#every little thing about them is wonderful

[elumish]

My September 2024 election reminder: ideological purity will not win you anything.

I see people on the left saying that they can't possibly vote for Harris because she's too pro-Israel, because she's too far to the right on immigration, because she's too far to the right on criminal justice, because she was a cop (she wasn't), because you think this policy or that policy is too conservative.

Not voting for her only increases the chances that we get a president who is even further to the right.

Those are our two choices. Like it or not, support the American political system or not, we have two choices, and one of them is further to the right on every single policy that you have opinions about.

So if you think Harris is too far to the right on Israel/Gaza, remember: Trump is so much further to the right. You don't like that the Biden administration is providing military aid to Israel (a thing that Harris cannot actually stop even if she wanted to, given that she's not president)? Trump has already proven, on a policy level, to be more pro-Israel. Remember when he moved the U.S. Embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, functionally acknowledging Israeli sovereignty over Jerusalem? He is extremely pro-Israel and has materially proven it. Harris, on the other hand, has been calling for a cease fire since March and has recognized out loud the need for Palestinian sovereignty.

If you're wondering why she hasn't changed U.S. policy on Israel, I would like to remind you once again: she is not currently the President of the United States.

Holding on to your precious ideological purity and not voting for someone whose policies you find distasteful will not result in policies you like. It only increases the risk of policies that are so much further away from what you want.

Voting is public transportation. Voting is harm reduction. Voting is moving us a little bit closer towards the policies we want or, at the very least, keeping us from moving further and further away.

[innerfare]

You’re Jealous

 Summary: You get jealous of someone else in his life.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: Slight Angst // Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy: He never told you Boa Hancock was in love with him, and when you find out, you have to remove yourself from the situation before you have an emotional outburst and start something with the Pirate Empress. The problem is, you don’t even know which emotion will spill out of you. Finding out the world’s most beautiful woman, and a powerful Warlord, no less, is desperate to marry Luffy is a whirlwind, to say the least. Luffy can seem clueless at times, but his emotional intelligence is through the roof, and he picks up on what has you upset almost straight away. He knows to give you some space, and when he senses you’re ready, he approaches you with a handful of wildflowers he picked. He doesn’t really say much, just pulls you into a hug, presses a few kisses into your cheek and temple, and says in your ear, “you’re my girl.” 

Zoro: He didn’t mention Perona was also at Mihawk’s castle for those two years until a few months after the crew gets together. He tells a story that features her, and you realize there was a woman keeping him company. Your heart drops into your stomach. Zoro insists he didn’t mention her because he didn’t think she was relevant; the only thing Perona did those two years was annoy him. He’s actually the one who won’t let it go, not you (even though you are pretty jealous). Whereas you’d prefer not to talk about it, Zoro is wracked with guilt because he’d never considered the whole thing in a relationship context. Him fretting constantly over it actually heals your jealousy because you realize you’ve never seen him panic over the prospect of hurting anyone else’s feelings. 

Sanji: Even with a third eye, Pudding is stunning. And Sanji almost married her. It was before you two were together, but listening to the stories from Whole Cake, hearing how close he came to marrying another woman, knowing she really did fall in love with his kind heart and wonderful cooking, turns you into a little green monster. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous of a woman you’ve never met before, a woman Sanji chose not to marry, but you can’t help it. Sanji is completely shocked that you would feel jealous over his relationship (if it could even be called that) with Pudding, though after thinking about it some more, he does realize why you might be jealous that he had a fiancé. His solution is to bring you a bouquet of roses and walk you through the dark details of his life, telling you things he’s never outright told anyone, so you understand the special place you have in his life. 

Ace: He collects people without trying, and often times, without realizing, either. Ace thinks he’s just making friends, but you see the way the women he laughs and shares drinks with are drawn to him like plants to the sun. He promises them freedom and adventure (and he has a very nice laugh), and you can see how it excites them. You don’t really mind it, knowing Ace well enough to see the way he holds those women at arm’s length, even if he seems close with them (such is the magic of Fire First Ace). But Yamato makes you jealous. It’s not hearing the way they laughed together but hearing the way they fought that gets to you. You know how Ace lives to fight and even just roughhouse, you know how he’s a rough and tumble guy, and you worry you’re not tough enough. Should you be punching his arm when he makes a joke? Should you be trying to trip him out on deck? What should you be doing? When you finally come clean with Ace about what’s been bothering you, he actually laughs. “If I wanted to be with someone who gives me hell, I’d be sleeping in Marco’s cabin every night. Besides,” he says, scooping you up in his arms, “I like being able to manhandle you.” 

Sabo: Sabo is a flirt, and you knew that going into your relationship. It actually doesn’t bother you when he flashes that charming smile of his at someone else or swoops in to save a damsel in distress (a speciality of his) and even serves to entertain, especially on the rare occasions his flirtations are rebuked. What does bother you, though, is his tight relationship with Koala. You know it’s ridiculous to be envious, you know Koala would sooner saw off her arm than kiss the man she considers her irksome big brother, but they’ve known each other since they were little kids, and Koala has been through so much with Sabo that the pair have such a close bond. It’s not the angry kind of jealousy that bubbles up in you when Koala mentions something about Sabo’s past that she assumes you know but you don’t, just the sad kind that you try to keep to yourself. Surprisingly, Sabo notices, though you don’t realize until he hugs you from behind and mumbles in your ear that he’s glad you’re the only one who knows he has a skincare routine, his silly words diffusing your mood and acting as the exact affirmation you needed. If it’s not enough, though, he’ll happily prove his loyalty to you by challenging Koala to a karate match, though.  

Law: Dr. Law and Dr. Robin sure do get along well- so well, in fact, you can’t help but wonder if they are better suited to each other than you and him. Even if they didn’t have such good chemistry, it would be impossible not to feel a touch of jealousy toward the archeologist. She’s intelligent, beautiful, fiercely loyal, a member of the Straw Hats, and has an impressive bounty that she earned even before she became a pirate. Needless to say, you find yourself brooding when the Robin brings him a beer and sits down beside him to discuss the immune systems of fishmen, a topic both are rather interested in. Of course, you’re interested in that, too, thus the reason Law realizes something is wrong when you don’t participate in the conversation. He ends up excusing the two of you and taking you to bed, worrying you had too much to drink, the thought you may be jealous never once occurring to him. You end up not saying anything (many thing in your relationship with Law being unspoken) and just sleeping it off, the fact that he excused the two of you proof enough of his loyalty. 

Kid: He doesn’t ever talk about his first love, Victoria. In fact, you didn’t even know she existed until Killer got drunk one night and began speaking of his dearly departed. What he didn’t mention was that Kid, too, had been in love with her. It only comes up the next night when you mention it to Wire, who mentions it was the death of his first love, Victoria, that put Kid on the war path and united the first four members of the Kid Pirates. Realizing Wire messed up, Heat chimes in to say, “he’d do the same for you.” But you’re not convinced, mainly because Kid never told you any of this. It tears you apart, leaves you tossing and turning for nights on end, until you finally burst into Kid’s workshop one night ranting about how he doesn’t trust you and holds you at arm’s length. “Heat says you’d do the same for me, but-” Kid cuts you off and says, “I wouldn’t do the same, I’d do worse. Much, much worse.” And from the wicked gleam in his eye, you’re inclined to believe him. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[fastandcarlos]

When He Gets Broody Watching You With Kids : ̗̀➛ F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen 

It was never a secret that Max wanted children one day and if he was honest, all you had to do was stand next to a child for Max to find himself feeling broody. The older he got the broodier he became and the more he liked to ask you about your plans for the future. He verged on pestering sometimes when it came to discussing having children, although he never meant to come across too keen. It was your fault anyway as far as he was concerned for being so good around children and getting him so excited. 

» Lando Norris 

When you caught him feeling broody, Lando would get incredibly shy and pretend that he wasn’t paying attention to you, staring off into the distance instead. You slotted in easily with his family at the best of times, but particularly around his nieces which left Lando feeling pretty obsessed. Part of him felt like he should’ve been annoyed that your nieces usually ran past him to get to you instead, but secretly he loved the fact that the little ones in his life adored you so much and left him excited for when you had your own little ones too. 

» Charles LeClerc 

It was the little things that made Charles feel broody watching you around children, how you’d smile in their direction whenever you walked past one or waved when a child shouted out your name around the paddock. Your eyes just naturally looked in their direction when you around them, trying to find a way to make them smile no matter how big or small your gesture was. Charles loved how you had the knack to just make them grin, finding himself imagining the days when you made your own children smile as much as you made other children grin. 

» George Russell 

You could always tell when George was feeling broody because he’d be led astray by any sort of baby item that was around the two of you, wondering whether it was too early for you to start purchasing things. Watching you around children only made that worse for George, his eyes watching you in awe any time you had a baby laughing around you. There was no one else that he could ever imagine starting a family with, and as he became more confident of that too, George definitely started dropping more hints about starting a family around you too.  

» Oscar Piastri 

The moment Oscar admitted that he was broody after watching you with some of your cousins had you speechless, it being the last thing you expected from him. When you first suggested that he was feeling broody after catching his eyes staring across at you Oscar denied it, but eventually he caved and confessed that he could feel his heart swelling. At your age, you’d never really talked about having children, but Oscar was sure that it was what he wanted one day after seeing just how brilliant of a job you did with all the little ones in your life. 

» Carlos Sainz 

You were blissfully unaware to Carlos watching you as you played with some of the younger members of his family, but his siblings were fixated on him and the way that his dark eyes watched every little thing that you did. Talking about having a family made Carlos nervous, but his siblings were there to push him on it and encourage him to be open with you. They’d corner him until he was left with no choice but to talk to you and make sure that the two of you were on the same page when it came to your futures. 

» Daniel Ricciardo 

After he saw you around children, Daniel would love to talk to you about your future when the two of you were alone again. He was very aware that you saw yourself having children in the future, but it was always nice for him to hear it again to reassure himself that it was definitely what you wanted. He was like a big kid himself when he was having those broody conversations with you, bouncing around, full of excitement as he told you all about the moments that he looked forward to in the future when you decided to settle down. 

» Lewis Hamilton 

His eyes were glued to you when Lewis watched you around children, particularly when you were around his nieces and nephews who were some of your biggest fans. You were like a magnet pulling him in your direction when you had children laughing and running around you, having the time of their lives, making entertaining them all look like the easiest job in the world. Lewis would sit and daydream for what felt like forever to him, lost in his own little world as he admired you and wondered about what could be for the two of you one day. 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[midday-clouds]

Yandere Batfamily x Neglected & "Immortal" Reader 》 II

Part I

Thank you so much for the love for the first one! 💞 There are so many ways I can imagine how this story can go and it's hard to pick one or try merging all the ideas. Nonetheless, I hope this meets your expectations!

CW: Stalking, Breaking and entering, Violence(Being stabbed, beating up a thief), Blood

You had officially moved into your apartment in Bludhaven

Everything has moved so quickly and now you can finally relax

You gave up connecting with your family, got kidnapped, died, came back to life and moved out

It may be a bit much to pick the farthest college from the manor but you’re clearly unwanted there

Your family has neglected you and didn't do anything when you were kidnapped, so you have every right to be as far away from them as possible

It was honestly quite lucky that you were already accepted into a college in Bludhaven during your senior year. If you had applied after your kidnapping, the chances of you getting in would have been low.

But you’re here now and can finally feel happy. Well, if you don't count some of the nightmares you get from when you “died”.

Sometimes you do wonder how you survived that gunshot. Were you not hit somewhere vital? But then, where was the hole?

A part of you was curious and wanted to replicate the injury but that would be painful. You surviving the gunshot also could have been a one-time thing

You never ended up going to the police or the hospital because what were they going to do? You don’t have any proof that it even happened because your injury is gone, the blood left at the abandoned building is likely dried up and doesn’t look fresh, and Bruce probably threw away the ransom letter. 

The only proof you have that it even happened is your memories and you telling your friends. But the police or doctors would just look at you and say “You look fine now, no need to look into the situation anymore.” 

But enough about that though, you’ve got a few more hours before it gets dark and you want to get to know about the area.

It is still the middle of summer so your college classes haven't started yet. You could have waited until class started to move but you wanted to be out before Alfred returned from his vacation.

Alfred was the closest thing to family in the manor. But he and Bruce have never felt like safe adults to share your problems with. 

He should be back from his vacation now, has he found out about your kidnapping or did Bruce cover it up? He probably did to avoid getting news out. You should probably look into how you can change your surname.

Just as you finish your thoughts about the manor, you use your laptop to find interesting places in the area before heading out the door with directions in a notebook

Bruce and the rest of the family may know where you are currently, but bringing you back home was the hard part. Alfred had to convince Bruce that if he wanted you back, he shouldn’t just barge in all of a sudden. 

You’ve been hurt by the family's actions and won't return without a fight. 

But even then, Bruce has to see you. The entire family needs to see you with their own eyes at least once.

With this in mind, the whole family decides to take a small road trip to Bludhaven. They’d find you and figure out the best way to approach you without scaring you off. 

It was almost sundown when the family got to Bludhaven. They change into their vigilante gear so it’d be easier to hide in the shadows

Tim loads up the tracker on your phone and leads the way. It seems the tracker you have isn't the best because once the family gets close to your apartment, your phone just says your laptop is nearby instead of its exact location. 

No problem though, Tim can easily hack into the computer system for the apartment and find which room is yours.

Once your room is found, the family takes a peek inside. You’re nowhere to be found, which is a little worrying.

The locks on your windows are broken as the family opens them and sneaks inside. Your living room and kitchen are littered with boxes but that’s it. They each take a look around to find you but come out empty-handed. If you were here, they may do exactly what Alfred discouraged and just take you home. However, because you aren’t home, the only other place you could be is outside. Where it’s dark out and you’re alone.

Worried for your safety, the family immediately goes on another search for your

Because you could be anywhere, the family decides to split up to find you

You look around as you walk back to your apartment, a few small bags of food and snacks in your hands. Because it’s getting dark, you do begin to pick up the pace. You’re so focused on not getting home that you don’t notice when a person peeks over at you from a rooftop.

You’re just about to pass a convenience store when someone runs out and knocks into you. The person curses as they quickly get up and reach for their bag of stolen goods. Filled with adrenaline, the thief takes out a knife and stabs you. They were aiming to kill you so there weren’t any witnesses but ended up putting the knife in your shoulder. As the thief makes a run for it, a certain vigilante quickly blocks their path

Nightwing goes full force on the thief. How dare they hurt his baby bird. He refuses to make the same mistake of leaving you alone and hurt.

Your heart is racing as you attempt to pull the knife out of your shoulder. Your eyelids feel weak but you refuse to fall asleep. Unlike before, you aren’t restrained and can still escape.

You pull the knife out and let it fall on the ground next to you. After a few breaths, you do your best to stand up. You take a small glance at Nightwing before quickly running back to your apartment. 

Once inside, you almost collapse on the floor but try to get your first aid kit.

Your bandaging may not be that good but the best but it’s enough for you to feel comfortable sleeping for the night

Nightwing sighs as he handcuffs the thief. He went a lot harder than he expected but how can you blame him? His family was in danger and he needed to do everything to make sure it doesn’t happen again

The vigilante turns to where you were but only finds a bloodied knife and the bags you left behind. He carefully picks up the bags and knife while he considers where you have gone.

Spotting a trail of blood, Nightwing quickly follows it, contacting the rest of the family as well

The family gathers at the same spot near your apartment and finds you sleeping in your bed. Wanting to help you, Nightwing comes up with an idea

You lay on your bed, waiting for sleep to consume you when a knock comes from your door. You try to ignore it but the knocking continues. The only thing that gets you up is the realization that the knocking is too loud to be from your door. Opening your eyes, you realize that someone is at your window. 

