#just gotta slowly build him... >3>

[thegoldencourtyard]

When you're a South Park and (somewhat) a hoyoverse fan, and all you hear is Mysterion in Moze's voice because of how the two try to sound very edgy

[ariestrxsh]

olderbrothersbsf!matt x innocent!reader

જ⁀➴ ♡ content warning: smut, innocence corruption, sneaking around, praise, oral (m! & f!receiving), temperature play, pool sex, small age gap (both characters are adults), forbidden love

જ⁀➴ ♡ summary: your protective older brother has always warned you to stay away from his best friend, matt sturniolo but after losing your virginity to him, you're hooked.

dividers by @/roseraris

Young God

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

Your brother had been home from college for a few days now, and your parents had taken him into the city for a fancy lunch to celebrate graduating another year. You'd opted out because all you wanted was a nice, quiet, and relaxing day spent by the inground pool in your backyard.

You laid out a bright yellow towel beside the crystal blue body of water that you'd finally deemed warm enough to swim in. You kneeled by the poolside and in one hand, you held a creamsicle that was slowly being melted by the afternoon sun, and with the other, you delicately ran your fingers across the surface of the water.

The cold feeling of the liquid on your warm skin was rejuvenating and refreshing. You could smell the chlorine and freshly cut grass that drifted through the summer air. You laid on your side, propping yourself up with your elbow, enjoying the complementary combination of the slight, cool breeze and hot, sunny weather.

Behind you, the sound of the back gate slowly creaking open alerted you. You turned your head in the direction of the noise, and there stood Matt Sturniolo, your older brother's childhood best friend, your biggest crush as a little girl, and the man you'd given your virginity to just a few nights prior.

Your stomach fluttered, and your heart raced as the object of your affection made his way towards you, shirtless and in nothing but swim trunks.

"Hey, sweet thing. Is your brother home?" He asked you, watching the way you made your pink treat disappear behind your lips. You shook your head no. "He's out with my parents. I don't think they'll be home for another hour or so."

A sly smile peeked through Matt's expression as he realized what that meant. "Damn," he said, faking his disappointment and taking his beach towel that was thrown over his muscular shoulder and switching it to the opposite one. "Well, it looks like you and I had the same idea. Mind if I join you?"

"No, I don't mind at all," you responded, studying his slim build. "What kind of popsicle you got there?" He wondered, sitting next to you and watching the way you sucked on the cold dessert. "It's a strawberry creamsicle," you replied, blushing.

"You look so pretty with it in your mouth," he complimented you, and you responded with a timid giggle. His eyes grazed over your body, and how cute you looked in your black and white-striped bikini. "Look at you. You could be a swimsuit model," he flirted, running the tips of his fingers along the length of your thighs. You rolled your eyes and swooned.

"Have you put on your sunscreen yet, sweet thing?" He motioned towards the unopened bottle beside you. You shook your head. "Not yet. I have to wait til I'm done with this." You stuck out your tongue and licked a long stripe up your fruit-flavored treat.

Just then, some of the ice cream melted from your popsicle stick, landing on your chest, and you jumped at the cold feeling. "Let me help you with that," Matt cooed, and without missing a beat, he leaned in and licked it off the top of your breast that poked out of your bikini top with his blue eyes locked on yours. You softly hummed and squeezed your thighs together in response.

"Why don't I get your back for you, hmm? Gotta protect that pretty skin," Matt offered, picking up the suntan lotion. He applied a bit of the initially cold-feeling sunscreen to your shoulders, massaging it into your warm flesh.

He rubbed your back with his strong hands, exerting more pressure as you began to relax under his caress. He listened to the sounds you made while you sucked on your strawberry creamsicle, his cock stirring in his shorts.

After he had worked the lotion into the skin of your shoulders, he asked you to lay on your stomach, and he started to spread the lotion on the back of your calves and the back of your thighs while you propped yourself up onto your elbows.

He squirted a bit of suntan lotion onto your perfectly round ass, and started thoroughly massaging it into the fleshy part of your bottom. You grew wet under the touch of Matt's large hands.

He spent a suspicious amount of time squeezing it and groping it, smirking to himself. He even gave you a light swat on the ass, and you blushed and timidly laughed before he asked you to turn over again.

Matt intently watched you run your tongue along your sugary dessert while he slathered sunscreen onto your chest and your stomach. "Why do you like watching me lick ice cream so much?" You naively inquired. "Maybe I'll show you once you're all done with it," he teased you. You playfully glared at him for not letting you in on the secret.

Without warning, Matt's fingers slipped into your bikini top, and he started tweaking your nipples, causing them to harden at the sensation. You gasped. "Matt, what are you doing? I'm not gonna get any sunlight there!" You giggled as you peered up at him, lapping up your melting dessert.

"That's only if this top stays on the whole time we're out here," Matt raised an eyebrow at you and his lips curled into a flirtatious smile that indicated that he was up to no good. You let out a moan as he tenderly grabbed a handful of each supple breast.

Lust twinkled in his blue eyes as he started to jiggle them in his grasp, which made your cheeks rosey pink with embarrassment. "Don't be shy, sweetheart. They're so beautiful," Matt's voice was laced with sensuality.

He moved his hands down your stomach, your waist, and your hips. He slowly pushed your legs apart, and he started oiling up your thighs. A smug expression played in the corner of his mouth as he inched closer to your special place. "Matt! I'm definitely not going to be getting any sunlight there!" You lightheartedly giggled as he slipped his finger beneath the fabric of your swimsuit bottoms.

"Oh, I know, sweet thing, but you can never be too careful. Plus, I like the way you sound when I touch you right here," he said, tenderly rubbing your clit in circles. You immediately felt a faint whimper pass through your lips, and you stuck your creamsicle back into your mouth, sucking on it.

"That's it. Keep making those pretty sounds for me," Matt hummed, a smug smirk playfully crawling into his expression while he continued his movements. He started slowly taking off your bikini bottoms, and you lifted your hip points to help him remove them more easily.

You finished the rest of your ice cream, licking the stick clean and holding eye contact with Matt as he slipped your bottoms down your thighs and tossed them to the side. He reached behind your back and untied your swimsuit top and started removing the fabric from your body.

He spread open your legs once again, revealing your glistening folds and causing your shy nature to surface along with a flushed expression. There you were, tits out and pussy on display in your backyard while Matt ran his fingers along your slit, teasing you and making you even more wet.

You shivered as the summer breeze passed over your wet cunt, creating a delightful sensation. He took the tip of his pointer finger and started tapping rhythmically on your sensitive bud, causing you to jerk beneath his commanding touch. "Oh, Matt," you gasped.

"Good girl," he hummed in response as he leaned down and planted a kiss between your legs. Another moan escaped your pink lips as his tongue gently caressed your clit, circling it and teasing you. His blue eyes lingered on yours while he continued this motion with his licks, drawing closer to all your nerve endings.

When he was right on your most sensitive spot, he closed his lips down around it and started tenderly suckling. You threw your head back and let out a delighted noise while his tongue danced along your folds, lapping up your wetness.

"You know, I've got a popsicle for you to suck on," Matt glanced up at you with his charming smirk. You nodded at him wide-eyed with your lower lip pinned between your canine teeth.

"Why don't you hop in the pool, sweetheart?" Matt suggested, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You went to reach for your bathing bottoms, but Matt swatted your hand away. "Ah, ah, ah," he shook his head. "Your bathing suit stays off."

"But Matt, I'm naked," you giggled in a shy voice. "Good. I like you that way," he chuckled in response, reaching up and gently groping your breasts again. His touch was strong and demanding, but there was a softness to it and a tenderness in his tone as he spoke. His eyes danced across your exposed body as you inched towards the pool, and you let out a shrill sound as you slowly submerged yourself in the cold water.

Matt's swim shorts fell around his ankles, and he stepped out of them, one foot at a time, and your gaze immediately fixated on the rod between his legs. You couldn't believe that something so big had been inside of you a few nights prior. His protruding tip was glossy with a clear fluid, and his veins decorated his shaft so beautifully.

You didn't mean to be rude, but you couldn't stop staring. Even as Matt sat at the edge of the pool, immersing only the bottom half of his legs, you couldn't pull your eyes off his pretty dick. He wrapped his fingers around it and started slowly stroking it in front of you.

"Come have a taste," he motioned for you to come here with his free hand. You nodded and made your way back over to the edge of the pool. Your stare flickered between his eyes and his aggravated tip. "Open up, sweet thing," he purred, guiding his cock towards your mouth and delicately grabbing onto the back of your head. You slightly parted your lips for him.

"You're gonna have to open a little wider for me," he cooed, chuckling at how cute you were. You obediently listened, parting them further. He burrowed his tip into your mouth, which was still cold from your dessert earlier, and he emitted a guttural moan at the way the temperature change elevated the sensation.

"That's it. Be a good girl and suck on it just like you did with your popsicle, hmm?" He encouraged you, giving you direction and showing you how he liked it. You hollowed out your cheeks and slowly bobbed your head up and down, lightly gagging as the head grazed the back of your throat.

Matt peered down at you with a loving, lustful stare. Your soft, cold tongue slithered up and down the backside of his length, caressing his veins and causing his dick to twitch against your lips every time you came back up and stimulated his tip.

"Eyes on me, baby," Matt whispered, petting your cheek with his thumb and grunting as you swirled your tongue around his nerve-endings. You couldn't get enough of the way Matt looked at you while you gave him head, almost as if the feeling of your mouth was saving his life.

He licked his lips and nodded at you with his eyes glazed over with pleasure as you continued to suck on it for him. "Good girl. Don't stop. You're gonna make me finish all over that pretty tongue of yours," Matt moaned, thoroughly examining the way you serviced him in the most intimate fashion.

His lovely words and the tone of voice he used when he spoke them made your stomach drop. He delighted in the image of you peering up at him with your innocent eyes and his dick buried behind your pink lips.

"That's it, sweet thing. Be a good girl and swallow it all for me," Matt encouraged you with his brows knitted together in an almost concerned expression. His blue eyes were filled with seduction and temptation, and he licked his lips again before letting out another sinful moan. His cock began to twitch between your lips, and he held you in place while he loaded your mouth with his thick, milky seed.

"Oh, yes. What a good girl you are," Matt gave you his most charming smile as the muscles in his stomach spasmed, painting your tongue with several spurts of his cum and nearly filling your mouth faster than you could gulp it down. It tasted bitter, but you did as you were told, making sure not to let a single drop go to waste.

"That was perfect," Matt whispered breathlessly as he caressed your face and ran his fingers through your hair. "That made me so wet between my legs," you admitted to Matt. "I guess you like sucking cock, hmm? You took such good care of it," He cooed, giving you his bedroom eyes. You nibbled on your lip and nodded up at him.

"Now, I gotta take care of my girl," he replied, dipping into the pool along with you, making a bit of a splash in the water. He reveled in the cold feeling against his warm flesh. He grabbed you by your waist and picked you up, and you squealed at the way he handled you.

He directed his still-hard rod towards your hole, sinking it in and listening to your whimper at the sensation of being stretched out again. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he pushed it in deeper. You were still sore from having lost your virginity to him a few nights before, and your walls fluttered around his sensitive cock. You whined in pain.

"Sh, sh, sh. It's going to be alright. I'm gonna make my girl feel so good," Matt hushed you, looking into your eyes and brushing his thumb across your flushed cheek once more. He went in for the kiss, passionately locking lips with you while your naked bodies were pressed up against each other in the water.

He slowly thrust into you, causing you to moan into his mouth, your lips vibrating against his while he held you in his strong arms, bouncing you up and down on his rod. Matt's tongue politely begged for entrance as he deeply kissed you.

The water around the two of you rippled out at the movements you made. You started to relax as the sensation transformed to pure ecstacy in the matter of a few strokes. He listened as your stifled whines turned into cries of delight.

"Good girl. You take it so well," Matt grunted, speeding up the pace and moving his lips down to your chest. He tenderly took your tit into his mouth and started licking and teasing.

"Oh," you muttered, throwing your head back. He hummed against your breast while his tongue flickered over your sensitive nipple. He suckled on it just like he had with your clit earlier while he drove his hips forward, stimulating that special place deep in your core.

His mouth moved back up, and he started kissing up your neck, nipping and biting at it while pulling you close again. You softly whimpered in his ear while he explored your erogenous zones with his lips.

Your arms were wrapped around the back of his neck, your fingernails lightly digging into his back as you tightly gripped his waist with your legs. "That's it, sweet thing. Take it," he groaned, savoring the feeling of your warm, wet pussy squeezing around his hungry cock while your bodies moved in tandem, giving and accepting one another in a primal dance.

Your brother had always warned you about Matt's perverse nature and his way with words, the way he could lull any girl he wanted into his arms and into his sheets, but you saw a different side of him. You saw his desire to make you feel safe, the appreciation he felt towards your body, and the way he prioritized your pleasure.

You were both on the verge of greatness, nearing your shared orgasm while you chanted each other's names. Before you knew it, your body was going limp as you steadily clenched around Matt's throbbing dick. The two of you finished together, and he filled you with his seed once again.

You'd been waiting for that feeling again, dreaming about it, yearning for it. You loved how easy it was for Matt to get you off, and your climaxes were so much more intense with him than they were on your own. You couldn't get enough of him.

The two of you were staring into each other's eyes, and your legs were still wrapped around Matt's waist when you heard a car door shut. You and Matt scurried out of the water, throwing your bathing suits back on. Matt was helping you tie the strings of your top back together when your brother wandered through the gate.

"Matt? What are you doing here? I told you I was going out to lunch with my parents," your brother said, clenching his jaw and squeezing his hand together in a fist. "I know. Your sister invited me to swim with her," Matt said, glancing over at you, and you blushed.

"What were you doing when I walked through that gate, huh?" Your brother raised his voice a bit. "I was just helping her fix her top. It came undone in the pool," Matt lied. "Dude, you're sick. Stay away from my sister when I'm not home," your brother said, baring his teeth and flaring his nostrils.

"Dude. Chill. Her top came untied when we were splashing each other, and I covered my eyes until she put it back on. She just wanted me to double knot it for her. That's all," Matt said, holding his hands up in a defensive position, his heart beating out of his chest.

"He's telling the truth," you nodded, Matt's cum still slowly dripping out of your pussy and into your bikini bottoms. Your brother's eyes glanced between you and Matt before he relaxed his shoulders and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry. I had a few beers with lunch. I just saw the two of you and assumed," your brother chuckled. The tension in the air was gone just like that.

"It's cool, dude. I get it. Come on. Let's go take some of that aggression out on those damn zombies," Matt laughed, playfully slugging your brother in the arm, and the two boys walked off together to go play video games.

Right before Matt disappeared from view, he looked back at you for a moment and winked, letting you know how much he was enjoying your little collective secret.

part four here ❣️

taglist: @thepubeburgler @realqueenofpepsi @mattsredgaphoodie @purpledreamertyphoon @moosegirl96 @idrk2292 @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @jaysturniolo @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003 @sigmarizzler1

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Five

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, emetophobia warning, domestic fluff.

Notes — We're closing out the 2023 season!! Double update for the day!

2023 (Abu Dhabi)

The filming studio was chaos. Bright lights, Nerf guns, a beanbag chair someone had exploded accidentally, and Max F was in the corner trying to tape a foam sword back together.

Lando stood off to the side, hoodie hood up, sipping a smoothie and pretending to review a script while actually just taking a breather from the all-day mess.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He fished it out lazily, thumbed it open.

iMessage — 12:03pm

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

My period is 3 weeks late.

—

He stared.

Then blinked. Read the words again.

And stood there frozen in the middle of the mess, smoothie halfway to his mouth.

“…What the f—”

“Bro, you good?” Aarav called from across the room, eyebrow raised.

Lando didn’t answer. He was busy rereading the message for a third time. Then a fourth. Slowly lowering the smoothie.

Missed period.

3 weeks.

Missed period for 3 weeks.

Period 3 weeks missed.

He let out a stunned, breathy laugh. “Oh fucking hell. Of course she’d just message me about it like it’s no big deal. Of course she did.”

The rest of the guys were still messing around in the background, arguing about whether they could build a kart ramp out of beanbags, and Lando just… walked backwards into a couch and sat down before his legs gave up on him.

Well, clearly she wasn’t freaking out. So that meant he wasn’t supposed to freak out. Cool. No problem. Cool, cool, super cool.

Except, he ran a hand through his hair. It was Amelia. If she was freaking out, she still probably wouldn’t say it. She’d just power through it all and not mention anything had even happened and then be like, “Oh yeah, by the way, our kid is three now.”

He shook his head.

iMessage — 12:05pm

Lando (Husband)

Ok. I’m not freaking out. Kind of want to throw up a bit tho. Love u x

He stared at the screen. Chewed the side of his thumb. Sent another.

Lando (Husband)

Did u like… pee on a stick yet????

Also should i come home. Or stay and keep filming the stupid cart bit. Idk what to do bby xxxx

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

No, I have not peed on a stick. No, you do not need to come home. Finish filming. I will just see you when you come home x

—

He barely had time to process it before Max shouted, “Lando! You’re up!”

Lando slowly stood, still blinking, feeling kind of like he was buffering in real time.

“Mate, you look like you just saw a ghost,” Max added. “You alright, bro?”

Lando just looked at him, dazed. “No. I think I’m gonna be someone’s dad.”

Max’s eyes went fucking massive. “Woah, woah. Hold on. What—”

“Later. Can’t explain. Gotta pretend to joust on a kids scooter first.”

And off he went, hoodie flapping, brain somewhere over the Alps, while back in Monaco, his wife was casually engineering a race car and possibly incubating a human life like it was no big deal.

—

Amelia chewed on her bottom lip as she pulled up Pietra’s contact.

The screen blinked to life and there she was, chin propped on her hand, eating a bowl of cereal. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a lopsided bun, and she had one AirPod in, the other probably misplaced somewhere nearby. Her face lit up when she saw Amelia.

