, you gather most people are making their way home right now. It’s approaching seven, it makes sense for the time. You find yourself discreetly looking into people’s cars, keeping yourself entertained with all the different characters, imagining what kind of life they have and what plans they made for the night. It’s like the weather knows about yours, because more dark clouds roll in, and you cease your people watching in favour of picking up your pace and getting you to your destination faster.

You round the corner, the daunting height of that destination appearing in your eyeline. It’s almost like a lighthouse, with nearly every little window having that yellow-white shine to it. A helicopter flies overhead, the sound of the blades whirring making you look up, following it as it approaches the building's roof, and you’re reminded that for some people, the day is only just beginning.

You approach Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center feeling like there’s lead in your shoes for a different reason, and you actually kind of feel like an asshole about it.

This particular feeling should be reserved for people that are genuinely going through something. You know that inside that building, there are patients who are on the brink of death, holding hands with the people they love for the final time. There are patients receiving life altering, devastating diagnosis. Family members gently being guided into quiet rooms, where doctors explain how they did everything they could, but to no avail. It shouldn’t be felt by someone who is borrowing grief from the future over something as trivial as a two month relationship.

Things between you and Robby are different lately - or, well, they feel different anyway.

Admittedly, it’s all circumstantial, in the eye of the beholder, but that’s what’s fucking you up about it the most. First it was the little changes in the inflection in his voice whenever he says your name; last week it was him not wanting to meet up at his place, only yours; two days ago it was him drilling you into the mattress while looking at you like you hung the fucking stars, then leaving afterwards under the bullshit guise of an appointment be had with his fellow attending about rats in the emergency department.

You know Robby’s… complicated. He has his things going on, but who doesn’t? Plus, he’s actually working on it; you never see him on Wednesdays because that’s his therapy day and he’s focussed–dedicated. And you’re proud of him, but every time it's on the tip of your tongue to voice that, it hits you that you don’t know if you have any right to say it, if the role of supportive… whatever you are, is what he wants from you. No matter how patient you want to be, and you have been very patient, very willing to go at this at whichever pace he liked, it’s kind of like he’s freewheeling. Which is unlike him. Which only fucks you up more.

Safe to say, it’s messing with your head more than you care to admit.

It’s just that you slipped into a sense of familiarity so fast that you never really had a conversation about where this is all going. You know he isn’t seeing other people, he made that clear a few weeks in, when you asked and he laughed, because where would he find the time for that, and yeah, that was a good point. He knows you’re not seeing anyone else thanks to a very in the heat of the moment exchange, with him, on the verge of coming, asking you, because he needed to know. When you said no, he pulled out, ripped off his condom, and finished on your stomach with a rough, “Good.”

(When you mentioned that he should do that inside next time, he made a sound, slid back in, and came a second time, like the admission had given him some sort of feral, possessive second wind.)

So all things considered, mixed signals.

Maybe you shouldn’t be here, picking him up like you agreed you would a week ago, when you made plans to go to the movies together. Maybe you should have also made up a stupid excuse, let him figure his shit out, and wait for him to call you once he did. But you’re an adult, who realizes manipulation tactics are futile, and childish. Eventually, for better or for worse, you’re going to have to tell him how you feel about him.

Unfortunately for you, you’ve been known to make choices that aren’t the best for your heart.

You enter PTMC with as much confidence as you can muster up, then make a beeline for the elevator. You wait after calling it, and while you do, you study the plaque above the button you just pressed, eyes lingering at the very bottom of it.

Basement. Emergency department.

The pitt.

The high-pitched ding! comes faster than you thought it would, and you step aside as the elevator doors slide open to let a handful of people step off. You give the people still inside a polite, “Evening,” and a nod as you get on, then press the button for the basement.

Naturally, and for no other reason than to fuck with you personally, the elevator slides up first.

You close your eyes, braving the sensation of the semi-gentle start-stop as you pass each floor going up - then again going down. By the time you reach the basement, it’s just you and a doctor - female, red hair, frizzy bangs, looking tired as all hell. She rushes past you, file in hand, and you make your way down the hall after her.

The waiting room is packed, and you’re taken aback by the sheer volume of the voices echoing off the walls, making you feel a bit disoriented as you try to find a way to get where you need to be. Several registration nurses are seated behind reinforced glass and your chest tightens over the fact that that is protection health care providers need. You approach a window that one of the patients just walked away from, clear your throat, and say,

“Um, excuse me–”

“Please, fill this out,” the woman says, pushing a clipboard through the slot at the bottom of the window, “and bring it back to me when you’re ready.”

Gently, you push the clipboard back. “I don’t need medical treatment,” debatable after the overthinking from earlier–

“Then what can I do for ya, hon?” she asks, briefly looking over her shoulder when another staff member sails through the doors behind her. He’s wearing the same charcoal coloured scrubs Robby always wears, and is struggling to pull off a very bloodied pair of gloves.

“I’m looking for, um… Doctor Robinavitch?”

“Why?” The doctor pipes up from behind the nurse. He finally pulls the gloves off his hands, tosses them into a clinical waste bin and looks at you expectantly as he brushes his fingers through his silvery curls.

Before you elaborate, you raise an eyebrow at the confrontational tone. “I’m here to pick him up.”

The man looks at you, narrows his eyes, then juts his chin out. “And how do you know Doctor Robinavitch?”

“Robby,” you find yourself saying like you’re proving some sort of point about how well you know him, “is…” You pause, try to think of how to convey that he is the guy you decided to shoot your shot with in a record shop and who you’ve been sleeping with for the better part of two months in a way that’s acceptable for the workplace. But there’s steady beeping, the wailing of a baby behind you, a distant scream coming out of the emergency department, the two sets of expectant eyes on you from people who clearly have something better to do than wait for you to- Are you sweating? It feels like you’re sweating. “He’s my boyfriend.”

The doctor’s eyebrows shoot up so far it would’ve made you laugh if the weight of your words hadn’t just hit you like a fucking truck. For the past week, you had been questioning everything about your relationship and you cracked under the slightest bit of pressure and labeled Robby your boyfriend like you’re two teenagers.

And at his workplace.

“Is he now?” the doctor asks, a lopsided grin appearing on his face afterwards.

“Abbot,” the nurse says sharply.

The warning makes your stomach twist. This is just great. As if your panicked slip of the tongue alone wasn’t bad enough, it had to be in front of frequently mentioned fellow attending slash close friend Jack Abbot.

“You know what,” you begin, swallowing thickly and jutting your thumb over your shoulder. “I’ll just wait outside–”

“Hey, hey, hey, no,” Abbot says, his voice gone gentle, raising his hands and looking more like he’s calming an escaped horse than an embarrassed human being. “He’s just finishing up with some patients, I’ll go get him for ya.” And as quickly as he arrived, he disappears again.

“Just take a seat, doll,” the nurse says. You think she’s aiming for pity, but the words are dripping with delight at this turn of events at what’s no doubt the very end of her shift. “I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute.”

You thank her and turn around, looking for an empty chair, but are once again confronted with the sheer amount of people waiting to be seen - it’s fine, you’ll just settle for a hole in the ground to disappear into. Before you have time to rethink every course of action you had taken to get you to this point, starting with frequenting a record shop, Robby sails through the flap doors with Abbot in tow.

One looks cautious. The other looks endlessly amused.

Robby’s eyes find you in the crowd in a flash, and he reaches you so quickly it seems like he’s floating, taking you by the arm and dragging you along with him.

“Hi,” you manage while you stumble to keep up.

“Let’s leave?” He says it like a question, but his voice leaves no room for discussion. Moving his hand to the small of your back, he leads you down a different path than you came, out a security door that he opens with a swipe of his badge, into a stairwell marked ‘A’, and quickly up the first flight of stairs.

The moment you’re alone with him, you can practically feel the words making their way up your throat, and before you can stop it, you begin explaining yourself, “You’re upset, I get it. I’m sorry I said… that in front of Abbot. Shouldn’t have done it, definitely will not happen again.”

Robby’s hand flexes and your words seem to stop him dead in his tracks, feet coming to a halt in the middle of the landing between the staircases. He says nothing, and aside from the way his frown deepens, he stays very still.

“Listen,” you begin, trying and failing to keep your voice steady and void of sadness, “if you’re really that upset about it, maybe we should–”

“I’m not upset,” he says, turning to face you while he shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

You scoff, frustrated. Not upset? Sure. In a sweeping manner, you gesture at him from his feet to his crown, and back again, “Then what’s this?”

“I just worked a 12 hour shift in the emergency department, I think I’m allowed to look a little upset,” he scoffs back. “But this…,” he tries to gesture at himself the way you just did, but mostly just gets his face, which, to his credit, does worry you the most, “...is not because I’m upset with you.”

It makes your shoulders slump, but the short-lived sense of relief quickly makes room for guilt. Christ, he’s right. Today alone he’s probably seen things no other human being would see in a lifetime–should see in a lifetime. You should cut him some slack. Another apology is on the tip of your tongue, but Robby speaks first,

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

Didn’t Abbot tell him? Is Robby messing with you?

You could really use that hole to disappear into right about now…

You shuffle your feet. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me…” Robby takes a step closer so you’re standing toe-to-toe and looks at you expectantly, “…what you told Abbot.”

“I just said I was here to pick you up,” you try to save face, but you can recognize it’s a pathetic attempt; you literally can’t even look at him while you say it.

Robby’s arms cross, his shoulders drawing up as he bows his head and shakes it with an amused huff. “Liar.”

You gasp, “Fuck you, I did say that.”

“Fine,” he’s laughing now, “what else did you say?”

You know you have no choice but to be honest; if you don’t tell him, Abbot will. The mirth on his face helps, maybe he’ll take it as a joke and your crisis of relationship will be averted for the time being.

“He asked how I knew you. And I… I might have said, ‘He’s… my boyfriend’.” You make your voice go up at the end, purposefully formulating it as a semi-question, like even you don’t remember exactly what you said, then throw in a chuckle for good measure, all in an attempt to take more weight off the revelation.

The silence that follows is deafening; even the emergency department waiting room past the door at the foot of the stairs seems to have gone quiet. A myriad of expressions pass Robby’s face, before it settles on something completely new to you–something completely unreadable. But this time, it’s impossible to look away, not when he swallows thickly, not when his defensive pose falls and his hands ball to fists, clenching and unclenching at his side. Your mind is already formulating its third planned apology of the day, but Robby foils it again.

“You said that?” His voice is so fucking deep it’s more of a rumble, a slight tremble on the word said.

“Yes.”

“In those words?” he presses. “To Abbot?”

You nod with a sigh, realizing you might as well put all your cards on the table, “And the nur–”

“Am I?”

Dropping your hands by your side, you sigh. “I don’t know, Robby. You tell me.” Your voice sounds so small, “Are you?”

There’s a sound of heavy fabric hitting the floor - his backpack, you realize - and then he surges forward, a hand anchoring itself at your waist while the other slips behind your head to cushion the way he crashes the both of you into the wall. He kisses you like he never has, with utter desperation, and bite, his teeth closing around your bottom lip before letting his tongue map you out like it’s the first time he gets to do it. Stunned, you clutch onto his arms, try to follow along with him, but he doesn’t give you a chance to catch up.

“Yeah, I am,” the words come out more like a growl, “I’m your fucking boyfriend.” The ball of anxiety that’s been making a home in your gut explodes, melting into arousal so fast you’d think you did hit your head. It takes you another moment to move with him, moaning at the scrape of his beard against your chin and the flick of his tongue behind your teeth.

Once your brain finds its connection to your body, all you want is more. So you take, with newfound vigor, a swipe of your tongue along his and a palm cupping the side of his neck, applying pressure in a way that makes him grunt. He pushes you back harder, plastering himself to your front. When he tries to wiggle his hand between your bodies and into your pants, it brings you back to reality for a split second.

“Robby, fuck, wait–”

“No one’s gonna see,” he slurs. He sounds wrecked already, and you haven’t even done anything but kiss. You would be kind of proud of it if your brain wasn’t melting out of your ears with lust. Spreading your legs to give him more room, you– Wait, shit, focus.

Second split second.

Closing your hand around his wrist, you start again, “Robby–”

“No one fucking comes here, need a badge and they all take the elevator, I swear.” He kisses your neck, scrapes his teeth along that spot that makes you sigh. He’s playing so incredibly dirty– “Just… let me finger my girlfriend.”

It’s like you go boneless at the word, the hand he’s been wringing into your jeans slipping under your underwear with ease now that you’ve stopped fighting it. The shriek you let out when his fingers roll roughly over your clit echoes through the empty stairwell before you muffle it by clamping a hand over your mouth. It’s a lot, the emotional whiplash so severe that tears spring into your eyes when a finger dips into your entrance to test the waters.

Robby pulls away, hand and mouth, then brings one to the other. You might actually whine at the loss, and the way he sucks two fingers into his mouth, the thick digits coming back shiny and slick when he pulls them out, all without ever breaking eye contact. Then he’s back to frantic, dry hand pulling at your fly and zipper, and you help him with hurried, awkward moves, all but ripping your pants open to give him more room.

“Do you have any fucking idea how hard it is to hold back around you? When you... say stuff like that to people when I’m not around like it’s fucking… easy?” Robby pushes his middle finger into you as far as it’ll go, grunting like he’s enjoying it more than you are. His head tips down, watching how his hand is stuffed beneath the tight, rigid denim; yours falls back, panting up at the spiralling staircases above you, clutching onto the open ends of Robby’s hoodie for dear life when his finger starts pumping inside of you. “When you look so sweet and then get this wet for me?”

You clench around him, leaking into his palm while a groan rumbles from your chest when he adds a second finger. “Then don’t–” he bends them, finds something that makes you quiver, “Fuck, Robby, that’s good. Stop holding back around me.”