Getting up, you pick up your pepper spray as you slowly walk towards the window. You have your curtains closed so you try to peek past them to see who is there

Who you see is Nightwing and it gets you worried. Does he think you were involved with that other person? He must have seen that the thief stabbed you at least

Not wanting to make the vigilant wait, you open your window slightly. Only enough so you can hear what Nightwing has to say

Nightwing happily greets you and shows you the bag of items that you left behind when leaving the scene.

Surprised, you thank Nightwing and open the window. Making sure to not open the window more than necessary, just enough to collect the bags

Just as you reach for it, the vigilante points out your bandaged shoulder. He goes on to say the importance of properly handling injuries and offers to rebandage your arm.

It takes you a couple of moments before you agree to his help.

Like a big brother, he sits you down and redoes the bandages. Honestly, it makes you wish your actual big brothers would care for you in this way. Even though one of them is right in front of you

Once your shoulder has properly been bandaged, you thank Nightwing for his help. He offers to stay the night but you tell him that you’d be fine. Plus, doesn’t he still have to take care of Bludhaven

You make sure to close and lock your window once Nightwing leaves before going back to bed.  As sleep consumes you, your whole family watches from a distance. You didn’t seem to recognize Dick as Nightwing so it may be possible to get you to trust them before taking you home

[requiemforthepoets]

Heyyy, I saw you wrote for Oscar Piastri and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind writing a Oscar x youngest child reader. Went they go to meet her family and he hasn't heard the best things about them. Like her sister is constantly overlooking every achievement ever and it's like her mother doesn't even care about her unless she wants something and the dad isn't in the picture. And after years she just finally breaks down and Oscar comforts her.

you are the only exception 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: you came to a realization that with your bad relationship with your family, your only strong relationship is with oscar.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello! thank you so much for your request. i hope this one is up to your standards, i had also taken a creative liberty to add some details. the confrontation part (between reader and mother) might be a little bit triggering that i had intended it to be for some, so just read with a little discretion. nonetheless, i hope you’ll enjoy this one! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, youngest daughter syndrome, physical assault (slapping), verbal sparring, dysfunctional family, no father figure, youngest daughter rage, no use of y/n, and cursing.

You and Oscar stood outside the front door of the house you once had called home. It had been a year since you last had last visited, and the thought of just stepping inside made your stomach twist into knots. You glanced at Oscar, his soft smile of encouragement giving you a moment of calm amidst the growing storm inside your mind. He hadn’t pressed you to meet your family, but you knew it had been on his mind ever since your relationship had become serious.

“They’re your family,” he said gently when you brought up the idea weeks ago. “If you want to introduce me, I’ll be there for you.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Your family had never felt like a real family at all, not like the warmth and care that Oscar had been surrounded by all his life. You had always felt overlooked, unimportant, invisible—like you were just a ghost in the background of your family’s lives. As you hesitated, Oscar’s hand slipped into yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered, but even Oscar couldn’t hide the flicker of doubt in his eyes. He had heard enough to know this wouldn’t be easy.

You took a deep breath before knocking. The door swung open, revealing your mother, looking at you up and down, her face was a blank canvas of indifference, before her eyes flicked to Oscar. Her expression immediately softened as she extended her arms, ignoring you completely as she greeted him.

“Oscar, darling, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” You felt the sting immediately, but you forced a smile as Oscar shook her hand politely. “Nice to meet you too, Mrs.—”

“Mom,” she corrected, cutting him off and pulling him into a hug. “Just call me mom.” You bit your lip, suppressing the urge to say something, but Oscar gave you a subtle glance that told you he noticed.

You then saw your sisters lounging in the living room, their eyes didn’t light up when they saw you. You just forced a smile and stepped inside, with Oscar following close behind. Introductions were made, your sisters and mother exchanged pleasantries with Oscar, and even though they were polite, it was as if you weren’t even in the room. Your achievements, the life you had built outside of this house, were all glossed over or ignored completely. Every time you tried to share something about what you were proud of, they either changed the subject or dismissed it with a half-hearted compliment.

Oscar’s brow furrowed slightly, his hand never leaving yours as the conversation carried on. You could tell that he was beginning to understand what you had meant all along. When your mother finally acknowledged you, it was only to ask another favor, something she needed, something she always needed but never seemed to return. There was completely no warmth in her words, no care, just expectations. It didn’t help at the fact that your father wasn’t there—he hadn’t been in the picture for a long time. You’d long since accepted that, but it still hurts, the unspoken absence lingering in the air like a heavy cloud.

As the hours dragged on, Oscar noticed everything. The way that your sisters praised each other’s accomplishments while overlooking yours, the way your mother seemed to care more about what you could do for her than who you were. It was suffocating, but you bit your tongue. You were here out of formality, after all. You wanted them to properly meet Oscar because he’s a part of your life now, and as much as you hated to admit it, they were still your family.

During the dinner, while the whole table’s chatter had subsided, Oscar decided to excuse himself to the restroom, and the room seemed to grow colder the moment he left. You just sat there, tension building in your chest, and finally, something inside of you had snapped.

“I’ve had enough,” you said, your voice steady, though your hands trembled. Your sisters glanced at you, clearly taken aback. “Why do you always do that? Why do you always fucking act like nothing I do matters? You act like I don’t exist unless you need something from me. You’ve never cared about what I’ve done or how far I’ve come, like I’m some kind of afterthought to you all. I’m done pretending that it’s okay!”

Your mother’s face hardened. “Watch your tone.”

Your sisters glanced at each other, their expressions indifferent. “Oh, here we go again,” one of them sighed, “you’re always so dramatic, good god!”

“Dramatic?” You repeated, incredulous. “You’ve never acknowledged a single thing I’ve done. Every time I decided to visit, it’s always the same fucking thing, treating me like I’m invisible unless you want something from me!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so sensitive, it wouldn’t bother you,” your mother chimed in, her voice cold. “You have always been the one to leave us. Don’t act like you’re the victim here.”

You stood up, fists clenched at your sides. “I left because this place was and still is fucking suffocating! Because I couldn’t fucking stand the way you all made me feel. Like I wasn’t good enough, like I didn’t belong here at all!”

Your sisters rolled their eyes, but your mother stood as well, her face was now twisted in irritation. “You think you’re the only one who’s had it hard? We’re your family, and if you don’t like how things are, maybe you’re the problem!”

“No,” you shot back. “You just can’t handle the fucking truth, can you? You’ve all treated me like a shit for as long as I can remember, and maybe that’s why dad left! Maybe he couldn’t stand being around this shit ass family—or being just around you!” You pointed at your mother angrily.

The words hung in the air like a slap, and it wasn’t long before your mother’s hand followed suit, striking your cheek with a force that left your skin stinging and with a glaring red hand imprint. You didn’t flinch, instead, you stood your ground, the sharp pain doing little to shake your resolve.

“You don’t get to fucking hit me just because you can’t handle what I’m saying,” you said, your voice firm but calm. “You lost any right to call yourself my family a long time ago.”

Before anyone could respond, Oscar re-entered the dining room, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. He saw the tension, the redness in your cheek, and without hesitation, he crossed the room, gently taking your hand.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with concern. You didn’t need to argue, you didn’t want to stay a second longer. With Oscar’s hand in yours, you turned and left, the door closing on a chapter of your life that should have ended long ago.

Stepping outside into the fresh air, the weight that had been suffocating you inside began to dissipate. You felt really good after airing everything out in the open, of course you hadn’t expected your mother’s slap, but you don’t care, it was about fucking time. Oscar didn’t say anything for a while, just held your hand, offering you the comfort you didn’t realize you needed until now. Finally, when you were both at a safe distance from the house, he stopped walking and turned to you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, voice full of concern. His fingers brushed against your check, where the redness from the slap still lingered.

You nodded, but your eyes were full of unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Osc,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I didn’t want you to witness all of that. I didn’t even want you to meet them.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “Don't apologize,” he murmured against your hair. “You don’t ever have to apologize for them. That wasn’t your fault.”

You stayed in his embrace for what felt like forever, the world around you fading away until it was just the two of you. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again.

“They don’t define you,” Oscar whispered. “You’re not them. You’ve built something incredible on your own, and you don’t need their validation for that.”

A few tears slipped down your cheeks, but quickly wiped it off. They weren’t just from sadness, they were also from the overwhelming sense of relief that you didn’t have to face any of this alone anymore. Oscar had seen the worst of your past, and instead of turning away, he was still here, holding you tighter than ever.

“I love you,” he said quietly, his words wrapping around you like a blanket of safety. “And nothing they do will ever change that.”

You looked up at him, his kind eyes filled with nothing but understanding, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged somewhere—right there, in his arms.

The moment you were already back at the hotel room, the weight of the day finally crashed down on your shoulders. You just stood there, motionless, while Oscar set down his things. The silence between the two of you was deafening, it felt like the walls were closing in. The dam you had been holding back for years was breaking, and no matter how much you tried to push it down, it was already too late.

You sank into the edge of the bed, face in your hands as everything you had bottled up started to spill out. At first, it was quiet—just a shaky breath, but soon enough, the sobs came in waves, unstoppable, painful, years of frustration and hurt pouring out of you all at once. All the pain of never being enough, of always being overlooked, hits you like a train.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out between sobs, not even sure if Oscar could understand you. “I’m so so sorry…I shouldn’t have made you go there. I shouldn’t have let you meet them.”

Oscar was at your side in an instant, pulling you into his arms as if shielding you from the flood of emotions that overwhelmed you. He didn’t say anything right away, just held you as you cried into his chest, his hand gently running up and down your back. The steady rhythm of his touch was the only thing keeping you tethered to the present, but the storm inside of you was relentless.

“I thought—” you gasped, the words barely making it out between your sobs. “I thought they might have changed…that maybe they’d see me for who I am now. But they didn’t. They never will. I don’t know why I thought it would be any different.”

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes filled with concern and understanding. “Hey. Hey, stop,” he said gently, brushing a tear from your cheek. “This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. You don’t have to apologize for them, not to me.”

You shook your head, guilt pressing down on you. “But how they treated you, it wasn’t right. They didn’t even care that you were there. They didn’t care about anything except what they wanted from me, and I made you go through all of that…I’m sorry,”

Oscar’s grip on you tightened, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to apologize for them,” he repeated, his tone more serious now. “They’re the ones who should be sorry, not you. You’ve done nothing wrong. I went because I wanted to be there for you, no matter how it all turned out.”

You sniffed, wiping at your tear-streaked face, though it did a little to stop the flood. “But it’s so embarrassing,” you mumbled. “Your family’s so good, supportive, and mine…mine’s a total mess. Dysfunctional, even. I didn’t want you to see that, I didn’t want you to see where I came from.”

Oscar cupped your face gently, forcing you to look at him. “It doesn’t matter where you came from, I couldn’t care less,” he said quietly, his eyes searching for yours. “What matters is who you are, and you are nothing like them. You’ve built your own life, your own path, and that’s what I love about you. I don’t care about your family’s mistakes. I care about you.”

Your chest tightened again, but this time, it wasn’t from the pain of your family’s rejection. It was from the overwhelming feeling of being seen, truly seen, by someone who didn’t judge you for the past you couldn’t control. Oscar’s words wrapped around you like a protective shield, and you leaned into him, your tears slowing but your emotions still raw.

“I just wanted them to care,” you whispered, the last of your defenses breaking. “I wanted them to be proud of me, I don’t ask that much from them. I just…I just wanted to feel like I mattered to them.”

Oscar’s arms tightened around you again, pulling you close until your forehead rested against his. “You matter,” he said softly, his breath warm against your skin. “You matter to me. More than you’ll ever know.”

You took a shaky breath, your hands clutching onto his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

He kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “You never have to thank me for caring about you. I love you, and I’m here, no matter what.”

The sincerity in his voice broke through the last of the walls you had built around yourself. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you could finally breathe. You nodded, the tension in your chest finally easing as you rested your head against his shoulder, letting the warmth of his embrace wash over you.

You weren’t sure of what the future held, or if your family would ever change, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered at all. You had Oscar, and that was enough.

[eupheme]

Your best friend Wade who always jokingly flirts with you the way he flirts with everyone - and you hate it because you have a real genuine crush on him and the flirting doesn’t mean anything… does it? It has to take a mutual friend to be like “oh my god he’s in love with you and doesn’t know how to tell you, so that’s why he’s always joking about boners” (please and thank u ilu 😌)

omg avo this kicked my ass, the amount of pining for Wade as he (jokingly, you think) flirts with you would be off the charts ����💖 I wrote a little drabble with how that might go, I love you and your ideas - thanks so much for sending this to me!!!

— cause every time we touch (i get this feeling)

best friend!wade wilson x mutant!reader

<1k | flirting, dirty jokes, heaps of pining

Blow job. Leg Spreader. Slippery Nipple. Liquid Viagra. Sex on the Pool Table. Pink Silk Panties.

Each time Wade comes into Sister Margaret’s - which is four or five times a week - he asks for dirtier and more obscure drinks.

"Wishful thinking", he tells you, each time.

Even with the roll of your eyes, you have to admit that it keeps you on your toes. That you look forward to seeing your best friend so often - tamping down the jolt in your belly, night after night.

Reminding yourself that yes, he got you this job, but he's not here to see you.

That this always was his spot.

It had been an easy sell. Used to working overnight shifts - security, back then. After the disaster with Weasel, they had been desperate for a replacement. Wade had come to you immediately, dropping to his knees as you opened the door.

Winning you over with a "you could literally get paid to hang out with me. How is this not a win-win-win? How is this not your dream job?"

And here, you didn't have to hide what or who you were. Reading feelings and intent were a bonus, when a handshake could tell you everything you needed to know. Their feelings spilled as easily as they were written, when you were negotiating contracts.

It also helped in-house. A human lie detector. Able to break up fights, settle arguments. A party trick, when things got slow. The regulars trying to get things past you - tales based in truth spun tall, seeing when you'd catch them.

Wade never plays, but you think that's because you know him so well.

And what seems like a sell, quickly evolves into more. Warping, as days pass. Spending more time with a crush sounds tempting, on paper.

The reality is something else.

Yes, there is a seat saved for him at the bar. Literally saved - his name scrawled across the vinyl, and you still haven't been able to scrub it out. Stopping by at all hours to chit chat.

Teasing you - how he's "so glad he doesn't have to stalk you at your old job anymore". An over-the-top sigh about being relieved that you're safe now - in your new job, surrounded by mercs.

Begging for the best job. Puppy-dog eyes. Fake coupons for favors that would make a sinner blush. Crossing his heart that you could have anything, and he means anything you wanted, if he could only get "that thing involving the murder clowns".

It's enough to make you hope.

Later, at home - in the early hours as you're pulled under. Replaying his comments. The filthy jokes and the shameless flirting - wondering if that's all they were.

Wondering if he'd be waiting for you tomorrow, perched on his stool.

But there's the downfall.

You see him - but you also see him with everyone else.

The charming smiles. Head thrown back in a laugh as he works the room. A friend to all, and as you watch him - perched on the knee of a goddess of mercenary as he yaps away, you can't help the swift current of jealousy.

Of foolishness.

It's enough that you're almost regretting agreeing.

Your mood is sullen, as you wipe down glasses. Trying to ignore the ache when you see him flirt. That realization that the something special you thought he had with you, might just be a part of his personality.

And when Dopinder shuffles from the back with more ice for the chiller behind the bar, it only takes one look at you before he's sighing.

"Not again. Please, I am begging you. I cannot take more of your yearning.”

Your lips quirk. Hadn't realized you'd become that obvious. He'd become your go-to, in the long hours you spend together behind the bar. Pinkie-promising not to say a word - but you always thought you'd had a decent handle on your expressions.

"We don't have to talk about it." Your hands raise, placating, "Just let me yearn in peace. I'll get over it."

"You know that almost half of what DP makes a month is funneled back in here, right?" He gives you a long look, "Before you, I saw him once a week. I had to beg him to come get his paycheck."

Doubt still lingers.

"Doesn't mean anything," You shrug - eyes dropping, as you help him restock.

"You do not think Mr. Pool worships the ground you walk on?"