“Hello, gorgeous—wait, are you okay?" She asked, narrowing her eyes. “What’s wrong? You look off.”

Amelia didn’t say hello. She just held up her phone so the camera framed her blank expression and said, deadpan, “I am having déjà vu.”

Pietra blinked. Then squinted harder. “Wait… about what?”

“This call.” She said. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Pietra blinked again, cereal halfway to her mouth. “Você tá brincando.”

“I would never joke about this kind of thing.” Amelia said.

“Meu Deus.” Pietra gasped, dropping her spoon into the bowl with a dramatic clatter. “How? I mean—well, how is obvious, but—how do you know?”

Amelia turned her phone around, flashed her calendar at the screen. One day highlighted in red. Three weeks past due. “Calendar told on me.”

Pietra’s eyebrows shot up. “Three weeks? Amelia!”

Amelia sighed. “I know. But I’ve been so preoccupied with Vegas prep, travel, lobby meltdowns.”

“Oh my god.” Pietra was practically whispering now. “But… how likely is it?”

“Very. We haven’t been, like, trying,” Amelia said, voice clipped, efficient. “But we also haven’t been not trying. No protection for the last… few months. Ish.”

Pietra dragged her hand down her face. “Ameliaaaa. You can’t just drop a possible baby on me while I’m eating cornflakes!”

“I can and did.” Amelia adjusted the camera so it faced the ceiling, then sat cross-legged on the couch, phone balanced on her chest. This was their usual routine. She could write strategy notes with Pietra on FaceTime, no problem. Sometimes Pietra filled the air with stories, or whatever drama was happening in one of her many group chats. Sometimes she was just quiet, scrolling TikTok beside her. It was easy. Safe.

“Have you taken a test yet?” Pietra asked, after a beat.

“No.” Amelia’s voice was flat. “I don’t want to look at a little window. The little window makes things real.”

Pietra groaned. “It’s the only way to know!”

“I don’t want to know yet,” Amelia pointed out.

“I don’t trust you not to emotionally suppress this entire event and pretend it never happened.”

“Unfortunately not possible with this,” Amelia returned.

Pietra reached for the cereal again, shaking her head. “Have you told Lando?”

“I texted him. He’s in London filming Quadrant stuff, obviously. He freaked out a bit but, like, he was fine I think.”

Pietra cackled. “What did you even say?”

Amelia lifted her phone and scrolled briefly. “‘My period is three weeks late.’”

“Oh my god,” Pietra said. “You’ve probably given him a heart attack.”

“I’m nothing if not efficient.”

“He’s probably already told my Max, then. Are you telling anyone else?”

“No,” Amelia said, immediately and firmly. “I haven’t even processed it yet. And it might not even be something to process. It’d be like… trying to run a live feed before the camera boots.”

“Got it.” Pietra nodded. “Just us, then.”

“Just us,” Amelia echoed. She returned her focus to the spreadsheet open on her laptop. Sector delta charts glowed on the screen, comfortingly quantifiable.

Pietra softened. “But like—how are you?”

“I’m fine.” Amelia blinked slowly, as if running an internal diagnostic. “Not panicked. Not excited. Just... fine. Although thinking about it, I have been feeling nauseous a lot more frequently lately. I just kept putting it down to nerves you know?”

“Yes, I know. It’s been a long few weeks.” Pietra agreed. Eventually, she asked, “So. Plan?”

Amelia shrugged. “Go to the bakery and the pharmacy. Buy a bunch of pastries and three pregnancy tests.”

“And then?”

“And then I’m waiting for Lando. I’m not testing until he’s back.”

Pietra smiled, biting back something fond. “Of course not.”

They hung up not long after.

Amelia finished annotating a slide for Oscar’s sector exits in medium-speed corners, then shut her laptop with a soft click. She stood, pulled on one of Lando’s oversized hoodies, and grabbed her bag.

As she stepped out into the sunshine, she ran through her mental checklist:

Bakery

Pharmacy

Groceries

Don’t forget oat milk

Do not freak out

Business as usual.

—

The pharmacy was quiet, the sort of quiet that made every footstep sound louder than it should. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, and faint French pop music played from an old radio behind the counter.

Amelia moved with purpose, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over her hands, the corners of her to-do list folded neatly in her pocket. She headed straight for the aisle where the pregnancy tests were shelved, eyes flicking over the boxes clinically. Brands didn’t matter. She just picked three, different ones, out of mild uncertainty more than logic, and turned on her heel toward the checkout.

Behind the counter sat Madame Duval, a tiny, silver-haired woman with thick glasses, a warm smile, and a knit cardigan that didn’t match her blouse but somehow made her look even more maternal.

“Bonjour, Amelia,” she said, her voice like soft wool. “C’est bon de vous voir.”

Amelia blinked. “Hi.”

She placed the boxes down without flinching. Madame Duval looked down, eyebrows twitching faintly. Then she smiled again, smaller this time. “Ah. I see.”

Amelia didn’t say anything. Just offered a shrug and a half-nod. She wasn’t embarrassed, exactly. It just felt… complicated.

“Would you like a bag?” Madame Duval asked gently. “One that is not see-through?”

“Yes please.”

She packed the boxes neatly, moving with the patience of someone who had known Amelia since she had first moved to Monaco. The first time she had come in for antihistamines, she’d asked in English and apologised for not speaking very clear French. Madame Duval had tutted at her gently and waved it off — “You’re young. You learn.”

She hadn’t expected Amelia to remember all of their conversations. But Amelia did. Down to which shelf the chamomile tea had been on that one rainy day when she came in, red-eyed and overstimulated, asking for something that “made bodies quiet.”

Now, only a couple of years later, the girl she’d watched grow into a woman, all sharp focus and clinical precision, stood with three pregnancy tests in her hand and a face like a still pond. Flat on the surface. Rippling just underneath.

Madame Duval placed a single wrapped chocolate on top of the box in the bag. The fancy kind they kept near the till. “For after. Whatever the result.”

Amelia blinked. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t argue,” Madame Duval said simply. “I know you very well, Amelia. You will enjoy your sweet treat.”

She accepted the bag and nodded, a single sharp dip of her head. “Merci.”

Madame Duval smiled again, knowing, warm. “Bonne chance, ma fille.”

Amelia didn’t translate the words in her head. She didn’t need to. They sank into her like the warmth of a blanket after a cold morning walk.

She left the pharmacy with the bag looped tightly around her wrist and walked the short distance back up the hill toward the apartment. The sea was visible between buildings, a thin slice of blue horizon. Everything smelled faintly of croissants and sunshine and exhaust fumes.

She checked her mental list:

Got the tests.

Got the pastries.

Got the groceries.

Back home, she set the bag down on the kitchen counter and grabbed her laptop.

The tests could wait until Lando was back.

For now, it was just another variable. Logged.

Pending analysis.

—

The door clicked softly behind Lando as he stepped into their Monaco apartment, duffle bag forgotten somewhere between the entrance and the bedroom.

The light was low, just the soft stretch of sunrise brushing over the walls, and Amelia was curled up on their bed in one of his hoodies, half-asleep, laptop still warm next to her leg.

She opened one eye when he crouched beside her. “Hi,” she murmured, voice heavy with sleep.

He didn’t answer right away. Just tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and held up a small paper bag like he’d just won a prize. “Get up, baby,” he said, gently.

Amelia blinked. “Seriously?”

He kissed her temple. “Come on. I need to know if my wife is growing a person.”

She groaned, dragging her hand over her face — but didn’t argue. Not really. She let him pull her upright with a sleepy grumble, let him tug her by the hand toward the bathroom, let him press the test into her hand.

They paused there for a second. Fingers brushing. Her gaze flicked up to meet his.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low now, a little more cautious.

“I’m fine,” she said. Then, with a characteristic deadpan mutter, “I’m tired.”

Lando gave her that crooked little grin, the one that always cracked something open in her. “Right. Go pee on it.”

She rolled her eyes and shut the door.

He sat cross-legged outside, back against the wall. Same way he had the first time she’d let him into her quieter corners; back when they were barely even dating and she couldn’t handle knocks on doors, loud voices, or sudden touches. Back when he learned to ask first and sit with her in the silence.

He waited now, quiet, patient, fingers tapping his knee.

The door creaked open.

She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there holding the test, staring at it.

Lando scrambled to his feet. “Amelia?”

She looked up at him. “It’s positive,” she said, voice soft. Like she wasn’t sure the words could be able to come out of her mouth properly.

Silence fell between them — not tense, not panicked. Just heavy.

She looked back down at the test. Then back at him. Her expression was unreadable for a second, and then… it cracked. Not big. Not loud. Just a subtle unraveling. A tremble in her mouth. Her eyes too bright, but dry.

“I thought I’d feel more in control,” she said quietly. “Like it would just slot into the system. Checklist. Contingency. Risk management.” She held up the test, eyes never leaving it. “But it’s not like that. It’s not a flowchart. It’s not a decision tree. It’s just… me. And you. And this. And I can’t logic my way through it.”

Lando took a slow step forward, voice hushed. “Is it a bad feeling?”

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “It’s just… big.”

And then it happened — not a meltdown, not a scene, just her body folding into his with no warning. A silent collapse.

Hands clinging to the front of his hoodie, face buried against his chest, a single shuddering breath breaking out of her like she’d been holding it in for hours. No sobbing. No hysteria. Just quiet overwhelm — the kind that sneaks up and knocks the wind out of you.

Lando wrapped his arms around her instantly, no hesitation.

“Whoa, hey,” he murmured, steady as ever, his hand in her hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, love. You’re okay. We’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

She didn’t answer, just breathed — deep and shaky. Her fingers still clutched the test like a lifeline. Her knuckles were white.

“I’m scared,” she said after a long pause. The words were barely there. “What if I mess it up? What if I do something wrong? What if I’m not good enough to do this?”

Lando pulled back, just enough to look at her. His hands stayed on her waist, grounding her. “Hey,” he said gently, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Don’t do that. Don’t start doubting yourself now.”

Her eyes flicked away. “I’m not soft. I’m not warm. I don’t… glow. I forget social niceties, I spiral over things like flight plans and tyre temps and socks that don’t feel right. That’s not the kind of person who’s supposed to—” She swallowed. “I don’t know if I’m made for this.”

“Baby. You’re made for anything,” he said, firm now. “You’re made for me. And if our baby ends up anything like you, blunt, brilliant, weird in the best possible way, they’re going to be so lucky. And so am I.”

She let out a sound that was halfway between a breath and a laugh. Her shoulders sagged just a little. “We don’t even know if I’m actually pregnant yet,” she muttered.

He glanced down at the test still in her hand. “Kinda looks like we do.”

Another breath.

She let him take the test and set it gently on the counter, his touch reverent, like it was something fragile and sacred. Then, without a word, he slid his hand into hers and led her back into the bedroom.

She didn’t resist. Didn’t speak. Just let herself be tugged along like driftwood in a current.

Lando climbed into bed first and pulled her down with him, settling them in the tangle of covers she’d only half-kicked off earlier. His arms came around her automatically, looping over her waist and up across her back. He tucked her in close, chin resting against the top of her head, one leg hooked loosely over hers.

Wrapped around her like a blanket. Safe. Heavy in the best way.

They lay like that for a long time. Breathing in sync. No words needed.

Eventually, Amelia spoke. Her voice was quiet — raw around the edges, like she'd surprised even herself with the crack earlier. “I didn’t think I’d cry,” she murmured.

Lando smiled, lips brushing her temple. “I’m glad you did.”

She blinked against his hoodie. “Why?”

He huffed a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. “Because it made it less pathetic that I was crying for a second too.”

Her head tipped back just enough to look up at him. “You were crying?”

“Only a little bit,” he said, mock-defensive. “Like, blinked-a-lot-and-hoped-you-wouldn’t-notice crying. I’m British. I’m subtle.”

“You’re not subtle,” she said flatly.

“No,” he agreed, grin tugging at his mouth. “But I am dramatic, and I’ve been alone for two days imagining every possible outcome and Googling ‘is surprise pregnancy good news if you’re in love and mostly financially stable.’”

Amelia blinked slowly. “You Googled that exact phrase?”

“Yes.”

She snorted. A small, involuntary noise that made his heart squeeze. “What did it say?”

“That the internet is deeply unhelpful,” he said. “And Reddit is a lawless place.”

There was another long pause.

Then she whispered, “I was scared it wouldn’t feel real. That I’d just… log it as data and move on. Like it was just another variable.”

Lando tightened his arms around her. “But it does feel real?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “The second I said it out loud.”

He kissed her forehead. “Good. I don’t think I could’ve handled being more emotional than you about this.”

“You’re always more emotional than me.”

“True. I tried at Bake Off the other day.”

“I know,” she said, and even through the haze of anxiety and confusion and quiet overwhelm, she smiled. “That’s why I married you.”

Lando rested his cheek against her hair, and for a few long seconds, the world outside the blanket of their bed ceased to exist.

“Should we sleep a bit more?” She asked eventually, already halfway there.

He nodded against her. “Yeah. Big day of parenting ahead. Gotta start practicing how to Google more useful things.”

She hummed. “Start with ‘how to tell if your wife is actually going to let herself feel things this time.’”

Lando squeezed her a little tighter. “Already figured it out. Just gotta love her loud enough that she forgets to be afraid.”

She didn’t respond.

But she didn’t pull away either.

—

The clinic’s sliding door whispered closed behind them as Amelia and Lando stepped into the small, clinical room. The nurse smiled warmly, gesturing toward the chair.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” she said, setting out the necessary equipment.

Amelia sat down slowly, her fingers lacing in her lap. Lando stood quietly by her side, watching her with closeness.

“You doing alright, baby?” He asked quietly, voice low enough only for her.

She shrugged, eyes steady. “As alright as I can be.”

Lando reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She held on tight.

The nurse prepped the needle, talking her through it as she did. Amelia kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling, her jaw clenched just enough to show her focus.

When the needle slid in, Lando’s hand moved up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

“There,” he whispered. “Done.”

Amelia exhaled, releasing some of the tension she hadn’t even realised she was holding.

—

Amelia and Lando sat quietly in the small waiting area just outside the testing rooms, the sterile white walls feeling colder than usual. Amelia scrolled absently through her phone while Lando rested his arm around her shoulders, both wrapped in a low hum of nervous energy.

The nurse appeared after what felt like an eternity but was realistically just under an hour. She held a folder in her hand, her expression calm and professional. “Amelia Norris?” She called.

Amelia stood immediately, Lando rising just a half-step behind her, his hand brushing lightly against the small of her back in quiet support.

The nurse, a kind-looking woman in her fifties with kind eyes and soft lines around her mouth, smiled gently as she approached, holding a slim folder in her hands. “Amelia, Lando,” She said warmly. “Your blood test results are back.”

Amelia held herself very still, as if bracing for impact.

The nurse opened the folder and glanced down. “Everything looks healthy, and we did manage to confirm your pregnancy, Amelia.”

For a second, neither of them spoke. Amelia’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes fixed on the nurse but unfocused, as though the words had landed somewhere just behind her.

She blinked once. Twice. “Okay,” she said softly. Just one word, but it sounded like it had taken effort to get it out.

Lando, ever the contrast, let out a breathy laugh; short, quiet, almost disbelieving, and slid his arm around her waist. He gave her a gentle squeeze, grounding them both. “Well,” he murmured, leaning in close, “that’s the official verdict then.”

She didn’t answer right away, just nodded, lips pressing into a line. Her fingers twitched at her side, stimming without even thinking.

The nurse, unfazed by the silence, handed Amelia a printout of the blood-work results. “Everything looks perfectly normal for where you’re at. If you have questions or want to talk about next steps, you’re always welcome to call. We’ll book your first ultrasound soon.”

Amelia’s eyes scanned the paper, already filtering the information into categories in her head — normal levels, nothing flagged, timeline confirmed. Just data. But even with all the logic in the world, she felt the subtle shift in the air. It was real now.

“I can fly to Abu Dhabi?” She asked, sharp and direct.

The nurse nodded. “Yes, you can. You’re still very early. Travel is fine, just make sure you stay hydrated and try to keep your stress levels to a minimum.”

Amelia scoffed out a single breath. “Right. Sure.”

Lando gave the nurse an apologetic smile, stepping in smoothly. “We’ll make sure of it. Water, snacks, earplugs, noise-cancelling headphones, the works.”

The nurse’s smile deepened. “Good man. Just listen to your body, Amelia. That’ll be the trickiest part for you, I think.”

Amelia met her gaze, brows furrowed. “Why? Because I’m autistic?”

“Because you’re used to ignoring and pushing aside your discomfort,” the nurse said kindly. “But yes, that too.”

Amelia blinked, visibly filing that away.

The nurse handed her a card. “Call and make your next appointment as soon as you’re back. That’ll be for your first scan — around gestation week seven. You can ask for me by name if you’d like.”

Amelia took the card, examined the name — “Colette” — and gave the barest nod of approval. “Okay. I will.”

Colette gave them both a final smile. “Take care of each other. And congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Lando said quietly, while Amelia murmured something that might’ve been a “you too” out of sheer social obligation.

As they stepped out of the clinic and into the soft Monaco sunlight, Lando reached over and laced their fingers together. Amelia let him. Didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Just walked beside him, her expression unreadable — but her grip on his hand was firm.

He glanced at her as they waited for the elevator. “So.”

She glanced up.

“You’re gonna have to let me look at that report later,” he said. “Just to double-check you’re not secretly growing twins or something.”

Amelia huffed. “I’d know if I were.”

He grinned. “Sure you would.”

—

The private jet hummed softly beneath them, the kind of quiet that came with luxury and familiarity. Amelia had curled up beside the window, iPad balanced on her lap, headphones hanging loosely around her neck. Next to her, Lando was dozing — hoodie pulled up, mouth slightly open, dead to the world.

Across the aisle, Max sat with a protein bar and a very serious frown as he scrolled through Instagram. For all the years they’d known each other, Amelia had rarely seen him sit still this long.

She, however, was very much not still.