His hand curls around your jaw, pulling until your eyes meet; his are wild, pupils blown so wide his irises appear black even in the bright fluorescent hospital lighting.

You take the jump, your stomach flipping in a way that makes it feel like you’re actually in freefall, the admission somehow taking more vulnerability than letting him finger fuck you here of all places. “Stop holding back,” you say, desperately trying to convey that this is bigger than just this moment between you.

And when his hand stills, and he plants a dizzying kiss on your lips, it feels like he does, like he pours everything he can’t say into the simple, long press. You attempt to return the sentiment, slinging your arm around his neck, palming his nape that’s damp with sweat and holding him to you. You stay like this for a long moment, your heart beating so hard and fast that you wonder if Robby can feel it with how tightly you’re pressed together.

You don’t get time to think about if you can feel his, because his fingers slowly start up again between your legs, and he fucks you on his hand, palm grinding up against your clit until you’re crying out into his open mouth, coming hot, and hard, tears of pleasure spilling over your waterline while you tremble in his hold.

There’s nothing but him, his scent, the heat of his body, the stretch of him inside you coming even easier with your orgasm. You can’t breathe but it feels secondary to everything else when he grinds against your thigh, thick and heavy and fucking pulsing with need, trapped behind those cargo pants, and despite the fact that you just came, you feel like you need him more than air.

“Are you gonna put it in?” you ask, voice a little drowsy. “Please?”

The combination of his lazy grin and the flush along his cheeks makes him look somewhat boyish. “Give her one good orgasm and the fear of getting caught is fucked riiiight out, huh?” Robby says - anything but boyish - gently pulling his hand from between your legs while working his own pants open with his free one.

But it sobers you up a little from the lust you had overdosed on from the moment he crashed you into the wall. You go rigid against it now. “Wait. You said–”

“Relax,” he says, and embarrassingly, it’s enough to make you. Enough that you let him spin you around, yank your hips back and pull your pants and underwear down to mid thigh while your palms find the wall. “Wasn’t lying. No one comes here,” you hear him spit, followed by the unmistakably lewd sound of him spreading it around, “except,” he swipes the head of his cock through your messy folds, “for me.” The final word comes out with a punch of air and an oof! from you when he slides all the way inside in one go. He smiles to himself, pauses in consideration, then adds, “Well, and you.”

You laugh at the double entendre–you actually, properly laugh, when you should be focussing on adjusting to the thick spread of his cock. The soft walls of your cunt flutter around him, the plaster under your palms warming under your touch. “Shut up,” you say, but it lacks any bite or threat when your voice is still vibrating with laughter underneath it all.

“Hmm, no, I– Jesus, your laugh is making it… tight. This isn’t gonna take long.” Something between a chuckle and a grunt comes out when you clench more at his words, and you swear you can feel him shake with it.

“Then stop laughing,” you beg, a smile of your own spreading across your face when you look at him over your shoulder. “I had something far hotter planned, something like, Please, Robby, I want to walk out of here with your come dripping out of me.”

That gets him, his expression morphing into something a little more concentrated. It definitely breaks his giggles, because he looks down to where you’re connected and groans instead, a little involuntary stutter of his hips making him slide out just a fraction.

Using your grip on the wall, you arch your back and push against him. “Yeah? Is that doing it for you?” you ask, continuing the gentle ebb and flow of pulling off and pushing back, reveling in the slow drag of him along your sensitive walls, the way his fingers dig into your heated skin.

Robby scoffs. “The mental image of you walking out of here dripping with my come, knowing I’m gonna think about it each time I walk up and down these goddamn stairs, which is only every fucking time I’m at work?” He grunts when you slowly let him fill you again. “Yeah, sweetheart, that’ll… that’ll do it.”

Well, that shouldn’t make you feel as gooey as it does, but after everything, that might as well happen.

Biting your lip, you lean your forearms, temple resting where your wrists cross, head twisted back to watch him. There’s a sliver of his belly visible over the swell off your ass, and you can see it tensing as you keep your rhythm steady.

When he starts meeting you halfway, you wonder briefly if no one else truly comes here, or if at any moment, someone could sail around the corner and find you bouncing your ass off a doctor’s pelvis. It sends a rush of tingles up your body, and maybe you can admit to yourself that at this point, it really wouldn't faze you. The only thing that matters to you now, in this very moment, is the pulse of his cock and the promise of getting filled.

There’s another rush of wetness between your legs at the idea, and Robby inhales sharply through his nose when it makes him slide just a bit deeper, throat bobbing around a heavy swallow… and then he’s right there, with a curse, a groan that rises in volume and a pull of your hips back against his, where he holds you still. You can’t help but whimper at the warm sensation, at how fucking deep he gets as he comes and comes and comes. Heat spreads through your body, something that isn’t exactly an orgasm, but isn’t far off either, and makes your eyes roll back.

It takes a while for both of you to stop pulsing. With a deep sigh, you let your head fall forward, hanging down to observe the squished-together, naked tops of your thighs, your scrunched up pants, and your shoed feet with Robby’s larger ones planted on the outside of them. His hand has drifted up, tracing soft patterns across your back under your shirt that make goosebumps rise across your skin. There is absolutely no fucking reason for this to be so tender right now, but it is, and you kind of don’t want it to end.

But this is a hospital, and not the safe cocoon of either of your apartments, so it has to.

“C’mon,” Robby encourages softly, patting the small of your back, “we should get out of here.”

Your pussy protests when he pulls out slowly, and you can’t blame her, especially not when you feel achingly empty after. It starts the slow trickle of his spend out of you, the angle you’re bent over at making it slide over your clit. Your body reacts with a lewd squelch, and it only results in more leaking.

“Fuck, that’s…” Robby lets out a breath that sounds like a whistle, using his thumb and forefinger to spread you open a little more, “...pretty.”

Something disgustingly wrong with him for settling on that word. And with you for enjoying it so much.

His fingers slide downward, dangerously close to your clit– “God, do not do that if you don’t want it going everywhere,” you warn.

The sound he makes is fond, and he’s quick to listen, letting you go in favour of helping you pull your underwear back up your hips. “Trusting you to keep it right there,” he says, before giving you a flat-handed tap between your legs that covers your entire pussy, the swat landing with the obscene, soppy sound of wet fabric meeting skin.

A shock of pleasure shoots through your body, making you gasp and rise to your toes. You want to curse him for doing this to you here, where you can’t beg him to do it again until you come a second time - third? - because you could, you absolutely could. Instead, you’re forced to bend down and pull your pants back up your legs with an indignant little wiggle.

When you twist back around, fumbling with the button of your jeans, Robby’s already waiting, ready, safely tucked back into his cargo pants and with his backpack hanging off one of his shoulders. You sniff, hoping-praying that you look even a fraction as composed as he looks so you can leave the place with some dignity at least.

“You look beautiful,” he says, before he stretches his hand out to you. His comment makes you heat up, your own hand no doubt clammy when you accept. As you let him lead you up the stairs, you try, and fail, to not think about how the fingers he interlocks with yours were deep inside you just minutes ago.

Practiced, routined steps lead you through hallways and corridors, weaving and bobbing through groups of patients, visitors and colleagues alike, until you reach gold-coloured revolving doors and step out into the evening.

“Will you promise me something?” you ask as you start your trek, joined hands swinging between your bodies.

You notice that above you, the skies have cleared.

“Just one thing?” Robby asks. “You’re lowballing, I like it.”

You roll your eyes. Your belly flutters. “One thing now.”

He hums in affirmation.

“I can handle not seeing you on Wednesdays, I don’t mind seeing you at my place more often than at yours, but next time you want to ditch me for Abbot, make up a better excuse than rats.”

Robby lets out a laugh that’s basically just a punch of air. “Oh, I… Yeah. That was not an excuse. Those bad boys are actually down there.”

“What?” It comes out so much more indignant than you want to sound. “No they’re not.”

“Oh, I really do wish they weren’t,” he says, face scrunching up like he suddenly remembers the rats are in the emergency department, and he’s in charge of the emergency department, and this is a problem for tomorrow-Robby.

“Rats? Plural?”

“Plural.”

Immediately, your mind provides you with the mental image of rats in tiny hospital beds. You shake your head with a chuckle, “No wonder your wait times are insane.” Then, looking at him, you ask, “How does that work? Do they come in with wads of cash or do they have a tiny little insurance card? And why do I feel like rats probably have it better, like in general but definitely insurance wise, than we humans do?”

One corner of Robby’s mouth curls up, and he looks at you like he could kiss you. He doesn’t. He doesn’t answer either. Not that you expected him to. Instead, he says, “I didn’t see Jack just for the rat problem. I also talked to him… about you.”

You can feel yourself straightening up. That explains why the good doctor’s eyebrows nearly flew off. The rush of vindication nearly makes you sing, “Ohhhhh-ho-ho, now this I have to hear.”

Robby closes his eyes, lips pursing slightly with a small shake of his head.

“C’mon, I had to spill,” you tug him against your side, “now you have to spill.”

“I think I spilled plenty.” He leans in, mouth at your ear, “Can you still feel it?”

You groan, your poor cunt clenching around nothing. Yes, you can still feel it. “You never play fair.”

“You like it,” he says.

“I can recognize that my wants and needs in a blindly horny state are not always most beneficial to my well-being once said horny state subsides.”

He snorts. “If it ever does. I think it’s chronic.”

“Is that your official diagnosis, Doctor Robinavitch?”

“‘fraid so. There’s nothing we can feasibly do except for managing the symptoms to make you more comfortable.”

You give him a playful shove, before pressing yourself back against his arm, “You like that I like it. In fact, you like it so much that you didn’t even have the patience to get out of here before–”

“I like you,” he cuts in quietly.

Oh, what the fuck. Case in point, he does not play fair.

Robby trails out a little ahead from where you’re frozen in place, until your arms are stretched out as far as they can go without letting go of each other. The streetlamp just behind him perfectly accentuates the silhouette of his profile as his head tips down: his little quiff, the point of his nose, the scruff around his lips. He retraces his steps until he can face you.

“Told him that I have feelings for someone, but that I was… scared of it. Scared of fucking it up, because that’s what I always do, and that made me actually fuck it up, and I couldn’t stand seeing how I made you feel, but I couldn’t–”

“Robby, stop.” You shake your head, letting go of him to try and find your bearings. “You think I’m not scared?”

“It’s easy for you. You are,” he lets out a bitter laugh, “so much better at this than I am.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you deadpan. Guess he missed the point spectacularly in the stairwell earlier. How someone, someone who is a doctor, can be so smart and so dumb at the same time, you don’t know. “I almost didn’t show up tonight because I was sure you were about to break things off with me because of how you’ve been acting.”

Robby’s head tilts, his jaw ticking as he looks at you with soft, guilty eyes. “Really?”

It takes everything in you to stay focused, because he looks at you as if you’ve wounded him, like you’ve just kicked him while he’s down.

“It isn’t easy for me,” you redirect the conversation. “None of this ever is, but… when you find something that’s worth it, you try, and… this thing with you makes me want to try.” Satisfied, you nod firmly at your own words, then add, “You like me, I like you, I think we should be together. Like, officially. But if you don’t, you should tell me now.”

The thin line his lips had formed wobbles, before a smile that’s big enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle in that way you love spreads out across his face. “Look at you, giving me a big speech.”

You deflate with disbelief at how smug he looks. This fucking guy. “Wasn’t that big.”

“You are sooooo better at this than me,” he says, cupping your cheeks with both hands to bring your faces together. The kiss he presses to your lips is soft, so fucking tender that it makes your toes curl in your shoes. “I want to be together,” he says, staying close enough that you can feel his lips brush over yours when he says it. With a teasing lilt that mimics your voice, he adds, “Like, officially.”

“Don’t mock me right now or I’ll break up with you,” you threaten, half-heartedly poking him in the chest, unable to keep the sheer happiness that rockets through your body from creeping into your stern expression.

Robby’s eyes narrow, like he’s considering something. Then he says, “Should we ditch the cinema–?”

You scoff, quickly changing gears, “No.”

“–take a hot shower, order some food–” He kisses you.

“I am never ditching the cinema.”

Another kiss. “–let me eat your pussy until you come at least twice.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “But I think I can make an exception just this once.”

Robby throws his head back and barks out a laugh, “See? Chronic.”

You have to twist your face to the side to keep yourself from laughing, too. Your cheeks already hurt too much from the stupid, happy grin that’s been plastered on your face intermittently throughout this rollercoaster of an evening. Turning your nose up to the sky and closing your eyes like you’re dismissing him, you push past him.

With a little jog, he catches up to you, slinging an arm around your neck, and using it as leverage to press a kiss to your temple. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I know someone very capable of managing your symptoms.”

“Pretty sure he’s my enabler,” you grin, reaching for his hand where it hangs off your shoulder. “Hey, so what’s the big plan you and Abbot came up with to solve the rat problem?”

“Exterminator, once they find the time,” Robby sighs. “Until then, Whitaker, one of the medical students on rotation. He caught a couple of them,” he snickers, “Santos calls him the Pied Piper of Pittsburgh.”

You snort, listening as Robby talks more, about his co-workers, about the curious cases that were wheeled into the emergency department today, and you let him lead you into the opposite direction of the cinema and towards his apartment instead.

In a quieter alley, you pass one of the street-level apartments, music bleeding from one of the windows and into the street. There’s soft, twinkling sounds, cresting drums and piano parts, an electric guitar that cuts in,

…and I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might…

Your mouth curves into a smile at the song.

Yeah.

Fitting.

– – – – –

Thanks for reading! Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with! Also, if you have any song suggestions for my Dr. Robby playlist, send them over, I’d love to add them!

#fic rec #michael robinavitch x reader #watchtowerlibrary

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bluewxrld07 · 3 days ago

Text

Stained Glass (Pt. 3)

Lando Norris X Artist!Reader

Summary: It's been a couple of weeks since Y/N's gala night, and the night she left Lando standing there alone in the middle of the gallery. After some serious thought and being separated from one another, Y/N was dragged out to the Spanish GP by her friends. A lot can happen in one weekend, just as quick as the tension rises.