The intensity of his question has you side-eying him, "I mean... I don't think he sees me that way. He acts the same with me as he does with everyone."

“Sure.” He huffs, leaning against the bartop, just as Wade plunks down in the seat in front of you.

“God, I haven’t been over here in like-,” Wade checks a fake watch, “Fifteen minutes? Feels like longer. Felt like a fucking hour.”

Pivoting back and forth on the stool as he adds, “Is it possible for people to get separation anxiety? Or is that just dogs? Is this how Dogpool feels when I’m gone?”

You just manage to catch the last bit, as Dopinder slips away.

“Exactly the same.”

Tonight, Wade is the first person that sits down in front of you for the game.

A frown, as you peel off your gloves - your barrier, to the outside world.

His own already bare - sliding back-and-forth over his suit-clad thighs. You'd mistake it for nerves, if you weren't so sure Wade had never been nervous in his life.

"What's your story, Wilson?" You ask, "Hope you brought something good."

"Oh, it's a whopper. A real fucking doozy. Apparently, you're not gonna believe it. " His laugh is a little too loud, and your eyes narrow, "But let's give it a whirl, okay?"

There's a flicker, behind the bar. A sideways look towards the bar, where Dopinder's hands cover his face. You don't need to touch him to read the guilt written across his features - the way he almost flinches, under your glare.

You're going to fucking kill him.

The sound of your name brings you back.

“Ready to play?”

Wade's hands rest face-up on the table - an offering. For once in his life he almost looks serious, and it’s enough to bring you back.

A breath - before you align your own. Letting them drop down, skin mapping against skin for the first time.

It floods through you.

The lick of heat that almost feels like a caress. A deep yearn that causes your own heart to twinge, layering with the feeling of need. Desire. Want.

It's familiar. It mirrors something deep inside, something that’s become as much a part of you as flesh and bone.

Oh.

A laugh slips from you, breaking the beat of silence. Relief tinged with disbelief - your smile stretching wide.

“Yeah?” You breathe, softening.

“Yeah.” He laughs, “Thought I was being obvious. But you are pound-cake dense, apparently.”

Hands flipping over, to entwine between yours. Letting that feeling inside him linger, settling warm and comforting over your bare skin.

“But I like that about you.” Another huff of a laugh, “Like all of you, really. Always have.”

It makes your heart ache. In a way that finally feels full, feels right - instead of the near-agony you’ve been bearing for weeks.

Only you could be such an idiot.

thanks for reading! 💖

[enviedear]

LOVING ALONE IS WHAT YOU MAKE IT

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི REQUEST | jason having (what he thinks is) an unrequited crush

CW | lovesick!jason with issues accepting love, just-a-buncha fluff. 1.6k words. 🎧ྀི

your eyes flicker to your window for the hundredth time in ten minutes. there's an attempt at forcing your gaze back to your book, but your concentration on it has long since shattered. it's impossible to concentrate on anything other than him, perched on your fire escape right outside your window—JASON TODD.

he thinks he’s so subtle, as if you'll never notice when he parks himself on your fire escape like some sort of gargoyle. you smile slightly at the thought, heart pounding a little faster than it should. a condition that makes itself apparent far too much when your mind drifts to him.

he's silently taken on a sort of sworn protector role, separate from his nightly redhood rendezvous. you count yourself lucky to have his presence around your domicile so often. you truly never got over the culture shock that was gotham, but jason helps. even if he decides to go to great lengths to try and hide it.

outside, in the frigid and everpresent putrid gotham air, jason todd sits in complete rumination. he has goosebumps marring his arms beneath his leather jacket, but he pays them no mind. no, he's far too busy listing all the reasons he should just leave, why sitting outside under the guise of guard is utterly stupid, but still, he sits.

he runs a gloved hand through his hair, tugging slightly. he feels pathetic. how can he meet death, the criminally insane, survive things that would kill most—and somehow, he's shocked still with nerves at the very idea of knocking on your window.

in his head he has it all pictured, if it went perfectly. you'd come to the window, a confused look on your face until you spot him. he'd pull some stupid line, something he heard dick use once, and it'd make you laugh. he loves hearing that, more than anything. then he'd crawl in—spend the rest of his night with you, doing anything. and in his head, that's perfect.

but the underbelly of that dream keeps him rooted to your fire escape. to him, there's no way you could ever share his sentiments. you refer to him as a friend and no matter how much he wishes for something else, he can't change reality. can't force himself to make something more out of what you give him.

between the blood on his hands and the rage he can never seem to fully rid himself of, he's come to the aimless conclusion that you deserve someone better. someone more delicate, someone who doesn’t live with one foot in the grave. but every time you laugh or shoot him an easy smile, it gets easier to admit that he’s too far gone.

you deign the separation foolish, but still, you give yourself one more attempt at reading before you put your book to the side. really—you just wish he’d just say something. you’ve thought about saying something yourself, more times than you care to admit, but the timing never feels right. besides, there’s a part of you that wonders if jason even realizes you’ve been waiting out for him.

every time you joke or tease, you can see some struggle behind his eyes. as if he wants to let go and laugh with you, but something—himself—holds him back. your very own sisyphus—his very own boulder to carry up a labyrinthine mountain.

maybe it’s his past and the walls he’s built around himself, but you’re over him expecting you to be afraid of him. you wonder how much more evident you need to be. if anything, you wish he could see himself the way you do—intense, yes, but also loyal and good, even if he doesn’t believe it.

he proves it every night when he stands watch outside your shitty apartment.

with a sigh, you stand up from the couch, moving toward the window. he’s always so close, and yet there’s a distance he keeps in place—you’ve had enough of that.

you slide the window open, leaning out just enough to catch him mid-step as he’s about to leave—flee moreso. “going somewhere?”

he turns on his heels, red helmet in his hands, "figured you'd be asleep."

you hum, eyes narrowing, "already? it's six pm on a saturday."

“just didn’t want to bother you.” he admits, voice low, almost timid. he doesn’t meet your eyes, and it’s frustrating how hard he tries to hide, even from you.

“you’re not bothering me, jason.” you say softly, leaning on the window frame. “you never do.”

jason looks at you then, something uncertain flickering in his gaze. his lips dart out to quell his chapped lips—you hold his stare, hoping he can see what you’re trying to tell him, wordlessly.

that you want him here, that you’ve been wanting him all along.

“i can stop by for a few.” he finally says, adding a shrug to the end of his sentence.

you smile, opening the window fully as invitation. jason crawls in, a rather innocuous task but given his stature, always surprises you.

“i have pizza and brownies. saturday special.” you tell him, a persuasion. you want him to eat.

“sounds good.” he’s in the middle of slipping out of his redhood garb, clad in a skintight athletic tee and his cargos—mask sitting on your coffee table. “i’m gonna change in the bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

before his fingers can grab his duffle you start, “why don’t you shower here? i know you don’t have any of your usual stuff but—”

he cuts you off, “i couldn’t. i’m already eating your food…and using your fire escape as a landing spot.”

“jason, seriously. shower here. i’ll heat up the food and put on some tv. it’s a saturday.” you’re not one to beg, but this is treading the line.

his shoulders sag, but there’s a small smile on his face, “thanks, sweetheart. you’re too nice to me.”

his tone is sarcastic, self-deprecating, and that annoys you slightly. you want him to know that he’s welcome here, wanted. needed.

“i like it when you’re here, you know.” you feel like sparking a match, timid flames sparkling. “i miss you when you’re gone and everything.”

he quirks a brow, "what are you tryin' tell me?"

you feel silly at his question, the air around you seemingly buzzing. jason peers down at you with a raised brow, as if he's genuinely confused by the sentiment. as if he's baffled by the notion he could be someone to miss.

your breath hitches as you debate your next move. you're walking a thin line between saying too much and not enough. you could play it safe, keep your cards close to your chest—or you could be honest. near painfully so.

when you find your voice, it comes out soft, "i'm trying to say that i like it better when you come inside instead of sitting on my fire escape. i don't want to be a landing spot for you, i want... more."

he clears his throat, shifting on his feet, "you don't want that." he seems to take a step back, not physically, but mentally. his face goes still, chest breathing even, mind anywhere but the present.

you groan, annoyance evident, "i do though. you have to see that in some way by now." you step towards him, "sometimes i think you feel the same way."

jason’s gaze flickers toward the floor, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve crossed the line, if he’ll pull away entirely. but then he looks up, eyes darker, severely sincere. “you have no idea what you’re asking for.” he cautions, but his voice is lower, almost a whisper.

you smile softly, finally letting your hand touch his arm, feeling the solid warmth beneath. “maybe i do. maybe i’ve been waiting for you to realize it.”

“don’t say that unless you mean it,” he murmurs, his voice rough.

“i mean it.” you reply, sincere in your admission. “i’m not afraid of you, jason. i’m afraid of what happens if you keep shutting me out.”

he grumbles at that, a half-willed attempt to argue against your point. you stay quiet, urging him to continue where you left off. you watch his face contort through a realm of emotions—confusion, fear, and then, thinly masked and wistful poignancy.

“i’m not shutting you out. if anything, i’m protecting you.” he finally decides, arms crossing over his chest, eyes scanning the wall behind you. nervous.

you shake your head, fingers reaching for his twisted expression, finding home on his pink-tinted cheeks. “i don’t need you protecting me from you. i need you to want me as bad as i want you.”

your words are bold, maybe overconfident, but you mean them to the fullest extent. you’re so beyond exhausted of attempting to disregard or conceal your feelings. even if jason’s not, you think he deserves to know.

jason todd looks you over. his eyes raking you up and down like you’re some high valued product—and he’s unsure wether to take the bid or let it pass by. in the time you’ve known him, even in the thralls of his vigilante persona, he’s studied things. eyes pointedly and silently assessing his situation, no matter how far removed he is from his upbringing—his “father” lingers in his antics.

finally, he chuckles, low and more timid than usual, “you don’t know how badly i want you, sweetheart. but…” he stops himself, and you’re grateful because you would have done it yourself if he had continued on with some rebuttal. “fuck. you’re all i want.”

it comes out like a beg, pleading that rarely works it’s way onto his features. you smile, and pull him closer. his arms uncross, opting to gingerly hold your shoulders. still timid, unsure.

“you should know how much you mean to me. you do such a good job of showing me…keeping watch and never letting me eat alone. it’s sweet, you’re sweet. i want you to know it.” you keep his gaze when you speak, hopefully drilling each sentiment permanently into his consciousness.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, “i believe you. swear. i just… this is new. i never thought…” he falters off, equal parts unsure and dumbstruck. “i like you a lot. i didn’t know you felt the same, sweetheart.”

you grin, inching your face closer to his, “well i do. deal with it.” your tone is teasing, playful. pulling him back into the safety of reassurance—what you want him to anticipate from you.

it seems to put jason back in his element, “oh? you have demands? usually that’s my thing.”

you laugh, “could always be our thing. the demanding couple—sounds inspired, don’t you think?”

“something like that…” his smile is soft, “but for now, i think i’m fine with just being yours.” he says it so earnestly, no thought to it. just the truth, and it feels damn good. it envelops you just the same as his arms, wraps you up in utter victory. love hard fought—and it feels so sweet.

[sistertotheknowitall]

DCxDP Prompt

Because I couldn’t get Congratulations! It’s Triplets! By @rboooks out of my head.

—

Jason wouldn’t say he regret it. Sure it wasn’t what he planned nor was it what he would have wanted, but he didn’t regret it. They didn’t mean to become parents, it was a one night stand. He wondered if this was how Roy felt when Jade had Lian. Like the world had been flipped on its head. Like everything he thought he knew now seemed wrong.

Lian would like his daughter. From what Jason could tell he thought they’d be fast friends.

Christ. His daughter.

He watched as she ran through the front door, her mom following behind. She was talking a mile a minute, her hands flying around her face. Her mom threw her head back, laughing. God he wished he could hear it. Hear what all his daughter had to say. He wanted to be a real dad to her not just a father. Someone she could talk to and trust. However, as Jason continued to watch from the roof across the street, he knew that he could never get that close. This was as far as he could reach.

A crime lord, who was legally dead and had a kill count. He wasn’t cut out to be a dad. The two examples he had wouldn’t exactly be considered great role models.

Her mother had named her Ellie, short for Daniella after her late uncle Daniel or “Danny.” She was feisty and a little brash, his daughter. Jason would be lying if he said he didn’t feel some pride in knowing some of that was him. Although he could see the same stubbornness in Jazmine.

He thinks that’s what drew him to her. Standing in a bar on a side of town she definitely shouldn’t have been in, she had held her own against two men trying to drag her out. Jason went to step in when she had pulled a police grade taser out and had both men on their knees in pain before he moved two steps. He didn’t introduce himself that night (she was a little preoccupied with the police). However, he got the chance to a few months later and one thing led to another and they had slept together. He left with barely a goodbye and they never saw each other again. Jason was too preoccupied with his plans for Bruce and the clown to spend time thinking about one night.

As for her, he knew she was a student at Gotham U and figured she had also spent little time thinking about that night.

Imagine his surprise when he stumbled upon her again but with a child. His child.

He didn’t know how to really feel about it, about her, Ellie.

As much as he hates to admit it he spent the first week getting drunk and despairing at being a deadbeat. He eventually calmed down and reasoned that it wasn’t his fault nor Jazmine’s. He had given her a fake first name and they hadn’t exchanged last names. Even if she did want to tell him she was pregnant she had no way of finding him.

And he never thought he needed to be looking for them.

—-

Jazz could feel them being watched and did her best to act normal. She never gave away that she was aware of him. She didn’t want to frighten Ellie and she was still unsure of how to handle the situation. It has been weeks and he never once seemed interested in harming them. Yet.

He just watched. Not all the time- not every day, but at least once a week she could feel him staring from a roof, a window, the mouth of an ally. He followed them at night and watched for a bit after they returned home. In a way it felt like he was protecting them, but in what sense did this hulking figure have a right to guard them? It also begged the question; what was he protecting them from?

Jazz was near positive that she had never interacted with the mask figure nor any other that roamed Gotham. She did her best to avoid them, all of them.

It could be he was fixated on her as a single mother to a reckless little girl. If that was so, then she was going to have to be more cautious. She didn’t want to even give him a chance to think he could approach Ellie. Stalkers were never a good thing but she knew the GCPD would never take it seriously.

All he was doing was watching.

Jazz knew her daughter was smart beyond her five years of life, but she was still just a child. So while Jazz was certain that Ellie had no idea about their predicament, she knew Ellie could feel something was off. The young girl had started to look around more on their walks home, her head swiveling, looking for something she couldn’t explain. Jazz hated it. Her daughter should be skipping as she told Jazz about her day in pre-school, not gripping her mother’s pant leg, silent as she looked for the source of her unease.

For the life of her, Jazz did not know what the man could possibly want and while it pissed her off to no end it also frightened her. Of course it frightened her. She was a single mother in Gotham City with a stalker. Maybe she should summon Danny or send Ellie to her grandparents for a bit while she takes care of this.

[reidswhre]

notes 4 you ; spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: fluff! best friends in love

You were gathering your things from your desk while wondering what you were going to have for dinner. You hadn’t left any food prepared, and honestly, you didn’t feel like cooking, but nothing that a food delivery couldn’t fix.

“Hi.” Spencer smiled at you from in front.

“Hey, you.” You smiled back while slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Are you heading home?” He asked.

“Of course, I’m going home, where else would I go at this hour?” You teased him.

“Oh- I don’t know- I- well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought maybe you could come to my place, I’m making pasta.”

“Your place? Oh God, sure! I’d love to.”

“Really?”

“Of course!”

You used to go to Spencer’s place often, and he to yours. You’d have dinner, watch a movie or two, and talk a lot. You spent all day together at work, but given the tragic cases you dealt with, seeing each other outside of work felt peaceful, a nice atmosphere that you both created.

You liked him a lot, and you were sure he liked you too. There were always moments when everything felt tense or you sensed something stronger than friendship between you, but neither of you ever acted on it.