Her finger tapped quickly across her iPad screen, eyes scanning an article titled “What To Expect in Your First Trimester.” She had three tabs open; one medical, one forum-based, and one purely dedicated to nutrition. Her nose wrinkled as she read the phrase “morning sickness may begin as early as week six.” She was almost six weeks, according to the timeline Colette had scribbled down.

“Oh, screw that,” she muttered under her breath.

Max leaned slightly toward the aisle and blinked at her screen. “What’re you reading?”

Amelia startled slightly and tilted the iPad instinctively away from him. “Nothing.”

Max tilted his head. “No, I definitely saw the word ‘placenta’ just now.”

Amelia pursed her lips. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

He blinked. Then his eyes went wide. “You’re pregnant.”

“What? No. Don’t be absurd.” Amelia spluttered.

“Your ears are red!” Max pointed out.

“Lots of people have red ears,” she lied boldly.

“Name two people.”

“Um.” She looked around desperately. “Um.”

Max raised a brow.

“Okay, whatever, fine.” She sighed.

He choked on his protein bar, coughing into his sleeve. “So you are pregnant.”

Amelia groaned, setting the iPad facedown on her lap. “You can’t know! I’m not even supposed to know, I don’t think. Google says no one is allowed to know until the second trimester.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know!” She whispered-shouted, flinging her hands up in frustration. “Apparently there's this whole unwritten rule that you’re meant to keep it secret until like week twelve in case things go wrong but also I can’t stop Googling everything because what the hell is a mucus plug and why is it in my body?”

Max looked vaguely alarmed. “Oh, god. That sounds disgusting.”

“Exactly!”

Lando stirred at the noise, cracked one eye open, and muttered, “Did you tell Max?”

“No,” Amelia said at the exact same time Max said, “Absolutely.”

Lando sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, clearly too tired to argue.

Amelia shifted slightly in her seat, frowning. “Is it weird I don’t feel different yet? Like I thought I’d… know. That there’d be this, I don’t know, gut feeling. Like how I know when it’s going to rain or when Oscar’s about to spin out of a corner.”

Max softened a bit, leaning over the aisle. “Everyone’s different, I think.”

“Yeah, but I already feel behind.” She nudged her iPad back into her lap. “There are apps and charts and... symbiotic uterine developments. It’s like a project I didn’t plan for. And you know how I feel about unplanned variables.”

Lando reached over sleepily and squeezed her hand. “You’re doing fine.”

Max nodded. “Plus, your kid’s gonna have, like, the two most ridiculous godparents in the paddock.”

She blinked at him. “I never said anything about godparents.”

“You will.”

“I might not.”

“You will.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her mouth.

Then, after a pause, she muttered, “The mucus plug thing is still on my mind.”

Max gagged theatrically, Lando groaned, and Amelia opened another article, determined to understand the entire gestational timeline before they landed.

—

The Abu Dhabi sun was already unbearable by the time they stepped onto the tarmac, the heat pressing down like a hand on the back of her neck. Amelia barely blinked at it. She was too busy focusing on not gagging.

It wasn’t morning sickness. It wasn’t anything that dramatic. There’d been no dramatic sprint to a toilet. Just this constant, low-level nausea that clung to her throat like the aftermath of turbulence. Cloying. Lingering. Like the scent of someone else’s perfume in a closed room.

She clutched her water bottle a little tighter as they walked toward the paddock entrance, sunglasses on, headphones around her neck, McLaren lanyard tucked into the front of her shirt. She wasn’t on duty yet — they were just arriving — but already, her brain was buzzing with briefings and timing windows and tyre strategy for FP1.

Lando walked beside her, one hand on the small of her back, close but casual. He wasn’t smothering her, he never did, but his body was attuned to her like a second radar system. When she slowed for a moment, swallowing hard, he adjusted his pace instantly.

“Still feeling off?” He murmured, quiet so no one around them would hear.

She nodded once, not breaking stride. “Feels like... I’ve had warm milk out of a shoe.”

“That’s a disgusting analogy.” He said, nose twitching.

“I feel disgusting.” She moaned.

Lando gave a small, sympathetic laugh and handed her a peppermint from the stash he’d brought specifically for this. “Want to skip the garage for now? Go to hospitality. Sit down.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said quickly, bluntly. “We land, we go to the garage. That’s the routine.”

He didn’t argue, not really. He just looked at her for a beat longer than usual and nodded. “Okay.”

Max had peeled off earlier, some Red Bull meeting already dragging him into another PR vortex, so it was just the two of them when they reached the McLaren motorhome. Amelia paused for a moment outside the hospitality entrance, letting the air-conditioned breeze spill over her as the door opened and closed in waves.

She stared forward, expression flat.

Then, without looking at him, she muttered, “If I throw up in front of Oscar, I’ll lie and say it’s food poisoning.”

Lando grinned. “You’d lie to Oscar?”

“I lie to Oscar all the time. I tell him the car has good rear grip when I know it doesn’t. I tell him his haircut’s not weird.”

“He knows it’s weird.”

“Then I’m not doing my job properly.”

He kissed the side of her head and ushered her inside.

The nausea didn’t leave; it didn’t even lessen. But she filed it away somewhere behind tyre allocation updates and garage temperature readings. Pushed it back. Compartmentalised.

She had a job to do.

Even if her body, her whole world, had quietly started to change.

—

The garage was its usual symphony of motion, tyre blankets, torque wrenches, low chatter on radios. Amelia stood just behind Oscar’s car, one hand resting on the side-pod, her iPad in the other, watching the data scroll. Her other hand was shoved in her pocket, fingers twisting the small piece of fabric — an old tag from one of Lando’s fireproof undershirts. Grounding. Textural. Familiar.

Oscar was climbing out of the cockpit, unzipping his suit halfway and tugging off his gloves. “How’s it looking?” He asked, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Like you are still lifting off too early into Turn 14,” Amelia replied, not looking up.

Oscar squinted at her. “Nice to see you too.”

She handed him the tablet. “Look at the overlays. You’re lifting fractionally earlier than yesterday.”

“I don’t feel like I am.”

“That’s the thing about data,” she said flatly. “It doesn’t care how you feel.”

Oscar made a face but didn’t argue. He took the tablet and perched on the edge of the front wing as he scrolled. Amelia leaned on the pit gantry behind him, eyes tracking the mechanics, her brain juggling three different timelines.

Tyre test. Race sim. Media obligations.

And nausea. Always the nausea. A thin layer of wrongness settled at the base of her throat.

“You look pale,” Oscar said suddenly.

She flicked her eyes up. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You good?”

“I’m always good.”

He gave her a suspicious side-eye. “You’ve said that to me before. Usually when you’ve gone two days without sleep.”

She took the iPad back from him. “I’m eating. I’ve slept. I’m hydrated. I’ve had breakfast. What more do you want?”

“Some forgiveness if I don’t get the lift right on the next run?”

Amelia’s lip twitched, barely. “Not happening.”

Oscar didn’t push, but he watched her as she turned back toward the screens. She knew it. Felt his gaze linger.

But she didn’t offer anything more. Not yet. Not when the garage was full of people, and cameras, and microphones always somewhere nearby.

She just reached for her earpiece, shoved it into place, and keyed into the radio with a sharp, clean voice. “Oscar’s ready for the next run. Let’s do race trim, full fuel, softs.”

The engineer on the other end acknowledged her. The crew got moving.

And the nausea, ever present, curled a little tighter in her gut.

Still. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back.

Amelia Norris stayed exactly where she was — sharp, unfazed, in control.

—

The air conditioning hummed steadily overhead, and Amelia sat cross-legged in one of the lower chairs, stylus tapping as Oscar muttered something about corner exit balance. She wasn’t entirely listening. Or rather — she was, but her body was staging a full-scale rebellion against her.

The nausea had been background static all day, but now it was cresting into a full wave. Her fingers tightened slightly around the stylus. She blinked twice, tried breathing through her nose. No improvement.

She could hear Lando in the corner, chatting with one of the engineers, blissfully unaware that his wife was currently sweating through her team polo in slow motion.

Oscar nudged her shin with the toe of his socked foot. “You’re quiet. Am I saying something stupid?”

Amelia opened her mouth to answer, but—

Her stomach twisted violently. She slapped the tablet onto the low table and stood up in one movement, but it was too fast, too late.

Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide.

And then she doubled over and vomited squarely into the only available container-like object at ground level.

Oscar’s race boots.

The room fell silent.

Oscar blinked once. Then looked down. Then back up at her.

“Well,” he said, with a perfectly dry inflection. “That’s one way to critique my driving.”

Amelia groaned, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her hoodie. “I’m so sorry,” she managed, breathless. “I— I tried to make it.”

Lando was already at her side, hand on her back, concern etching itself into his features. “Jesus, baby—are you okay? You need to sit down?”

Oscar, meanwhile, remained seated, staring down at the shoes like they might attack him. “Those were custom-moulded.”

“Yeah,” Amelia said weakly, dropping back into the chair. “They’re custom-moulded to hold the exact volume of my stomach contents, apparently.”

“I’m never putting my foot in those again.”

“I’ll get you new ones.”

“You’ll buy me a new digestive system, because I’m never forgetting this.” He frowned.

Amelia finally laughed; a little breathy, a little unhinged. “I hate this,” she muttered, head in her hands.

Lando crouched in front of her, gently brushing her hair back from her face. “You’ve done three days of data crunching and garage shifts while apparently fighting the urge to puke in various footwear,” he said quietly. “Come on, let’s go clean you up.”

Oscar stood up finally, crossing to the corner where someone had mercifully placed paper towels and a bin bag. “Can we agree to never tell anyone about this.”

“Yes,” Amelia agreed.

Lando snorted. “Too late. I already texted Max.”

“You what—?”

“I’m kidding,” he grinned. “But I’m tempted. He’d find this absolutely hilarious.”

—

Amelia was curled up on the end of a low sofa, sipping flat Sprite from a paper cup. The AC was finally hitting just right, and she'd gotten through the rest of the afternoon without projectile vomiting on any more personal items. Progress.

Oscar wandered in, a granola bar half-unwrapped in one hand, still in his race suit tied off at the waist.

He flopped into the chair opposite her, stretched his legs out, and with no preamble at all, said, “Happy pregnancy, by the way.”

Amelia blinked. “Oh,” she said flatly. “So it’s obvious, then.”

Oscar shrugged. “To me? Yeah. You’ve been chewing your pen caps like you’re trying to murder them, you haven’t had coffee in three days, and you were sick in my race boots, so.”

She tilted her head. “That’s a lot of observation for someone who thinks toothpaste is spicy.”

He laughed. “I’m very detail-oriented. And still peeved about my boots.”

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, far too magnanimous. “They were hideous anyway.” There was a pause. Then he added, “Honestly, everyone else just assumed it was heat stroke.”

Amelia lifted a brow. “And you didn’t?”

“Nope.” He took a bite of the granola bar. “You go green when you have heat stroke. You went green this time, so I knew it was different.”

She barked a short laugh. “That’s horrifying.”

“And accurate,” he said, chewing. “So… Lando knows, obviously?”

“Yeah. He made me pee on a stick at six in the morning. Then I had to go and get blood drawn to confirm it.”

Oscar winced. “Disgusting. Anyway—congrats, I guess.”

“Thanks. And sorry again about the shoes.”

Oscar leaned back in the chair, arms behind his head like he hadn’t been personally victimised. “Eh. If the kid turns out to be a world champion, I’ll tell this story in the Netflix documentary.”

“Can’t wait,” she deadpanned.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then, with a smirk that was all mischief and no sympathy, Oscar added, “Next time, at least aim for Lando’s sneakers. His fans would pay for them.”

Amelia snorted into her Sprite. “God, you’re vile.”

“I know. And yet you can’t get rid of me,” he said, and stood up, already texting someone; probably Lando.

She groaned again. Loudly.

—

The Yas Marina Circuit always felt like the end of something.

By the time the sun dipped beneath the glowing skyline and the lights snapped on around the track, the paddock was buzzing with the familiar edge of finality. Mechanics moved with that distinct rhythm—half instinct, half exhaustion. Cameras flashed. Engines roared. And on the McLaren pit wall, Amelia sat completely still, headset pressed tight, her eyes fixed on Oscar’s live telemetry.

No one would’ve known she was pregnant. No one would’ve guessed she’d thrown up in her colleague’s race boots less than 24 hours earlier. No one would’ve known that she’d spent the flight to Abu Dhabi Googling “why does pregnancy make you feel like your body is a hostile foreign nation” or that she’d quietly rested her head on Lando’s shoulder for the last twenty minutes of final practice, just to stay upright.

But now? Now she was fine. More than fine. Because when it came to the race, Oscar’s race, she was always prepared to lock in.

Oscar had qualified well. Not perfect, but decent. Enough to put him in the fight.

Lando, meanwhile, had his own race to run, starting P5. Amelia didn’t let herself think about his car in the first ten laps. She’d gotten very good at compartmentalising again. Still, every now and then, she could feel his presence, could hear his voice from earlier:

“One more race. Then we get a break. Then we breathe.”

God, how she wanted to breathe.

The race itself was tense. Ferrari and Mercedes were locked in their Constructors’ battle, chaos unfolding all across the midfield. Amelia kept her voice calm on Oscar’s radio.

“Strat 7, we’re going to offset slightly from Gasly ahead.”

“Understood.”

“Clean exit turn 3. Good traction now. Let’s build.”

He listened. He always listened.

Mid-race, Oscar made an aggressive but beautifully timed overtake, and Amelia let herself smile—just a little.

Lando, a few positions ahead, was holding ground. Quietly, steadily. Nothing dramatic. Amelia could handle steady. Steady felt manageable.

The final laps bled together like watercolour under pressure. Amelia felt her stomach twist, nausea creeping up again. She ignored it. She had work to do.

In the end?

Oscar crossed the line P6.

Lando, P4.

Respectable. Solid. A good end to a hard-fought season.

When Oscar pulled in and killed the engine, Amelia finally took a long breath and peeled off her headset. Her hands were trembling. Whether it was adrenaline, hormones, or just sheer relief, she couldn’t tell.

Lando found her on the pit wall not long after, hair sweaty, fireproofs unzipped halfway.

“Hey,” he said, brushing her shoulder lightly. “You okay?”

She looked at him for a long moment, the smile tugging at her lips slow and almost reluctant.

“I am now.”

He grinned. “We did it.”

She snorted. “You did it. I just puked in Oscar’s boots and managed his brake maps.”

Lando bent down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You did both with tremendous style.”

Somewhere nearby, champagne exploded. But for Amelia, the noise faded into the background. The season was over. They were having a baby. They’d finished best of the rest.

And the MCL38-AN was going to be an absolute masterpiece. 

[rivalswrites]

Valentine's Day special 3/4

Before you read, please be warned that I'm writing based on my impressions of them not only in the game (though it's the biggest inspiration), but some of them with the movies/shows in mind too.

Summery: giving everyone on the Marvel Rivals roster a kiss (with plot!!)

Valentine's Masterlist

Underage characters and animal characters will be platonic (there will be a reminder for each one)

Characters involved: Mister Fantastic, MoonKnight, Namor, Peni Parker (platonic), Psylock, Rocket Raccoon (platonic), Scarlet Witch, Spider-Man, Squirrel Girl

Reed sighed and leaned back into his chair, resting his head on his hand that in turn sat on his brow- he looked hot like that, but that feeling lessened knowing that he was so stressed. New York's infestation of vampires had Reed pushing himself to his limit to find solutions to help not only that, but every other problem as well. Too much for one man to take on all alone.

“You look so tired, Reed, take a break?” You asked, though you both knew it was going to end up as an order if he didn't listen on his own terms. “In a moment, dearest, I just need a bit more time.” more time- he's said that a thousand times, you scoff.

“Reed Nathaniel Richards if you don't swivel that chair away from work right now I swear to whatever God may listen-” “alright!” He cuts you off before you could finish your threat. He knew from experience you'd never give up, and at times like these he didn't want or need something like that. “Alright” he repeated, swirling his chair around to look at you.

His eyes were tired, you could tell- anyone could've. Reed’s arms reached out to you, stretching inhumanly to grab onto your shirt “don't get mad at me.” he whispered, his hands gripping onto you tightly.

“I'm not, sweetheart, I just want you to take care of yourself.” your hands rested on his own that were on your shirt as you walked over to him, watching as his arms slowly retracted back to a more natural form. He let you move as you pleased, him in tow, let you sit down on his lap and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Doing so much.”

The lab was quiet as you both sat on the chair, his head just barely staying up as your hands played with his hair- and practically held his head up; his hands still gripping your shirt. “So tired” you comment, watching as his eyes slowly blink, like he was high, you giggle as you think.

Reed whispered something, but it was so unintelligible that no one could hear- even with super hearing.

Leaning down you pressed a kiss to his lips, holding it for a little before pulling back- his face pushed against your hands to follow when you did. “Let's get you to bed, yeah?” feeling him nod in your hands you stood up, bending to kiss him again before helping him up.

It was a rough night, no one felt like being inside and so there they were- standing on a balcony with an iron grip on the railings. God only knew which one they were right now, they were all active. It was so loud, and the moonlight wasn't able to help, not this time.

“Marc?” was called out behind them, from the door of the building, but they didn't move. “Steven?” was called out again, and again there was silence in return. “C'mon, don't make me guess them all…” the door shut as you stepped onto the balcony.

“I'm not anyone” he finally replied, turning his face away to avoid looking at yours. He flinched when your hand rested on top of his. “Someone's gotta be there,” you replied, grabbing onto his arm to snuggle into “it's alright. I don't have to know, I love you all either way.”

Your reply shouldn't have been surprising, they all knew you did, always so sweet to them. With a sigh he turned his head back to being straight, looking down at the pavement from what was like fifty stories, no one ever counted. A guttural sound left him as he attempted to talk back, but he just couldn't even when he tried to force himself. He continues to try until you start shushing him, patting his back and leaning him into you.