Warning(s): she is an angsty one, yelling, drinks being thrown, jealousy

Y/N groans as she hears someone banging on her apartment door for fifth time that morning.

It was way too early for her to want to answer, and the sun had not even risen yet. This was driving her absolutely insane. The banging on the door stopped, and it was finally quieter and longer than it usually had been in between knocks. Her thought was that whoever was at her door had finally given up.

Until they began banging on her door fast and loud, not letting up with the fast repetitive knocks.

"Oh my fucking-"

She groans as she rips her covers off of herself, stomping and huffing the entire way to her door as she yelled out 'fucks sake I'm coming'. The person still didn't stop knocking, and not until she unlocked the door to whip it open with a glare on her face.

"You better have the greatest reason ever to be trying to put a hole through my door with your fucking knocking," she snaps, the person walking in as she shut the door behind them and crossing her arms.

"Pack your bags!" Max says, holding a finger up as he scurries into her bedroom.

"What? Why? Max it's fucking-"

She turns to the clock on her wall, a slight curse leaving her lips as she proceeds to follow the man. "Maxwell it is 2:30 in the damn morning!! I am not going anywhere, what are you doing?" she exasperates, watching as he sets one of her duffels onto her bed.

"We," he starts while putting his hands on his hips, and turning to her. "Are going to Barcelona. Flight leaves in two hours, we have a half an hour to pack."

She squitns at him.

"Why're we going to Barcelona?" she asks slowly, arms crossed while inching closer to him. Knowing the look he was trying to hide was saying something.

Then it clicks, Max watching the gears work in her head. Her eyes went from a glare, to confusion, to absolute saucers of shock.

"Max no," she shook her head. "I'm not going."

He groans. "Y/N!" he whines, putting his hands together to beg her. She glares at him while shaking her head. "Come on, please? I already told Alex and Charles you're going!"

"That sounds like a you issue then. I never said yes."

He rolls his eyes as he lets out a huff. "We miss you, we all do."

She sighs, uncrossing her arms. "I miss you all too, but it's not my world as much anymore. I've been working nonstop to really even focus on anything else."

"So your boss saying you had the last race playing while you were working in the studio was a lie then?"

Her face pales as she stays silent. He gives her a smug look, knowing he just caught her.

"I'm still not going."

"Y/N!"

"Max, no."

"P is coming, you'd have her and Alex. You know they wouldn't let anything bad happen."

"Max."

"Come on, if anything, you need the break from working. You're in that studio all day every day," he says, making her brows furrow. "Even your boss says you need a breather."

Her mouth drops. "You spoke to my-"

"Yes, yes, I did. As a concerned best friend, I absolutely did," he says while nodding. "She also said she's giving you the week off. And that she even thinks you should go."

"Max Fewtrell!"

He guards his face in case she is ready to smack him, but then puts his hands up in surrender. "Just," he sighs. "Please come. I think it'd be good for you. Maybe even inspire some upcoming pieces."

She stays silent for a second, taking in his idea of that.

"He doesn't even know you're coming, if that has anything to do with your decision-"

"It doesn't."

"So then come with! We need our best girl with our group."

Y/N looks at him with a knowing look, letting out a defeated sigh as her arms go to her hips. "Fine. Give me like fifteen minutes to pack up some stuff."

He lets out a little hoot with a nod, squeezing her shoulders. "I promise you won't regret it!"

She walks over to her dresser to start picking out things to pack.

"I'm so going to regret this."

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Y/N took a deep breath as she walked over to the mirror, straightening out the dress she wore. Making sure it didn't look like it was too much, her hair was slicked back into a ponytail that accented her facial features.

"Stop stressing," Alex's voice peers in behind her, Y/N looking back at her in the mirror. Alex was giving her a sad smile. "You always look gorgeous, mon ami."

Y/N gives her a small grin, nodding at her words as she inhales a deep breath.

"How're you feeling?" she asks, but gives her a knowing look. "Really feeling?"

Y/N lets out a dry laugh. "I really didn't want to come."

Alex nods slowly in understanding. Y/N shrugs. "I hate to say it, though, Max was right. I have missed you all. So I'm not really all that upset about coming," she admits, watching her friend's face light up slightly.

"I'm glad you decided to come," she assures. "I know it's hard, but you deserve a bit of a vacation, too. Don't let Lando be the reason you can't come see or support your friends."

Y/N just shakes her head. "I just can't believe him. He just has to make my event turn into something about him. Buying one of my pieces? Really?"

Alex nods knowingly before walking up to her. "Let's not stress about him, yeah? Instead, let's make him realize how much of a moron he is for letting you go."

Y/N laughs slightly before nodding at her words, Alex chuckling lightly as well.

"Besides," Alex trails off. "I know someone who is quite interested in getting to know you."

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "Please, that's the absolute last thing I want right now."

She nods. "Oh, I know," she agrees. "Just saying for a night of no strings. Then never have to see them again."

Alex's words hit hard, something in her chest not sitting right. She could feel the thoughts slowly melting in as they began to make her think about if Lando had been doing the same. Getting over her by getting under someone else.

It wasn't out of the norm for him, as she knew, being one of his good friends before they dated.

Y/N grabbed her clutch not too long after, following Alex out the door and onto the streets of Barcelona. It was filled with locals, live music, and small markets in the alleyways. The girls were happily talking and conversing as they walked down the streets, heels clicking on the concrete.

They were headed to a dinner that the drivers usually had together the evening before the race, Y/N already knowing she would be attending. She didn't really pay any mind to the fact that Lando would be there, only remembering the fact that she was coming for her friends and her friends only. At least that's what she was telling herself.

Once they had reached the restaurant, the security guards had led them inside and up the elevator to the rooftop where most of the guys had been sitting.

Charles was the first to give her a huge bear hug, saying how happy he was to see her, and he couldn't wait for her to cheer him on the next day. She then greeted the rest of the guys in the group, part of her mind noticing Lando had yet to show up.

She had taken a seat next to Pietra, with Max sitting on the opposite side. He leaned back in his chair and peered over at Y/N with a knowing look.

"You alright?" he asked softly, she nodded with a grin.

"All good."

He nods before leaning back up to engage in a conversation with some of the other racers on his side. Y/N had happily started a conversation with Pietra and Max's girl who sat directly across from them, instantly feeling at ease as they talked.

Y/n had managed to get a few drinks into her system, enough to let her nerves loosen up as her conversations began to flow easily.

"Well, if it isn't the man of the hour himself!" Pierre jokes, clapping as he laughs loudly. The boys are all cheering in amusement as the familiar head of curls approaches the table in a rush. He dapped up the boys as he passed by them, making his way towards the opposite end of the table from where Y/N had sat.

Pietra didn't fail to notice the way Y/N froze mid-sentence as the sound of his voice and laugh from across the table. Instantly grabbing her hand to help calm her nerves.

"Just keep your attention over here, yeah? Don't turn and look," Pietra assures. Y/N showed no emotion, just a completely blank expression.

Her gaze fell from Pietra to Max, who gave her a slight nod to assure her she was okay. "I'm going to go say hello," he says. Y/n nods back before continuing back to her conversation with Pietra and Kelly, her voice showing no signs of anxiety as she spoke.

Y/N noticed how Pietra kept looking over Y/N shoulder, an uneasy look in her eyes as she tried to keep some focus on her friend in front of her.

Y/N sighs before rubbing a hand over her forehead. She looks at Pietra, whose eyes look back at her before she gives her a smile.

"He's looking," Y/N says with a slightly amused smile as her friend tries to not show any sign of nervousness. She gives Pietra a knowing look.

The girl sighs. "Yeah. He hasn't stopped staring."

Y/N swats at the comment, not trying to show how much it was bugging her. How much it was bugging her mainly to just turn around and look at him.

The part of her that missed him wanted to turn and look at him, but the other part that was so against him was stronger. Telling her to keep her back turned, and show him no lick of her attention.

"You okay?" Kelly asks her slowly, Y/N turning over to her with a nod and a fake smile.

"Of course," she chuckles dryly before motioning to her. "Tell me how Penelope is doing with Lily!" she assures, quickly changing the subject. Kelly gives her a smile before nodding and spilling all the newest details of the two girls.

Y/N happily listened in, Pietra squeezing her friend's hand every so often to make sure she was doing alright as she would receive a squeeze back to signal she was doing alright.

It was a little later into the dinner when Max returns, food finally making its ways to the table.

Y/N happily smiled, thanking the waiter who stared a little too long at her as he asked her if she needed anything else. Once she shook her head, he gave her another smirk before walking off, Y/N unaware of his niceness being a way of hitting on her.

Her also becoming unaware of the glare being sent towards the waiter from across that table.

Lando couldn't lie to himself, seeing how she would happily interact with everyone at the table like he didn't exist. It made his heart pound, and his chest tighten.

As soon as Max came over, he could tell something was off. Max was his best friend. It had become almost too easy to figure out his telltale signs. So when Max had finally caved, saying she was there, his eyes couldn't stop looking at the other end of the table where she sat.

"Don't even think about it," Max says, snapping him out of his thoughts. Lando looked at him with a confused look. "Don't, mate."

"Don't what?"

Max nods over to her as he crosses his arms. "Don't even think about going to talk to her," he orders. "She doesn't need that right now."

Lando scoffs. "I wasn't going-"

"Mate, I'm not as thick as you think I am. Your eyes were showing it."

Lando snaps his head to him in shock. Charles laughs before nodding and pointing at Max. "He's right. Your expressions are too easy to read."

Lando rubs a hand over his face with a groan. Max nods towards her again. "It already took me long enough to get her to come out here. Let her enjoy this time with her friends."

Lando sighs, looking down at his lap, then looking back at her with a look of desperation.

He missed her.

He missed her so much it fucking hurt.

Every time he looked at the painting he had gotten from her gala, it made him realize how bad he truly messed up. Made him think abck to all of the hardwork she put in just make a name for herself.

He knew he had made it worse by getting a painting from her.

"Mate, what's going on in that mind? I can see the gears turning." Max says.

Lando just shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink first.

"I think I fucked up by getting one of her pieces," he admits. "I only did it to have something of hers. Not to make her feel like a charity case."

Alexandra frowns at his statement.

"Wait," she starts before pointing at him. "You bought one of her paintings?" she asks, watching the boy nod. Alexandra rolls her eyes.

"No wonder she looked like she was going to kill someone that night," she sighs before cursing under her breath in French. Charles looks at the boy with shock.

"Lando," he sighs in shock, watching as his hands went up in surrender.

"To be fair," he starts. "I told them I'd only get the piece if my money went towards the local art schools. Not towards her."

This made Alex freeze, Charles choke on his chicken, Pierre drop his fork, and Max cover his mouth as his drink spat out from his mouth.

"You did what?" Alex asked, her mouth dropping.

He shrugged while playing with an anxiety ring on his right finger. One he specifically had been gifted from the girl across the table.

"The man kept asking me to buy one of the pieces because of how infatuated I was by it. So I said I would," he admits, taking a bite of his food. "If all the profit went to the local art schools. I said i know the artist would appreciate that."

They all looked so shocked by his answer, he looked completely unfazed.

"What?" he asks. "All she would ever talk about was how she didn't want to take every dime she makes from her pieces. She wanted to dedicate most of it to the art schools to inspire local artists." he explains, making it sound as if it wasnothing crazy.

This made everyone just stare at him.

"Does she know this?" Max asked.

He shook his head. "I didn't want her to think it was something I was only doing to win her back," he admits. "I didn't sleep that night she left. I spent all my time studying anything art-related. I wanted to understand her life, as she has spent so much time understanding my own,"

"Fuckin' shit, Lando," Max scoffs in shock while shaking his head. "I know you said you bought one, but mate. How much?"

Lando just shrugs once again, picking at his food before his eyes find her figure again. She was laughing at something Kelly said, Lando feeling his pulse quicken at the smile he was so infatuated by.

"What can I say?" he scoffs, his eyes never leaving her figure as she moves. "She was the one, Max. She is the one. I had a ring and everything."

"You what?" Pierre interrupts, his face nothing but shock. Max frowned.

"Mate, what? Why didn't I even know this?" he bombards, hands up in shock. Alex and Charles covered their mouths in awe. Lando sighs with a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

"Because I didn't want to speak about it just yet," he admits. "Pietra even came to help pick it out," he finishes, earning a scoff from Max.

"Then why did you say that shit about her? You really broke her, Lando," Alexandra speaks out, shaking her head.

"Because I was jealous and envious, okay?" he admits. He huffed as they all looked at him with confusion on their faces. "I never got to see her as much because she was so into her work. I was busy traveling for work, too, and we just never saw one another. When I was home, she was at the studio. When I was away, she was at home or at galas. I felt like she and I were becoming distanced," he explains. "Even when I'd be at the studio, she just felt so far away. I know how hard she works. I just felt left out, I guess."

"No excuses, mate. You still said it," Charles tuts, Lando nodding with an ashamed look in his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," he accepts, downing the rest of his drink.

They all look at him with pity and guilt, but also knowing he walked himself into this situation.

Yet they could all see and read how much the two missed one another. Things were just all sorts of messed up. Alex could especially see it on both sides. She would always take Y/N's side, never a doubt in that.

After hearing what Lando had just revealed, she knew that Lando truly wanted nobody but her.

"Just don't tell her, okay? She's going to think I did all of this just to get her back. That's not why I did it," he says, giving them all genuine looks as he spoke.

"Can we move on, please? I'd rather not sulk the day before the race."

They all agreed before Charles slowly brought up his plans for the offseason, everyone trying their best to listen in. Max stood up before patting Lando's shoulder reassuringly.