“I missed it here,” you said as you entered Spencer’s apartment.

“Did you?” He asked as he watched you head straight to his bookshelf.

“Are you kidding? I love this place; it’s so cozy, so interesting, so lovely, so… you.”

“Do you love me?” He gave you a playful look as he set the groceries on the table for dinner.

“Of course, I do, silly.” You rolled your eyes and picked up the book on the coffee table. “This one’s new.”

“Yeah—actually, all those piled over there are new.” He pointed to a stack of about five books to your right.

“Oh, can I borrow this one when you're done?” you asked, grabbing one from the pile.

“You can take any of them, really.” He gave you that closed-lip smile.

“Wait, you’ve read all five already? You said they were new!”

“I read fast.”

“Of course you do.” You rolled your eyes again, smiling as you skimmed through the book.

“By the way! I finished reading that book you recommended, your favorite, remember?”

You felt a wave of happiness wash over you. “You’re kidding! I didn’t even know you bought it! How exciting! What did you think?”

“It was pretty good, though I think the dialogues in the book show some deficiencies in terms of plausibility and conversational dynamics. This homogeneity in the discourse negatively affects the characterization and pacing, creating a sense of stagnation in the dramatic development.”

You were left speechless, which made you laugh a little.

“What’s so funny?” He furrowed his brows.

“You just severely criticized my favorite book!”

“I didn’t criticize it severely!” He defended himself. “I thought it was good! It has memorable lines, and it’s very romantic. I just think the dialogue could’ve been better, that’s all.”

“Sure, everyone’s entitled to their opinion, even if yours is wrong,” you teased.

“Hey!” Spencer feigned offense.

You laughed, and Spencer chuckled a little too.

“You can keep that one too.”

“No, no, don’t worry. I have that book in every edition that exists.” You laughed. “It’s my favorite for a reason.”

“Yeah, but—I thought you might want this one.” Spencer walked over to the bookshelf in front of you and pulled out the book from a drawer.

The book was filled with sticky notes. You glanced at it and saw it was covered with annotations everywhere.

“I—well—I made notes while reading because—I don’t know—I wanted to give it to you. I thought you’d like to see how I was doing as I read it.” He looked a bit nervous.

You looked at him and then back at the book. You were so surprised that no words came out of your mouth, which only made Spencer more anxious.

“No—you don’t have to keep it—It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like you had to read it, I didn’t even ask if you wanted it, I’m really sorry!”

“You’re sorry?” You raised your eyebrows. “Sorry for giving me the best gift anyone’s ever given me?” You smiled broadly.

“What? You want it?” He sighed in relief.

“Are you kidding? This is incredible.” You threw your arms around him in a hug. “I love it! I can’t wait to see what you wrote.” You pulled away from the hug to skim through the book.

“No! Don’t do that!” He placed his hands over the book so you couldn’t read it. “Read it at home, okay?”

“Why!? I want to read it now.” You laughed and moved the book out of his reach.

“The thing is, I—you know—I wrote a lot…” He looked away.

You gave him a knowing look. “Of course, that was the idea, wasn’t it? I’m well aware,” you said teasingly.

“Sure! But… I didn’t just write what I thought about the book.” He looked at you. “I highlighted and underlined things that reminded me of you, and… I wrote you a few things. Just—read it later, okay?”

Suddenly, you felt a bit nervous, your stomach flipping. What did he mean by writing you a few things?

“Oh sure… yeah—sorry.” You closed the book and tucked it under your arm.

“It’s okay! Forget it.” He smiled sweetly. “Help me with the pasta, yeah?”

You smiled back. “What?” You pretended to be offended. “I came here to be treated like a princess, not to get my hands dirty!”

“Stop complaining!” He teased you, and you laughed.

You returned home around midnight, hung up your jacket, and left your keys on the table. Eagerly, you pulled the book out of your bag and sat down on the couch to take a look.

You saw some of his notes.

What’s this supposed to be? This guy’s an idiot. >:(

Oh, that was sweet! Extra points for him!

She’s funny, just like you.

you and me :) It was next to a paragraph describing a black cat and an orange one playing around.

I’m reading this on the plane, and you’re asleep i miss you :(

I seriously hate this guy, who raised him!?

You looked really cute today. You’re always cute.

There were countless more notes, all in his handwriting.

You had no intention of sleeping until you finished reading them all.

[p4ranormaluv]

ive been wondering .. which enha member wants someone inexperienced and which want someone experienced? and like, if they want someone experienced would they want to take care or her or to ruin her? or if they wanted someone experienced would they want like a brat to tame or her to top them? IDK IF THIS MAKES SENSE

ENHA: EXPERIENCED VS INEXPERIENCED . ݁₊ ♱

pairing) hyung line x f!reader contents) smut, piv, org.asm control, edgi.ng, creampie, brat taming?, a little degrada.tion in hee’s, praise, overstim, switch!jake xp, squirting, corruption/innocence kink

heeseung)

experienced; based on concert/fan service clips + him saying he likes sexy over cute + my hunch that he prefers slightly older women/girls his age, i’d say experienced. nothing turns him on more than if you’re confident and know what you’re doing— even if you’re more experienced than him, he would enjoy that because you can teach him ‘new things’ ;). he’ll also really enjoy when you get a little bratty. heeseung likes when his partner knows how to be playful, he finds the sultry teasing really sexy.

dominate you / dominate him; i think heeseung’s a switch with a dom lean, so he usually prefers to be the one in control— but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy watching you test the limits, just so he can put you back in your place everytime.

“naughty— fucking— girl.” heeseung growls, punctuating every word with another merciless thrust into your aching pussy, yet to have cum as your boyfriend keeps denying you of release. “talked big shit and now you can’t even take it?” heeseung smirks, tone deep as he tries to hide how he’s losing his own breath from how long he’s been edging you, filling your sopping pussy up with his cum again and again. “that’s what baby gets when she’s a brat. you understand that now?”

jay)

inexperienced; honestly i think he’d like both, but if i had to say, it would be inexperienced. i think jay likes to feel like the main caretaker in your relationship and that translates into the bedroom too. he’d find it really cute and endearing if you didn’t know how to do something or were a little awkward. he really gets off on explaining to you how to do things, holding your hand if you get nervous and treating you like a princess.

care for you / ruin you; as i said, jay loves to make you feel loved and cared for. praising you in a sweet tone— practically baby talking you, caressing over your body in loving touches as you squirm in embarrassment and pleasure at what he’s doing to you? he’ll go crazy. (honestly i think simply praising you and watching you feel good is enough to make him cum untouched, but maybe we’ll talk about that another time.)

“you okay, sweetie?” jay asks once he’s fit all of himself inside your pussy. he can feel you clenching around him with need, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“yes, m’good. please— please move.” you beg quietly, already so turned on as jay hovers over you, looking down at you like you’re an angel— despite the very impure position you’re in, legs bent and pushed to your chest as you take his cock. jay starts pushing in and out of you just right, his hands moving just as expertly over your perked nipples. he groans out at your cute little sounds and how your body is already quivering. “fuck, it’s— it’s never felt this good before, jay. you feel so good.”

“shit, princess. don’t talk to me like that unless you want me to go ahead and cum inside of you.”

jake)

experienced; he wouldn’t mind if you were inexperienced but he’s just so horny and that can lead to him being impatient. i also think it would just make him feel really comfortable and freeing to be with an experienced woman. he’d get really turned on by how well you know what you like and how fast you can get to know his body and what he likes too.

dominate you / dominate him; i’m on my switch!jake agenda again 🤪. he loves fucking you hard and making you cry out in pleasure, withering and gushing around his cock just as much as he loves to be on his knees begging for you.

“hah— y/n, b—baby, please! oh my god, please don’t stop fucking me!” jake whimpers and moans as he’s laid down, you on top of him and bouncing on his dick like it’s a toy— like there isn’t a boy attached to hit being pounded into the mattress with each movement.

it doesn’t take long until your both reaching your climaxes, you moving to lay beside jake and catch your breath. but the man has other plans as he flips himself over top of you and plunges his cock inside of your warm walls again. “jake? b— baby, fuck! m’sensitive.”

“one more, love. can you give me one more? god, just can’t get enough of this fuckin’ pussy, baby.”

sunghoon)

inexperienced; similar to jay, he really gets off on your lack of experience. hoon definitely has an innocence/corruption kink. and if you’re looking up at him with your trusting yet slightly nervous eyes, waiting for him to take control of the situation and your body— letting him call all the shots— holy fuck, he might bust right there.

care for you / ruin you; he’ll never do anything you don’t want or rush you of course, but with your permission he will not hesitate to absolutely wreck you. he’ll literally go crazy at the opportunity to go where no one has gone before with you, make you react in ways you never thought you could.

“hoonie, hoonie! i— something’s happening,” you struggle to explain, a foreign sensation taking over your body as your pussy builds with pressure, sunghoon continuing to fuck his impossibly huge cock into your little body. “you gonna cum for me again? i know you got it in you, baby. my slutty little angel.”

“no, no!” you cry, trying and failing to push sunghoon away as the pressure finally becomes to much and the dam breaks, squirting all over sunghoon dick and pelvis.

“holy shit…” he marvels, watching how your shaking orgasm hasn’t even ended yet as he stills, watching how it covers himself and the sheets. you almost choke on your own saliva when sunghoon starts fucking you again— even harder this time. “hoonie, can’t.”

“oh you can and you will, angel. gonna make you squirt until your pussy is drained dry.”

[toruily1]

gojo x camgirl!reader

MDNI

1.3k

fuck he’s late. fuck fuck fuck.

in the past few months since gojo discovered your online cam shows, he’s never missed one. he’s always been there at least ten minutes before you went live to make sure he caught every second, a bottle of lube and a box of tissues sitting next to him on his bed as he waits for you to begin.

but here he was, scrambling through his flat, dropping his belongings randomly on the floor as he rushes towards his bedroom, pulling his laptop out and logging onto the website.

by the time he clicks on your live you're already completely naked, fingers playing with your nipples, pinching and twisting and tugging on the hard nubs as he feels his cock harden almost instantly, the sight of your beautiful body never failing to turn him on.

he drops his laptop on the bed, eyes never straying away from your form as he feels around his nightstand drawer searching for the bottle of lubricant he knows is in there.

he lets out a triumphant hum when he locates it, tossing it onto the bed as he begins stripping himself of his clothes. quickly pulling his shirt over his head, not wanting to miss even a second more than he already did, pushing his pants and boxers down in one go.

satoru crawls into bed just as you zoom the camera out a little, and moving to lean against the headboard as you giggle at something said in the chat.

"so.." you begin and satoru's attention is automatically pulled to your lips, plump and pink and shining with gloss, opening and closing as you talk. "which toy should i use tonight?" you question, taking the camera in your hand and showing off the couple of toys you had prepared for the night.

satoru takes in the items as he decides which one he should cast his vote for.

there's two differnt dildos, one pink and thick and he knows it would look so good stretching you out. the other one, this one clear, is on the longer side and fuck he wonders if you can take the whole thing?

next to them lies a small black butt plug with a pink gem on the end and he wonders what it would look like close up, shining up at him as he fucks into you from behind.

satoru wraps his hand around his cock, stroking languidly as he makes his decision, not even bothering to look at the other options.

he hits on the donation option and types in an amount, adding an extra zero at the end to make up for being late, pairing the money with his choice, the clear one since its the one that resembled his own cock the most and pressing send. It’s longer than it is thick but with a slight upwards curve that'll hit all the right places inside of your walls.

he hits send and watches as the corner of your lips tug up into a smile at the influx of donations as everyone watching comments which one they want to see the most.

"so you finally made it huh thechosenone127?" hearing his username fall from your lips has his cock twitching in his hand. "got sad when i didnt see you earlier, thought you forgot about me" you pout, bottom lip jutting out as you pick up the dildo he chose, and bringing it up to your lips.

he's quick to type out a response, hitting send without even reading it over for any mistakes.

thechosenone127: i coud never forgot about yuo

theres a couple of typos but that doesnt stop the point from getting across because your smiling again, wider this time as you take the tip of the dildo between your lips, tongue swiping over the silicone head.

"yeah?" you question teasingly, closing your lips around the tip and sucking on it. “you better not”

satoru imagines its him that your mouth is on, tongue swirling around his tip as he brings his hand up to rub his tip, smearing the pre that's beaded at his own tip and using it to make the glide easier. he groans loudly when you take the dildo further into your mouth, sucking on it messily as if you were sucking a real dick, drool dripping from the sides of your mouth as you gag at the intrusion at the back of your throat before pulling it out and letting the string of saliva drip down your chest.

your drag the dildo down your body, moving from your mouth down to your chest, circling it around on of your nipples before doing the same to the other. you continue to drag it down the length of your body until your settling it between your legs.

gojo swallows, adams apple bobbing up and down as he watches you slap the dildo against your cunt, moaning prettily when it hits your clit.

you do it a couple more times before your dragging it through your slit, instantly coating it in your arousal with how wet you are. he has to tightly grip the base of his cock to keep from cumming the second you begin feeding the dildo into your tight pussy, watching as your hole stretches around the dildo, knowing it probably stings seeing as you didn't open yourself up on screen like you usual would.

"fuckkkk" he hears you whine out "you're so big daddy, don't— dont know if i-I can take it all"

he speeds up his strokes, matching them up with your own movements as you begin fucking yourself with half of the dildo. gojo's eyes are glued to your cunt as you push it in further and further, babbling incoherently as you force yourself to take the last few inches.

he hears you say something about feeling it in your throat and how you've never been so full but he's so enthralled by the sight of your hole clenching around the dildo that it’s hard to focus on what you're saying.

he close, so close that he's practically leaking, barely even needing to use the lube that he took out, his precum more than enough for the slide to be nice and slick.

"-na fill me up right? get me—fuck! get me n-nice and full with your cum, right daddy?" you ask, blinking wearily at the camera and gojo watches the chat go crazy, donation after donation rolling through as horny men, desperate to get the chance to actually fuck you, beg you to meet up with them in real life so that they can 'show you what its like to be with a real man, instead of some toy'

gojo rolls his eyes but types out his own comment, praising you for taking him like a good girl and how he'll fill you up until your leaking his cum.

"fuck daddy, m' so close" you bring you hand down to rub messy figures on your swollen clit.

gojo cums instantly as he watches you squirt for the first time on camera, the gush of juices flowing from your pussy enough to force the dildo out, your hole clenching and unclenching rapidly as your hand continues rubbing your cunt and spraying your juices everywhere. he continues to stroke himself through his orgasm, making sure to get out every last drop as he paints his stomach and chest with his seed, not having enough time to grab a tissue to cum in before he was cumming.

"fuck" you breathe out as you finish cumming harder than you ever have before.

"everything's wet" you let out a chuckle as you wipe your hand on your sheets since you have to change them now anyway.

gojo watches with half lidded eyes as you finish out the last few minutes of your live, thanking everyone for watching and blowing a kiss to the camera before the live ends.

he already cant wait till next week so he can watch you do it all over again.

i'm not sure how i did with this but at least i had fun writing it! I would really appreciate your feedback, so don’t hesitate to let me know what you think!

[barcaatthemoon]

sex with my ex || claudia pina x reader ||

You hook up with your ex-girlfriend after playing a game against her.

MINORS DNI, 18+, Smut.

You rushed your way through your post-match routine. Claudia was waiting for you in the player parking lot. You wondered what excuses she gave her teammates about why she was skipping out on the winning celebrations. For the most part, they all liked you, even if they didn't approve of you and Claudia constantly going back to each other.

Your own teammates weren't nearly as fond of Claudia, but they had only ever known her as a opponent. You couldn't really blame them. A few of them were terrified that you'd eventually go back to playing for Barcelona just to be closer to Claudia again. Despite being broken up, you were very into her.