“Don't force yourself, it's alright” the reassurance was something he needed, that they needed. It was so small and yet there it was, a butterfly feeling deep in his stomach.

His suit was still on, including the mask, but that didn't stop him from doing whatever he wanted. Quickly he turned and grabbed your shoulders, looking at your wide eyes that looked at him in return. It was an intense staring competition for awhile, unfair as well because you couldn't see his eyes so who knew if he was blinking the whole time and cheating.

Before you could voice your complaints he pulled you close to him, leaning his head down. His mask pressed against your face, all over it. He'd pull back and then press the jagged face mask over a different part of your face. “Butterflies” he said quietly before pressing his mask against your lips in an uncomfortable final kiss.

“My dear, how are you feeling?” He asked, peaking around the door of the bedroom to get a glance in. It was late in the evening, and you had stayed in bed almost all day.

The simple reply of a groan and turning around in the bed was what he got back, which did concern him more. Throughout the day worry had built up, and seeing your reaction to being asked how you felt only raised the concern.

He walked into the room fully, closing the door behind him, and went to go sit on the bed. The look he gave you was full of some sort of guilt- probably for not coming to check up on you later. “Is something ailing you my dear? Please talk to me.” He murmured, reaching over to grab onto your hand with a soft grip.

“I'm fine” you whispered back, scooching around the bed before turning back to him. “Just so tired today.”

“Ah, I understand” he sat and thought, unconsciously bringing your hand up and pressing it against his lips; not putting it down or letting it go, just keeping it on his lips. “You could have called me, I could have helped earlier.” The moonlight highlighted on his face, showing the worry etched into it.

“Sorry.” Your reply only made his face give off a small scowl, slightly reprimanding you, “do not apologize, I know it's hard.”

“How can I help?” Finally, Namor lowered your hand from his face, giving your forearm a rest. He still kept your hand in his and even intertwined your fingers with his. “I'll do anything to help get you better, even just for a moment.” He practically proclaimed his love, tightening his grip on your hand.

You didn't respond, at least not verbally, motioning him down with your free hand to which he obeyed. Namor laid down next to you, resting his hand along with yours down in between you two, “anything” he whispers while staring at your eyes with all the admiration in the world.

Before he could get the chance to ask once more, you practically jumped him, using your free hand to wrap around his shoulder as you leaned on his upper body, surprising him with a passionate kiss. He could feel the sorrow you carried, and when he said anything- he meant it.

“If you wanted my affections, darling…” Namor took a deep breath when you just barely pulled away, continuing his sentence between slow kisses, “you could have asked. I'd never-” he paused to kiss you deeper for a moment “-I’d never refuse you.”

(platonic)

The laboratory was practically empty, which made sense due to just how late it was, but that didn't stop you from working away. SP//DR hung in front of you, being held up gently by chains to help with easier access to the full body.

Peni sat on the floor, leaning under one of the desks with blankets and pillows around her. She had made her own makeshift bed there after insisting on her watching you to fix any damages done to her beloved robot- which you didn't fight, figuring her connection to said robot was too deep to be able to.

“How does it look? Will SP//DR be okay?” She pipes up, breaking the silence with her worried questions. “Of course, SP//DR is very strong. Just some scratches and maybe a wire or two exposed, nothing I can't fix.” You swivel your chair around to offer her a reassuring smile, knocking gently against the robot's torso as an example.

She nodded, keeping hold of her pillow as she climbed out from underneath her desk spot and standing closer to watch you work. You moved your chair back around and continued to work, smoldering the metal plates to clean up any of the scratches and indents. Her stare was prominent, practically all over your shoulder to watch as her dear robot was fixed brand new.

“You should go back to resting” you said, setting down the tools in your hands and turning your head to look at her. “It's late, a kid like you needs sleep.”

“I just can't help but worry, SP//DR is all I have left of my dad…” she replied, giving herself permission to start leaning on your shoulders with all her weight. “And you won't lose it, not today.” Your statement brought comfort to her, a warmth she hasn't felt in a while spreading through her- a warmth that felt like a home.

The feeling only doubled when you pressed a kiss onto her cheek, smiling at her before going back to work. She couldn't help but smile, wrapping her arms around your neck into a tight hug before letting go and taking your advice- resting under the desk in her little makeshift bed, listening to the soft sounds of you working away as white noise.

“I'm not sure how you plan on meditating like that” she observed, watching as you threw pillows off the couch and onto the floor. “Easy! You said I have to be comfortable, right?” You smiled at her as you worked vigorously to make the floor a giant nest of blankets and pillows, “I'm doing just that.”

Your explanation was about what she should've expected from you, and by no means was she mad- it was just something she's never seen before, usually meditation made people want a clear space. She sat down on the couch and watched as you worked silently.

Not even five minutes later you were tugging at her hand, trying to get her to stand up. “What are you doing?” She looked up at you as you tugged on her arm. “I need the finishing touch.” You replied, tugging on her arm. Believing she was sitting on whatever you needed she graciously stood up and looked down at the couch to see what it was, but there was nothing here.

Before she could even question what the ‘finishing touch’ was, you tugged on her arm again, this time taking her with you as you sat down on the nest you had made. “Perfect” you muttered while pulling her into your arms, making her rest on your side.

The two of you sat in silence, her head resting on your lap while you played with her hair. You had pulled her down to lay on you soon after the two of you sat down, and she's just been laying there since- processing what was going on. When she did eventually get it through her head she turned to look up at you.

“This is not at all about meditation” she said, narrowing her eyes up at you. “You caught me” you smiled down at her, resting your hand on her cheeks and squishing them to make duck lips. “I do not enjoy being tricked” she murmured out through her plump lips, the words mushing together by the artificial lisp she was given.

Instead of replying, you lean down and press your lips against hers, letting go over her face so it could be normal again- instead resting your hand on her bicep and rubbing gently. Only when you pull away do you speak up, “am I forgiven?” Psylocke takes a moment of silence to stare at you, and for a moment you think she's genuinely pissed, but quickly those thoughts are dispersed when she speaks up, “it is a satisfactory apology.”

(Platonic)

Rocket sat on the porch steps of your dingy home and looked out, watching as the rain poured down from the sky. The wind was cold as it blew into his face, but he paid no mind as he continued to just sit there.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The question snapped him out of his thoughts, making him look up to you as you sat down next to him. “Unless you've actually got a coin, flark off” he spouts out, leaning away from you. He sighs almost dramatically when you pull out a penny from your pocket and offer it to him- “flarkin’ hell, did you actually just have that on you?”

“I knew you'd say that,” you reply, putting the penny into his lap “you've become predictable, Rocketeer.” Leaning back on your hands you cross your legs and watch the rain fall with him. “Me? Predictable? Oh please” Rocket scoffed, waving his hand before picking up the penny and examining it. Silence set in between the two of you, the rain being filler for anything that could possibly be said.

Rocket tossed the coin back to you, raising an eyebrow when you quickly caught it instead of having it hit you in the head and make you fumble like he thought. “So why'd you come out here? Couldn't resist my charm or somethin’?” He teased, nudging your arm with his. “Oh, right. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“That's it?” He questioned, looking up at you with an oddly confused face, “you came out here just to tell me you've made food?” there's a pause, “well, yeah, I wanted to make sure you got some first- you know how much Quill eats, best to get some before him” you chuckle at your own statement about Peter, Rocket joining in with a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, that's true.” He agrees, standing up and moving to stand on the top step of the porch. “What'd you make anyways?”

You turned and grabbed his face, pulling it down to place a big fat kiss on the very top of his head, letting go soon after to stand up yourself and turn to go back inside the house. “What the flark! Dude, not cool” Rocket complained, standing on the porch for a moment before chasing you inside, “and what'd you make!”

Wanda stared down at you, watching as you laid on the floor almost lifelessly if it wasn't for your head moving from side to side and complaining about your job.

“You should've heard him, Wanda! He told me to get it all done by Thursday!” You cried out, your arms raising to cover your face, “Thursday! Even Friday would've been nice.” With a dramatic sigh, your arms fall back to the floor with a thud.

Crouching down and moving to sit on her knees, she brushed hair away from your face and watched it fall. “Sounds very rough, dear” she says, and while she sounds pretty monotone you know she's being sympathetic over your painful boss. Her words bring you comfort, the understanding she offers makes you feel warm in the chest as you let out a deep breath you were definitely holding in. “Yeah”, you mutter back.

Your hand comes up and reaches out, palm to her awaiting. It's obvious what you want, and she obliges, putting her hand on top of yours to hold as she shifts to sit next to you. Her legs are on one side, she's half resting on one of her calves. Ever so gently, her free hand lifts your head and maneuvers you to have your head resting on her lap- her hand staying on your head and brushing your hair back into her.

“Anything I can help with?” She whispers, looking down at you as you bring her hand holding yours to her chest, to simply lie there. The rise and fall caused by your breath was a steady rhythm, which she liked.

“Just this.” You replied, looking up at her with a smile, turning your head gently to lean in her arms. A hum of approval was all she gave you.

The two of you sat like this for a while- even though both knew how uncomfortable the position was for the other, neither said a word, too scared to break the peace.

It was a surprise when she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your chin- a miscalculation on her part- before pulling back and going in for another kiss, actually planting it on your lips this time as intended.

“I love you,” she said, cutting you off before you could respond with more “my back hurts, mayhaps we could move to a more comfortable place?” she asks, though it was more of a suggestion - one that you could get behind. “Perhaps the couch, or maybe our bed, hm?” Her hum at the end only sweetened the deal- This was something you could get behind.

The rain pitter pattered against the windows, New York rain wasn't uncommon- just untalked about. You stood in the kitchen and watched the raindrops run down the window next to the fridge, taking a swig from your mug every few moments. It was a comfortable silence.

That was until the thud of footsteps interrupted, his bare feet stepping on the hardwood floors of your apartment- the yawn he let out was a knife cutting through the silence. He scratched at himself under the shirt he wore, groggily looking at you from across the room. “Morning” he let out another yawn halfway through.

You smile over at him, setting down your cup and leaning against the counter. “It's almost noon.” You corrected him, watching as he blinked slowly and just stood halfway in your living room.

“No,” he said before elaborating “I just woke up. That means it's morning.” The way he said it was so matter of fact-ly, walking over around the kitchen counter and coming up behind you. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on the back of your neck- snuggling in like a cat would.

Nodding slowly, you rested a hand on his. “So that's how it works” you feigned understandment in a teasing way, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. “Yep, little do you know, I also have the power to control time.” He said, laughing at his own dumb statement.

“Really?” You turn your head to look at him, though you only see the top of his head, “The more I learn about you, Peter.” Both of you silently chuckled at how ridiculous it was, him lifting his head to look up at you a little.

Slowly, his hands grab your shirt and turn you around so you face him. Your back is now against the counter, his arms still around you as you both look at each other with loving eyes. “Good morning, then” you say before pressing a kiss to his lips, it was simple but filled with love.

“Morning” he repeats, leaning in for another kiss.

Tippy Toe sat on a pillowed chair, watching the TV that played some random show on one of the millions of streaming services you owned. Doreen sat huddled in your arm, hers wrapping around yours, her full weight practically on your side.

“Wait, so he doesn't love her?” Doreen asked, subconsciously her hand moving to rest higher on your side. “Doesn't seem like it.” You answered her question, ruffling her hair gently while your other hand fiddled with the remote to play the next episode.

She lets out a frustrated huff, “well I can't see how anyone would do that.” you glanced over at her, letting out an ‘oh?’ to question her. “Not loving someone you're dating, absolutely absurd!” She complains, raising a hand to point at the guy that was the topic of your discussion as the episode recap played.

“Yeah,” you agreed, pulling her close “I can't either.” She looks up at you with a bright smile. “I know you can't resist my pretty squirrel charm” she says with pride, pushing up more against you as her tail comes to wrap closer to you.

“I certainly can't” you said back, leaning down to peck at her cheek, pulling back to skip the show intro. Though she wasn't satisfied with that, moving to grab the neck of your shirt and pulled you down so she could get another kiss. Her lips met yours in a playful kiss.

The two of you sat like that for a bit, simply enjoying the others embrace and the kiss. But then the two of you pulled away with smiles, Doreen going back to resting on you.

“Wait, rewind, we totally just missed something important.”

-----

Tag list!!

@ihrtsamwinchester

@ghost-candyyy

@fun-k-boards

[coldeforprez]

Is It The Way; 2003 • 01

Elias "Stack" Moore has "loved" and lost more than his fair share of women— and rarely thinks twice about it. But He can never seem to let go of her. There's only so much a man—alive or otherwise—can take. And he's been a gentleman long enough, right?

pairing: vampire!Stack x black!OC warnings: ORIGINAL CHARACTER (I love my bb Della Mae with my whole heart and will accept no slander - ty, mgmt. ) ANGST, this fic is VERY self-indulgent, suggestive themes, swearing, implied violence, established relationship, their relationship is kinda toxic but they're just two ppl who love each other okay?!, You get edged again cause no smut till part two :3 (this is a series we gotta do some world building besties) word count: 3.9k

dear reader 💌: hey pookie! I really appreciate the support and love that yall showed the teaser for the first installment of my new series To Have and To Hold ! I have been fighting for my life trying to get this out and honestly, I'm being super picky so I decided to just throw it out there :0 ! That and I can't focus on anything because it's taking up so much space in my head. Anyway ENJOY !

This story is told in a non-linear fashion. Like memories resurfacing.

winter of 1912.

Elias looks up from his spot leaning against the brick pillar—he and Smoke running their usual pickpocketing schemes down at the train station.

Feeling a stare on him, his eyes dart around the crowded platform looking for the source. His gaze skips over her at first—then returns.

She can’t be more than 16 years old; potentially making her only 2 years his junior. Her eyes twinkle with mischief like she’d been watching the twins longer than they knew. She stands next to an older woman and two younger boys, worn suitcases at their feet. Her hand-me-down dress fluttering softly in the winter breeze.

He tilts his head, confused—he’s never seen the girl or her people around town before. Turning to his twin brother, he taps him and asks, in a low voice, “Aye’, you ever seen lil’ mama in the brown dress ‘round here befoe’?”

The elder twin looks up from where he’s counting their earnings—it won’t be enough for a satisfying meal, but it’ll keep the hunger pains away for the night.

His eyes follow Stacks’ gaze to the retreating form of the young girl and her family. He cuts his eyes at his younger brother,

“Well, since I ain’t her maker, I’m not real capable of identifying ole’ girl from the back.”

Stack curls his lip, side-eyeing him. “What you always bein’ smart for? You know what—actually, I don’t give a damn. How much money we make?”

fall of 1914. The air smelled sweet—like honey, heat and the blossoms overhead. Della was leaning back on her palms in the grass, feet bare, Elias’ hat tossed aside beside her. The magnolia tree stretched wide above them like a crown, its branches heavy with blooms, thick petals littering the ground around her.

Elias stood a few feet away, trying to toss a pebble high enough to knock down one of the blossoms—she swore she could catch it mid-air.

“You gon’ miss again,” Del teased, grinning, “and I’ma laugh just as hard as I did the last five times.” he cut his eyes at her, squinting up at the branch, tongue peeking out in concentration. “I ain’t missin’. I’m doin’ warm-up tosses lil’ girl.”

“Ohhh okay! So that’s what you gone call it?” she laughed, tipping her head back until her coils brushed the grass.

He launched another pebble;hitting the branch just right. A magnolia bloom dropped—twirling slowly towards the ground—and Del leapt up with a gleam in her eye, catching it right against her chest. “Ha!” she beamed, spinning to show him. “I was right! Told you I’d catch it.”

He looked at her for a beat too long, he thinks her cheeks should be hurting from how hard she’s grinning. Her smile wide, singular dimple showing. “You always are.” he said softly, hands slipping into his pockets.

She slowed, watching him like she wasn’t used to that tone in his voice. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, tugging at his collar anxiously. “Just… you somethin’ else, that’s all.”

Del tucked the magnolia bloom behind her ear and shrugged, but she was smiling too big to play it cool. “I guess you ain’t too bad yourself.”

summer of 1917. The sun was dipping low, casting amber light across the magnolia tree where they always met. Della was halfway through tying her braid when Elias flopped onto the grass beside her, arms folded behind his head, like it was just another Sunday.

“You ever think ‘bout what France smell like?” he asked, watching the clouds.

She side-eyed him. “France?”

He nodded, still staring skyward. “Yeah. I heard it smell like perfume and fresh bread. Kinda place folks write poems about.”

Della squinted at him, confused. “Why you talkin’ ‘bout France?”

He sat up slower this time, like his body felt heavier than usual. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his hands, rubbing at his thumb—he was stalling.

“Got my papers.” ,he grumbled

She blinked. “For what?”

“…The war, Dove. I gotta go.”

Della’s hands dropped into her lap. “No you don’t. Ain’t nobody makin’ you—”

“They are,” he cut in gently, eyes still not quite meeting hers. “Draft notice came in yesterday. I—I ain’t wanna tell you like this, I just… I couldn’t figure out how.”

She stood sharply, fists clenched. “So that’s it? i’m just ‘sposed to sit around and wonder if you makin’ it back or not?”

He stood too, but slower, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. “It’s not like I wanna go, Del. But if I don’t show up, they gone come lookin’. Maybe even worse.”

His voice cracked just a little on that last part, and he finally met her eyes. “I ain’t gone lie and say i’m not scared,” he admitted, quietly. “But I swear to you—I’m comin’ back. I ain’t dyin’ in no field—I don’t care what I gotta do.”

She stared at him, lip trembling. “You better,” she whispered.

fall of 1932. “You think I give a fuck what you want right now?” he growled in frustration. “I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not this time. You hear me? You mine. You always been, always gone be.”

She struck him—open palm across the face, hard. His head snapped sideways. He didn’t flinch. Just turned back slow, smiling crooked, eyes glowing like wildfire. His hands tightening on her shoulders voice thick with grief and possessive need.

“You all I got left,” he breathed. “I ain’t losin’ you too. I’ll drag you with me if I have to. I swear to God, I will.”