He gives his best friend a look of sorrow and pity. Lando nodded with a pursed smile and nodded in acceptance. Max nods back before walking back over to join his girlfriend and other friends.

Y/N could tell something was off when Max had sat down quietly, his food slowly being picked at as he tried his best to listen in on Max's story. She decided not to push it as it didn't seem like the right time to do such a thing.

As the night dragged on, Y/N felt a bit lighter as the drinks hit her system. Not enough to get her drunk, just enough to keep her feeling at bay with the tension on that rooftop.

What was bugging her at that point was the fact that the waiter kept making moves on her when she had shown clear signs of being uninterested. Max had even spoken up for her a few times, happily sticking up for her when she felt uncomfy.

"Mate, she's good, seriously," Max says, a more serious tone playing as he gives him a small smile.

The waiter shrugs before turning his attention to Y/N, a small smirk on his face. "If she's good I'd love to hear it come from her pretty mouth," he says, making her almost choke on her drink.

She nods before clearing her throat. "He's right, I'm good. I'll pass," she says sternly, not matching the smile he is givng her.

He nods at her. "I'm sure if he didn't say that, you'd happily be down to give me a chance."

"Um no, I actually am fine-"

"I doubt that. Do you always have the men speak for you? iI can happily obey that."

Y/N looks at him with shock on her face. "No I don't, actually. Who do you think you are?"

"Whatever you want me to be," he chuckles, his smile irritating her more. She shook her head.

"If that's what you're saying, then I want you to be gone," she snaps, watching his smile fade lightly only to return way wider.

"I knew you wanted me," he says before laying his hand onto her shoulder which caused her to snap away from his touch.

"Oh come on, I know you do-"

"For fucks sake mate, leave her the fuck alone yeah? She's not interested!

Everyone's heads turned towards the other end of the table, shock and confusion all over each person's face. Lando sat there in his chair, glaring harshly at the waiter, his legs spread, one elbow sitting on his knee while the other was holding his drink to his lips. Not missing the fact that his jaw twitched every so often as his eyes never left the waiter ahead of him.

Y/N looked at Lando with a frown at his tone, mouth agape as she looked at him.

The waiter timidly made his journey away from the table without another word, his posture showing signs of embarrassment. Lando couldn't have given a fuck less. Would've laughed if the guy left crying, in all honesty.

"There was no need for that," Y/N snapped at him across the table, her gaze was harsh. Lando's eyes slowly trailed to her, raising his eyebrows in surprise at her tone.

"Sweetheart, he was basically humping your leg. I did you a favor," he says before clearing his throat.

Y/N shook her head before standing from her spot, throwing the cloth from her lap onto her empty plate. "Excuse me," she grumbles before leaving the table.

Alex and Pietra didn't hesitate to follow in her direction as their friend walked hurriedly into the restaurant.

The rest of their table kept looking back at Lando, who showed no remorse for his actions, and took another sip of the cocktail in his hand. Charles laughed bitterly at the guy next to him. "Oi mate, you've got some shit to figure out." he mutters while shaking his head.

Lando looked over at Max, who shook his head and mumbling a 'don't' to his best mate.

Lando took a deep breath, turning into a huff, before he began to dig back into the food on his plate. His chest tightened at the thought of him hurting her feelings more than he already had.

He just couldn't take the fact that some other guy couldn't keep his hands or words off the girl he loves. Even if she never looked his way again. Even if she was handling the waiter in front of her, he couldn't help but step in. It was a habit.

Y/N had walked into the bathroom at that point, trying to run some cool water along her arms to cool down her system. She took a breath, snapping her head as she heard the door slam open with her two best friends scurrying into the room. The clicks of their heels echoing through the empty bathroom.

"Are you okay?" Alex asked as they got to her side. She nods, her attention back on her arms as she began to pat them dry with the towels.

"He's just infuriating," she mutters while tossing the paper towels away and crossing her arms.

"He had no right to do that," Pietra says with a shake of her head. "Max was supposed to tell him to be on his best behavior."

Y/N shook her head. "It shouldn't be left to Max to babysit his best mate. Lando needs to figure his shit out."

Pietra nods. "I agree. I'm so sorry. He really can't just let you be."

Alex looks at her with a questionable look in her eye, then back at Y/N. Then, not being able to control what comes out of her mouth next, it all comes sputtering out. "Lando didn't buy one of your paintings!"

Y/N frowns at her. "What?"

Alex closes her eyes, rubbing her forehead witha huff.

"I mean," she starts, then locking eyes with Y/N. "He did buy one, yes. But he didn't exactly make sure you got the money from it."

"Alex, what are you saying? He stole a piece?" Y/N freaks, not knowing what to think. Only to not freak yet as Alex starts to stop her from thinking the worst, throwing her hands up in a shaking motion.

"No, no, no, not like that! He paid for it, yes," she stutters, huffing out a loud and frustrated groan. Her head tilts back to the ceiling. "Oh, he is so going to kill me for saying this," she mutters to herself, bringing her head back to look at Y/N.

"He bought the piece. But he only bought it, saying he wants all of his profits to go straight towards the local art schools," she admits, making both girls look at her with both shock and confusion.

Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. "Wait, what? How did-"

"He said he knows. How much would you've wanted that money to go to them more. That you always put most of your profits towards the schools. So he made sure all of his would make it to the other art schools." Alex says quickly, not stopping to breathe at any moment.

She watches as her friend's face contorts from shock, to confusion, to awe, to guilt, to anger.

"How much?"

Alex opens her mouth, but is stopped not too long after. "How much, Alex? I know you would've figured out how much."

Alex shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know off the top of my head," she admits. "I can see if I have the anonymous buyer info for that piece. He was the only anonymous buyer you had."

"Can you look then, please?"

"Why does that matter?" Pietra asked wit her brows furrowed.

"Because if it's what I think it is, I am going to throw him off of the balcony."

The silence began to rise as the girls waited for Alex, who pulled up the files from the gala. Y/N had her arms crossed, standing there agonizingly patient as her mind began to run a thousand times a minute.

Y/N had only one anonymous bidder. They bought one of the most personal pieces she had spent most of her time working on, as she had to redo it over and over again to make sure it was right. That it was what she needed to outdo everyone else's pieces. It was the one piece that brought every single one of her artwork together.

She knew it was worth a pretty penny, as both Alex, her boss and the seller had told her before the gala.

So if it was the piece she thought it was, Lando was going to have to do more than hide from her.

It was when Alex froze from her scrolling and quick skimming through her phone, slowly letting her eyes trail up to Y/N in front of her.

"Y/N,"

That's when Y/N knew.

She gives the girls a knowing nod, excusing herself past them as they tried to stop her.

Her heels clicked on the marble floors, people buzzing around them as she was on her mission. Ignoring her friends' pleas and calls of her name as her pace quickened.

She didn't hesitate to grab a glass of whatever was on the serving platter a waiter held, holding it in her hand as she walked.

Once she had reached outside where their table was, Max was the first to spot her. Almost shitting himself as he watched the girl with murder in her eyes, he nearly fell out of his chair as he watched the girls almost running to grab her.

"Shit, Y/N," he calls out trying to grab her. Y/N didn't miss the way Lando's calm gaze left Charles, turning to look up at her in confusion. Before he could open his mouth, everything happened so fast.

Before he could react, or before anyone could stop her, the drink in her hands was dumped all over Lando.

Gasps were heard all across the table. Lando just sat there frozen, unfazed by her reaction. He kept his gaze down. He knew she was fuming.

"You donated 2 million dollars to the local art schools? Are you fucking serious?" she snaps at him, her voice hard and stern. He just sat there silently, letting her take it out on him. He deserved a lot more than her yelling. And a drink being poured on him.

Y/N knew his silence said it all.

"Two million? Lando, are you joking, mate? You said it wasn't that much," Max exasperates. Y/N snaps her head back at Max, a frown on her face.

"You knew?" her voice muttered, watching as Max huffed and let his chest fall as he nodded. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Yeah, I knew. I didn't think it would've been as much as that."

Y/N scoffs and shakes her head. She points at Max. "We will talk about that later," she hisses, turning her attention back to Lando. He was running a hand threw his alcohol-covered hair, then rubbing the same hand over his jaw before clenching it. He sat there silently.

"You're so fucking selfish," she snaps, shaking her head. He scoffs back, eyes finally actually looking into hers for the first time that night.

If they weren't in such a predicament in that moment, he would've happily folded right then and there.

"I didn't do it to win you back," he admits. "I did it because you gave me a rude awakening. I wanted to do something to help inspire and encourage upcoming artists."

"You just couldn't let me have one night. One fucking night for the hardwork I did? You just had to make it about you doing charity?"

He shook his head. "I did it because I thought it was the right thing! Not to take the spotlight from you!"

She scoffed and shook her head. "You don't get it, Lando."

"What? What don't I get, Y/N?"

"This was my moment! My moment to finally show my talent. My moment to finally make a name for myself. My moment to finally let my hard work pay off," she explains, her tone becoming shaky. "But of course you had to throw your money to prove a point-"

"How?"

"By showing you could surpass me! That you're more successful than I am!" Her voice was loud, making most of the fellow racers at the table flinch. None of them having ever seen her this angry and upset.

Lando immediately feels his blood simmer, his chest tighten as his eyes fell. Tears began to glaze over her eyes. Her hands dropped from the air, completely defeated.

"You just had to prove you'll always have more than I do," she sniffles. "You don't see the messages. The comments. You don't hear the words people say. Or the snide remarks people leave when they saw me with you."

Lando listened to her talk, taking in every word.

"Then what you said made it all come true. Like you confirmed it," she admits. "I know you work hard. You all do, and you deserve everything you get," she explains to the table, then turns back to the table. "But just because I see potential in my career field, doesn't mean my hard work is any less than yours, Lando."

His lips part, guilt immeditaely building in his stomach.

"So what if I just scribble on a piece of fabric?" she chuckles bitterly. "I inspire others to show that what I do can go a long way. No matter how many sleepless nights I've had with painter's block, I can get somewhere," she admits, tears falling freely. "Then you going and doing what you did? Just shows and proves to people that I can't be successful without you feeling guilty or pity for me and putting your money in because you felt like you needed to. All because you messed up."

Y/N wipes her eyes before remaining silent for a few moments. "So no, Lando, you don't get it. You just throw money at things to make yourself or the situation better."

Lando felt speechless in that moment. He wanted to say that was far from true. It was not what he intended to do. It was never something he was doing to make light on it.

Yet, in that moment, he knew it was better to stay silent than to argue with her. So he let her stab him with her words, let her get it out.

She sniffles once more before looking back at the entire table, putting her hands up in surrender. "I'm so sorry, guys. I really did not mean to ruin the night. It's a big race tomorrow, I'm sorry," she laughs dryly, each person at the table knowing she never meant for that to happen. All of them feeling bad for her, not a single ounce of anger or devastation was felt towards her in that moment.

"I'm going to go," she nods. "Enjoy the rest of the night, yeah? Goodluck tomorrow."

With that, she leaves quietly. The fading of her heels was heard as she disappeared into the night. It was silent for a few moments, before Max was the first to speak up.

"Lando you fucked up. Majorly," he starts. "I don't know how you're going to fix this one."

Lando just nods, his gaze suddenly very entranced by the napkin in front of him. The drink dripping from his face that was once poured all over him.

Lando knew if he spoke in that moment, he would end up just sobbing. He felt so lost. He never meant for it to turn out this way. Never did he do it to gain attention for himself. It's why he wanted to keep it strictly confidential and anonymous. He wanted this to be focused on her, and only her.

"I do," Charles spoke up with pursed lips. "Know how to fix it, that is."

Lando snapped his eyes over at Charles, his eyes red and squinting from how much they hurt.

"But are you willing to cost yourself a race over it?"

Lando didn't care about anything else in that moment if he was being so real. He just wanted Y/N. He just wanted her.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: don't hate me lol, I SWEAR WE'RE COOKING OK. I had to make you hurt a bit and hate Lando just a tad. JUST HEAR ME OUT

(lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!)

taglist:

@nickie-amore , @tylerstacobell , @piceous21 , @ariesandwolves , @lifeonawhim , @formulawhore , @asterooidsblog , @staple-your-mouth , @sinfully-yoursss , @smileyshaven , @midnightsaugust , @astrlape , @relijanka , @jooooooooo-cycycy16 , @cherryhazee , @nina481 , @lighttsoutlewis , @suns3treading , @areej003 , @dramallama9 , @putherup , @green--beanie , @footyball , @callsign-mirage

#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris angst #lando norris fluff #ln4 #lando fanfic #lando imagine #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando x y/n #y/n #angst

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todosdream · 3 days ago

Text

I can fix that | ony

2.7k wrds. black fem reader. fluff.

warnings: cursing, men can be sucky, bluecollar!ony, flirting

pliers, pliers, pliers, you think to yourself as you search through the store.

about a week ago, the stream on your shower head started acting funny. at first you could just hit it a couple of times with the perfect amount of strength and it’d be knocked back into its senses. over time, the trick started to work less and less.

one particularly frustrating day led to a swing with too much umph in it, unfortunately knocking the thing out of commission. after a brief moment of frustrated silence, you decided to just replace it. you’ve already picked out the fancy massage shower head you want. now, here you are in good ‘ole home depot, searching for all the tools needed.

you’re roaming the aisles and trying to look like you have at least the slightest clue what you’re doing, even though your source of knowledge for the particular task at hand is just… well, the internet. it probably isn’t a good idea, you doing this yourself, but there’s no way you’re paying out the ass for something you can let youtube guide you through. hopefully you won’t make it worse. if all else fails, you can just continue to take baths for now.