"Took you long enough," Claudia teased. You paused at the sight of her leaning against the hood of her car. She looked amazing. You hadn't seen her pre-game outfit, but it was definitely picked specifically for you. Claudia knew how much you loved seeing her arms on display, and there wasn't a doubt in your mind that she was flexing even as she pulled you in for a kiss.

"Oh please, like you weren't hoping I'd take a long time so you could plan your pose," you shot back. Claudia put her hands up in surrender and made no attempt to argue. "Take me back to your place?"

"Of course. I've got a couple new toys for us to try out," Claudia told you. She watched your reaction closely, noting when your eyes lit up at the mention of something new. Claudia knew all of the things you liked, and despite how casual she liked to play things with you, she hated the very idea of disappointing you.

"And why are we still here then?" Claudia opened up the passenger's side door for you. It was pretty hard to keep your hands off of each other as you made your way back to her apartment from the stadium. Claudia kept one hand on your thigh as she drove, occasionally letting her fingers trace little patterns on your skin. At first it seemed random, but then you realized that she was spelling out some of the things she wanted to do to you.

Your heart rate spiked with excitement at the prospect of such a long night with Claudia. You'd be gone in the morning back to your own city hours away. The two of you had to make the most of your night together, and you didn't doubt that Claudia would be more than capable of doing so. Even after playing for almost an entire game, the smaller woman always seemed to have an endless supply of energy when it came to the bedroom.

You and Claudia couldn't keep your hands off of each other once you were outside of the car. There was absoutely no shame as the two of you made out in the elevator. Claudia's hands roamed all over your body, touching every bit of you that she could. The two of you were so engrossed in each other that you nearly didn't make it out of the elevator on Claudia's floor.

"Take it all off, everything," Claudia ordered. You loved it whenever she took charge with you. She had been a lot more passive during your relationship, but now she was a force to be reckoned with. You could see how taking on more leadership in the team bled over into her everyday confidence, and you were lucky that you only saw Claudia on occasion because now you found her irresistable.

Claudia watched you like a hawk as you undressed yourself. Claudia shed a few pieces of clothing as she pushed you towards the bedroom, both of you leaving a trail in your wake. Claudia didn't seem to care at all about any sort of mess, only wanting you naked and in her arms as she crossed the into the threshold of her bedroom.

"On the bed, before I do anything for you, I want you to do something for me," Claudia said. You knew what she wanted as soon as she went towards her closet. Claudia returned with a decently sized box. You recognized the strap around her waist, but there was no toy attached to it. Claudia rummaged around in the box and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, a vibrating wand, and a new dildo that you hadn't seen before.

"All for me? You shouldn't have," you teased. Claudia didn't react to your comment at all, instead leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. There was something about the act that made your spine feel a bit tingly. She grabbed your hands and cuffed them together, before she tossed the vibrator to the side. "I'm not sure that will fit in my mouth."

"It's not for your mouth," Claudia said as she attached the dildo to the harness. It was thicker than what you were used to, but not necessarily longer. Claudia had obviously spent a lot of time searching for this. She knew that you would much rather been stretched to your limits than endure a game of seeing how far into you Claudia could fuck. You had learned the hard way that your insides bruised much easier than you did on the outside.

You let out a little yelp as Claudia pulled you closer. With the way that she stood over you, you could see just how wet she was. Claudia glanced down as you licked your lips, and both of you seemed to act on the same wavelength. Claudia moved forward to kneel on the bed as you craned your neck up to meet her.

More of Claudia's weight shifted onto the bed as she fell forward. You had expected her to begin eating you out as well, but Claudia seemed to have other ideas. You felt the wand between your legs at the same moment she flicked it on. The vibrations were intense, and you squirmed beneath her trying to ease away from it.

"No, stay still. I'll let this first one be fast, but you'll have to earn the others," Claudia told you. You felt your stomach drop at her words. You knew that you had until Claudia had cum, and despite the intensity of the vibrations against your cunt, you weren't sure that you could get off that quickly.

Above you, Claudia was close. You could tell by the way she rocked her hips back and forth against your togue. She couldn't stand for any bit of that contact to let up, not until she was finished. You could feel a subtle ache in your jaw, but you persisted, moving your mouth and tongue until Claudia's cum coated the lower part of your face.

"You're so fucking good at that. I love the way you eat me out," Claudia complimented. Your cheeks were practically burning from her words. Any sort of praise from Claudia always seemed to go straight between your legs, and this was no exception. Claudia bit her lip as she watched your cunt clench around nothing. "Do you want a reward?"

"Please," you whined. You were past the point of caring how desperate you sounded. The moment Claudia had withdrawn from you, so did the vibrations. She knew how to work you up to the brink, and despite you doing everything you could for her, she hadn't given you the first easy orgasm you had been hoping for.

Claudia's fingers stayed practically glued to your entrance as she teased you. You knew that she liked the feeling of your arousal coating her fingers. She'd play with you a little more until you were dripping onto the sheets beneath your bodies. The subtle stretch of two fingers wasn't going to be enough, so Claudia eased you into three and then four.

"Fuck, this is gonna be a tight fit," Claudia swore. You felt her fingers pull out, and you whimpered at the sudden feeling of emptiness before you felt the tip glide through your folds. Claudia was careful in easing her way in, watching your face for any signs of genuine pain. Claudia knew that you liked the hurt that came with using bigger toys, but that didn't stop her from worrying about crossing some invisble line with your pain tolerance.

"Clau, please. I need more," you told her. Claudia eased herself the rest of the way in and leaned forward to press her forehead against yours. The starting thrusts were slow and shallow, but soon, Claudia found her rhythm. You wanted to reach out for her, but you couldn't. The best you could do with your hands bound was grabbing onto one of the loose straps on the harness. You weren't sure which it was, but you could feel the dildo inside of you move with each little tug on it you gave.

Claudia could without a doubt feel what you were doing, but she let it continue. Your eyes were practically rolling back in your head as Claudia fucked you through your first orgasm. You kept a hold on the strap, moving it for her whenever Claudia had decided to give you a little rest. You kept the toy moving inside of yourself until Claudia pried your hands away and pulled out of you.

"Shh," Claudia shushed you as you began to protest and whine. You tried to sit up the best you could, but with your hands bound, it was a bit difficult. Claudia placed her hands on your chest and held you down as her thigh slotted between your legs. "Lay back, relax, and let me finish. I won't leave you like this, you know that baby."

"Sorry," you apologized. Claudia gave you a quick kiss before she settled back in between your legs. This time, you were rewarded greatly with her tongue. You didn't need anything other than her tongue flicking gently against your clit, coaxing your second orgasm out of you. The build up for this one was greater than your first, and you came hard on Claudia's mouth. Her sheets were a mess, but Claudia simply moved you to lay in a different spot as she started the shower up.

"How are your legs?" Claudia asked as she sat down on the bed next to you. The strap had been discarded completely, and her toys were all set aside to be washed. "Can you make it to the shower on your own?"

"They feel like they've just played a full 90 and then some, but yeah, I can make it to the shower. Will you be joining me?" you asked her. Claudia shook her head as she motioned towards the sheets and toys. "Will you be here when I get out of the shower?"

"I'll be here long enough to take you back to your hotel. I've got a team dinner to get ready for," Claudia told you. It definitely wasn't what you wanted to hear, but if it wasn't for the clear cut lines you had drawn when you broke up, you'd be dating again. Things weren't bad between the two of you, but with all of the outside influences on your relationship, it wasn't good. You wished that things could be different, but you doubted that Claudia would give you another real chance in a long time.

[thatdammchickennugget]

One Of The Guys

pairing -james potter x fem!reader

summary - you have always been one of the guys, but what if you don't want to be anymore?

warnings - insecure reader, some teasing, fluff, gryffindor!reader

wordcount - 2.4k

a/n - first fic in months and the anxiety posting this is higher than ever! hope you like!

You’d always been one of the guys. Since first year, when you’d been sorted into Gryffindor with Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter, it just made sense. You spent your days causing trouble with them, sneaking into the kitchens for midnight snacks, planning pranks, and laughing at inside jokes only you lot seemed to understand. You were as much a Marauder as any of them, and you wore that title like a badge of honor.

In some ways, being "one of the guys" had always felt natural. You were never the girl who fussed with her hair, never bothered with makeup or cared much about fashion. While the other girls in your year experimented with nail polish and tried different spells to make their hair curl just right, you’d been happier wearing trousers and comfortable jumpers, getting dirt on your shoes as you kicked a ball around with the boys or plotted another prank.

The boys never treated you any differently. You were as rough and tumble as they were, always up for an adventure or a laugh, whether it was dueling in the corridors, sneaking out under the Invisibility Cloak, or hanging around the Quidditch pitch, watching James practice his broom skills while you tossed playful insults his way. They teased you, sure, but it was never about your appearance. It was always about how you accidentally hexed Sirius’s hair to turn pink that one time or how Remus beat you at Wizard’s Chess two weeks in a row.

But lately, something had started to shift. You’d been spending more time with the girls—Marlene, Lily, Alice, and Mary. It wasn’t like you abandoned your usual activities with the boys, but something about hanging out with the girls had made you realize that maybe you’d been missing out on a whole other side of yourself. They weren’t as concerned with pranks or causing trouble, but they had their own kind of fun—painting nails, talking about what charms they used to keep their hair shiny, and swapping makeup tips. At first, it had all seemed foreign to you, like you didn’t belong. But, bit by bit, you began to get into it. And even though it was obvious you were out of your element, they never made you feel left out because of it.

It started small. A dab of lip gloss here, a charm to make your hair lie flat there. Nothing too crazy. You didn’t want to completely abandon who you were. But when Marlene offered to paint your nails a deep, shimmery red one afternoon, you figured why not? It was fun, in a way you hadn’t expected.

The girls never treated you like you needed to change, and that made it easier. They were all for letting you do your own thing, and whenever you felt out of place, they’d remind you that it was about what made you feel good, not about impressing anyone else.

Still, there was one person’s opinion you couldn’t quite shake.

James Potter.

You weren’t sure when it had started, this nagging crush you had on him. Maybe it had always been there, buried under layers of friendship and pranks. But recently, every time he smiled at you with that lopsided grin of his, something inside you flipped. Every time his hand brushed yours when you reached for something at the same time, your heart would race a little faster. He’d never looked at you like he looked at the girls who swooned over him—like you were someone to notice beyond just being “one of the guys.”

And you hated how much that bothered you.

It wasn’t like you wanted to change for him. But some part of you wondered if he’d ever see you differently if you weren’t always running around in jeans and messy ponytails.

So, that Saturday morning, when you slipped on the dress Lily had convinced you to buy during one of your Hogsmeade trips, you felt like a fish out of water. It wasn’t anything too fancy—just a simple green dress that hugged your frame in a way your usual clothes never did. You’d even put a little effort into your hair, letting it fall loose around your shoulders instead of shoving it into a messy bun like you normally did. Your nails were still painted red from the other night, and you’d borrowed a light bit of makeup from Mary, who had smiled and assured you it wasn’t “too much.”

But as you stood in front of the mirror, you hardly recognized yourself. The tomboy in you felt like you were playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes. It was so far from your usual style that you couldn’t help but wonder if you were making a mistake.

Still, part of you wanted to try it out—to see if maybe, James would look at you differently today. Maybe he’d see something more than the girl who could throw a punch as good as Sirius or outrun Peter when Filch caught you roaming the halls after curfew.

You took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric of the dress one last time before heading down to the common room.

ੈ♡˳

When you reached the common room, you were immediately met with the sight of the boys lounging around like usual. James and Sirius were in the middle of some animated conversation while Remus read a book nearby, and Peter was munching on something from the kitchens. None of them had noticed you yet, which only made the nerves bubbling in your stomach worse.

It was Sirius who spotted you first. He turned to call for James, but his words faltered when his eyes landed on you. His mouth fell open slightly, and a slow grin spread across his face.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, standing up from the couch with a mock bow. "What do we have here? Y/N, in a dress? I never thought I’d see the day."

The others looked up at his words, their eyes finding you in an instant. You tried to smile, but the way their gazes seemed to linger made you want to shrink into the floor.

James was staring at you, his expression unreadable. His warm eyes widened just a fraction, his usual cheeky grin faltering as his gaze swept over you. But before you could figure out what that look meant, Sirius spoke up again.

"Blimey, didn’t know you owned anything besides jeans and jumpers," Sirius teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You sure you’re feeling alright?"

You forced a laugh, trying to shrug off the growing discomfort. “Yeah, just, uh, thought I’d try something new.”

Remus closed his book and smiled at you warmly. “You look nice,” he said, his tone sincere but still carrying a hint of playfulness.

But Peter, never one to read the room right, piped up from the couch. “Who knew you could look like a girl?” he said with a chuckle, and Sirius howled with laughter, clearly finding the whole thing hilarious.

James finally spoke up, his voice quieter than usual. "You do look nice, Y/N," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. But his tone—sincere as it was—couldn’t erase the sting of the teasing from the others.

You laughed along with them, but inside, the knot of unease tightened. You weren’t mad at them; you knew they didn’t mean to hurt you. But every comment, every joke, made you feel more and more like an imposter in your own skin. Like you weren’t really supposed to be this person, this version of you that wore dresses and makeup and tried to be something more than “one of the guys.”

"I—I’m gonna go change," you muttered, not trusting yourself to look at James when you said it.

Sirius frowned, his laughter fading. “Wait, we were only joking, Y/N. You don’t have to—”

But you were already halfway to the dorms, the sound of their voices fading behind you as you fled.

ੈ♡˳

You ripped off the dress the moment you were alone, tossing it onto the bed and quickly pulling on your usual jeans and jumper. The relief was immediate, but the ache in your chest didn’t go away.

There was a knock at the door.

“Y/N?” James’s voice called softly from the other side. You hesitated but opened the door anyway, finding him standing there, looking uncertain for the first time in a long while.

“You didn’t have to change,” he said, stepping inside. “You looked… you looked beautiful.”

Your heart jumped at his words, but the discomfort from earlier still weighed heavily on you. You shrugged, sitting on the edge of your bed, not quite ready to meet his eyes. “It didn’t feel right,” you admitted softly. “I just... I don’t think I’m cut out for that sort of thing.”

James frowned, walking over to stand in front of you. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze lingering on the discarded dress. “We weren’t trying to make you feel bad, you know. We’re just not used to seeing you like that.”

“I know.” You sighed, rubbing your hands over your face. “It’s just—” You paused, struggling to find the right words. “I thought maybe if I tried something different, I could, I don’t know, feel like... more than just one of the guys for once.”

James was silent for a moment, and when you finally looked up at him, there was something soft in his eyes—something that made your heart skip a beat. “You’ve never been just one of the guys, Y/N.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

He stepped closer, his expression earnest. “I don’t think you get it. You’re—” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “You’re amazing the way you are. Jeans, jumpers, all of it. You don’t need a dress or makeup to make anyone notice you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you weren’t sure if you were reading too much into his words, but then James ran a hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “I’ve liked you for ages, Y/N. And not because of what you wear. Because you’re you.”

You stared at him, stunned into silence. He... liked you?

James let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, you’re brilliant. You’re tough, you’re funny, and you’re always there when we need you. That’s what I like about you. That’s what matters.”

You felt your cheeks warm, and for a moment, some of the insecurities you’d felt earlier melted away. “You’ve liked me?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah. For a while now. Just didn’t know how to say it without mucking it up.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your heart swelling with something you hadn’t expected to feel today—hope. "Well, you didn’t muck it up too badly," you teased, a bit of the old you returning.

James grinned, relief evident in his face. “So, what do you say, Y/N? Maybe next Hogsmeade weekend, we could go together. Just us?”

Your stomach flipped, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was excitement. “I’d like that,” you said softly, the smile on your face growing wider.

As the excitement simmered between you, a question began to bubble up in the back of your mind, nagging at you even though you were already starting to feel more at ease.

"James?" you began, your voice a little uncertain as you glanced up at him, still seated on the edge of the bed. He tilted his head slightly, waiting for you to continue. "Would it be... weird if I did want to wear dresses sometimes?"