She scoffs trying to free herself from his grip to no avail,

“No self-righteous sacrifices for me huh? No bullshit speech about keeping me safe?” she spat, eyes burning with tears. “You always pulling me towards a burning building with you, but I bet you woulda’ lost your damn life to protect her from one! Hell—Mary the one made you this way! Go spend an eternity with her ole triflin’ bloodsuckin’ ass!”

She clawed at his chest, shoved, writhed—but his hands only steadied her, held her like something precious even as he stole her breath.

“I ain’t doin’ this life without you,” he said, voice thick, almost tender. “Ain’t no world I wanna be apart of if you not in it.”

And then—Stillness.

Her body limp in his arms. Blood on his lips. The river settled.

Above them, the magnolia tree stood silent. Watching.

spring of 52’. Their magnolia was in full bloom.

Del figured if they were gonna do this, it best be at a spot that held their most precious memories. Both the good ones—and the ones that still stung.

The wind brought in a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle the edges of her white dress. Her veil fluttered around her face like a whisper.

He wore a pressed suit—bloodstain still on the cuff she couldn’t scrub out. His grin was wide, wicked, sharp fangs flashing under gold slugs.

No preacher. No piano. No guests.

Just the river hummin’ nearby, and a jar of moonshine waitin’ in the grass.

She whispered her vows into the crook of his neck. He said his with his mouth pressed to her fingertips.

“You know this don’t fix everything,” she told him with a smirk.

“Ain’t tryna fix it,” he said. “Just tryna hold onto it.”

Their old magnolia tree the only witness to their eternal union. summer of 75’. “C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it was 1951. “Let me hold you a minute.”

present day; 2003

He strolled in right at midnight, just as everything had gone quiet and the once raucous city streets were now eerily still.

She didn’t turn when the door opened. Didn’t flinch when his footsteps found her.

She’d known he would come eventually. Of course he would. Even when she didn’t want him to—he always did. The problem was that she’d never quite figured out which she preferred more: his absence or his presence.

She never had to question whether or not she still wanted him though. Hell, she spent more time than she’d like to admit reminiscing the countless ways he’d expressed his insatiable hunger for her in this almost century-old dance they’d been doing.

He doesn’t announce his presence. No smooth line. No performative charm. Doesn’t even breathe too loud.

His coat’s worn in random spots—like something time had toyed with endlessly and then tossed aside. For a quick moment, she wonders if he’s fallen on hard times since the last time he’d blessed suffocated her with his presence. That’s how she felt, too—every time they slipped outside each other’s orbit. Like she was just waiting breathlessly in the wings for the next act of their whirlwind—whatever it was they have.

On the exterior, she’s the picture of indifference. Takes the time to sip the drink clutched between her sharply manicured fingers. Letting the silence stretch—uncomfortable for most, but not for them.

Just as she’s worked up the nerve to acknowledge his presence—

“Del.”

A beat. The space between them has never seemed further.

“You still carryin’ the weight of the world like it belongs to you, baby.”

She breathes out a soft, humorless sound. Doesn’t smile. Refuses to turn her head to give him the satisfaction of seeing a glimpse of the mental spiral his sudden appearance has catapulted her into.

“And you still talk like a ghost that don’t know it’s dead.”

He inches closer. Slowly. Like if he moves too fast, she’ll vanish again.

“Maybe I am.”

She turns swiftly toward him—eyes sharp, expression unreadable. With a slight furrow in her brows and something cold yet vulnerable in her voice, she asks a question that likely won’t have a sufficient answer—

“Why now?”

A brief pause. His usual sly grin is noticeably missing—his mouth opens and shuts quickly, almost like he’s chewing on the words but they just don’t taste quite right. Yet he doesn’t blink when he says it:

“Ain’t know how much longer I could stay away.”

She doesn’t respond. Not right away. Just lets out a quiet chuckle and tips her glass toward him—dry, disbelieving.

“Even after all these years…” She shakes her head, almost smiling. “You still one smooth motherfucka. I’ll give ya that.”

He breaks into that infamous grin—just as intimidating as it is bright. Like he ain’t ever seen a bad day in his life. “Now you know better than anybody—I can’t contain all this pimpin’.”

She pauses mid-sip, nearly chokes. Side-eyes him, nostrils flaring, expression dry as hell. She waits a beat. Then hums a noise of indifference,

“Mmm—You dressed like a broke-ass pimp. Must be hard flyin’ with one wing, huh?”

The jab knocks him off guard. For a second, he forgets they aren’t back there—where jokes came easier, when everything felt like that rare but sweet moment when you realize you’re dreaming—and somehow, you get to keep dreaming, just to spite reality a little longer.

He smacks his lips, gaze blank, mouth cocked to the side, ignoring the subtle bite in her voice. “Aye, stop playin’ with me. You know ian ever hurtin’ for no bread. Who you think bought out half these pieces before the showcase tonight?”

That earns him her first real smile. Small. Shy. Like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like her body remembered something before her mind could lock it away. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to drop all that silent and mysterious shit. Came in here lookin’ like you auditionin’ for that vampire nigga movie.”

He squints. “You talkin’ ‘bout Blade?”

She nods, grinning. “Hell yea. You got this big-ass trench coat on like it ain’t 75 degrees outside.” He cuts her off with—“Aye shoutout Wesley Snipes, you know i’on fuck wit’ allat capitalism—taxes and shit.”

She shakes her head, earrings jingling softly—briefly catching his attention—before he hears her mutter under her breath, “Ole’ extra ass.”

He spins with a grin and a little flourish. “Owee—Don’t hate baby.” Smirking as he invades her space just enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“ You ain’t gotta lie to yourself—Daddy still make that pretty thang’ hum, hm?”

The echoes of his southern drawl still makes her knees feel weak. Pause. How does he even think to say shit like that?

He does kinda have a point though.

She steps back curling her lip at him in pure annoyance, rolling her eyes quickly, “Nigga, gone on somewhere.” Giving him a slow once-over, “And don’t think you slick with that ‘I ain’t know how long I could stay away’ shit.” She drops her voice into a mocking tone—deep and dramatic, face scrunched in fake sadness. “I know you,” she says, shaking her head. “You want somethin’. So gone and come out wit’ it.”

“Why you always assumin’ I got a hidden agenda or some shit?” he scoffs.

She fixes him with a stare.

He coughs, looks away, then back again—“Okay. Never mind. Ignore that.” He sighs deeply like he’s afraid she’s going to shut him down before he can pull his thoughts together.

“Been tryna love other people—swear I have.”

She purses her lips.

“Okay damn, maybe I was just fuckin’ some of ‘em—Anyway—tried humans, but you know I get a little nibbly when I’m excited—dated some vamps, kinda hard for ‘em to live up to my expectations there though,” He scratches his beard in frustration, “Shit I even went out with a witch for a minute—she was a lil freak, I’ll tell you that—still ain’t come close to nothin’ we used to—”

She briefly stares off into space dumbfounded; then turns back to cut him off before he can remind her of anything she might still want. “Hmm—if you came to update me on all the places your dick has been the last decade, you can spare me.” She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath where he can’t hear, “Nigga goin’ on a world tour with my dick and tryna tell me all about it—fuck is he on?”

His eyes widen in realization at the implications of his words. “Hollon’, I ain’t mean it like that,” He sighs again. “What I’m tryna say is every time—every time—I start feelin’ like maybe I can build somethin’ new, your name start echoin’ in my head. Or I’d smell that stankin’ ass oil paint you used to use. Hear you narratin’ your day like somebody other than just us was around—Even started listenin’ to that white bread ass group you like so much.”

She scoffs and interrupts, “Aht Aht—not too much on Fleetwood Mac now—that might be one of the few things white folks got right.” She rolls her eyes muttering under her breath, “Surprised his ass ain’t go lookin’ for Stevie Nicks since he like witches so damn much—”

He quiets her with a blank stare. Grumbling under his breath before continuing, “Keep on rolling’ them damn eyes— hope they get stuck like that.” Clearing his throat he continues, “I kept tellin’ myself you might actually be better off without me. Maybe finally found a way to feel human again—then I heard ‘bout this place. Figured maybe you ain’t moved on neither.”

She’s suddenly busy surveying the contents of her glass—it’s been empty for the last 10 minutes.

“And that kinda fucked me up a lil’ bit, Cause if you still alone—and I’m still alone—then what the hell we been doin’ all this time, Del?”

She sighs quietly and meets his gaze with a resigned look in her eye, but before she can get the words out he interrupts,

“I ain’t come here looking for no second chances. We way past that anyway. But—you the only one who ever—survived me—Who know me better than maybe even Smoke did. And I’m not goin’ another decade wonderin’ if we could finally get it right.”

She scoffs, her eyes quickly becoming ablaze with an emotion he can only define as rage. “And that’s our problem right there—It’s all about what you want and when you’re ready to do it!”

All things considered, he’s propositioned her with worse. She’s not even sure why she’s fighting him now— aching inside to try again but too afraid to take the leap.

How much will they bleed this time around if they cut each other again?

She pauses breath catching in her throat, feeling her composure slipping. Can’t meet his eye when she opens her mouth to say, “Look, I don’t think—”

71 years and they still can’t get it right. He can feel her slipping away. She doesn’t think he’ll ever get another chance like this. He knows he won’t. She’ll make sure of it. His throat tightens—panic sets in. He’s about to be knocked out of her orbit forever.

“I’m sorry.”

He says the words like they were trying to burst from his lips. His eyes damn near projecting a short film filled with the echoes of his desperation and whispers of his guilt. It’s rushed, clumsy, boy-ish—such contrast from the way he would normally carry himself. Honestly, it’s pretty sucky as far as apologies go, especially given the tangled history the two of them share.

But somehow it works. Like most things involving the two, no reasonable explanation could be given for how two words—3 syllables—can atone for years of hurting and healing each other.

She blinks rapidly, shifting from foot to foot. She’d always considered herself the least prideful of the two. So she’s admittedly a bit irked that he gets to be the bigger person for saying what they’d always known they both desperately need to hear—

“I-I’m sorry, Elias. I’ve always let you take the blame for everything wrong in our relationship— and my life too, I guess” Her breath catches, looking down at her feet—arms instinctively wrapping around herself. Even to her own ears she sounds fragile. This might be the closest she’s been to feeling like herself since that night in 1932. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at her like she’s some rare thing he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch anymore. Then— “I could’ve fought harder. For you. For us.” His voice is low, steady. No theatrics this time. “I made peace with the blame—meant I still had somethin’ to carry around with your name on it.” He steps forward—slow, like the wrong move might undo it all. “I ain’t never wanted you to hurt like I did. But I- I didn’t know how to stop takin’ pieces of you with me every time I left.” He reaches for her—momentarily thinking twice about whether touching her will end in him being attacked ;or if she’ll submit to the current of the moment with him. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he’d be satisfied with either reaction, he finally closes the distance between them.

The feeling can only be described as that deeply seated joy you feel when coming home after a long time away. Almost like slipping back into a dream they’d been having every night for the last 71 years.

For a long moment, neither of the two spoke. Their silence saying everything they’d probably never be able to put to words—grief, guilt, passion. Their silence creating a picture that looks something like forgiveness, a bit like anger, and a lot like love. Whispers of a maybe. Promises of a forever.

Her face tucked near his neck, where she’d always felt safe she murmured a quiet, “Missed you.”

He looks down at her with a small smile, leaning in to get a taste of her lips for the first time in a decade.

She leans her head back and places two fingers over his lips with a smirk, “You know this means you lose right ?”

His arms tighten around her waist, one hand sneakily yanking her hand into his. Kissing the tips of her fingers with a smile in his voice, “Long as I lose to you, It ain’t really losin’, huh?”

He gives a crooked grin—and kisses her like no time has passed at all.

But time has passed. And it’s in the way his hand trembles just slightly when he touches her waist. In the way her breath hitches when their mouths finally meet, not rushed, not angry, but like they’re retracing old steps in a house long abandoned.

It starts slow. Mouths hovering, teasing. The tension’s all in the pause, the promise.

Then—He bites. A tiny nip at her bottom lip, soft and sharp all at once. A low, possessive growl vibrates from his chest, deep and involuntary. She tastes like something he lost in a dream. The air shifts. The room’s still, but they aren’t. The kind of stillness that only comes before a storm.

“Hey, daddy?” she whispers, lips grazing the skin just beneath his jaw—hot, deliberate.

“Yeah, Dove,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, voice soaked in want.

She smiles—slow, wicked. Her voice a sweet purr. “Wanna play a game?”

His hands slide lower on her waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of her shirt, just enough to make her heart skip.

“Only if I get to keep you after.”

She lets out a breathy scoff, laughing into his mouth, palms pressed flat against his chest like she might push him away—but doesn’t.

“No, seriously—how do you come up with this stuff?” she says, eyes dancing, even as her body leans closer. He just grins, lips brushing hers again.

"Been rehearsin' since 88'. "

summer of ‘75.

“You were my wife, my life, my hopes and dreams.”

Marvin Gaye’s voice curls through the room low, aching, full of a wisdom neither of them dare speak aloud. The record crackles faintly, wrapping them in a velvet cocoon, safe—for now—from the world, from the past, from the slow unraveling they’ve both felt coming.

Elias hums along, off-key. Della swaying absentmindedly in her silk robe, brush in hand, paint smudged on her cheek. He watches her from the couch, journal resting open in his lap, the morning sun painting their living room a gold hue through their sheer drapery.

“You set my soul on fire, my one desire was to love you and think of you with pride.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, standing with his arms open.

She laughs, not looking at him yet. “You ain’t even brushed your teeth.”

“C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it’s 1951 again. “Let me hold you a minute.”

“But if you ever need me, i’ll be by your side.“

She lets herself go. Not because it’s easy—but because it’s familiar. Because even with everything cracking underneath them, the shape of him still fits against her perfectly. They dance like they’ve got forever. The lyrics echo what their souls already know—a promise for what’s to come being made without words.

“Though the many happy times we had could really never outweigh the bad…” “I never loved nobody, like I loved you baby…” “Now it’s time for us to say farewell…” “Maybe we’ll meet, down the line…”

Elias presses his cheek to her temple, eyes shut. She grips the back of his shirt like she’s bracing for a fall.

Neither one says a word. But the record keeps playing. And the silence between them says everything.

@marley1773 @justhere2bhur @mea-bby @browngirldominion @kodakbesos @thickemadame @shinywrites @kindofaintrovert @mskirara @amethyst09 @kittikrusher (lol wtf) @sk1121-blog1 @jozigrrl @childishgambinaax

leave a 💲if you'd like to keep up with this series!

[spideyhexx]

1 am thoughts with kit;

nsfw

also inspired by some talks with @goosita <3

The entire build up to your orgasm, Eddie’s lips are at your ear, kissing and nipping at your skin, his breath hot. His hair tickles you, but your hands find purchase in it, playing with it just the way he likes.

The way that makes him hold your hips tighter and push his dick deeper into you as he slowly thrusts, muttering, “there you go, sweetheart, almost here yeah? Almost there, god you’re so…you’re so beautiful.”

You let out a more strained moan that you muffle by humming through it and he shushes you gently, “I know, gotta tell me, sweetheart, you’re there?”

With a nod and slight buck of your hips to his, you tell him, “yeah…right there, Eddie…just a little more.”

He bites back a groan of his own and picks up the pace, his little nips to your earlobe still so gentle, never truly biting down on you. The harshest thing you feel is his lips moving beneath your ear and sucking on the skin there because he knows that’s your spot.

“Always so pretty like this,” he says, smiling against your skin, helping you move your hips to meet his. His mattress is off slightly on his bed frame, and you can both hear the slight noise of it creaking on the floor but he distracts you from it quick, “oh there you go squeezing me, kills me, sweetheart,” and gives your hip an affectionate squeeze.

It makes you smile, and he doesn’t even need to lift his head to know that’s your reaction to his words. Eddie’s hand sneaks down to rub your clit, relishing in the way your body arches to him at the feeling. His calloused fingers rubbing deft circles nice and quick to time with his thrusts picking up, “come on, baby,” he whispers, “you’re so pretty when you come, lemme see it, just for me, c’mon.”

He has the right of mind to move his hand to your mouth when your orgasm washes over you, burying himself in you to help you ride it out as good as it can be before he pulls out. Eddie moves his hand from your mouth and you watch, panting as he jerks his cock twice before painting your stomach in his cum, a breathy sound leaving his lips, forehead to your chest.

You rake your fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp in a soothing manner, focusing on his breaths against you.

“Babe. I think that’s a new record. Four minutes,” he mumbles, glancing at the clock near his bed. You scoff and hit his shoulder playfully, and he just shoots you a cute grin before moving down the bed.

“Eddie, no, im too sensitive,” you whine at him and he smiles even wider.

“While I love to taste you, that wasn’t my intention.”

Eddie flicks out his tongue to lick some of his cum off of your tummy. You don’t know whether to roll your eyes at it or moan. His eyes stay on you, big and dazed still from his orgasm, but also stuck on your beauty, not wanting to waste any second from looking away. The taste of himself isn’t something he cares or thinks about, only focused on the way you look at him, amused and still full of desire for him.

His tongue makes you ticklish the more he licks up his cum, and he knows it. “Eddie, I think you got it all,” and you flick his ear, to which he scoffs.

“No, I think I gotta keep licking, babe,” to which he purposely licks a stripe agaisnt your side where he knows you’re gonna get ticklish.

You squirm and chuckle, and it only makes him lick you again, his hands tight on your hips to keep you still. And his nose presses into your side, he stills like he’s done, but then he makes a growling noise, biting gently all over your skin from your one side to the other.

All the while, he can’t contain his smile over your laughs.

[catiuskaa]

missed me, missed me, now you gotta...

SUMMARY: minho wasn’t grumpy, nor he was jealous. but he hasn’t been the same ever since he fell in love with you.