“pliers!” you smile to yourself when you notice the rack. your smile slowly but surely dwindles when you realize just how many types there are up on the wall, the variation of colors and shapes immediately making you regret your decision. “what the fuck,” you mumble.

combination, flat nose, linesman… the list goes on and on and on.

before you can let out a sigh of frustration, you hear the agitating sound of someone clearing their throat behind you. “need help, little lady?” a voice calls, sounding almost slimey in its delivery.

you turn, top lip already itching to raise in irritation, but you see it’s one of the employees. the bright orange apron is an insult to your eyes, but it’s not as bad as the look on the guy’s face. “oh. um... yeah, if you don’t mind. I just need a pair of pliers to change out my shower head,” you say casually.

he hums with a raise of his eyebrow, eyes flicking up and down your form. it’s a judgemental gaze, very telling for how this conversation is about to go.

oh, brother.

“you sure you can do that all by yourself? pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to get your hands dirty,” he drawls, a smirk tugging at his lips. it almost makes you want to gag.

“I’m sure,” you say blandly. you definitely didn’t come here to talk to mr. greasy, despite his attempt. “I just need a basic pair of pliers. please and thanks.”

he doesn’t seem to like your tone, smirk falling as his ego is bruised. he must pull shit like this all the time. it’s a wonder his ass hasn’t been fired.

“well, I can’t just sell you anything basic, sweetie. that’d be doing you a disservice,” he tries again. he walks past you to the wall display, gesturing with his arms. you get a whiff of funk every time he moves. “these here are top notch. definitely what I’d recommend. there’s no way you’ll mess up.”

before you can give the nastiest eye roll manageable, a voice grumbles from behind you.

“aye, bruh, you can chill with all that sales shit.”

ony had approached behind you a few moments prior, several feet back as he waited for the two of you to move and stop blocking the wall.

his trip to the store was supposed to be simple. he just wanted to get a new pair of tongue and groove pliers, maybe some more bug spray for his home, and then get an icee from the gas station after working all day in the damn heat.

but here he is, sighing softly to himself as he listens to the worker attempt to ruin both of your days. he figured he’d put himself and you out of your misery.

when you turn to inspect the newcomer, who’s quite frankly saying what you were thinking, it’s like a scene from a movie. you can hear the imaginary music playing and everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion.

behind you is the finest man you’ve ever seen. dark skin, locs pulled up into a messy bun, bushy eyebrows pulled into a slight frown. he’s handsome, kind of like the men you’d expect to be in a monthly calendar of fine ass, hardworking beaus. light brown eyes, beard in slight need of a trim. his arms are crossed and big, covered in tattoos and small scars, and his form towers over yours. rugged but sexy.

“that’s what I’m supposed to do, sir,” the worker says with a tight smile. “is there anywhere I can point you to? I’m a bit busy helping this girl right now. as you can see.”

your gaze flickers back and forth, taking in both men’s demeanors. now, how did I end up in this? you ask yourself.

“nah. I’m good here,” ony responds with a shrug. his gaze is steady and doesn’t even shift your way. he stares down the employee with a calm look, seemingly unbothered. “this young lady don’t need you in her face if you gone be condescending. and she needs a basic tool for a basic job, not something she’ll have to spend big money on to use once.”

the worker’s eyes narrow, but before he can respond, someone speaks over the intercom.

“buford please report to aisle 13. buford please report to aisle 13.”

the worker, now outed as buford, huffs and crosses his arms. “alright, miss, I’ll be right back, okay? if this guy bothers you, just come grab me.” you give a tight lipped smile in response. “yeah, sure. thanks.”

with one last (supposedly threatening) look to ony, the employee walks off, grumbling softly under his breath. there’s a quiet tsk from the man still standing next to you, and he shakes his head as he watches the other retreat.

“sorry about that,” ony says with a nod in buford’s direction. his tone is softer now, but not overly so, and the strength of his gaze is now on you. it causes a warm feeling to bloom within you and a small smile to tug at your lips.

“yeah. being a woman means unfortunately being used to it,” you say with a soft laugh. “I’m not opposed to a knight in shining armor from time to time, though.” you tilt your head with the tease, a flirty sparkle in your eyes.

hm. ony doesn’t like that fact that you’re used to it, though he understands. but he does like the flirting tease from you.

his eyebrow raises as a smile crawls onto his face. such a pretty belle you are. and a fun personality is there too, he can tell. “I ain’t a knight, I’ll tell you that. but I can fix that shower head for you. if you want.”

“mmm, I don’t know,” you say, a playfully suspicious look on your face. “you’re still a man. don’t want just any stranger in my home.”

“I don’t have to be a stranger,” he smiles, obviously quite tickled. the action makes a deep dimple appear on one side, as if the man could get any finer. “but I do this shit forreal, I swear. here, let me getchu my card.”

he reaches into his wallet and pulls out a slightly crumpled business card, handing the item to you. you take the card and glance over it, noticing the lackluster design layout and plethora of services offered.

“interesting design. onyankpon, huh?”

“close. onyankopon, but I go by ony,” he says lowly, correcting your pronunciation. he tilts his head a bit, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “that face says you think it’s less than interesting. what’s ya name, pretty?”

“ᥫ᭡,” you answer with a smile. “the seems… slightly legit, I guess. I keep that thang on me though, so how about an exchange of services, mr. ony? I can design a new card for you. this is cute and all, but I can make it better.”

the idea is appealing to the man, but you’re where his full interest lies. there’s a teasing tug in the way you interact with him. he likes it. “a trade,” he says with a nod. “I can do that. I was fully ready to do it at no fee, though, darlin’.”

you shrug, face warming just a smidgen. “I don’t mind. keeps my skills sharp.” you pause, looking him up and down. “you are legit, right?” you question with a squint of your eyes.

ony chuckles then, rubbing at his jaw. “I’m forreal. got a truck with my name on it and everything.”

you hum and place your hands on your hips. “‘kay then. I don’t have to buy the pliers anymore, right? this place is a nightmare. spooky.”

ony shakes his head, dimple on full display with his handsome grin. you’re just too cute to him, all jokes and beauty. “nah. I do, though. ‘scuse me, ᥫ᭡.”

the sound of your name from his lips sounds unfairly addictive. you look up at him as he reaches over your shoulder, body close but not close enough. he keeps his eyes on yours as he grabs the pliers he needs, the scent of his cologne only adding to the experience.

gah damn.

the man gives you another charming smile as he steps back. “I have to go do another job in a few, but call that number when you wanna schedule somethin’. hope to see you later, pretty. don’t leave me hangin’, yeah?”

ᥫ᭡

“nice spot you got, darlin’,” ony murmurs as he walks through the doorway. it’s a cute sight, seeing his large frame treat your comfy home with so much respect.

he wipes his work boots on your doormat for a long moment, ensuring he won’t track anything around. he’s sure to adjust his work belt so he doesn’t budge anything. he’s looking around with rapt curiosity.

“thanks. took me a while to decorate how I liked, but it was worth it,” you smile. “c’mon, I’ll show you the bathroom.”

ony follows behind you, wondering if you wore the cute lounge outfit you have on for him. he intentionally keeps his thoughts respectful, but little does he know, you absolutely did.

he steps into the bathroom behind you, noticing the scent of jasmine and sandalwood from the wax warmer. your place is definitely a woman’s place in all the best ways, and he has no choice but to smile when he sees how cohesive the decor is.

“okay, darlin’. lemme take a look,” he mumbles. you step aside and wait with your fingers interlocked. after stepping into the shower and looking over the situation, he lets out a focused hum.

“yeah, definitely time for a new one. I’ll get this off real quick, you’ll be good as new in a few,” he nods. “where’s the replacement?”

“right here in the sink,” you point, happy to help. it feels like opening the door when someone carries a couch or something. like you’re not doing the hard work but still contributing.

ony lets out a warm chuckle, once again amused. you’re just happy to be here and he adores that. “good. you mind handing it to me when I ask?”

“nope!” you chime.

he shakes his head with a grin, dimple once again capturing your heart. he works efficiently for the next few moments, quickly dismantling, cleaning, and prepping. “alright, pretty,” he murmurs, holding out his hand.

you happily plop the replacement head into his hand and he takes it with a smile. “a lil helper, huh?” he asks as he easily completes his task. “alright. I just need to check for leaks and you’ll be good to go. easy peasy.”

“perfect, thanks so much, ony, I really appreciate it,” you smile. who knew a trip to home depot could kill two birds with one stone? free assistance with the shower and a fine ass man.

“no problem,” he chuckles. “just leave a good review on my site,” he winks.

“will do. five stars, I promise,” you grin. “I’m gonna run to the other room real fast.”

ony lets put a hum of acknowledgement as he checks over the shower head, vigilantly searching for leaks. you turn to exit, heading to the living room to grab the small cardboard box on your coffee table.

“what’s that?” you hear him ask from behind you. you turn and shake the box in your hands, enjoying the rattle. “your cards! you didn’t forget about our deal, did you?”

the man smiles as he crosses his arm, leaning on the doorframe. “I told you I was fine with doing it for free.”

“oh, well,” you roll your eyes. “c’mon, check em out. I only got a few in case you didn’t like ‘em.”

he hums as he approaches you, stopping just short of your frame to take the box from your hands. he lifts the lid and slides a couple out, eyebrows raising in surprise when he sees the new look.

“damn. this shit look professional as hell. I like the color too.”

“yeah?” you smile. “I made sure it looked as nice as possible, some color to liven it up a little. added your logo from your site. now you just need to keep them in something so they’re not rumpled when you hand them out.”

he chuckles in response and nods. “hell yeah. I like these much better, forreal. thanks, ᥫ᭡.”

“no problem,” you wave dismissively. it really hadn’t taken long at all. “service for service, right? I would’ve struggled with the shower, and no disrespect, that card was all over the place. misaligned, boring with no color. hope you didn’t pay the designer much.”

ony licks his lips and sheepishly rubs at his jaw. “mm. I was the designer, pretty.”

“oop-“ you immediately respond, laughing softly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that.” you did, but now you felt bad, so you feel the need to spare his feelings as much as you can. he probably tried his hardest.

“s’no problem. you were right. this is definitely an upgrade,” he nods, waving the card in his hand. he can’t be mad if he just doesn’t have the skill, and he never got around to paying someone to do it. “makes me feel all official and shit with my name on my truck and now this. I’d say this was a good trade. except…”

“except?” you ask with a raise of your brow. you were pretty sure you did a damn good job, checking several times that the design was crisp and typo free.

“except,” he starts, “I traded for you to redesign my card. not print them.”

you blink at him. “I’m missing your point? I told you I only got a few.”

he shrugs, twinkle of mischief in his brown eyes. “still paid for them. that’s technically a service and a purchase. it ain’t fair, y’know?”

“I mean, it’s not really a big deal…” you trail off with a mumble.

“ᥫ᭡,” he says warmly, looking at you with a dimpled smile and a tilt of his head. “I’m tryna ask you on a date. just go with it.”

you blink again before you have to fight a smile. cute. really cute. he’s fun.

“hmmm,” you start, tapping your chin. you’re playing the part now, and you have to admit it’s very amusing. “you might be right about that. s’not a fair trade. we should discuss this further.”

“mhm,” he smirks. “how about… dinner? my treat.”

you bite you lip and tilt your head slightly. “dinner and a drink,” you rebutt.

his smirk widens, a twinkle in his eye. “dinner and drinks.”

“you’re a bad negotiator. you know that?” you question, squinting playfully.

“I don’t know, I feel like I should throw in some extra for emotional distress,” he shrugs. “an unfair trade can be a lot to deal with, you know.”

you laugh and shake your head in disbelief.

“I think you’ve got yourself a deal, mr. ony. dinner and drinks, I’m sold.”

a/n: just a little meetcute :) get the title reference?

this is inspired by one of my text aus lmao. writing a lil everyday is kinda gettin me out this funk ngl. feedback always welcome and wanted <3

#aot onyankopon #aot x black reader #onyankopon x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan #ony x black reader #onyankapon #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x you #writings — fic

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slvbum · 2 days ago

Text

ᤢ ♥︎⠀ 06⠀‌⸻ angel tears / rafe cameron!

content WARNING: toxic!rafe, psychological abuse, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of cheating, loneliness.

A heavy silence echoed through the Cameron mansion. Y/N drifted through the rooms like a ghost, her footsteps soft, her presence barely registering. Her cooking, once a source of pride, had turned lackluster, her rosemary chicken too dry, her pastries too dense. Rafe noticed, of course.

“Fuck, this tastes like cardboard,” he’d snapped last night, pushing his plate away, spitting on a napkin. “Can’t you do anything right anymore? I mean, Jesus—how hard can mixing ingredients be?”

The words cut deeper than they should have, making her feel more useless than ever. Since the blood-soaked sheets and the hollow ache in her womb, she’d been unraveling, her heart a fragile thing she couldn’t mend. She hadn’t told Rafe about the miscarriage. She hadn’t even told herself, not really, afraid to face the grief alone.

But today, Y/N resolved to pull herself together, not for her own sake, but for Rafe’s. The image of him with that ginger woman in his office haunted her. She couldn’t lose him. He was her husband, her family, the center of her world. Families stayed together, no matter the cost. She couldn’t bear the thought of him turning to someone else, someone who wasn’t her. So she forced herself out of bed, her limbs heavy, her heart heavier, and decided to be the wife he wanted, the one he’d married, the one he couldn’t look away from.

She chose a blue dress sprinkled with tiny yellow flowers, the kind Rafe used to love when they were teenagers sneaking kisses in the moonlight. In the mirror, she brushed her hair until it gleamed, pinning it back with a pearl clip. She looked like the Y/N he loved, not the ghost she’d become. In the kitchen, she poured her energy into a chocolate fondue, melting dark chocolate until it was silky, pairing it with fresh strawberries, pineapple, and delicate cubes of pound cake. She set up a picnic in the backyard, reminiscent of their early days when they’d sprawl on a blanket under the stars, Rafe kissing her senseless until the world faded away. She draped a white tablecloth over a wrought-iron table, arranged the fruit in a crystal bowl, and lit a citronella candle to keep the mosquitoes at bay. It was perfect, a gesture to win him back.