James blinked, surprised by the question, but the soft smile on his face didn’t waver. "Weird? No, not at all," he said quickly, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of you. He knelt down, so his face was level with yours sitting on the bed, his eyes warm and serious. "Why would it be weird?"

You hesitated, unsure how to explain the knot of confusion that had been sitting in your chest all day. "I don’t know," you said, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. "It’s just... I’ve always been more comfortable in my clothes. I never really thought about wearing anything else. But lately, hanging out with the girls and seeing how much fun they have with it... I guess it made me curious, you know?"

James listened, his eyes never leaving yours, and nodded for you to continue.

"I don’t want to change who I am," you added quickly, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. "But I also think... I want to try new things, and I don’t want you—or the others—to think I’m not being myself."

There was a beat of silence before James reached out and gently placed a hand on yours, his touch grounding. "Y/N, you’re allowed to wear whatever you want," he said softly. "It doesn’t change who you are. Whether you’re in a dress or your favorite old jumper, you’re still you. That’s what matters."

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was sincerity. "You really think so?"

"I know so," he replied with a grin. "Look, the dress was a surprise, sure. But if you want to wear dresses sometimes? That’s just another part of you we get to know. And trust me, Y/N, you could show up in a full ball gown, and it wouldn’t change a thing about how we see you."

You felt a smile creeping back onto your face, warmth spreading through your chest as his words sank in.

James squeezed your hand, his gaze softening. "Besides," he added, his voice a little more playful now, "if you ask me, you look great no matter what you wear. But you should do what feels right for you. Not for us, not for anyone else."

You laughed, a little embarrassed by how much his words affected you, but you couldn’t help the lightness you felt now. "Thanks, James. That... actually helps a lot."

He stood up, his grin returning to that familiar, cheeky smile that always made your heart race. "So," he said, offering you a hand to help you up, "how about we head back downstairs, and you can wear whatever the bloody hell you want, yeah?"

You took his hand, standing up. "Yeah," you agreed, feeling more like yourself than you had all day. "Sounds like a plan."

Masterlist

Requesting Guidelines

[f0point5]

I think I have sent this same request some time ago but I still would like you to write something about Emilia and Max hanging out with Victoria’s children and maybe thinking about their own future kids. But really anything with Max and Emilia would be great!

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one, but tumblr eats asks sometimes 🤷‍♀️ but it’s too cute so here you go! I am keeping these short but I hope you still enjoy it!

✨Set during summer break 2024✨

I’m having his baby (…) no, I’m not

You take a sip of your rosé as Victoria comes to stand beside you. You’re lurking in the doorway of the lounge, watching Max sitting on the couch with his baby niece in his arms. He’s bobbing her in a gentle motion, his hands looking huge around her tiny, swaddled body.

“God, I remember when we used to say our kids would get married,” Vic says beside you, and you laugh.

You did say that. As little kids you would wish to be sisters, and somehow the only way you could think to make that happen would be for your children to marry each other. Like in that Flintstones movie you used to love. You’d draw pictures of the two of you sitting on the porch of a large house, watching your children get married.

Now you wonder if your mums thought the same, during those summers in Italy, as they watched you all play. They swear now that they did, that the mother’s intuition told them you and Max were tied together by some invisible chord that chafed on both your wrists. “A mother always knows,” Sophie said to you when she saw you last, “you will know, too”.

“And now that would be illegal and dangerous for our grandkids,” you say, shaking your head. “Crazy,”

“I like it better this way,” Victoria says, putting her arm around your shoulder and squeezing you into a hug.

“Me, too,” you agree, your eyes fixed on Max and Hailey. He’s whispering to her in Dutch, her eyes fluttering closed every few seconds as she yawns in his face, which only makes him smile. He’s utterly mesmerised by her. And you’re mesmerised by him.

I swear I can actually feel my ovaries right now.

“He’s so good with kids,” Vic says. “Even with Jaye I remember he was so gentle,”

“Yeah,” you agree, only half hearing her as you take another sip.

“Gives you baby fever, huh?”

You choke on your wine. Was that Victoria or your subconscious talking?

Vic, are you in here? No, of course she’s not in here. She’s just being nosey. Act natural.

“Are you okay?” Max asks from the couch. You look over at him as you wipe your mouth, coughing once as you nod. Even as he looks at you in concern, he never stops the gentle bouncing motion of the baby in his arms.

You go to answer, but Vic beats you to it, blunt as ever. “I was just saying, you will be having one of your own soon, yeah?” She smiles, nodding at Hailey.

If Max is panicking as much as you, he doesn’t show it, just shrugging. “I mean, ye-“ You can feel your eyes widen, and he stops when he sees your face. He tries again. “May-“ he frowns at you, silently begging for help. “No?” You nod gently, and Max turns to Victoria. “No.”

She looks at you in mild disbelief. “No?”

“No,” you emphasise to both Verstappens.

You love them dearly but genetics are a crazy thing - they both share a chronic disregard for timing. They want it all, and they want it now, in any order, all order be damned.

“You’re not getting any younger,” Victoria says, nudging you.

“That is just rude,” you tell her, and she just smiles unapologetically.

“Oh, come on,” she implores, reaching up to wind her finger around a lock of your hair, “a little baby with Max’s eyes and your hair?”

“And both of our tempers,” you say with a chuckle. “Can you imagine that? Besides, we can barely make cereal, and you want us to raise a baby?”

You look at Max for support, but he’s no longer paying attention. He’s looking down at his niece like he’s holding water.

Maybe a baby can live on cereal, if her dad looks at her like that.

“I’m going to go put Hailey down for her nap,” Vic says, jerking you from your thoughts.

She goes over to take a sleepy Hailey from Max’s arms, and he looks loathe to let her go. She looks so much bigger when held by her mother, and her so much more fragile.

“When I get back, we can start on dinner. I’m going to make cereal,” Vic teases in a whisper, winking at you as she passes.

Max snorts with laughter, and you shoot Vic a glare as she starts to hum, shuffling her way out of the lounge towards the bedroom.

You join Max on the couch, falling onto it beside him with a heavy sigh.

“So glad I’m an only child,” you say, rolling your eyes. When Max doesn’t respond, you glance over at him to find him staring at his hands. You nudge him gently. “What?”

“You do,” he starts, leaning back as he turns to you. “Want kids, someday, don’t you?With me. I mean…you don’t think I’ll be, like…”

“No,” you answer quickly, when you understand what he’s getting at.

You silently curse yourself for that joke about tempers. For ever making him think that’s something you worry about. You know there’s a heaviness in Max, in both of you. You know that he is so much more than his father’s son. But you also know that the weight on his shoulders will keep him crooked until he can see that for himself. You hope knowing you see it will be enough for now.

“I want your baby, Max. Someday. There’s no one else I would ever do this with besides you and not just because I love you, but because I know you’ll be an amazing dad,” you tell him honestly, and even that small platitude seems to relax his shoulders. “But can we at least get to one year of baby making activities before we start painting a nursery?”

Max nods, letting out a husk of a laugh. “I’m shit at painting anyway,” he says, looking at you from under those eyelashes that you secretly envy.

Maybe she’ll inherit those, too.

“Free practice?” You offer with a smirk, holding your hand for his.

Max looks at your outstretched palm for a moment before taking your hand in his. “Free practice,” he agrees, using his grip on your hand to pull you forward so that your chest is pressed against his. “I’m looking forward to FP2 later,”

[callsigns-haze]

His Shadow: Chp 6

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences.

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of their apartment, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The soft light highlighted the simple, yet cozy space they had made their own—a sanctuary that was their little world, hidden from the eyes of everyone else. Knox was still asleep in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, blissfully unaware of the tension building between his parents.

YN stood near the window, her back turned to Azriel, arms crossed over her chest. Her posture was stiff, her shoulders tense as she stared out at the city, her reflection barely visible in the glass. Azriel could feel the frustration radiating off her in waves, and he knew that this conversation was inevitable. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

He had taken the week off, needing to be with his family, needing to be with her. After overhearing Cassian and Mor talk about their little spying expedition on YN, he had made the decision quickly, without hesitation. But now, as he watched YN’s back, he wondered if he had acted too impulsively.

“Why did you do it, Azriel?” YN’s voice broke the silence, cutting through the stillness of the morning. It was calm, but there was an edge to it—one that Azriel recognized all too well. She was holding back, trying to keep her emotions in check, but he knew she was upset. “Why did you take the week off?”

Azriel let out a slow breath, his wings rustling slightly as he stepped closer to her. “I wanted to be here with you and Knox,” he answered, keeping his voice steady. “After everything that’s happened, I thought you could use the support. I wanted to make sure you both were safe.”

She turned around to face him, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something else—something that looked a lot like hurt. “Safe?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “Azriel, we’re not in immediate danger. You’re acting like I can’t take care of myself and our son without you hovering over us.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Azriel replied quickly, though he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He was protective—maybe too protective, especially now that their lives were more complicated than ever. He crossed the distance between them, his hands reaching out to take hers, but she stepped back, putting more space between them.

“Isn’t it?” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “You’re here because you don’t trust me to handle things on my own. You’re here because you think you need to shield us from everything—even from your own family. But Azriel, I can’t live like this. We can’t live like this, constantly looking over our shoulders, constantly hiding.”

Her words hit him hard, and he knew she was right. But it didn’t change the fact that he felt this deep, unrelenting need to protect her, to protect Knox, to be there every moment in case something went wrong. The thought of losing them—of anything happening to them—was more than he could bear.

“YN, I’m not trying to smother you,” he said, his voice softer now, tinged with the desperation he felt. “I just… I need to be sure. After what happened yesterday, after knowing they were watching you—I can’t just leave you both alone and hope everything will be fine.”

Her eyes softened slightly at his words, the anger ebbing away, replaced by a sadness that made Azriel’s heart ache. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as if trying to gather her thoughts before she spoke again.

“Azriel,” she said more gently, “I understand why you feel the way you do. I do. But this… this isn’t sustainable. We can’t keep living in fear, can’t keep reacting to what might happen. We need to trust each other, trust that we can handle things—even when you’re not here.”

Azriel’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right, but it was so hard to let go of that instinct, the one that told him he needed to be there every moment to protect them. He had been living on the edge for so long, constantly aware of the dangers lurking in the shadows, that he didn’t know how to step back and just… breathe.

“I do trust you,” he said finally, his voice rough with emotion. “I trust you more than anyone, YN. But I’ve spent centuries living in a world where letting your guard down, even for a moment, can cost you everything. I’m sorry if I’m overbearing—I just can’t lose you. I can’t lose our son.”

YN’s expression softened further, the tension in her posture easing slightly as she stepped closer to him. She reached out, her hand resting against his chest, right over his heart. “You won’t lose us,” she said firmly, looking up at him with a gaze full of determination. “But you have to let us live, Azriel. We can’t keep hiding in the shadows like this. I need you to believe that we can handle this—together.”

Azriel closed his eyes, leaning into her touch as he absorbed her words. She was right, of course. YN had always been strong, far stronger than he sometimes gave her credit for. And Knox—he was still so small, but Azriel knew his son would grow up to be just as strong. They didn’t need him to shield them from the world; they needed him to stand beside them, to be their partner, not their protector.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, opening his eyes to meet hers. “I’ll try to do better. I promise.”

She smiled at him then, a small but genuine smile that made the tightness in his chest ease just a little. “That’s all I ask,” she said softly, her hand moving up to cup his cheek. “We’re in this together, Azriel. Always.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the simple act grounding him, reminding him of what truly mattered. “Always,” he echoed, his voice filled with a quiet resolve.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s presence, the tension between them slowly dissipating. Outside, the sun continued to rise, bathing the room in warmth and light, as if to remind them that there was still hope, still a future to be had, as long as they faced it together.

In the crib beside them, Knox let out a small whimper, his tiny wings fluttering as he stirred from his sleep. YN pulled back from Azriel with a soft laugh, her eyes sparkling with affection as she turned to their son. “Looks like someone’s awake,” she murmured, moving over to the crib to pick Knox up.

Azriel watched her, his heart swelling with love as she cradled their son in her arms. Knox blinked up at her, his small mouth forming a perfect little ‘O’ as he looked between his parents. Azriel stepped closer, wrapping an arm around YN’s waist as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Knox’s head.

“We’ll be okay,” YN said quietly, more to herself than to him, as she rocked Knox gently in her arms. But Azriel heard the conviction in her voice, the belief that they would find a way through this—together. And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe it too.

---

River House was alive with activity as the Inner Circle gathered in the spacious sitting room. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting warm pools of light across the room’s plush furniture. Cassian was sprawled in one of the armchairs, his wings half-draped over the sides, while Rhys sat opposite him, leaning casually against the backrest of a couch. Mor and Feyre were nearby, quietly sipping their tea, and Amren was perched on the window sill, her sharp eyes watching everyone with mild disinterest.

As usual, the meeting started casually, with updates on Velaris, news from the courts, and the usual banter. But something was different this morning, an undercurrent of curiosity running through the group. Azriel’s absence was becoming more noticeable, especially given his sudden declaration of taking a week off—a rare occurrence.

"So, does anyone else find it weird that Azriel's taking a week off?" Cassian said, breaking the silence. He shifted in his seat, his brow furrowed with a mix of concern and confusion. “I can’t remember the last time that happened. Not without a reason.”

Rhys’s violet eyes flickered with amusement, but there was a hint of curiosity as well. "It’s not like him," he admitted, his voice smooth. "Azriel rarely takes time for himself. He’s always working, always looking for the next mission or lead. But a whole week off? That’s new."

Mor nodded in agreement, her lips quirking in a small smile. “Maybe he finally realized he needs a break,” she said with a light laugh. “Even shadowsingers need to recharge once in a while.”

Feyre glanced at Rhys, her brow arched in thought. "He didn't seem like anything was wrong the last time I saw him. Do you think something’s going on that he’s not telling us?"

Cassian sat up straighter, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You know how secretive he can be. But a whole week off? Something doesn’t add up.”

"Maybe he met someone," Mor suggested, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “Maybe there’s a secret lover involved, and he’s just been keeping it from us.”

At that, Cassian snorted, his wings shifting behind him as he chuckled. "Azriel? Keeping a secret lover from us? That sounds about right, actually. He’s good at hiding things.”

Rhys tilted his head, a slight frown creasing his brow. “He’s been acting strange lately. Not just with the time off, but before that too. More secretive than usual. And those late-night disappearances…”

Feyre leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “Do you think he’s hiding something serious?”

Rhys let out a thoughtful hum, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of the couch. “Could be. Azriel’s not one to share things unless it’s absolutely necessary. If something’s bothering him, he’ll bury it deep.”

Mor crossed her arms, glancing between Rhys and Cassian. “Do you think it has to do with the place we went to in the Hewn City? The woman—YN—she seemed close to him. Could it be related?”

Rhys’s eyes darkened for a moment, as if recalling the encounter at the pleasure house. “Possibly. He did seem more… comfortable there than usual. And she did say something about going back after maternity leave. Perhaps Azriel’s more involved in her life than we thought.”

Cassian shifted, his expression turning more serious. "You think he's involved with her?"

"It’s possible," Rhys said slowly. "But Azriel’s careful. If he’s keeping something from us, it’s for a reason."

Amren, who had been silently observing the conversation, finally spoke, her voice dry and laced with boredom. “Whatever it is, he’ll tell you when he’s ready. No point in speculating about his private life.”

Mor glanced at Amren, then back at the others. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on things. If he’s tangled up in something, we should know. Especially if it affects us or the missions we’re planning.”

Rhys gave a slow nod, his gaze flicking toward the window as if he were already piecing things together in his mind. “Agreed. But we give him space. Azriel’s earned that much.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. “Yeah, but if he disappears again, I’m dragging him back here myself.”

The group shared a small laugh, but the lingering tension remained. Azriel’s absence weighed on them more than they were willing to admit, and the mystery of his sudden break gnawed at their collective curiosity.