REQUESTED! by a sweet annonie right here. pookie, your idea was lovely to write! lil grumpy minho, im melting… it’s a bit short, but I hope you like it! <3

CW: use of (crack) text messages to convey the plot, starring: han quokka as cupid + reader’s bsf, clingy minho as king of my heart, and ngl, type 1 diabetes fluff ahead. keep insulin shots close just in case! lol

WC: 1.1k

A/N: i love how i’m slowly turning into a minho blog/page lmaoo, only minho: the man, the myth, the legend!

[🪻☆🌫️☆🪻]

The same ringtone buzzed again during rehearsals. Its ding had sounded so many times already that it had started to get repetitive really quickly.

Minho frowned as he looked in the mirror, retouching his rolled sleeves just once more for what he secretly knew it had been more than twenty times. In the span of ten minutes. Maybe even less.

But Minho wasn’t ‘grumpy’.

He so wasn’t.

His day had been normal so far. He had no reason to be grumpy. Not one what-so-ever.

He had woken up in between your arms, and even if he had ‘complained’ about it, he loved being the little spoon. And also, his cats jumped on the bed and, just for once, none of them landed on his face.

There had been just one thing.

…

Well. Technically more than one.

You had rushed outside this morning. You claimed you didn’t have time to have breakfast with him, because you were late for something he didn’t really get. Because of that, you hadn’t come over to the JYP building with him. He had to drive over alone. And you hadn’t pecked him goodbye at the entrance like always.

But he. Wasn’t. Grumpy.

Not. At. All.

> sunggie: girl, did you hide his cats or smth?

< minho’s owner: lol, wdym dude?

> sunggie: he looks like he’s going to kill me.

> sunggie: And he loves me! Wtf??

“Jisung-ah.”

Han shrieked in his place in the sofa, his phone almost falling off his hands. He quickly turned it off, hoping that the grumpy dancer hadn’t seen the old or new messages.

“Who were you texting?” Minho frowned, deeper this time.

“Oh.” Jisung chuckled. “Just checking in on noona.”

“My girlfriend?” The way Minho enunciated the title felt a bit possesive. Jisung eyed at him weirdly for a second. Even he felt weird himself.

Jisung nodded sheepishly, turning his phone back on but quickly opening a random app.

“Yeah. I owed her a call back.” He shrugged, nonchalantly accepting that he had opened Subway Surfers, and started to play.

As the catchy music came from Han’s phone, Minho shook his head.

Not grumpy.

Not at all.

But the thought that you had been texting Han and didn’t text him —instead of him— did funny things in his chest.

Now, keep in mind that Minho would never describe himself as a jealous man.

He trusted you with his cats, of course he trusted you regarding your relationship. But he had barely got a hold of you all day. And Han had. By call and text. Like he was doing now.

Not grumpy.

Sure.

< minho’s owner: you dead yet?

Jisung groaned.

> sunggie: no! you made me lose my score!

> sunggie: and I don’t have any keys! ㅠㅠ

< minho’s owner: sucks to suck, lol

< minho’s owner: but what’s wrong with my future husband? did you do something?

> sunggie: he’s moody since he came in this morning.

> sunggie: you weren’t here tho. smth wrong between ya?

< minho’s owner: no…? just had to run to work early…

And then, something in Jisung’s paboracha brain connected. Probably because of how he had named your contact in his phone.

> sunggie: omg

< minho’s owner: what?

> sunggie: that corny dumbass

> sunggie: he’s so stupid

< minho’s owner: bitch what is it???

> sunggie: he’s moody bc u didn’t come in with him today!

You hesitated. Could that be it?

< minho’s owner: really? u think so?

> sunggie: bitch I know so!

> sunggie: imma go get boba for the boys, get your ass here and come w/ me

Jisung’s brain started to work at cupid’s speed.

< minho’s owner: omw. be there in 5’

“Guys, I’m gonna go get boba. Do any of you want something?”

The rest of the gang blabbered something while some kept going over the steps of the choreography and the others rested on the couch, doozing off or on their phones. Han quickly noted down everyone’s orders, not before being squinted down by Minho. He held back a shiver.

“Clingy prick…” Jisung mumbled, leaving quickly.

He walked out of the JYP building, waiving and half bowing to the staff members and other artists in the building.

< minho’s owner: just parked! ^^

Jisung entered the boba place next to the building, smiling at the cashier as he read down the orders on his note app, and stood aside, waiting for the drinks.

“Hey!” You smiled widely at him, taking off your scarf, merely leaving it hanging on your shoulders. He clapped your hand, playfully slapping your back.

“Working hard?” Jisung snickered, pointing at the bag on your other hand.

You side-eyed at him, giggling softly.

“Took some snacks before heading off.” You shrugged. “We can sneak these in, right?”

Jisung scratched the back of his neck. “We’ll… come up with something.”

You both struggled carrying the drinks, teasing each other and betting who’d make a mess first. But all giggles came to an end when the security guard stared at you.

“Name and business?” He asked in a low huff.

Your body stiffened.

“She’s my sister,” Han chimed back. You were in fact far from being his sister, but that didn’t matter when the guard seemed to nod. “She’s just helping me carry the drinks inside.”

“And the bag? What’s inside?”

You cleared your throat, smiling. “Clothes for him to change once he finishes training.” You lied.

Thank God for his imagination. And for his stupid idea of shoving your scarf and his hoodie into the bag of snacks.

“Ok. You may come in.” The guard smiled politely.

Only after the both of you had gotten into the elevator you allowed yourselves to let out a sight full of relief. You two then smirked, high-fiving.

“Thank you, bro.” You teased in a snicker.

He cackled. “You’re welcome, sis.”

You both laughed and joked until you reached the training room.

“The person you dream of is back!” Han cackled.

“Noona!” Felix grinned happily.

“Yeah, that’s me!” You cackled at Jisung’s faked frown.

You smiled and greeted everyone as you entered, leaving a certain bunny boy for last.

You sat next to him on the couch, and without missing a beat, he took your legs and layed them on his lap.

You took a sip of his drink, and he stared at you, almost with a squint.

“You’ve made me jealous of fucking Han Jisung.” He stated matter-o-factly, making you practically choke on the tapioka pearls.

You coughed. “What?”

“You texted him all evening. And me? Not even a good luck kiss this morning.”

“Aw, are you grumpy, kitten?” You grinned teasingly, speaking only towards him in a soft tone to his ear. You pecked his cheek.

He needed more of those.

Grumpy, huh?

“Yes. Very.” He mumbled, hiding his blushed and pleased grin in the crook of your neck. “Need more kisses.”

“Well, you know how it goes.” You mumbled in a snicker. He hummed at you, waiting for you to explain.

You kissed his forehead softly, his hands stroking your thighs.

“Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me.”

~Kats, who can write this in one sit, but can’t figure out how chemistry works (yes have exams, why did I choose this for myself, help)

[amazinglyashy]

hello, idk if you're open but if you dooo, can you do HC of lads seeing MC being more...brutal? since we all know our mc is badass but kind right, but what if sometimes she slipped and her darkness come forth more than she usually let on? hahahah idk it just after all mc been through she's more than validated to be villain u kno. so yea! thankchuu

Just a heads up, I am ALWAYS open, it's just a matter of when I get to the request, so as long as you're patient, anyone can send in anything anytime!! :D And ooh, this is an interesting one, but something I've definitely thought about haha. MC's been through a lot, and I feel a lot of readers also have too, and there comes a point when you gotta say screw it, I'm mad now. (I'll also say I'm still really grumpy about how little we get regarding MC's grieving during certain points of the story, and the lack of how the Li's all react as well to the news, no matter how little they know about the situation :/) Thank you for the request <3 hope you enjoy!

Love and Deepspace Li's reaction to seeing you finally snap

Rafayel -

He's somehow... not surprised.

But can you blame him?

The amount of rage Rafayel carries in his heart is constantly, constantly threatening to bubble up to the surface and boil over the edges of his last remaining ounces of humanity. The amount of cruelty on the basis of pure rage that he could commit is not a volume that he is proud to carry, but something he carries heavily though.

So seeing you finally snap is... almost cathartic.

He knows what he's been through, hell- he knows a great deal of what you've been through. Even in the distant past. It would be a wonder if you weren't angry. If you weren't seeing things. If you hadn't 't been simmering up to your breaking point from microaggressions and trauma stacking up and up until-

Here you were.

And for him, it feels like you're doing something of your own volition- feeling something that was entirely your own. Devoid of any outside influence or need to be the kindest person in the room. To keep your head down, path straight and narrow.

And despite the sheer amount of power he possesses in comparison to you, he will admit if asked- that he was just a little bit afraid at first. Even if just for a moment.

And damn, he was proud of you.

Zayne -

Calmly, he watches you.

It's out of character, sure, given how you usually are. Even when you're rude or abrasive, it's never anywhere near... something quite like this.

But the other thing is- he has a good grasp on the human psychic, just from his medical knowledge, even though it isn't his main area of study. He knows what it takes to truly make someone snap, both from personal experience and from his findings in research.

He also knows the extent of things you have been through that have been building up, cumulating into this moment before him where you have finally just broken.

Depending on the level of rage and cruelty you reach, he may stop you, or he may let you go. Either way, his actions are calm and calculated, no matter how he might disagree with, agree with, or fear your actions. He knows someone needs to remain levelheaded in this situation, and he's more than capable of taking on that role.

Gods forbid once you calm down that you feel guilty. If what you did was uncalled for or wrong, he'll discuss it with you, but if there was justifications to your actions or experiences and trauma that had led you to your moment, he'll just pull you into a hug slowly, his expression even.

He'll say it if he needs to, but his actions will hopefully tell you that nothing, nothing you do will ever change his love for you.

Xavier -

He's startled.

He himself is used to having complete control over his emotions, to the point where he can disguise them exceedingly well to maintain a calm aura. So seeing you fully snap and head down a warpath, it's... shocking.

But he's not entirely surprised.

Honestly, he would be more surprised if you had never got this angry at all, given the things you had told him under the covers in his bed, after a particularly late night in his apartment watching movies together.

You've been through a lot.

He knows that.

He knows how it hurts.

So when you finally rage, it takes him a few moments for even the thought of stopping you to enter his mind. And even when it does, he first has to have a small battle internally on whether or not letting you go off and have your cathartic moment is better, even at the cost of a little bit of destruction.

He'll stop you if it's particularly dangerous though, even if it means having to wrestle you away from whatever it is that was taking the brunt of your anger.

Otherwise, he'll just let you go.

Whenever you're done though, if you dare try and steal a glance back towards him, afraid that you may have scared him or made him scared or angry with you-

He'll just flash you a small, comforting smile.

Sylus -

Sylus spends the majority of his time in a cesspool of seething rage, backstabbing psychopaths, and fake smiles that take advantage of the weak and needy.

Anger for himself, anger towards others, anger to benefit others who can't seem to get angry themselves-

If anyone knows what fury is, it's him. Whether secondhand, personally, or just being around it for so long, he knows the emotion intimately well and every single shape or form that it could possibly take.

Still, seeing you suddenly lose it is... surprising.

He likes it.

Not in a way where he's turned on necessarily (though it is an additional feeling), but the enjoyment stems from constantly seeing you put others before yourself- watching you make yourself small so that the people around you could be big- and now finally watching you take what you deserved in his eyes.

He won't intervene unless you're doing something he knows you'll deeply regret later, instead favoring watching you until you've burnt out and finished to the end.

He's mostly quiet, he knows it's probably not something you want to talk about, like most people wouldn't want to after a particularly vicious outburst in an argument. But he can't help a few small comments.

"I'm surprised. I never thought the kitten had such big claws. You really surprised me, sweetie."

[fayelero]

sorry to bother, i know you could be taking your time which is the most normal thing but in the comments of your kenma angst i saw your comment saying you'd make a new part tonight yesterday 😞😞😞

i dont mean to pressure you into anything but you think you could give me a time please cause waiting is killing me 🙏🙏🙏(dramatic)

it was really so well written and a shame for me that i saw it too early i gotta wait💔i genuinely love your writing

ⓘ 01. KENMA NOT KENMA !

⤷ FLUFF ﹫ timeskip!kenma kozume x fem!reader ﹫ JUST ON TIMEEE!! I just finished (please tell me it’s good) hers for youu <3

⚠︎ kinda angst to fluff, confusing?, kenma act weird .ᐟ.ᐟ part.1

You woke up in his arms. Like always.

The weight of Kenma’s arm slung over your waist, his forehead resting gently against the back of your neck, your legs tangled up in each other like ivy—soft, warm, familiar.

And yet…

Your heart felt hollow. Heavy and soft and soaked through, like paper that had been left in the rain too long.

You blinked against the light streaming through the curtains. Carefully, you lifted his arm and slipped out from beneath it. He barely stirred—just sighed, rolling toward the warmth you left behind. Peaceful. Unknowing.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Twitter. A couple mentions. You scrolled without thinking.

But then—

You saw it.

#KodzukenLive

#Breakdown

“I cried so hard watching that stream last night…”

“He really loves her, huh…”

“Kodzuken snapped and it was BEAUTIFUL.”

“They failed them. They don’t deserve him.”

“If you haven’t seen the stream, go watch the replay.”

Your heart stopped. Cold. Sharp.

Replay?

Your breath caught in your throat. You sat down on the edge of the bed, shoulders tight, fingers trembling as you opened the VOD.

The screen flickered to life.

And there he was.

Kenma.

Messy hair. Hollow eyes. Fury burning quiet and cold behind them.

The stream had no title. No tags. Just his face. So still, so unlike him.

You watched. Word after word.

Frozen.

He knew.

He saw it all.

He read everything they said to you.

And instead of coming to you, he—

Your hand flew to your mouth. You barely breathed as his voice trembled, as he said:

“You stole her smile.”

“You didn’t just hurt her. You hurt me.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get her back.”

Your vision blurred. Tears fell so fast you didn’t even notice the first ones.

He was angry. Broken. Hurt. For you.

Because of you.

No—because of them.

And yet…

You didn’t feel pain in that moment.

You felt warmth.

Flooding. Radiating from the center of your chest, spreading to your fingertips, into your toes. That horrible numbness that had held you for so long cracked—just a little.

He saw you.

He saw what they did to you.

He cared enough to burn his own name just to defend yours.

You cried.

For what they did. For what he did. For all the times you smiled while your heart was breaking, and he had unknowingly tried to stitch it back together with gentle hands and soft words.

And now…

Now, he was trying to do more.

⸻

When he woke up, you had already washed your face and curled back into bed beside him. You wiped your tears until your eyes were dry. Pretended.

He yawned, sat up, and looked at you with soft, unsure eyes.

You smiled.

“Good morning.”

He blinked slowly. “You okay?”

You nodded. Too fast.

He didn’t believe you. Not for a second. But he didn’t ask again.

That was Kenma’s way—he didn’t force words. Didn’t barge into your pain. He waited at the door and hoped you’d let him in.

Instead of talking, he pulled you close and kissed your temple.

And then the weirdest day of your life began.

⸻

He made you breakfast. That wasn’t weird.

But he made it like he was on a cooking show. Literally narrated every step.

“Here we are, placing the aesthetically pleasing strawberries on the plate. Perfect. Gordon Ramsay could never.”

You snorted. You tried not to, but you did.

He beamed. Like he’d just won a medal.

Then he dragged you into the living room and suggested—no, insisted—you two build a pillow fort. A real one. With string lights. And a Netflix queue.

He even pulled out the mini projector and set it up with “wholesome romance movies only, no trauma, I promise.”

And still—it felt off. Not Kenma.

Forced.

He was doing everything. Everything but talking about what mattered.

And you knew why. Because Kenma wasn’t built for messy conversations. He never liked conflict. He wasn’t good with panic. He processed things in his head, in silence, and sometimes the words never caught up.

But this time—you needed the words.

You sat there, under fairy lights, holding a mug of hot chocolate he made with cinnamon and way too many marshmallows, and you watched him try.

Try to fix something he didn’t know how to fix.

He was twitchy. Kept glancing at you. Kept offering you snacks. Kept starting sentences and trailing off.

Then he brought out board games.

Halfway through Uno, you were done.

Your cards hit the floor.

He blinked, startled. “Hey—?”

“I saw the stream.”

Silence.

His face changed like the whole world paused. Mouth parted. Breath hitched. Shoulders tensed.

“…You… did?”

You stood up. “You could’ve just fucking told me, Kenma!”

“I—!” he started, then stopped. Flustered. His ears turned red. “I didn’t… know how.”

Your chest rose and fell. “You yelled at thousands of people before you said a single word to me!”

“I was mad!” he said, suddenly standing too. “Not at you—at them. At me. I didn’t see what they were doing. I thought you were just tired. I didn’t… I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“So instead you—what—play house today like it never happened?” You threw your hands up. “You made pancakes and dragged me into a blanket fort, Kenma!”

He fidgeted, heart in his throat. “I thought… if I made you laugh again, it would be okay.”

Your lip trembled.

He stepped closer. Hesitantly. Hands barely raised like he wanted to touch you but didn’t know how.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m really, really bad at this. At saying things right. But—god, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to scream. I saw those messages, and I’ve never felt rage like that in my life. And then I looked at you—sleeping next to me—and I thought: I let them do this to her.”

You looked away. Your throat was tight. The tears were threatening again.

Kenma took your hand, small and shaking.

“I didn’t want to be another person hurting you with the truth.”

“But hiding it still hurt,” you whispered.

He nodded, guilt all over his face. “I know. I know I messed this up.”

And then, before you could respond, he pulled you in.

He wrapped both arms around you and buried his face in your shoulder.

“I’m so in love with you,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “I’d delete every social media account I have if it meant keeping you safe. I just… didn’t want to see you fade anymore. I was trying to bring you back.”

Your heart cracked open like glass under heat.

You hugged him back—tight.

“I never needed forts or pancakes,” you said into his hair. “I just needed you. I needed you to see me.”

He nodded fiercely. “I do. I swear I do now.”

A pause.

Then—

“I even shaved my legs for you this morning,” he blurted.

You blinked.

“…What?”

What?