Hours passed, the sun dipping low, the candle flickering.

Rafe was late.

She waited, but she was exhausted, miscarriage leaving her weaker for weeks. She curled up on the living room couch, her blue dress fanning around her, and slipped her thumb into her mouth—a childish habit she’d never broken, one Rafe despised but she couldn’t stop, especially when she needed comfort. It soothed her now, her eyes fluttering shut as she drifted into a restless sleep.

A hand on her shoulder jolted her awake. Her eyes snapped open, her heart leaping as she saw Rafe standing over her, his silhouette dark against the dim lamplight.

“Rafe!” she gasped, a smile breaking across her face, bright and hopeful. She scrambled to her feet, her dress wrinkled, and threw her arms around him, her hands cupping his face to pull him into a kiss. “I made something for you,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “It’s in the backyard, a picnic, like we used to—” Her thumb, still damp from her mouth, brushed his cheek, and Rafe’s expression changed in an instant.

He winced, his face twisting with disgust, and shoved her away, his hands forceful enough to make her stumble, her hip catching the edge of the couch.

“How many times have I told you to stop putting your damn fingers in your mouth?” he snapped, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand as if she’d tainted him. His blue eyes were dark with irritation, pinning her in place. “Grow up,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain, each word a hammer striking her already fragile heart. “You’re not a fucking child anymore.”

Y/N froze, her breath catching, her smile crumbling like ash. The warmth she’d felt seconds ago drained away, replaced by a cold, sinking shame. She opened her mouth to speak, to apologize, to say something, anything, but Rafe’s look silenced her, a look that made her feel small, insignificant, a speck of dust on his pristine world. He turned, his shoulders rigid, and stalked toward the guest room, not sparing a glance for the backyard, not noticing the effort she’d poured into the evening, the dress, the fondue, her heart.

He didn’t tell her she looked pretty, didn’t ask why she’d been asleep on the couch, didn’t care.

She swallowed her tears, her throat raw, her hands trembling as she stood alone in the living room. The mansion’s silence was deafening, its grandeur a cruel reminder of her isolation. She moved to the backyard, her steps mechanical, and began dismantling the picnic she’d so carefully crafted. Each item she packed away felt like a piece of her broken heart, her hope for Rafe’s love slipping through her fingers like sand. She carried the crystal bowl inside, her arms heavy, her chest aching with unshed tears.

Back in the kitchen, she set the bowl on the counter, her reflection in the darkened window staring back at her—a ghost in a blue dress. She loved Rafe, needed him, but the fear of losing him warred with the growing dread that he’d never be the man she needed. As she sank to the floor, her back against the cabinet, her thumb crept back to her mouth, a desperate grasp for comfort.

The tears came then, silent and unstoppable, spilling down her cheeks as she curled into herself, knowing that she was always going to be in his shadow.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ©slvbun(m) — written with love.

#slvbun #AT!Rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #outer banks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction

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dixonsdarkelf · 2 days ago

Text

This was such a fucking hot read 🥵

"Looks like we're in here for the time," Daryl said, walking over to a window and looking out through a gap. "They ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon."

-with sarcasm- Oh no...whatever will I do...stuck with Daryl somewhere overnight...oh no...🤭

He glanced over at you, his eyes not giving away anything. "Just stay outta the damn way."

Awfully rude to someone who's gonna be doing you a favor here soon 🙄

You didn't reply; instead, you watched him, noticing the way his muscles moved under his shirt and the way his eyes darted around, constantly on alert. It was almost hypnotic—this man who lived on the edge of survival, so strong yet so guarded.

Oh baby, they’re hypnotic indeed…

As the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but glance at Daryl’s stomach, where his shirt had risen slightly when he sat down. Your eyes were drawn to the trail of hair that led from his belly button downwards, something you couldn’t ignore, and the more you tried to focus on something else, the more your gaze kept drifting back to him. Daryl shifted again, his eyes catching yours. "Got a problem or somethin'?"

-clears throat- Umm, no. Definitely no problems here, sir 😳

You didn't respond. You went down to your knees in front of him, your eyes locked on his and your fingers brushing against the skin of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn't push you away. Instead, he watched you with curiosity.

Oooh Reader is so bold I love that.

"Ya keep makin' me harder," he said, his voice breaking.

That would be the goal, babe 🤭

Daryl groaned loudly, his body arching due to the ruined orgasm. "Fuck, don't stop," he pleaded, his hands gripping your hair tighter. "I'm so fuckin' close."

Fuck that's hot 🥵

His moans grew louder as you finally gave in to him, your tongue swirling around his cock like a snake, leaving nothing untouched. Daryl gripped your hair tighter, and his thrusts grew more insistent, pushing you further on his cock as you gagged on him, and you took him deeper still while you could feel his balls tightening and the base of his shaft tensing.

Ho-ly Je-sus fucki-ing Ch-rist 🤯🤯🤯

Brushing the dust off your clothes when you got up as well, you turned to Daryl with a little bit of a spark in your eyes. "By the way, Daryl, I hope this check-up was thorough enough for you." He looked back at you with a confused expression on his face. "This check-up? What are ya talkin' about?" He asked, taking a step back from the window. You smirked as you got closer again, both your hands running over his belly one more time. "Well, considering how things went down, I think we both should consider this our routine maintenance from now on, don't you think?"

I, too, am looking forward to the next one 😉

Incredible, amazing, hot, and such a fun read. Thank you for writing this 🖤

𝐂𝐥𝛐𝐬𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Trapped overnight by a horde of walkers during a supply run, you and Daryl Dixon find yourselves in close quarters with nothing but time on your hands. And the problem that you can't keep your hands to yourself.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Language ⋮ Oral Sex ⋮ Belly Kink

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.664 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

"Keep ya eyes open," Daryl grunted and kept walking. His crossbow hung over his shoulder as his eyes looked left and right in search of any danger. He wasn't much for words, more action than unnecessary chit-chat, but you didn't complain.

Today's task had been simple: Scavenge for as many supplies as you could until night began to fall, and then get back to the safety of the group. And that's exactly what you did, with your supply run partner being once again: Daryl Dixon.

You only nodded, holding your own weapon tightly. For all his rough exterior, you trusted him with your life. Over the last months, you've seen Daryl in action a lot of times already; to your eyes, he seemed to be one of the best survivors among the group. But tonight felt a bit off. It didn't feel like any other supply run; you were uncomfortable, and you just couldn't shake the feeling that something was likely to go wrong.

As the last rays of daylight finally vanished, sudden growls came from out of nowhere. You and Daryl immediately stopped dead in your tracks, your hearts racing in your chest as you realized that a small horde of walkers approached. Still, there were too many to take on, and running was definitely out of line. You had to find shelter, and fast.

"This way," Daryl whispered, tugging at your arm to lead you toward a building. He pushed open the door, and both of you slipped inside, shutting it as quietly as you could behind you. The room was dark and full of dust and the familiar smell of decay.

"Looks like we're in here for the time," Daryl said, walking over to a window and looking out through a gap. "They ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon."

You sighed, trying to steady your breathing. The reality of the situation was hitting you. Being stuck in this tiny, dark room with Daryl Dixon—with a horde of the undead outside—was just what you needed.

Daryl, meanwhile, turned away from the window and explored the room further, but then he suddenly stopped and faced you. "Gonna need to check for scratches," he said, leaving very little room in his tone for argument. "Help me with my shirt."

"Okay, I guess..." You stepped closer, your hands shaking slightly as you reached for the hem of his shirt before you lifted it slowly to reveal his stomach. His skin was rough and scarred from the years of survival, but to you, it was mesmerizing.

"See anythin' on my back?" He asked, his eyes boring into yours.

You shook your head, trying to focus. "No, you're... definitely clear."

"Thanks," he said gruffly, pulling his shirt back down. His fingers brushed against your hand as he did, and for a brief moment, you both froze, but the sudden sound of a distant groan made Daryl’s eyes snap back to the window. "Damn it," he mumbled, annoyed. "We should make sure this place is safe."

You followed him as he began to inspect the room, moving from one corner to another. "You need any help?" You asked, trying to keep the stutter out of your voice.

He glanced over at you, his eyes not giving away anything. "Just stay outta the damn way."

You took a step back, feeling a bit disappointed. There was something almost painful about the way he kept you at arm’s length, like a barrier you could never cross. Yet, it only intensified your need to break through his walls.

He still hadn't found anything, so you turned your attention to an old armchair in the corner of the room. You walk over to it, brushing off some of the dust, thinking it might be a good place to take a seat and wait out the night. But in your approach, you had knocked over a few empty glass bottles, which shattered on the floor.

"Be careful, woman," he snapped at you. "Ya wanna attract more of 'em and get us killed?"

You immediately apologized and bent over to pick up the pieces, your face blushing with embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."

Soon enough, he was done checking out the room, and he sat down in the armchair that you cleaned off. "Looks like we're stuck here for the night," he said, though not to you in particular.

Meanwhile, you sat down on the floor across from him, trying to get comfortable. Daryl's eyes looked at you, though he didn't really manage to hide behind his usual stoic expression. "Ya cold or somethin'?"

You shook your head. "No, I'm okay. Don't worry."

He nodded, and for a moment, you thought the conversation might end there. But then he shifted around in the chair, as if uncomfortable with the silence. "Ya’ve been quiet," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Usually ya've got somethin' to say."

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "Just… thinking, I guess."

"Thinkin' 'bout what?" He asked, still looking at you.

You shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Everything. How things have changed since all of this started."

Daryl grunted, his eyes returning to the window. "Yeah, things've changed alright. Ain't much left in the world."

Daryl shifted again, his eyes catching yours. "Got a problem or somethin'?"

You looked away quickly, feeling your heart race. "Nope."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, ya can't just sit there starin' at me like that."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

He sighed, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Alright. What is it ya wanna say?"

You fidgeted around, trying to find the right words. "I just… I guess I'm curious about you. About who you are when you’re not out fighting walkers or scavenging for supplies."

Daryl stared at you, his eyes darkening slightly. "And maybe I don't see the point in talkin' 'bout that."

You shifted on the floor, your movements restless. "Maybe we could make this night less pointless."

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. "What're ya talkin' 'bout?"

You hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I mean, we could talk about something else. Anything, really."

He studied you for a long moment, his expression guarded. Then, unexpectedly, he broke the silence. "Alright, fine. What do ya wanna know?"

You nodded. "What about before all this? What did you do?"

He seemed to ponder the question before answering. "Didn’t do much beyond huntin'."

You smiled faintly, lost in thought. "Sounds like a simpler life."

"Simple don't mean easy," he answered back quickly, looking away again.

Without even thinking, you closed the distance between the two of you, your heart racing in your chest and your hands shaking just a little bit as you held them out to him. Why? You didn't really know it yourself. You just did.

"What're ya playin' at?" He growled and narrowed his eyes.

"You like this?" You asked, your whisper barely audible over the far-off moans of the walkers outside.

Daryl's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. "What're ya tryin' to prove?"

You ignored his question, pressing your lips to his stomach in a matter of seconds. His skin was warm and slightly wet with salty sweat.

"Stop," he growled, but without conviction.

But you couldn't. You did not stop and continued to kiss and lick his stomach while your hands searched for every inch of his body. It was in the way his muscles twitched at your touch, the way his breath hitched—that really turned you on.

"You want this," you whispered, more a statement than a question.

Daryl's eyes blinked fast—part need, part hesitation. He was already at the edge, his breathing ragged, his eyes on you as if he willed himself to fight but failed.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice shaking. "Goddamn it… I want it."

That was all the motivation you needed. You reached out and placed your hand on Daryl's thigh, feeling him tense up slightly, but he still didn't pull away.

"I want to suck your cock," you whispered, your hand sliding up his thigh, closer to the bulge in his pants. As you reached for his belt, your fingers fumbling with the buckle, he helped you with shaking hands.

You smiled up at him, your fingers soon enough wrapped around the base of his cock, and slowly you leaned forward and pressed your lips to slide over the tip.

You teased him with soft, slow kisses, using just the very tip of your tongue to outline his head. His moans were very low and almost barely audible, but they fueled your lust all the same when you licked off the pre-cum.

"Fuck!" Daryl gasped, his hands gripping the sides of the chair. "Just get on with it."

Your mouth opened wide, and you took him in almost immediately, starting with just the head and letting it slide slowly past your lips. It was almost too much, that feeling of his cock in your mouth, and so you pulled back a bit, swirling your tongue around the head before trying to take him in further.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Daryl mumbled, his eyes closed, as he fought to hold on to some sort of control.

Your hand didn't stop stroking the part of his shaft that wasn't in your mouth, moving in rhythm with your lips and your tongue's movements.

Daryl's hips bucked involuntarily with short thrusts, and every time he pushed forward, you took him deeper, feeling your throat expand around him.

"Ya keep makin' me harder," he said, his voice breaking.

"Good. I want you to be," you grinned around him, and without hesitation, you dove back down on him, taking him in as deep as you could.

"Fuck, keep goin'," he urged. "Ya gonna make me lose it."

You were more than happy to obey, and you quickened the pace of your movements, your mouth sliding up and down his cock. His hands were gripping your hair now, guiding you and pushing you to take him even deeper. His groans were getting louder, sounding more desperate, and you could tell he was close already.

"Jesus, I'm gonna cum," he moaned, his voice trembling. "Gonna blow my load."

You smirked around his cock, but you certainly didn't mean to let him come just yet. Drawing back a bit, you let your tongue slide along the underside of his cock before swirling around the sensitive skin just below its head.

Daryl groaned loudly, his body arching due to the ruined orgasm. "Fuck, don't stop," he pleaded, his hands gripping your hair tighter. "I'm so fuckin' close."