As the conversation lulled, Rhys’s gaze turned distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He could sense there was more to this story than what met the eye. Something was going on with Azriel—something deeper than just taking time off.

But for now, they would wait. And watch.

---

YN walked into the pleasure home, the familiar scent of incense and low hum of conversation filling the air. She had grown accustomed to the atmosphere over the years—the darkened rooms, the hushed voices, the hidden glances exchanged between patrons and the workers. Tonight, though, something felt different. Her nerves were on edge, her mind still unsettled by the feeling that she was being watched the other day at the market.

As she adjusted her black silk dress, ensuring it clung to her in all the right places, she pushed those thoughts aside. She had work to do, and there was no room for distractions. She glanced around the room, scanning the faces of the patrons lounging in their seats, drinks in hand and their eyes on the stage where the night's entertainment had just begun.

And then she saw them.

At one of the booths near the back, sitting comfortably as if they belonged, were Rhysand and Cassian. But this time, they weren’t alone. Their partners, Nesta and Feyre, were with them. The sight of the group made YN pause for a split second, her breath catching in her throat as recognition hit her. It was them—she had felt their presence before. They were the ones who had been following her at the market just the day before.

She played it cool, forcing a neutral expression onto her face as she straightened her posture. Whatever they were doing here, she wasn’t going to let them know that she had figured it out. She was already too involved in the tangled mess of Azriel’s secrets, and the last thing she needed was to attract more attention from his friends. Especially Feyre and Nesta. If they even had the faintest idea about her connection to Azriel, things could go downhill fast.

With a calm smile plastered on her face, she made her way toward their table. Her heart raced beneath her composed exterior, but she kept her movements steady, her steps measured and graceful as she approached the group.

"Good evening," YN greeted them, her voice smooth and professional as she came to a stop by their table. "What can I get for you tonight?"

Rhysand, ever the picture of charm and elegance, offered her a polite smile. His violet eyes met hers briefly, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe suspicion. Cassian leaned back in his chair, his arm draped casually over Nesta’s shoulders, while Feyre, sitting next to Rhys, regarded YN with an air of quiet observation.

“We’ll start with a round of drinks,” Rhys said, his tone casual, but YN could feel the weight of his gaze on her, as if he were sizing her up. “Something strong.”

YN nodded, jotting down the order even though she didn’t need to. She had memorized the menu long ago. “I’ll be right back with that.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, her mind racing as she made her way to the bar. It was no coincidence that they were here again, especially after what happened at the market. Rhys and Cassian had come to the pleasure home with Azriel once before, and now this was their third visit in such a short time. It couldn’t be a casual night out—it had to be something more.

Harvey, her bartender friend, raised an eyebrow as she approached. "You okay?" he asked quietly, noticing the tension in her shoulders.

YN forced a smile, shaking her head slightly. "Fine. Just...unexpected company," she muttered as she handed him the drink order. Her mind was spinning with questions, but she knew better than to discuss anything in the open.

As Harvey prepared the drinks, YN leaned against the bar, trying to steady herself. She had to stay calm, keep up the act. If Rhysand and the others were here for information, she couldn’t afford to give anything away. Not about herself, not about Azriel. Not about Knox. They still had no idea about her and Azriel, and she intended to keep it that way.

After a few minutes, Harvey slid the tray of drinks toward her, and YN lifted it carefully, balancing it in her hands as she returned to the table. She felt their eyes on her as she approached, but she kept her expression neutral, her smile practiced and professional.

"Here you go," she said, setting the drinks down in front of them. She noticed how Feyre’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to place her.

"Thanks," Cassian said, his voice gruff but polite. Nesta glanced up at YN briefly before turning her attention back to her drink, uninterested in the small talk.

As YN set the last glass down in front of Rhys, she caught his gaze again. His expression was calm, unreadable, but she could sense the questions lurking beneath the surface. She had been in enough rooms with men like him to know when someone was trying to figure out a puzzle—and tonight, she was the puzzle.

Before anyone could say anything further, YN gave them a small nod and turned to leave, her pulse quickening as she walked away. She had to be careful now. Whatever game they were playing, she was already too deep in it. And with Azriel out on his week off, the last thing she needed was for his inner circle to find out about Knox—or their relationship.

As she walked back toward the bar, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. They were watching her, but she had survived worse. She just had to keep her head down, play her part, and hope that they wouldn’t dig too deep.

But the nagging thought wouldn’t leave her: Why were they here again? And what, exactly, were they hoping to find out?

YN stepped through the door of their small apartment, her body aching from the weight of the day. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, and her mind raced with endless thoughts—who had been spying on her, why the Inner Circle kept showing up, and what it all meant for her and Azriel. She had kept her cool at the pleasure house, but the constant pressure of pretending everything was normal while being watched was wearing her down.

The familiar warmth of home wrapped around her as she shut the door quietly behind her, but the tension in her body refused to ease. She dropped her bag on the floor, her gaze flicking to the couch where Azriel sat, barefoot and bare-chested, with only a pair of loose sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He was leaning back, a book resting in his hands, though the moment she entered, his golden-brown eyes were on her, sensing her frustration without needing to ask.

“Rough night?” Azriel asked softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. He closed the book and set it aside, his attention fully on her.

YN gave a small nod, too tired to speak. The weight of everything pressed down on her, making her feel like she could collapse right there in the doorway. Her shoulders slumped, and Azriel immediately got up, moving toward her with a fluid grace that belied the exhaustion she knew he carried too.

He reached for her gently, his hands sliding under her shirt, lifting it over her head in one smooth motion. The cool air hit her skin, but it wasn’t the chill that made her shiver. It was the way Azriel’s hands worked with such care, as though she were made of something fragile, even though he knew better than anyone that she wasn’t.

When he unclasped her bra and slid it off her shoulders, YN let out a long, shaky breath. Azriel’s presence was grounding, his hands firm yet tender as he guided her to the couch. He sat down first, pulling her with him until she was lying against his chest, her legs draped over his as she settled into his warmth. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was the only sound in the room for a moment, and YN could feel some of the tension in her body begin to melt away.

But she still felt overwhelmed—by the spying, by the uncertainty, by the weight of the past few days.

Azriel knew. He always did. His calloused hands moved to the scars on her back, the ridged lines that traced where her wings had been brutally clipped when she was only nine years old. It had been a trauma that never left her, not in all the years since. Even though she had healed, those scars still carried memories she couldn’t shake. And Azriel knew how much they haunted her.

His fingers brushed lightly over the scars, tracing the familiar pattern as he began to massage the tense muscles beneath. The pressure was just enough to ease the knots that had formed in her back, and YN couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped her lips. He always knew how to take the pain away—both the physical and the emotional.

"Talk to me," Azriel murmured, his voice a quiet invitation. "What happened?"

YN closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his body and the soothing motions of his hands carry her for a moment. “I think they’re watching me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I recognized Rhys and Cassian at the pleasure house tonight, and... they’ve been following me. I know it.”

Azriel’s hands paused briefly before continuing their gentle rhythm. He didn’t ask who “they” were—he didn’t need to. He had already suspected the Inner Circle’s involvement, though hearing it confirmed made his chest tighten.

“I’ll take care of it,” he promised quietly, his voice steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to worry about them.”

But that wasn’t the only thing gnawing at YN. There was more—the weight of being watched, the fear that their secret might be exposed. The fear that her past, her clipped wings, her life at the pleasure house, and everything she had built with Azriel and Knox would come crashing down.

“They don’t know about us, about Knox,” YN continued, her voice trembling slightly as she curled in closer to Azriel. “But if they keep following me... I’m scared they’ll find out.”

Azriel’s arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against his chest. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, a silent reassurance. “They won’t,” he murmured, his breath warm against her hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you or Knox. You’re both safe.”

YN buried her face against his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming the storm inside her. She believed him—she always did. Azriel had been her anchor, her protector, the one person who had stood by her when no one else would. But even with his promises, the weight of everything still felt like too much.

His hands continued to work at the knots in her back, his fingers gentle yet firm, easing the tension from her muscles. YN let out a shaky breath, feeling her body slowly relax under his touch. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink deeper into the safety of Azriel’s arms, the familiar scent of him wrapping around her like a cocoon.

For a few moments, it was just them—their shared silence, the unspoken bond between them. Azriel’s hands never stopped moving, soothing the aches and pains that had built up inside her. His presence was her sanctuary, the one place she felt truly at peace.

And for now, that was enough.

Let me know if you'd wish to be tagged! Comments and reblogs are really appreciated!

There's three more chapters left and I think I might make a sequel but not with the mmc you think it is.... But the drama unfolds in the next chapter

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Highway Heat

Summary: Your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and the trucker you flag down offers more than just roadside assistance.

A/N: Lord oh lord… I tried to be good i swear, i really tried to behave. The thing is my sweet beta reader @hautecouture02 requested a little roadside encounter one shot with Joel, specifically asking for FLUFF, and i swear on everything holy I tried my best to keep it PG… but sometimes things don’t go as I planned. So here, take this absolute filth of a one shot that’s little more than PWOP. ENJOY!!!!

Warnings: As previously stated, this is pretty much PWOP, Trucker!Joel i know nothing about trucks lol, maybe some dub!con at first but the internal dialogue shows hella consent, groping, fingering, a bit of praise and a bit of degradation, pet names like so many of them im not gonna list them all almost too many pet names if you believe in such a thing, grinding, oral male receiving, deep throating

Masterlist

You’re a good person—hell, a great person even. You give your spare change to homeless people, you donate to the puppy shelter every once in a while, you hold your friend’s hair back when they’re throwing up in the back of the club. You’re definitely not the type of person who deserves to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, sweating buckets despite wearing nothing but a spaghetti strap tank and the tiniest pair of shorts you own. This feels like some kind of cosmic punishment.

It is, undoubtedly, the worst possible time for your car to stop working. You’d been putting off the usual checkups on your car for months, knowing full well it was overdue for an oil change, a tire rotation—or whatever men who know their way around a toolbox always say. Your ex used to handle all of that for you, always acting like it was his job to make sure your car ran smoothly. He was that kind of guy who would go out of his way to make your life easier—didn’t mean he was above cheating though.

So now, you’re stuck in your geriatric Honda Civic, the AC busted and the engine refusing to start.

After a few minutes of trying to will it back to life, it’s clear you’re stranded.

You step out of the car, and the heat hits you like a goddamn slap to the face. The road’s deserted, no signs of life for miles, and of course, your phone has no signal. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. You glance down the road, hoping for a miracle, when you spot the rough outline of a truck—a big one, maybe a sixteen-wheeler—coming up in the distance.

Relief washes over you for about two seconds before your brain kicks in, running through every horror movie scenario. But it’s not like you’ve got a buffet of options, so you throw up your hand, waving the truck down as it rolls closer.

It’s a beat-up old thing, paint chipped and covered in dust, but it comes to a slow stop right behind your car. The door creaks open, and out steps a man.

He’s tall, broad, with a face lined with age and tan from long days under the sun. The net cap he wears lets a few of his longer dark curls peek out, the front pieces overpowered by graying hair. He sports a faded plaid shirt and jeans, a pair of well-worn boots kicking up dust as he steps toward you. His dark, intense eyes size you up like you’re part of the landscape he’s used to navigating.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” His voice is deep and gravelly, but the drawl is the star of the show, thick and sweet like honey.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your frustration in check. “Car broke down. Won’t start. No service either.”

He nods slowly, like this is exactly the kind of situation he expects to find out here. “Well, good thing I’m passin’ through.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes a little at that, but desperation makes you bite your tongue. “Think you could take a look?”

He stares at you for a moment, long enough that you wonder if he’s going to offer any help at all. But then he lets out a low sigh, scratches the back of his neck, and walks over to your car, popping the hood like it’s second nature.

For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of him tinkering under the hood, the occasional grunt or muttered curse as he checks things out. You stand there awkwardly, feeling the heat bearing down on you, watching as beads of sweat gather at the back of his neck.

Finally, he steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Shit’s runnin’ on fumes. When’s the last time you had it serviced?””

You shift, feeling stupid. “A while. My ex used to handle it, and, uh… I’ve been busy.”

He gives you a look, something between amusement and pity, before shaking his head. He leans against the car, arms crossed. “I can tow you to a shop in the next town, but it gon’ be a ride.”

You blink up at him, surprised at his offer. “You don’t mind?”

“Nah,” he says, with a shrug, “I’m headin’ that way anyway.”

He moves back to his truck, grabbing a few chains and a tow hitch from the back. Within minutes, he’s hooking up your beat-up Honda Civic to the rear of his truck, working with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times before.

“You sure this is safe?” you ask, watching him as he tightens the last chain.

“As safe as it’s gonna get,” he replies with a shrug, brushing the dust from his hands. “Ain’t no mechanic shop out here, so this’ll do ‘til we get to the next town.”

You hesitate, then eye him. “You’re not gonna, like, chop me up and throw me in a ditch, are you?”

He chuckles at that, a nice gravely sound. “If I was, don’t think I’d tell ya, sugar. But no, I ain’t in the business of chopping people up.”

You look at him for a bit longer before sighing. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

He turns, heading back to his truck, his broad back facing you and making it a hell of a lot harder to concentrate

“Name’s Joel, by the way,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder as he opens the passenger door for you.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say, stepping up into the truck’s cab, the cool air from his AC hitting you like a blessing. Maybe your luck hasn’t run out just yet.

You sink back into the seat as he climbs up on his side of the cab, letting the icy air wash over you. There’s something else prickling at your senses though—something that has nothing to do with the temperature. It’s him.

Joel’s glances are obvious, a little too long, lingering like he’s sizing you up. Normally, it’d make you roll your eyes, maybe even tell him off. Old guy like him eyeing you up is nothing you’re unfamiliar with. But today? With the way your body feels sticky and tired, and the way the breakup has left you all out of sorts… you’re almost enjoying it.

You’ve been craving attention and the shitty one night stands with guys from dating apps have done nothing to satiate that need. It’s been months since anyone has touched you and that rational part of your brain that would be yelling at you to be aware of the sleazy old trucker who just picked you off of the side of the road is sounding real quiet right now.

“So…” His voice pulls you from your thoughts as he shifts in his seat, resting one hand lazily on the wheel. “Where you headed?”

You hesitate, eyes on the road ahead. “Just… trying to get home.”

He hums, slow and deliberate. “Home, huh? Got anyone waitin’ on you there? Boyfriend?”

The word slices through you, sharper than you expected. You tighten your jaw, glancing out the window. “No. Not anymore.”

Joel makes a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “Well, ain’t that a shame. Pretty thing like you, all alone.”

You should hate the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker toward you like he’s just waiting for an opening. But instead, there’s a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, your pulse picking up in a way you’re not proud of. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs like it’ll somehow tamp down the growing tension in your body. He doesn’t miss it, his smirk growing a little wider.

“That line work on most girls?” you quip, trying to keep things light.

Joel chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “Depends on the girl. But you look a little… flustered.”

Your cheeks heat up, and it’s not just the sun this time. “I’m not flustered.”

“Sure about that, darlin’?”

You glare at the open road, biting your lip as you try to ignore the way his words are messing with your head—and your body. It’s been way too long since anyone’s looked at you like this. Really looked at you.

The silence stretches out as the truck rumbles along the deserted road. You try to focus on anything but the tension in the air and find it’s impossible. His presence feels inescapable, it fills the cab wrapping around you, pressing down on every nerve.

“You never told me,” Joel says after a while, breaking the quiet. “Where’s home?”

“Texas,” you say quietly, your voice a little steadier now. “But I’m not in any rush to get back.”

“Family trouble?” he asks, his eyes flicking toward you again.

“Something like that,” you mutter. “It’s complicated.”

He hums in response. “Don’t I know it.”

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs, catching Joel watching you out of the corner of his eye. His gaze lingers a little too long on your bare thighs, and there’s a flicker of something dark passing over his face, but he says nothing.