He pulled back, frowning. “Like. As a peace offering. I thought maybe you’d laugh or think it was hot—I don’t know what I’m doing, okay?!”

You burst out laughing. Full-on, doubled-over, tears-streaming, stomach-aching laughter.

Kenma flushed crimson.

“There she is…” he whispered softly, watching you with the gentlest smile.

And for the first time in what felt like forever… it reached your eyes.

You stepped forward and cupped his cheeks, smiling through tears and laughter both.

“I love you,” you said, voice trembling.

He leaned into your hands. “I love you more. I love you the most. I love you so much it makes me dumb.”

“You’ve always been dumb.”

“I shaved my legs!”

“And I didn’t even notice, babe! That’s on me!”

You both laughed again—messy, breathless, but real.

You kissed him. Slow. Deep. Warm.

The pain didn’t vanish. The scars didn’t heal overnight. But right then, in his arms, with his stupid stubbly legs and his worried heart, you didn’t feel hollow anymore.

[iamthatonefangirl]

relax - nsfw jackson era joel miller

writing (and hopefully posting) this before tonight's episode comes out bc. well. you all know.

not my best bc i am sick but this was on my mind<3

~~~

"that's it, pretty girl, come on over here," he encourages.

you're exhausted. every muscle in your body is yelling at you to go home and get some sleep. but you'd rather be here, in Joel's office with him, waiting for him to finish up.

"Joel, I can just–"

"be awfully rude o' me to keep you waiting, darlin'," he drawls in that beautiful southern accent of his. he's ever the gentleman, knowing he has to work but wanting to make sure you know that you are his priority.

you hang your head and pull yourself off of the doorway you're leaning on. you make your way over to where he's sitting, still at his desk, with those glasses on, the ones that make your head absolutely spin with desire.

you reach your hands out in front of you to take his as you stand in front of him, and he tightly holds onto them, not letting you go anywhere. your eyes are weary and part of you just wants to go sit on his couch and nap. you consider it, but deep down, you crave his touch more than anything.

"c'mere, darlin'. come on," he encourages once more, gently tugging on your hands to urge you closer. he spreads his legs apart, pulling you to stand hovering over his thigh before sitting you down on it.

his hands come to wrap around your waist. you rest your head on his shoulder, almost half asleep. his hair tickles your nose from having grown out.

you fucking love his longer hair. it makes him look so pretty, so good, all your own.

his hands are warm against you, his body heat seeping into your cold bones. your eyes stay shut as he tilts his face towards you, whispering, "want me to make you feel better, sweetheart?"

you nod against his shoulder. he always makes you feel so good, takes all your worries away. you're so grateful for him, making sure you're always taken care of, even now when he's supposed to be working.

his hands adjust to center themselves on your hips while yours remain gently wrapped around his torso.

"don't gotta move a muscle, babygirl," he assures you. "just let me take care o' ya."

his voice is like molasses in your ears, and you feel yourself melting against him. he slowly begins rocking your hips against his leg, ever so slowly. you turn your head to face downwards, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, and let out a low whine at the feeling he's stirring within you.

"shh, shh," he whispers, still dragging your hips so gently over his thigh, "just relax."

his strength to move you against him is no match for the friction of your denim pants against his. all you feel is the comfortable pressure of his leg between yours, gently rocking you in a perfect rhythm to ease the stress in your mind and help lure you into that sleepy state you're near.

you settle, as instructed, leaning all your weight against him as he continues to help build the heat you feel between your thighs.

"Joel," you whine, "'s good."

"yeah? you like that?" he begins. "bet you'd like me to take you home, wouldn't you? fuck you so soft, it'll put you to sleep, baby. would ya like that, baby, huh?"

you whine. that sounds like heaven.

"please," you whisper.

"oh, I will, baby. I will," he reassures you. "just need you to finish right here, baby. then I'll take you home. I'll put my mouth on you real nice, just the way you like, yeah?"

that's all you want. to go home, take a hot shower, and just let him worship you.

your whole body warms as the pressure of him against you finally takes over. your climax is ever so soft, a gentle release of the pressure and stress of your mind, all washing away. you whine when it happens, and any tension you might have had left in your bones falls away.

he's always there when you need him, always there to take on your stressors and anxieties as his own. he's your backbone, always supporting you when you need it the most.

and even when you fall, he'll be there to catch you.

~~~

this was my first work for joel and i need practice and it's kind of overshadowed by the fact that i have to go watch s2 e2 after this but oh well <3

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[dollzstrology]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Today you finally build up the courage to tell JJ you’re pregnant. When you reveal the news, he does something that you least expected…. laugh in your face.

Music Advisory — Featuring: JJ Maybank // fem!reader + pregnant!reader, light angst, takes on place on April Fools Day, pregnancy revealed, comedic, fluffy ending, miscommunication, JJ being himself, usage of pet names [princess], [n/n = nickname]

Duration — 1.4k words

Words from Artist — This was a very last minute idea i had and I thought it would be perfect for the holiday and JJ’s personality so i decided to write it. As always feel free to comment and reblog, I enjoy reading y’all reactions and would love to hear your thoughts <3

Current Platforms — main m.list・obx taglist・navigation

You’re sitting on the edge of JJ’s bed, your fingers tangled together in your lap as your heart pounds inside your chest. Today was the day. You’ve spent the last few days rehearsing what to say, how to say it, and preparing for any possible reaction your boyfriend might have when you tell him the unexpected news. When you left your house you thought you were prepared but now, sitting here, watching him toss a lighter between his fingers, completely unaware of the bomb you’re about to drop, you feel like the words you rehearsed escape your mind.

JJ notices your silence and nudges you with his knee. “You good, princess? You look kinda…” He pauses, squinting at you, trying to find the right words to describe your expression. “...kinda like you ran over my bike or somethin’.”

You exhale sharply, your throat tightening as you finally decide to just spill the secret you’ve been keeping to yourself. “JJ, I need to talk to you.”

His brows raise slightly, wondering what you could have to say but he only tosses the lighter off to the side and gives you his full attention. “What’s up?”

“I’m pregnant.”

At first JJ just stares at you, his emotions unreadable but after a moment of processing the news he throws his head back, laughing so hard he nearly doubled over and fell off the bed, as if you just said the most funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Oh, that’s a good one, [n/n].”

Your heart sinks when his laughter starts to fill your ears. It’s taken you days to finally gather the courage to tell JJ about the pregnancy. You had gone through every possible reaction in your head: shock, fear, maybe even anger—but laughter? That’s the last thing you thought he would do so you feel hurt and a little offended. “What’s so funny? You think me being pregnant is something to laugh at?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest as you try your best not to raise your voice.

JJ wiped at his eyes, still chuckling, your tone not phasing him one bit. “C’mon, pregnant? Today of all days? Nice try, but you can’t prank the prankster.”

You stare at him, confused, not understanding where he’s going with this until he grins and continues. “April Fools.” he says in a duh tone as if you should know today’s holiday. “You really thought you could get me with that one?” He mutters while his demeanor relaxes, laying back against the mattress. “I gotta hand it to you though, that was good. The serious tone, actin’ all nervous, I almost fell for it.”

And just like that, the confusion cleared. Your stomach dropped as realization hit you like a brick to the chest. You’ve been so wrapped up in your nerves, trying to find the right moment to tell him that you completely forgot what today is. And now, he’s completely convinced that this is some elaborate prank to get back at him for all the times he pranked you over the years. 

“JJ,” you say slowly, trying to keep your voice steady as frustration bubbles up in your throat, wanting him to take you seriously. “I’m not joking.”

JJ just smirks while shaking his head, thinking it’s so cute that you finally decided to prank him back. While he’s still letting out a few low chuckles, you reach inside your purse, pulling out the multiple pregnancy tests you had taken earlier in the week, the undeniable evidence that his child is growing in your womb. 

Without saying another word, you shove them into his lap, presenting him with proof that this isn't some crazy April Fools joke. JJ sits up, thinking this is part two of your prank but when he glances down and actually sees what you just handed him, the sound of laughter rapidly dies in his throat. His smile disappears as his fingers tighten around the tests, his eyes widening when he reads ‘positive’ on the digital test screen and sees the two pink lines on the others.

You swallow hard, watching as he finally realizes that what you told him is real. “I’m seriously pregnant, JJ. This isn't some prank, I wouldn't joke around about something like this.”

For a long moment, he says nothing. Just stares, his eyes flickering between you and the pregnancy tests in his hand. His mouth opens and then quickly closes, like he’s still trying to process the reality of what’s in front of him. “Shit.” is the first word that comes out his mouth when he finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper as he looks at your stomach in disbelief. JJ runs a shaky hand through his shaggy blonde hair, trying to get the thought of you being pregnant wrapped around his head. “I—fuck. I thought you were messin’ with me.”

Tears sting your eyes, not from sadness but from sheer emotional exhaustion. You had spent days preparing for this, running every possible scenario through your mind, and yet nothing could have prepared you for this rollercoaster of emotions you’ve experienced in the last few minutes. You exhale sharply, wiping at your eyes before the tears have the chance to glide down your cheeks. “Yeah, I got that.” 

He looks up at you then, really looks at you, his blue orbs staring into the windows of your soul like he’s trying to communicate his emotions without speaking. For the first time since this conversation started, his whole demeanor changes. The shock is still there, but underneath there’s something else, something softer. “We’re really… having a baby?” 

“Yeah, we really are.”

JJ exhales, letting out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh. He looks down at the tests again, shaking his head in amazement that in nine months he’ll be holding a baby in his arms, a baby that’s a mixture of the two of you. “Holy shit. I’m gonna be a dad.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, searching his face for any signs of fear or regret. “Are you okay?”

JJ looks up at you, and to your surprise, a slow smile spreads across his face. Not his usual cocky grin, or his signature smirk but a real, genuine smile. “I’m more than okay.” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I mean, yeah, I’m scared shitless. But I love you. I can’t believe we made a whole-ass human…” He lets out a soft chuckle, feeling sparks of excitement flood through his body when he thinks about you being pregnant with his child, how he’ll be able to see you in a whole new light. “That’s fucking insane—but kinda amazing, too.”

“You’re really happy about this? You’re not mad?” Before talking to JJ your biggest fear was that JJ would be upset once he found out you were pregnant. This was definitely an unexpected thing that just happened out of the blue but after many deep conversations with yourself you were able to accept the thought of becoming a mother, you just hoped that JJ would feel the same way.

He nods without hesitation, moving his hands down to your waist and pulling you into his lap. “Hell yeah, I’m happy. We’re gonna have a little Maybank running around, probably stealing my shit and giving you hell.” He grins, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I can’t wait.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, a small, relieved laugh escaping your lips as JJ’s tighten around you, holding you close like he never wants to let go. His warmth, his touch, it’s all so reassuring, melting away all the nerves that had been eating at you all day.

JJ presses a lingering kiss to your temple, making a warmth spread across your cheeks. “I know this is a lot but we’ve been through some crazy shit, much crazier than this.” He pulls back slightly to look at you, his hands settling against your stomach, thumbs brushing over your shirt where your baby, his baby, slowly grows. “I swear to you, I’m all in. You’re not doing this alone.”

His words hit you right in the chest, breaking through the last bit of fear clinging to you. You nod, leaning into into his embrace, resting your head on his shoulder. “I know.” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.”

As you and him sit together, talking about your future and this little creation you’re bringing into the world, your heart swells with joy. This wasn’t part of the plan but looking at JJ now, the way his excitement is written all over his face, you’re not scared anymore, you’re ready to embrace the future.

Fanbase — @sturnstarkeylvr @desigyall @princessadaniii8 @gillybear17 @rafestoothbrush @daisywonderland @saturnsdevilz @shadyshadyy @m-mally @jj-maybank944 @jordscosplay @taylormarieee @ims1 @ietss @shimmeringana @anything4yooongi @genesis-p4l-love @oatmealisweird @rafesslutt @artbymin @hot-cheeto5739 @maiacroson @7ds4ever @miaaalovesyou @alwaysmaybank

[favefandomimagines]

Back in the Saddle (t.o)

Request: @glenxjesse “I was wondering if I could request a Tyler Owen/reader. Where reader fell off her horse and got pretty badly injured with a concussion and a shattered heel bone and needed surgery and Tyler takes time off of wrangling to take care of her while she’s laid up, making sure she has everything she needs and carrying her around to different rooms because she hates her crutches and he’s worried about her falling again, also comforting her at night when the pain is really bad and she can’t sleep. Last year I fell off my horse with those exact injuries and I just feel like Tyler would be the most attentive, comforting boyfriend. Thank you! Please feel free to change whatever you want! And if you don’t want to write it I understand as well! Hope you’re doing well! Love your writing by the way!”

AN: I am SO SORRY this took me so long!!! Life got in the way and I totally forgot! I hope you all enjoy some Tyler Owens fluff!

Summary: Tyler puts his storm chasing on hold to take care of Y/N after a horse riding accident and there’s no where else he’d rather be.

Tyler’s boots scuffed the dirt as he moved slowly across the ranch, his broad hat shielding him from the unforgiving late afternoon sun. The sky stretched vast and blue, with a hint of dark clouds building on the horizon, the kind that usually sent him chasing after the storms in his beat-up red truck.

But today wasn’t like most days. He wasn’t tracking any storms or watching the sky for funnels with Boone. Today, he was watching over Y/N.

Y/N sat on the porch, her right leg elevated and wrapped in a thick cast. Her face, normally flushed with color from riding her horse under the big sky, was pale. The pain was evident in her tight grip on the armrest of the chair. A concussion and a shattered heel—the doctor had said it could’ve been worse when she fell off her horse, but to Tyler, it already felt like a nightmare.

She had to have surgery to repair her foot and her recovery time is 3-4 months. Which for Tyler felt like an eternity. Afraid something else could wrong while she wasn’t mobile enough to protect herself.

He walked up to her, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. "You need anything?" His voice was soft, like a breeze passing through the fields, but beneath it was a current of concern.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes heavy with the exhaustion of pain and sleepless nights. "I’m fine, really. Just... tired of these stupid crutches. My arms are killing me."

Tyler crouched beside her, his face level with hers. "I know it’s hard, darlin’. But you gotta take it easy for a bit. The crutches are a pain, but they’re helping you heal."

She let out a huff, frustrated. "I hate being stuck here. You should be out chasing storms, Tyler. Not babysitting me."

"Hey," Tyler said firmly, but his smile softened the edge in his voice. "This ain’t babysitting. This is takin’ care of you. And I wouldn’t be anywhere else."

Her lips quirked into a small smile, though she tried to hide it. "I don’t want to hold you back."

"You ain’t holdin’ me back, baby. I’d miss a hundred storms if it meant bein’ here with you. Don’t you know that by now?"

Y/N’s eyes flickered, a mixture of relief and guilt dancing in their depths. She reached out and took his hand. "I’m sorry, Ty. I just... I hate being this helpless."

Tyler stood and pulled her into a gentle hug, mindful of her injuries. "Ain’t nothin’ helpless about you. You’re one of the toughest women I’ve ever known. But right now, tough means lettin’ yourself heal. And I’m here to help with that. It’s what I want to do."

For the first time all day, Y/N’s shoulders relaxed. She rested her head against his chest, letting his steady heartbeat calm her restless mind. "Thank you."

They stayed like that for a few minutes, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the porch. Tyler finally pulled back, a playful grin on his face. "Now, how ‘bout we get you inside? Doc said you need to rest."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. "I’ve been resting all day."

"Yeah, but you haven’t had my world-famous chicken noodle soup yet," Tyler teased.

"Oh really? World-famous, huh?"

"In at least three counties," he said with a wink.

Tyler scooped her up in his arms and carried her towards the front door. “You know you’re supposed to do this when you get married, right?” Y/N questioned. “Hey, it’s good practice.” He replied.

||

That night, Tyler sat beside the bed, his boots kicked off and his legs stretched out in front of him. Y/N lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, her face contorted in pain she was trying hard to hide. But Tyler noticed. He always noticed.

He leaned over, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "You okay?"

Y/N blinked, her eyes glistening. "It’s just... the pain. It’s worse at night. I feel like I can’t get away from it."

Without hesitation, Tyler slipped into bed beside her, carefully wrapping his arms around her without putting pressure on her leg. He pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I’m right here, darlin’," he whispered. "I ain’t goin’ nowhere."

Y/N took a shaky breath. "I know. But I don’t want to keep you up all night."

Tyler kissed the top of her head, his lips warm and comforting. "Don’t worry ‘bout that. Sleep or no sleep, I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone."

She buried her face into his chest, the familiar scent of him—earth and leather, storm clouds and fresh hay—giving her a sense of peace she hadn’t felt all day. "Ty... what if this takes longer than 4 months to heal? What if I’m not the same afterward?"

Tyler’s grip tightened just a little, enough to reassure her without hurting her. "Then it takes longer. And if you ain’t the same, we’ll figure it out together. You think I’m here just for the ridin’ and the fun days? No. I’m here for all of it. The good, the bad, and whatever comes next."

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes closing as the pain seemed to lessen, just a bit, with his words. "I don’t deserve you."

"Now, that’s where you’re wrong," Tyler said, his voice soft but firm. "You deserve the world, Y/N. And if I can give you even a piece of it, I will. You’re my whole world."

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to say something so raw, so vulnerable. "You mean that?"

Tyler chuckled softly, his voice rumbling in his chest. "More than you know."

Y/N snuggled closer, her body relaxing into his. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp, not when she was wrapped in the safety of his arms. "I love you, Tyler."

"I love you too, darlin’," he murmured, his lips pressing softly against her forehead. "And I’m here for the long haul. Ain’t nowhere else I’d rather be."

The night stretched on, the sky outside dark and the stars shining. Tyler stayed awake, his arms around Y/N, listening to her breathing slowly even out as she finally drifted into sleep. He didn’t mind missing the storms. There would always be another tornado, another season. But there was only one Y/N, and she was worth every missed chase, every long night spent by her side.