At those words, your lips parted slightly, teasingly, allowing a strand of spit to connect you to his cock before you leaned forward again, but not taking him fully into your mouth.

"Goddamn it," Daryl groaned, his hips bucking reflexively. "Don't play 'round."

But you continued teasing him, your tongue playing with the pre-cum, letting it gather in your mouth before you let it drip back onto his cock.

"Tease me like this," he gasped, "and I'm gonna go fuckin' crazy."

"You want more?" you asked. "You want me to make you come?"

Daryl nodded desperately, his eyes half-closed. "Yes, fuck yes."

Instead of giving him what he wanted, you pulled away once again and began to kiss and lick his cock from the base up, sliding your tongue around his shaft and softly nibbling on it as you moved slowly back up, paying careful attention to every inch of his throbbing cock.

"Shit," Daryl moaned, his hands gripping your hair harder. "Fuck, stop teasin' me."

"I'm gonna come," he warns, but you don't stop. You want to taste him and feel him explode in your mouth. "Oh, fuck," he cried out again, his grip on your hair tightening as he cursed. "I'm gonna fuckin' come!"

You sucked hard and long, your tongue twisting around the ridge of his cock, teasing the sensitive spot beneath. With every suck, you could feel the pulsating veins in his shaft, and finally, Daryl came. His cock throbbed and pulsed in your mouth as he shot thick ropes of cum, filling your mouth with the salty, bitter taste of it.

You pulled off of him with a smirk, having swallowed the last of Daryl's cum, your lips glistening with the remaining drops before you wiped it off with the back of your hand.

"You okay?" You asked as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his stomach.

Daryl looked at you, a half-smile on his face as he met your gaze. "Yeah, I'm good."

You leaned in closer, letting your fingers explore the warm, sweaty skin of his belly. "So," you said, your voice playful, "since we're still trapped here, do you want to know what got us into this mess?"

Daryl's eyebrow arched upward in confusion. "What do ya mean?"

You pressed your lips lightly against his belly. "I was just thinking about how all this started. It was your belly that got me going in the first place."

Daryl's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, so that's why ya were starin', huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Your belly's kind of a big deal to me, but I can't really explain," you grinned up at him.

He smirked back in amusement. "Fine, if ya don't wanna."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No need to explain. Only appreciating the view."

"Well, don't get too distracted. We've still got loads of shit to do," he answered, getting up from the chair to prepare to take a quick look outside the window to see how many walkers are still outside and roaming around.

Brushing the dust off your clothes when you got up as well, you turned to Daryl with a little bit of a spark in your eyes. "By the way, Daryl, I hope this check-up was thorough enough for you."

He looked back at you with a confused expression on his face. "This check-up? What are ya talkin' about?" He asked, taking a step back from the window.

You smirked as you got closer again, both your hands running over his belly one more time. "Well, considering how things went down, I think we both should consider this our routine maintenance from now on, don't you think?"

Daryl's eyes widened for a second before he suddenly let out a small laugh. "A routine maintenance, huh? Alright. But next time, maybe we'll save the check-ups for a safer time. Now, get ya ass up and follow me."

"Deal. But I gotta say, I'm looking forward to the next routine check-up already," you laughed, following him to the door and closing it slowly behind you.

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makeitworse · 1 day ago

Text

SNAP OUT OF IT

── cheol’d be damned if he ever stole someone’s girl, especially a member’s. but how else is he meant to save you from that asshole?

ෆ ͜ ̩͙ f!reader x seungcheol. indent format. hurt/comfort. angst. reader’s bf is left unnamed.

what a pretty fuckin’ predicament you were.

seungcheol loves his group. bottom of his heart, he really does. they’ve been through years of practice rooms and stage lights and growing pains together. he’ll be the first to cover for them in interviews when they can’t find the right words, the first at their defence when netizens take things too far.

when it comes to the team, their public image, he’ll sure as hell keep them in line. but he won’t control what they all do behind closed doors, away from the cameras. that’s the limits of his responsibility. but lately, those limits have been staring him in the face with kind eyes and the softest goddamn voice he’s ever heard.

you. his member’s girlfriend. cheol doesn’t know where the fuck he found you and how the fuck he pulled you— better yet, how he’s managed to keep you this long. you’re sweet. polite. you greet them all by name, remember the little things they mention. the room lights up when you enter. you make everyone feel seen, known, like they matter. and you’re gorgeous— fuck, painfully so. cheol’s caught himself watching you more than once, eyes lingering too long, heart thudding with something that sure as hell shouldn’t be there.

you must’ve descended from the heavens and he was the first human you saw, and now you don’t know any better. because, pardon the french, your boyfriend’s a fuckhead when it comes to women. doesn’t know how to treat a girl right even if there was a gun to his head. everyone else tiptoes around it, keeps it cordial for the sake of the team— but cheol hears the whispers, the offhand comments.

minghao grumbling after last week’s party about your boyfriend raising his voice at you. jeonghan biting his tongue when your boyfriend made some offhand comment about your outfit. once, cheol was pulled aside by a conflicted joshua: “she looked like she was about to cry the whole night. should i say something to him?”

cheol doesn’t. because what’s he gonna say? “hey, treat your girl right or i will.” cheol’s not that guy. he’s not the homewrecker. even if the ‘home’ is made of straws and sticks. you can only tell so much to someone who won’t listen. and it’s not cheol’s place to manage his members’ private affairs, right? so he minds his business. stays in his lane. except, lately, he keeps veering off-road.

because whenever cheol sees you— bright-eyed and glowing before your boyfriend’s gotten the chance to dim your light— he thinks about what he’d do differently. cheol’d sweep you off your feet. he’d never raise his voice, always hold your hand in public. learn every little thing about you just to hear you talk. he’d make you feel safe— happy, goddamn it. it feels like complicity just witnessing a dime piece like you get mistreated. but cheol has to remind himself that you’re not his girl, and he’s not that type of guy.

you’re too sweet to ever be anything but faithful either. too loyal to ever stray, as much as your boyfriend doesn’t deserve it. that’s the worst part. even with the way he talks down to you sometimes, even with the doubt in your eyes, you’d never look at cheol like you were thinking of leaving. you love your man. cheol loves the idea of what could’ve been. and it tears him up inside when he sees you.

it’s a late weekend night. the boys are having a small gathering: bring your own drinks and a plus one. cheol figured you’d be there, but what he hadn’t expected was for your eyes to find him the instant you arrived— boyfriend’s arm still slung over your shoulder as you waved at cheol with the cutest smile ever. his stomach fluttered over the interaction, but he tries to not let it linger. you’ve always been nice to everyone.

until you’re seated next to him at dinner. the group and their partners are all scattered around the place, but you chose to take the spot right next to cheol, shyly asking if it was okay with him. your boyfriend was halfway across the room, scrolling on his phone between bites of the food and barely sparing you a glance. cheol’s trying, really trying, not to think anything of it. your shoulder’ll brush his every so often, soft giggles spilling from your lips like you forgot who you came with. it’s just a seat. just conversation.

but every time you lean in to whisper something, every time your hand comes to his arm as you laugh, there’s something deep and desperate coiling in cheol’s chest. your boyfriend probably forgot you’re here— meanwhile you’re telling cheol about your favourite movie you recently rewatched, this ramen spot that gave you food poisoning, the dumbest tiktok that made you laugh earlier. and you smile. god, you smile— wide and bright and so effortlessly real— and it fucking guts him.

cheol’s never seen you look like that with your boyfriend. he might not have even tried to pull that kind of light out of you. but here you are, radiant like the sun, and all cheol can think is how much he wants to reach across the space between you and tell you how he’d never let you feel anything but this. that you deserve the world and more, and cheol’s just a man but he’d sure as hell try. he wants you. it’s not right thing— but when your boyfriend’s done everything except that, cheol can have this one. he fucking wants you and he can’t do anything about it.

amidst the post-dinner chatter, your boyfriend approaches the table with a low voice, pulling you off into another room. the room’s shift in energy is palpable. conversations trail off. laughter thins out. heads turn as the door closes behind you— and there’s a sick twist in cheol’s stomach. he doesn’t know what was said, but he’s got a pretty good guess. jealousy’s a hell of a sickness, and your boyfriend’s terminal. cheol’s been trying to play it cool all night, but maybe he smiled too much, made you laugh too loud. maybe your boyfriend finally looked over and saw what everyone else had been choosing not to.

the group starts filtering out not long after. the mood’s gone— sliced by the tension hanging in the air. no one really says it out loud, but they all know why. cheol says goodbye to others from the table, choosing to stay behind. he chews the inside of his cheek as his eyes flick to that closed door every few seconds. he wants to check on you, but it’s not his place. not yet.

once the door opens, your boyfriend comes out. alone. avoiding anyone’s eyes, he rubs a hand down his face, muttering “we broke up.” like it’s nothing. like it’s just a line on the to-do list he’s finally gotten around to. cheol’s out of his seat before he can stop himself.

“you’re a fucking idiot,” cheol spits, louder than he means to. the whole room flinches, with your ex narrowing his eyes like he’s waiting for more. like he’s not the least bit startled that someone’s finally calling him out. cheol clicks his teeth in frustration, already turning away. your ex storms out without another word. you’re still there, in the other room.

cheol hesitates only a second before walking in. you’re sitting on the edge of a low bench, hands in your lap, eyes glassy. you don’t look up when he enters, and it wrecks him— how small and quiet you look. he crouches down in front of you, voice gentle like he might rouse you. “hey.” your lip trembles. you try to shake your head, act like you’re fine, but the tears come anyway. cheol doesn’t think— just opens his arms, and you fall into them like you’ve been waiting to.

you’ve broken up with him before. a dozen times. probably more. and somehow, he always crawls back to you— apologies and promises on a silver platter. but not this time. not if cheol can help it. he runs a hand soothingly down your back, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “let me take you home,” he tells you softly. “you don’t have to stay here.” and when you raise your head with a nod, you’ve got a look in your eye— that same glint of relief from when you first arrived and saw cheol.

the drive’s quiet, but the comfortable kind. just full of things that neither of you need to say out loud. when cheol pulls up in front of your place, you don’t move to get out right away. just sit there, fingers fiddling with your sleeve before you glance at him: eyes still red-rimmed, voice soft. “do you wanna come in?”

he knows he probably shouldn’t. there’s lines that once crossed, can't be uncrossed. but you’re looking at him like you need him. not just anyone, but cheol. and it’s not about anything physical— he can see it clearly. you just don’t want to be alone. and god knows he doesn’t want to leave you alone either.

your home’s dim and quiet. you offer him tea like it’s any other night and he’s your guest— not the aftermath of a breakup, where he should be the one asking to get you anything. cheol follows as you sit on the couch, close but leaving a few inches of polite space. until you lean into him, head bumping his shoulder. and he lets you. of course he would. he even wraps an arm around you, holding you close.

cheol’s thumb rubs soothing circles onto your shoulder. when you sigh and nuzzle closer, the words slip from him: “you deserve so much better,” he confesses, voice low. “you know that, right?” you nod, but barely. cheol’s warm hand holds you, tilting his head down at you. “i would’ve treated you right,” he adds, quieter this time. “still would.”

you both let his words sit. at some point, your hand finds his, fingers shyly lacing together. cheol doesn’t move, doesn’t rush it. just breathes you in, chest aching like he’s waited too long for this. and when you raise your head to face him, eyes soft and searching, he knows what’s coming.

your lips find his— just careful, like a question. and cheol answers without blinking: leaning in, his mouth warm and soft against yours. he kisses you slow, unhurried. the kind that says i’ve thought about this more times than i should. cheol’s hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek in adoration. and even when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, when your breath catches just slightly, he pulls away. just gently. he lingers close, forehead against yours, lips parted like he’s catching his breath— not from want, but from restraint. because he’s not going to ruin this by rushing.

“don’t wanna take advantage of you,” he murmurs, breath fanning your lips. “not like this. i need you to be sure. whatever you decide... i’ll be here. ‘m not going anywhere.” you smile at him all sleepy and soft, the kind of smile he’d go to war for. “i already am,” you whisper. “sure, i mean. you’ve kind of... ruined him for me.” cheol exhales a quiet laugh. something unspoken settles between you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he’s not aching with guilt.

you stay like that for a while; cheol just holding you close, lazily rubbing your side. and when he eventually moves to stand, thinking he’s overstayed his welcome, you tug on his sleeve. “stay?” just one word, looking up at him like he’s all you’d ever need. and he doesn’t hesitate.“of course.” you fall asleep on the couch together— limbs tangled beneath a shared blanket. and it’s not messy or rushed or confusing. you feel safe with him, warm. like something real is finally beginning.

a/n: ngh,... (i would so do a pt2 w smut if anyone wants it btw)

taglist (join here): @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @pinkpunkdynamite

#seventeen x reader #scoups x reader #s.coups x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups seventeen #scoups x you #seventeen x you #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #svt x reader

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kxsagi · 3 days ago

Text

“𝐦𝐫. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐫𝐬. 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢”

a/n: welcome to the wedding of kura and isagi!!!

this is peak delusion, i just wrote a 1.2k fanfic about me getting married to isagi, but call me kura isagi now

(GUYS I'M SORRY I WROTE THIS A DAY LATE, I HAD THE DRAFT ALREADY WRITTEN AND COMPLETED I JUST NEEDED TO PUBLISH IT, BUT I LEFT HOME AT 8 AM, WAS BUSY RUNNING ERRANDS AT THE BANK ALL MORNING, WORKED FROM 11 AM-7 PM, AND THEN WATCHED THE NEW JOHN WICK BALLERINA MOVIE RIGHT AFTER SGSLGJLAG PLS FORGIVE ME 🙏)

suggestive content inside! it ends with us about to do the boom shakalaka

the soft rustling of kura’s dress echoed through the bridal suite as the final pin was tucked into place, locking her veil against neatly slicked back hair. the light caught the intricate beadwork of the dress – a masterpiece of lace and softness that hugged every curve. kura stared into the mirror, heart in her throat. not because she was nervous – no, she was ready. ready to become isagi yoichi’s wife.

but then came the sound she hadn’t braced for.

her mother.