You want to ignore it—God, you should ignore it—especially since you’re stuck with him for a while longer. But the rising heat in your body and the quickening pulse beneath your skin make it hard to think straight, harder still to make good decisions.

So you bite.

“You gonna keep staring, or is this part of your charm routine?” You cock a brow, trying to ignore the way warmth crawls up your neck.

A slow smirk curls at his lips, but he doesn’t look away. If anything, he leans in closer, his hand resting just near your leg, making the air between you buzz. “You think I’m layin’ it on too thick?”

“Little bit,” you quip back, though your voice betrays you with how soft it comes out. You bite your lip, trying to stay sharp, but his eyes flick down to the movement, and the pulsing need low in your stomach tightens. “It’s not working, though.”

His smirk widens, like he’s enjoying this far too much. “Funny. Seems to me it’s workin’ just fine.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way your heart races when he shifts closer, his fingers brushing against your leg. The touch is light, almost casual, but it’s enough to send a shiver racing up your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

“You can roll your eyes all you want, doll. It don’t change the fact I can see what you need, clear as day,” he purrs, his voice dropping lower.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” you snap back, though your words lack the heat you want them to have.

“Little bit of attention.”

He reads you too well. It drives you insane. “I don’t need anything from you. Just get me where I need to go.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles from his chest. “That so? ’Cause the way you’ve been shiftin’ in that seat says otherwise.”

You bristle at his words, but the truth sticks like a thorn. There’s a reason you haven’t told him to stop, a reason you haven’t shut this down. You’re tired, frustrated, and the way his eyes keep grazing over you… you can’t stop wondering how easy it’d be to let him pull you under, to let him take all your worries away.

“You’re losing it, old man,” you shoot back, even though you know it’s a losing game. He sees right through you, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna make it easy.

“Am I?” he purrs, his hand sliding up to rest fully on your thigh. “So, you don’t want me touching you like this, darlin’?”

The way he says it—slow, deliberate, laced with that sweet, thick accent—it’s all innocence, even though everything about it screams otherwise. You know you’ll be hearing that “darlin’” in your head later, when you’re playing with yourself.

You smirk, giving him a little more rope. “I didn’t say that.”

He hums, eyes flicking between the road and your legs. “And I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t say a word if I moved my hand higher, would you?”

Your legs part just slightly, almost like an instinct. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But not to Joel.

“Look at you,” he drawls, a shit-eating smirk spreading across his lips. “Already makin’ it easier for me.”

You’re about to fire back, ready to keep this banter rolling, when his fingers slide higher. A soft sigh escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“You ready to stop actin’ up, or we still playin’ cat and mouse, pretty girl?” His eyes lock on yours, dark and unwavering.

Your pulse quickens at the challenge in his voice, your breath catching in your throat. His fingers are still on your thigh, warm and rough, and it’s messing with your head. You know you should stop this now, make him pull his hand back, but you’re not sure if that’s what you want.

“I’m not acting up,” you murmur, trying to hold on to some sense of control, even though his touch is making that damn near impossible.

His grin widens, like he’s got you exactly where he wants you. “Mhm, sure you ain’t.”

You glare at him, but it’s weak. Pathetic, really, and the worst part is he knows it. He knows how to get under your skin even though he has known you for half an hour, knows exactly what buttons to push to unravel you just enough to keep you hanging on.

“I mean it,” you snap, though your voice wavers. His hand shifts slightly on your thigh, fingers curling just enough to make your stomach twist into knots.

“I wanna believe you,” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that vibrates through you, all the way down to where you’re aching for him to touch you. He leans in a little more, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell that familiar scent of worn leather and something dark and intoxicating. “But you keep lettin’ me touch you. Kinda sends a different message, don’t you think?”

Your heart’s pounding in your chest, the steady rhythm of it loud in your ears. You don’t know how to answer, don’t know if you want to answer. Every rational thought in your head is telling you to stop, but your body isn’t listening.

Instead, you shift slightly, your leg pressing into his hand, just enough to encourage him to keep going. His eyes darken, and a slow, dangerous smile tugs at his lips.

“Thought so,” he mutters, and then his fingers start to move again, sliding higher, testing the boundaries you haven’t set.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the sigh that’s clawing its way up your throat, but it slips through anyway. He hears it, of course he does, and the satisfied gleam in his eyes makes your face flush with heat.

“You wanna tell me to stop, now’s your chance,” he murmurs, his voice soft but carrying an edge of challenge, like he knows damn well you’re not going to.

His gaze shifts between the road and you and it almost seems like every time those eyes are back on you they become darker.

You glance at him, your heart in your throat, and there’s that flicker of hesitation—you should say something, should stop this before it goes any further—but the way his fingers are brushing higher, dangerously close to the ache between your legs, makes it impossible to think straight.

So you just meet his gaze, and you don’t say a word.

His smirk grows, and his hand drifts even higher. “Good girl.” This time he fully gropes your thigh, groaning like he’s been waiting to unleash this. “You wanna take these off for me, sweetheart? Let me give you as much attention as you want.”

He must have some psychic hold on you because you follow his instructions with no hesitation this time. Your fingers eagerly unbotton your shorts and pull the zipper down, lifting your hips to shimmy them down.

He looks at you for a lot longe than he should taking into account he’s currently driving a beast of a vehicle. “Lord above… you’re a sight and a half, darlin’”

He goes back to massaging your thigh, making circles with his thick fingers, going each time higher. Once he reaches your panties he stops and just rests his hand there, right at the edge of where you want him most. His fingers teasingly brush the fabric, enough to make you gasp, but he doesn’t go any further.

“You’re gonna have to ask for it,” he rasps, his voice thick with something darker now. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”

His words are like a key turning in a lock, and your resistance crumbles. You can’t deny it anymore, not when his hand is right there, so close to what you need, your entire body burning up under his touch.

“Joel…” you whisper, your voice almost pleading now, barely more than a breath.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand pressing a little more firmly, his fingers tracing along the outline of your heat through the fabric. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

Your breath stutters, and your hips shift on their own, pressing into his hand. You’re barely hanging on, the tension between you two crackling like a live wire, but he’s still holding back, waiting for you to give in completely.

“Please…” you finally manage, the word spilling out before you can stop it. It’s humiliating and liberating all at once.

“Please what?”

You let out the shadow of a moan. “Please touch me.”

Joel’s hand slips under the fabric, his fingers finally finding your core, and the groan that escapes him sends a shockwave of heat straight to your core. “Good girl,” he breathes, his voice like gravel as his fingers start to move in slow, torturous circles.

Your head falls back against the seat, a whimper escaping your lips as he finally gives you what you’ve been craving. “Jesus, Joel…”

“Feels good, huh?” he rasps, his eyes flicking from the road to you, watching the way your body reacts to every touch, every motion of his hand. “Told you I know exactly what you need, baby.”

You’re melting under his touch, your body humming with the pressure of his fingers moving against you, his voice guiding you deeper into the haze of pleasure. You’re not even sure what’s more intoxicating—the way he’s touching you or the way he’s talking to you, that low, commanding tone unraveling you completely.

“That’s it, sweetness, grind on my fingers, make that little pussy feel good” Joel growls, having a harder time keeping his eyes on the road now.

“Fuck… that feels you good da-“ you stop yourself before you’re able to finish the word. Your ex didn’t like you calling him that, so you usually kept that particular kink under wraps, but something about Joel is making it surface back up.

He looks up at you, pupils blown out. “Say it… say wha you wanna say baby.”

You lose all restraint and moan loudly. “It feels so good, daddy.”

“That’s right, babygirl.” He moans “Daddy’s fingers make your pretty cunt fucking drip don’t they?”

His words send a wave of pleasure through your body, a mixture of shame and intense arousal surging in your chest. You’re too far gone to stop now, letting the haze of lust pull you under completely.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word slipping out like a confession. “So fucking wet.”

Joel’s fingers move faster, rough and skilled, coaxing you into a rhythm that has you arching your back against the seat. His other hand grips the wheel tight, knuckles white, and you can tell he’s barely hanging onto his self-control, but that only makes it hotter.

“Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ dream,” he growls, voice thick with desire. “Been wantin’ to ruin you since the minute you sat your pretty ass in this truck.”

The vulgarity, the way he talks to you—it should feel wrong, but instead, it’s like gasoline thrown on the fire already burning inside you. You grind down harder on his fingers, chasing the high he’s offering, the tension building fast in your core.

You glance over at him, his jaw tight, eyes darting between the road and you, and there’s something so filthy about the way he’s trying to keep it together while driving, the way his control is slipping. You want to push him, make him lose it completely.

“You’re losing it too,” you pant, breathless, pushing your hips into his hand. “Can’t even keep your eyes on the road, can you?”

His gaze snaps to yours, dark and predatory. “Careful. Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll pull this truck over.”

The threat in his voice makes you shiver, heat pooling low in your belly. You’re right on the edge, your body strung tight as a bow, every nerve lit up under his touch.

“Do it,” you challenge, voice breathless and wrecked.

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his hand gripping your thigh so hard it almost hurts. Without another word, he swerves the truck off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulls into a secluded spot off the highway.

Your heart is pounding, adrenaline mixing with the arousal as he throws the truck into park and turns to face you fully. The look in his eyes is feral, like he’s done holding back, and you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“Such a little attention whore, baby,” he growls, unbuckling his seatbelt with one hand, the other still teasing you between your legs. “I’m all yours now.”

In one swift motion, he pulls you onto his lap, your thighs straddling his hips, the weight of his hard length pressing against you through his jeans. He is big, a lot bigger than you expected and it makes your mouth water,almost like your body is showing you how badly you need him in a million and one ways.

His hands grip your hips possessively, eyes locking with yours as if daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate. You grind down on him, both of you letting out low moans at the contact. The friction sends sparks flying up your spine, and you can already tell this is about to be the kind of reckless, dirty, no-going-back encounter you’ve both been craving.

Joel’s hands slide up your back, fisting in your hair as he pulls you down to feast on your neck. His lips trail down, biting at the sensitive skin there, and it’s too much, too intense. You feel like you’re going to combust right here in his arms.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your skin, one hand slipping between you to push your panties aside, his fingers slipping through your slick heat again. “Filthy little slut, letting a stranger put his fingers inside you. Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name, pretty girl.”

Your hips buck against him, the promise of release so close you can taste it. “Fuck, Joel, please…”

“Try again. You know better.” his tone is firm and commanding, all the previous playfulness gone.

“Please daddy, let me come”

“That’s it,” he groans, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure, pushing you right to the edge. “Come for me, darlin’. Let me feel this tight little whole clench on my fingers.”

The way he says it with such authority, has you unraveling in his lap, your entire body trembling as you come hard against his hand. Your vision goes white, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

Joel watches you, his eyes hooded and hungry, soaking in every second of your release. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers until you’re shaking from the aftershocks, your body limp and boneless against him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied as he finally pulls his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you. “Tastes even better than I imagined.”

You’re still catching your breath, head buzzing from the intensity, but the way his hardness presses against you makes it clear you’re far from done. It’s not like those other times when finishing a guy felt like an obligation, when the effort barely felt worth it because they didn’t take the time to get you there first. But Joel? Joel made you come so hard you can’t help but want to return the favor. It’s not a chore—it’s something you crave.

“My turn,” you murmur, fingers already working at the button of his jeans.

His grip tightens on your hips, eyes darkening as he watches your hands move, but there’s a flicker of restraint. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. Can’t have this beast of a truck just parked in the middle of the road.”

You shift back onto your own seat, lifting your leg off his lap to give yourself the space you need. The desire to make him feel just as wrecked as you burns in your chest, so you lean down, your gaze steady on his as your fingers trail lower.

“You can drive,” you say, voice low, teasing. “I’m not stopping you.”

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his jaw ticking like he’s fighting with himself. For a second, you think he’s going to tell you to stop, but then he huffs out a breath, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “You’re trouble.”

You smile up at him as you feel him start the engine again, your hand slipping lower, teasing him through his jeans.

Joel’s breath hitches as your fingers brush against him, a low growl vibrating in his chest. His hand tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he tries to focus on the road, but you can tell he’s losing the battle.

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he tries to keep his cool, but you can see right through it. The way his body is responding to your touch, the way he’s barely holding it together, it only spurs you on.

You undo his jeans and pull the zipper down, feeling the heat radiating off him. His breath stutters, and his hand slips to grip the side of the seat, trying to ground himself as you free him from the confines of his jeans.

You wrap your hand around him, feeling how hard he is, how thick, and the groan that escapes his lips sends a thrill through you. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes flicking between the road and you, his control slipping more by the second.

You lower your head, your lips grazing his tip, and Joel’s entire body tenses. His hips buck up, instinctively searching for more, and you can’t help but smirk as you take him deeper into your mouth.

“Holy shit,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, his hand instinctively flying to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

But even as he says it, there’s no hint of him wanting you to stop. He keeps urging you on in slow, measured strokes. The tension in him is palpable, and you can feel the way his control is fraying with every flick of your tongue, every inch you take him deeper.

His breathing grows ragged, and he glances down at you, eyes dark with heat and disbelief. “You’re so pretty with a fat cock stuffed in your mouth baby, look at you ”

You hum around him, the vibration making his hips jerk again, and the low groan that rips from his throat sends a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through you. He’s unraveling, right in front of you, and you’re loving every second of it.

You pick up the pace, your hand working him in tandem with your mouth, and Joel’s growl turns guttural, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Right there, darlin’ girl, don’t stop…” he hisses, head tipping back slightly as his hips move in time with your rhythm, chasing the release that’s so damn close.

His eyes flick between the road and you, pupils blown, struggling to stay on course even as his focus is being torn apart by you.

“Fuck, baby… I’m not gonna last if you keep—” He cuts himself off with a harsh groan, his hips bucking again, muscles taut and trembling as he loses the last shred of his composure. He’s completely at your mercy now, and it’s making him wild, his control slipping fast.

You don’t let up, your hand dropping lower to play with his balls, and he’s right on the edge, teetering dangerously close. His breath comes in ragged bursts, and his body tightens under you, his hips jerking harder, more desperate now.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

Instead of answering you take him deeper down your throat, your nose burrowing in the dark curls at the base of his cock, his smell so musky and intoxicating it makes you dizzy.

“Shit, shit—” Joel’s voice is a strangled growl, and then you feel him pulse in your mouth, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he finally comes undone. He’s barely holding onto the wheel, the truck swerving just enough to make your heart race, but it’s clear he’s past caring. He spills hot and hard into your mouth, the sound of his release drowned out by the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

You keep going, milking him for every last bit, until he’s trembling beneath you, his breathing ragged and uneven. When you finally pull away, he’s still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough and wrecked. His eyes flick down to you, wild and wide, before darting back to the road. He lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Best hitchhiker I’ve ever picked up, that’s for damn sure.”

As if on cue, the truck finally pulls into the shop, the hum of the engine fading, the weight of what just happened still hung thick between you two. Joel cuts the ignition, his hand lingering on the key for a beat too long, like he wasn’t quite ready to step back into reality. He realizes his now soft cock is still out and starts to zip himself back up.

You try to gather yourself, smoothing your clothes and brushing a hand through your hair as if it’d erase everything that had gone down on that highway. You can tell it’s gonna stick with you for a good while longer though.

Joel clears his throat, glancing over at you with a look that was somehow both satisfied and conflicted. "Well, we’re here," he mutters, but his hand was already fishing in his back pocket for something. "Here." He hands you a crumpled business card, his name scrawled across it with a number underneath. "In case you run into any more car trouble or, y'know... anything else."

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he knows damn well this had nothing to do with the rugged old thing and everything to do with the heat still simmering between you. You take the card, trying to hide the smirk tugging at your lips.

"Thanks," you reply, pocketing it casually, though the way your heart raced gave you away. "For… you know, all of it."

He just gives you that signature look of his—half-smirk, half-smolder—and with that, you slide out of the truck, legs still feeling like jelly as you walked away. You didn't even need to turn around to know his eyes were glued to your retreating figure.