“wow…”

kura turned slightly and saw her mom standing in the doorway, hands clutching her chest, tears slipping freely down cheeks that still held the glow of years gone by. she didn’t say anything else. she didn’t have to. the sight of her daughter – radiant, grown, glowing with love and purpose – was enough to crumble every wall she’d tried to keep up all morning.

kura blinked hard. “mama… please don’t cry, or i will too,” she warned, a half-laugh, half-plea in her voice. “and i just did my makeup.”

her mom walked up slowly, reaching out to touch her daughter’s arm like she wasn’t quite sure this was real. “i knew you’d be beautiful,” she whispered. “but this? you’re a dream.”

kura hugged her tightly, careful not to wrinkle the fabric too much, but the warmth of that moment – mother and daughter, standing in the final seconds before everything changed – would stay with her forever.

the ceremony was outside, under a clear sky that seemed like it’d been painted just for them. the white chairs were filled with faces both old and new, friends and family, blue lock boys in suits trying (and failing) not to draw attention to themselves, and kura’s friends whispering over champagne flutes about how the groom looked like someone out of a drama.

but isagi only had eyes for one person.

his hands trembled slightly at his sides as he stood at the altar, smile wavering the moment he saw movement at the end of the aisle.

and then there she was.

kura, walking slowly, steadily, her arm looped through her mom’s. the sunlight caught her veil just right, making her look like a beam of light had stepped off the clouds and decided to marry him. his breath caught. the crowd disappeared. he didn’t know whether to cry or laugh or fall to his knees in worship, but one thing was clear:

he had never, ever seen anything or anyone so beautiful.

his lips parted slightly, eyes glassy, heart practically crawling out of his chest to run to her. and when kura saw his face – the mixture of awe and adoration, the shaky inhale he took just to stay upright – she bit her lip and whispered, “don’t cry, yoichi…”

and he almost did.

the vows came like waves crashing against the shore of their love.

“yoichi,” kura began, voice calm but strong, “i’ve never been good with words, that was always your thing. but somehow, you made me want to learn how to say everything better, just so you’d know exactly how much i love you. you taught me patience, you taught me partnership, and most of all, you taught me that real love doesn’t ask for perfection – it just asks for honesty. and today, with everyone here… i’m saying yes to every version of you. past, present, future. goals, losses, morning hair and all.”

he laughed through his tears.

his turn.

“kura,” he said softly, then cleared his throat because damn, his voice cracked, “i knew from the moment i met you that you were something i couldn’t predict. and i love that. i love the way you challenge me. i love how you believe in me, sometimes more than i believe in myself. i love how you hold me like you were always meant to. with you, i’ve never felt like i had to win just to be worthy. i just… had to show up. and i promise i’ll keep showing up for you. always.”

the officiant didn't even get to the formal line before everyone erupted into quiet sniffles and blurry phone camera zoom-ins.

“by the power vested in me… you may now kiss your bride.”

isagi didn’t wait. he stepped forward, cupped her face, and kissed her with a kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred things – temples, trophies, dreams come true. but kura kissed him back like he was all of those and more.

the afterparty was chaos.

bachira was the first to hit the dance floor, dragging kura’s friends into an aggressive conga line before the salads were even served. reo and nagi showed up in matching suits “just to mess with people.” nagi took a nap in the gift table for twenty minutes. chigiri gave a heartfelt toast that got ruined halfway through because shidou stood up and shouted, “BOOM SHAKALAKA TO MARRIAGE!”

oliver stole the bouquet toss with shocking grace and then winked at every bridesmaid as he handed it back. ness sobbed the entire first dance. loudly. even though no one asked him to.

isagi was glued to kura’s side, except when his blue lock teammates kept pulling him for “one more photo” or “one more shot.” but even then, his eyes always searched for her. always returned to her. like a magnet. like gravity.

“mrs. isagi,” he whispered at one point, spinning her under twinkling lights.

“ugh, that sounds hot,” she replied with a grin, resting her forehead against his.

“you think so?”

“you can call me that every day from now on.”

they arrived at the hotel penthouse just before midnight.

massive windows framed the skyline like a moving painting. champagne was already on ice. rose petals, because of course. a bed so wide they could probably sleep on opposite ends and still not touch. but they didn’t plan to.

kura kicked off her heels the second the door closed behind them, sighing with relief. “if i had to smile for one more camera…”

yoichi chuckled, watching her shimmy out of the afterparty dress with the kind of hunger and awe that made it feel like he was seeing her for the first time again.

“you still have the ring on,” she pointed out, holding her left hand up.

he looked down at his own. “you, too.”

“you know what that means?”

he stepped closer, hands on her waist now. “what?”

she leaned in, lips brushing his ear, voice low and dangerous. “it means i own you now.”

he smirked. “you’ve always owned me.”

they kissed like it was round two of the ceremony. hands everywhere. mouths breathless. rings catching the dim light as their fingers laced together.

“yoichi,” she murmured, dragging him toward the bed, “you ready?”

he nodded, voice husky. “with you? always.”

the last thing heard before the lights dimmed was the thud of his jacket hitting the floor and her whisper:

“let’s make this marriage official.”

taglist (my bridesmaids + you can be added here if you want to just lmk): @simpingmyassoff @kissbabie @nensi @jnkosstuff @mymeloreo @mihyas-dieehefrau @beepbopzlorp @byzantiumhollow @6riix @gh0stlightdiva1100 @sasukevrz music anon @lylisimps @cutonmyhrt @youdontneedtoknowlol

#kxsagi #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #isagi yoichi #yoichi isagi #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #isagi x kura is the best ship to ever exist #kura x yoichi

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l4wsrule · 3 days ago

Text

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 .

𐔌﹒ ⋆ trafalgar law x fem!reader ♡

he's jealous of bepo's cuddles.

t͟a͟g͟s͟: trafalgar law, y/n, established relationship, sfw, fluff, post-wano events (no spoilers), heart pirates reader.

───── ⋆⋅ᡣ𐭩⋅⋆ ─────

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 The aftermath of Wano, especially the fierce fights in onigashima against not one, but two emperors and their crew, left everyone exhausted. That, didn't exclude yourself and the rest of the heart pirates.

The sea was currently calm and tranquil, stretching endlessly beneath a soft, pale sky. A comfortable silence filling the submarine, contrasting sharply with the chaos and panic from a few moments before, when your captain had decided it would be a great idea to sail off a damn waterfall.

───── ⋆⋅ᡣ𐭩⋅⋆ ─────

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 In consequence of the exhaustion, you sought comfort from the crew's polar bear companion. Bepo. Sitting down against the railing on the main deck, all cuddled up on his side. Engulfed in his fluffy paws as you basked in the warmth of his fur. You'd often have moments like this, considering Bepo was always kind and thoughtful.. and deep down, also loved the attention.

The cute scene didn't go unnoticed by Law, gold hues peering through the brim of his hat from a comfortable distance away. He was always secretly prone to cute things, having a particular soft spot for someone such as Bepo himself, and you also being alongside him did it for him. The scene melted his heart a tad bit more than he wanted it to. Though, he couldn't help but sulk quietly, a tinge of jealousy stirring in his chest, twisting at it. He would never admit it out loud, obviously.

His brows raised as you caught his gaze, which promptly, and quickly tore away from yours. A faint flush of pink dusted his cheeks; he was definitely jealous.

You wanted to tease him about it as you noticed, but a certain someone.. or rather, more than that, beat you to it.

⟢ ・⸝⸝

Standing on the doorway that leads to the deck, were Penguin and Shachi, walking towards Law with a knowing, shit-eating grin.

"A certain someone's jealouuusss ~" Penguin spoke up first, nudging law playfully.

"Quit it." His voice pierced through them, sharp and cold. Arms crossed over his chest. He didn't even look at them, his gaze entirely fixed on you whenever you weren't looking.

"Oh, come on, captain! It's so painfully obvious." Penguin grinned, Shachi beside him, nodding in agreement, backing him up. "Too obvious. Just look at the way you're looking at her."

"I'm not looking at her !" He countered their teasing, looking away from you. Rubbing a hand over his face annoyingly. He knew arguing was pointless. They'd never let it go.

They were always like this. You often wondered how law didn't throw them overboard yet.

Ikkaku walked up to the two of them, pushing them aside with an annoyed sigh. Penguin and Shachi whined in protest at being pushed away. "You don't know how it's done, guys." She announced, confidently.

They watched her excitedly, expecting her to do something phenomenal, genius, even. Judging by her confident demeanor and her stance.

"Captain, if you really want to join her, the first thing a woman wants you to do, is, approach her slowly." She grinned, grabbing him by the arm and slowly walking towards you and Bepo. Shachi and Penguin stared in confusion.

"Does she even know what she's doing?" Penguin asked, Shachi shrugging in response.

"Hey— I don't recall asking you for advice -" Law protested gruffly, but didn't exactly try to get her off him as she led him towards you two.

Until, she walked up behind him, and simply pushed him towards you, causing him to stumble and fall right onto you. His hat falling off his head onto the floor beside you at the sudden movement.

"Wh— Ikkaku, what the -" Before he could say anything else, he quickly reminded himself he was now ontop of you, Bepo wrapping a paw around him to keep him steady, his ears flattening.

"Are you okay, captain?" The bear asked quietly, a hint of concern could be hear in his voice, but looking down at the two of you against eachother. Anyone could tell he was more than okay, even if he didn't let onto it.

You interrupted the chaos, picking Law's hat off the floor and placing it back on his head promptly, wrapping an arm around him aswell, giving him a light, reassuring pat on the back.

"He's fine, right, Law ~?" You answered in his place, studying his flushed expression, his brows furrowed in frustration at Ikkaku's bold move. But it quickly softened at the sight of you so close to him, his heart racing out of his chest as he muttered out:

"Tch— I'm fine, I guess." Trafalgar spoke under his breath, more to himself than you.

"You could have just asked instead to avoid yourself the trouble."

"No way." He answered almost immediately, propping himself up and sitting back against Bepo instead, pulling you with him.

"Well, you're enjoying it now, aren't you?" You grinned.

"It's only embarassing to ask for it, rather than it being presented to me." Law spoke, his voice muffled against your hair, chin propped on the top of your head, hands carefully wrapped around your stomach, pulling you back against him, seeking more of your warmth.

You didn't protest, leaning into his embrace. Although you were lovers, it wasn't often that you got to see this vulnerable and affectionate side of him, especially infront of others. Penguin, Shachi, Ikakku, who were playfully nudging eachother and grinning at the sight.

"So romantic ~ I'm almost jealous !" Shachi spoke from afar in a high pitched, mocking voice.

"Go away." Law muttered, his tone sharp and unyielding, leaving no room for argument.

"Ay! Captain!!" They all yelled out in unison, hurrying inside and leaving you two be with Bepo on the deck.

─��─── ⋆⋅ᡣ𐭩⋅⋆ ─────

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Hours later, you were now simply enjoying the comfortable silence, your eyes occasionally darting to gaze at the starry night sky above you. While Law's fingers absentmindedly brushed through your hair, as if he'd grown accustomed to it, his mind running on auto-pilot, getting ever so comfortable with you. Only with you. His touch feather light, almost bringing you to sleep. You both almost forgot Bepo's presence, whom was long asleep by then.

"Y/N ?" ; His calm voice broke the silence, his free hand giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Hm ?" You hummed, your voice barely audible.

"Nothing, just wanted to check if you're awake."

"Barely."

With that said, you felt his hand drifting under your knees, another around your back, standing up and scooping you up against his chest as if you weighed nothing. You didn't protest, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

He walked you inside, carefully making his way around the familiar halls and corridors of the submarine, eventually reaching his room. Kicking the door close behind him and plopping you down on his bed, joining you right after.

"How's this okay but not asking for cuddles?" You chuckled, laying on your side to face him. He mirrored your position, arm wrapped around your side, pulling you close.

"Shut up. I do what I want."

"Alright, alright, never said otherwise." You spoke in surrender.

And for a long, long moment, you were simply staring at eachother, the only source of light being the moon casting a spell on your face in the dimly lit room. He reached and brushed a stray hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear, his fingers lingering. It was moments like these that reminded you how much love you had for him. The quiet nights alongside him, how he struggled to get out of bed in the morning next to you. How you could feel his breath on your face when you were this close to eachother, and so vulnerable. The warm touch of his hands, everything that made him, well, him. You simply loved. Adored, even.

"You're.. beautiful." He muttered under his breath, it almost seemed like he was talking to himself, as if he slipped, rather than saying it willingly.

"What gives?" You smiled warmly at the compliment, you didn't mind it, he just wasn't very.. open, at times.

"Can't compliment my lover now?" Law spoke sarcastically, though he was smiling back at you ever so slightly. A smile tugging at his lips that, probably, only you could notice.

"I didn't say that." A surrendering tone crossed your voice as you replied back.

"Then let me." He insisted, looking at you for a while longer, before leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to your lips, touch-light as a whisper. Barely there, yet full of warmth. It lingered just long enough to speak a thousand feelings, before parting with a soft sigh.

"..I love you." Law murmured against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he was confessing for the first time. And although it hadn't been the first, it always felt like it. Always sending butterflies, twisting at your stomach, a familiar feeling you never failed to enjoy.

"Love you too.."

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 — Were the last words you spat out, before drifting off to sleep in his arms, once again, like every other night for a while now. You wouldn't want it any other way.

#onepiece #law x yn #law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #law one piece #x reader #x yn #x female y/n #x female reader #heart pirates #bepo one piece #one piece fanfics #one piece fics #fluff

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