As he lay there in the dark, the distant rumble of thunder echoed from far-off storms, but Tyler didn’t stir. His focus was here, on the woman he loved.

And as long as she needed him, that’s exactly where he’d be.

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Thank you @kamisobsessed for the request <3 smut prompt 11 with Tim Bradford😌 Sorry it took forever

Pairings: Tim Bradford -x- Reader

Warnings: PWP, Language, P-I-V, Unprotected Sex (NO) Office Sex, Dom(ish) Tim. (lmk if i missed any)

Prompt: 11) quickie where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essential

Special Thanks To My Beta Boo <3 @copperboom82

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"Pull 'em down," he demanded, pointing at your jeans.

You should have learned your lesson by now when it came to back talking Timothy Bradford, but you loved it - loved getting him worked up, loved bringing out that dominant side of him. The one that would smack your ass as hard as he could and ask if his dirty little princess liked it.

"Now boot!" His patience was running thin, making him making his him raise his voice a little.

There was a smile on your face you did as you were told. His hand pressed on your back, bending you over the desk of his small office. A gasp pushed passed your lips when you felt the sting of his hand on your bare ass cheek.

"When you're given an order you listen…"

"Yes, sir," you whimpered, feeling another sting on your behind. His fingers found your exposed clit, making you moan as they swirled around it. Your core thrummed with anticipation when you heard the jingle of his belt unbuckling. "Quit teasing me," you voiced as he dragged his tip through your glistening folds.

"Beg," he ordered, making the thrumming turn to throbbing.

"Please…" you pleaded.

"Ah, ah, please what?" You could hear the smile in his voice as he lined up to your entrance.

He chuckled when you sighed. "Please, sir."

"Not too loud, sweetheart," he warned as his thick cock slid inside you, stretching your walls, filling you as he plunged deep. "Wouldn't wanna get caught, now would we?"

"No… sir…" you moaned as quietly as you could. His fingers found your clit again as he waited for you to adjust to his size, making the tension in your stomach start to build.

"Sargent Bradford." You felt him flinch when Sergeant Grey's voice came through the intercom of his phone.

"Yes, sir," Tim responded. Your hand flew to cover your mouth when his hands started to moved.

"Are you busy right now?"

"Kind of…" he thrusted forward slowly, making your grip on your lips tighten, his finger still working you nub.

"Well, whatever it is wrap it up - my office 10 minutes," Grey demanded.

"Gotcha." Tim chuckled when the line when dead. "We gotta make this quick, sweetheart."

The speed of his hips quickened, the tension in your stomach building as he pounded in and out, his hold on your hips almost bruising.

"Fuck… Tim," you moaned when you released the hold on your mouth, you walls clenching around him.

"That's it baby…" His fingers circled again, "Come on my cock."

His words were driving the tension to it's peak as his tip grazed that sweet spot inside you.

"Don't… stop…" you managed through breathy pants. "Right… there."

"Mmm… Baby." Tim groaned, your walls pulsating around him as your orgasm crashed over you, sending white hot pleasure through your every nerve. He buried his cock, grunting loudly you felt his warm sticky come mingle with yours deep inside your core.

His quick breaths filled the room as he tried to catch it. "You're gonna be the death of me, boot." He said in a lighter tone, giving your ass another slap.

"Not a bad way to go…" you voiced, his arms wrapped around you once you rose up, kissing your cheek.

"Not at all!"

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@litpicks @quietgirll75 @namcymcl

@deanwinchestersgirl8734 @deansimpalababy @roseblue373 @spnaquakindgdom

[carbonfiction]

the logan holding you to sleep reblog made me melt bc i’m sick rn and my whole body’s aching so i can’t sleep at all and i’m just thinking of him or frank being super duper pooper gentle and rubbing my hips that are in searing pain and cooing at me or holding my head closer when i make a pained noise 🐳 and my pussy is tender and fucking hurts too help 🥲

Pleeeeaaaaase 🐳nonnie!!! Being sick is so fucking sucky and i hope you feel better soon<3 i send so many lo and frankie hugs, plus heres a lil something bc goood, now im thinking about the way they would both take care of you when you were sick!!

Soothing Sickness, thought's w Logan and Frank! <3

Warnings?: mostly fluffy, mentions of medicine and such, a tinnnnnny smige of smut also- just some soft, fairly undescript, over the pants stuff! <3 masterlist

So, personally I feel like Logan would be much more.. Not quite anxious? But definitely a have that sort of disposition? Especially if you didnt have healing powers/weren't a fellow mutant.

He'd hover by the bed, by the couch, the door- anywhere you are. Half because it puts his mind at ease slightly to know where and how you are at all times, and half so if you need help at all; a drink, a snack, another blanket, literally just staggering to the bathroom, He is there and ready!!

Logan is the best at keeping you distracted too- in fact he will even bargain with you to stay in bed. "Nah cmon baby, gotta stay n' rest, ain't gonna feel better if you're staggerin about for everyone" and he does a have a point.. But perhaps you feel guilty about being stuck still in bed, like its not fair on those around you for you to be so inconvenient. Which is complete rubbish So logan breaks out the big guns.. Well.. books.

"How bout this, you stay in bed n' I'll stay.. Read you whatever you want. Hell, ill think about throwin in some cuddles if your good" with a stupid little smirk bc he knows hes got you- knows you will never turn down a cuddle with him no matter how bad you feel (you'd admitted something about feeling special that he feels safe enough with you to indulge in physical contact a while back and he swears it healed something inside him) or the soothing rumble of his voice. Those big hands of his rubbing over your skin, trying to ease the physical aches your body is feeling.

And if you began to get squirmy? A little warm and a little needy from having been enveloped by his scent for so long.. Well, he's gonna take care of that too. "What's the matter, not feelin sick are ya?" instead youd shake your head slowly, a soft sniffle filling his ears. "hurts.. " and the poor guy would practically be sniffling out whats wrong with you like an alert dog, checking everything until you all but tug his arm down beneath the sheets with a tiny whimper of struggle. "Whatcha doin with my- oh.. Oh i get it.. Poor babys all achey down there too? You need me to make it better honey 's that it?" logan would murmer, feeling over the soft fabric of both your panties and sleepwear. You'd stop him as he shifted to move them, to gather direct contact, instead putting his paw like hand back over the layers. "Hurts.. But sensitive.."

With a kiss pressed to your head in understanding hes rubbing slow circles on your clit over your clothes, providing just enough friction to build pleasure in your gut. Warm and fuzzy headed he guides you to orgasm, gasping softly into his neck. "Thats my girl, my pretty baby, did go good f''me. I know.. I know thats better huh?" as you you begin to drift off against him. Thoroughly taken care of.

----____--------____--------____----

Whereas our Frankie is a little more.. Prepared? Perhaps even clinical in a way. Every few hours hes plying you with medicine and warm tea for your throat, something like honey/lemon or camomile when he sees the way you refuse to sleep in favor of trying to push through.

"Aint gotta be doin laundry right now sweetheart, should be in bed." rumbled low beside your ear as he leans down, grasping a half folded shirt from your hands- too tired to protest physically.

"Gotta get it done frankie.." you try, only to hear him sigh- feel the weight of his hands begining to massage at your aching shoudlers. You stop and revel in the feeling for a moment, grumbling at the lick of pain that comes with the knots rubbed free.

Moments later you blink, trying to comprehend the fact your now off your feet and in franks arms- those hands now supporting your thighs as he carries you from the pile of laundry to the couch. Depositing you with a soft oomph! as he moves to grab at the blanket across the back.

Once sufficiently swaddled with it hes padding to the kitchen, coming back with tea; camomile if you had to guess despite not really being able to taste or smell it, and a few flu pills. Ready to get you comfortable for a nap so he can go finish the laundry you'd been trying to achive.

Except, frank doesn't get that far.

"Don' go.." he hears you sniffle pitifully, a soft hand grabbing at his forearm as he tries to walk away. Your expression filled with exhaustion that tugs at Frank's heart.

"Thought you wanted the laundry done sweetheart?"

"Mhm..Later" youd grumble, tugging again at him. "please.." The plea tugs at his heartstrings, sad and sniffley. Your eyes, filled with a sense of vulnerability, drooping the longer you peer up at him.

Frank sighs, resolve crumbling almost instantly as he sits himself down. "Alright, alright, my girl needs me huh?" you nod and his lips twitch into something like a smile. Large body open wide as he shifts to lie back against the arm of the couch. you begin to crawl your blanketed form ontop of his chest, legs between his. "Yeah, you come cuddle on up, atta girl, get all comfy"

You remain like that for a while, grumbling soft, contented sounds as his hands rub at your sore body. Shoudlers, lower back, your hips, massaged with gentle yet firm enough intent for him to think you fallen asleep if the soft puffs of your breath ment anything.

That is, until he feels you begin to rock over his sweatpant clad thigh. A broken, near Inauble sound pressing into his neck. The hands soothing over your sore hips drift up to sit at your waist with a careful squeeze. "Hey.. Hey sweetheart, whatcha doin there huh? Suposed to be nappin"

But your soft movements dont stop, the slow gentle rocks catching your core just right to feel good in your sleepy state. "Need.. Jus' wanna feel good.. Please.." you murmer into his skin, head not even lifting from the crook of his neck where you huff.

A thousand thoughts go through franks mind, most how he should stop you and get you resting. How he should be soothing you to sleep instead. But the broken, pitiful sounds you let out besides his ear makes Frank think otherwise.

So, as he always does when it comes to you, he gives in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "You got me sweetheart, not goin anywhere. Alright, shhh, i know. you hump away yeah? Hump that nasty feelin away sweetheart. Do whatcha need"

And you do, guided by his hands on your waist and the growing heat in your fluttering tummy. You hump at his leg in soft rocks until your own legs tremble and lips part in a quiet gasp. Shattering with a fuzzy mind and a throbbing clit.

"Oh there you go.. There it is.. Atta girl." frank coos, lips still pressing kisses to your skin as you grip him tightly. A large hand slipping to rub up and down you back soothingly. "Feelin a lil better now?"

Theres a soft mumble at fills his ears in response , arms nice and tight around you as you snuggle further into his chest. Eyes finally fluttering shut as the combination of your orgasm, the tea and medication kick in. "Yeah.. You take that nap while your all nice n' fuzzy. I gotcha."

Sigh.. Sigh i need them guys. I need them so fucking bad its not even funny.

[bananasplit133]

Dial T for Tenna (Part 2)

PART 1 ---- PART 3 --- Ao3

'Ant' Tenna/Reader

Summary: Mr. Tenna fears losing his place on the show and demands more excitement. The audience boos during the live broadcast, shaking him. In his office, he doubts himself. You comfort him and promise new contestants. He quietly thanks you.

-------

The studio corridor hummed with expectancy—buzzing lights, rolling camera dollies, and a looped sound cue that felt like a heartbeat. You stepped through the backstage entrance and into the backstage hub for TV Time. It looked like a chaotic game show arena, wires snaked everywhere, cue cards stacked like mini towers, and crew members darting about, adjusting lights and checking audio feeds.

And then you heard it: the unmistakable scream of Tenna’s voice, booming across the room, as though he were narrating his own life in grandiose fits.

“IT’S TV TIME!!!” he shouted, the echo bouncing off the walls. The phrase crackled overhead like a catchphrase encoded into the building’s wiring . Then came a destructive thud and more shouting. You pushed through a set of cables and barriers just as he stormed into view, mid-rant, his suit pristine but his posture aggressive, arms flung wide. His screen flashed jagged colors—not white—overflowing with static.

“You call this a reality challenge!? Where’s the punch? The drama? The stakes?” His voice reverberated. Crew scattered. He stalked forward, screen flicking violently in time with his breaths. “And where’s my spotlight? They stuck me under flat lights like a washed-out rerun! I’m not some low-tier rerun—they need me PRIME TIME, they HEAR ME!?”

You stayed set just out of frame, clipboard in hand. When he finally registered you, he froze like a faulty display.

“Oh-ho-ho, look who it is,” he barked, tone dripping incredulity. “The… emotional liaison! Come to watch me melt down so you can send memos across the network?” He leaned in, and though he didn’t have eyes, his posture pinned you—challenging. “Tell me you didn’t map my personal breakdown for your feast of corporate reading?”

You inhaled slowly. “I’m here to help. To keep you on broadcast.”

He snorted, voice rising. “Help? I don’t need off-air pep talks, I need Ratings! Contestants who are sweating, audience gasping, a quiz show that sizzles. This isn’t Sesame Street—this is TV TIME, baby!”

Tenna pivoted, rattling cue cards. “We’ve got contestants signing up for physical challenges, quiz rounds—mini-games that test wit, reflexes, failure threatens humiliation!” This was his element. Adrenaline carved through his speech. Then his tone cracked: “And yet, they want me to babysit… to tone it down? What’s next? Lip-syncing to lullabies?”

The static on his screen deepened, crackling into hushed tones. You stepped forward. “Mr Tenna, they’re not limiting your energy. They want you safe, intact—so the show can go on with you, not without you.”

He whirled, fists clenching. “Show can go on without me?” His voice lowered, breath rasping. The studio lights dimmed and brightened at irregular intervals—like his panic echoing in physical form. “That’s it—they’re grooming a replacement, aren’t they? Someone younger, brighter—someone they can control!”

You didn’t answer at first, letting him burn out the fear. Out of the darkness came a quiet sputter: “I used to own the living room. The whole family would drop popcorn just to hear my jingle—everybody tuned in, every time.” His screen flickered white, then stuttered into static for a split-second before stabilizing back to white. “Now? Now I gotta pander. Tap into empathy. Pretend vulnerability. Show the crowds... this side of me. What if they watch, and don’t tune back?”

You kept your voice even, close but not invasive “And if that happens?” He met the silence partway, shoulders trembling slightly, his stance deflating. A glitch of multicolored lines crawled across his screen like tears.

“And then… what am I? Obsolete. Irrelevant. Forgotten.”

You swallowed. This was raw, unfiltered. “Then I’ll make sure people remember you,” you said. “They’ll remember the intensity, the chaos, the soul behind the static. But above all—you staying on stage, front and center. No replacement.”

He held your gaze—a long, heavy moment—as the lights overhead stabilized, as if breathing with him.

Then, abruptly, he snapped upright. His screen flared white again. “Fine.” His voice was clipped, defensive, terse. “Rehearsal lights—with those blue gels. Full saturation. That’s not negotiable. And get me three contestants who can keep up with real-time trivia and physical stunts. None of that desk quiz nonsense.”

“I’ll arrange it,” you replied.

He pointed at you. Even his posture was a command. “And if anyone tries to cue me mono or put me in the editing room mute… I walk. Don’t care if they cancel the show.”

“Understood.”

He marshaled his presence: straightened tie, squared shoulders. “Alright then.” He motioned to the set behind him, where staff scurried. “Time to prep. Let’s make sure this is TV Time—not yawn time.”

His screen sputtered static, then steadied to white. He strode away, and the set snapped to life in his wake—lights synced, cameras rolling, technicians breathing a collective sigh.

You exhaled, watching him activate his domain again. The show must go on—and so would he. But this time, maybe with a bit more you helping to keep the signal strong.

…..

The next morning hit like a broadcast at full volume.

You barely had time to sit at your desk—more like a folding chair jammed behind a prop wall—before the call blared through the intercom: "LIVE SHOW PREP! TEN MINUTES, PEOPLE. LET’S GET THIS STATIC BUZZIN’!"

The studio was a fever dream—flashing lights, crew members running around like their shoes were on fire, cables tangled underfoot like digital vines. You held your clipboard tight as a production assistant shoved a coffee into your hands with the desperation of someone who hadn’t slept in three days.

Across the stage, Tenna was already in the spotlight, arms flung wide, his screen lit in clean, bright white. His voice cut through the chaos, exaggerated and booming:

“CONTESTANTS! ENERGY! EXCITEMENT! ENTERTAIN ME!”

And just like that, the show kicked off.

It was a game show, alright—some weird hybrid of quiz rounds and obstacle courses, loud and unpredictable, with physical comedy and stakes that made no sense. Contestants had to answer trivia while dodging foam hammers, balance on spinning platforms, and crawl through tight tubes filled with fake fog. It was all being streamed live. You could see the blinking ON AIR light over the stage entrance like a warning sign.

You watched from the sidelines, a little stunned. But… you had to admit: the contestants today were solid. One was sharp with the trivia, another was quick on their feet, and the third? Pure charisma. The audience was into it. Mostly.

But then… That started.

Scattered boos. Hisses.

At first, it was easy to write off—just a few hecklers in the back rows. But it spread like a glitch. Some people in the crowd started shouting over the questions. A chant began—low and bitter:

"BRING BACK THE REAL STUFF!""BOOO-RING!"

Tenna’s screen twitched. You saw it. Static flickered in the corner, faint but there.

He didn’t stop the show. Of course not. He got louder. “THAT’S RIGHT, FOLKS! HOPE YOU’RE ENJOYING THE PROGRAM! YOU ARE ENJOYING IT, RIGHT?!”

The voice wavered slightly.

The crowd roared back. Not with applause.

More booing. One guy even threw a popcorn bag onto the stage. You saw Tenna flinch—just barely, like a visual glitch in his own broadcast. But the mask stayed on. He finished the final round, announced the winner, and forced a burst of static-laced laughter.

Then the lights cut. The audience filtered out.

And Tenna?

He walked straight offstage. Didn’t say a word. Not to the crew. Not to you.

Just vanished behind the door marked "EXECUTIVE OFFICE “ You stood there for a few seconds. Maybe it wasn’t your business. Maybe it was.

You moved toward the hallway, footsteps quiet on the studio tile. The door was cracked—just enough to see inside.

Tenna sat hunched over his desk, hands on either side of his head, gripping the edges like he was holding himself together. His screen was nothing but heavy static now, low and dim, flickering like it hurt to keep it on. You could hear him—muttering to himself in short, broken lines.

“Not good enough…”“They’re not watching anymore…”“The energy’s off—wrong—wrong.”“They’re bored. I saw it. They’re done.”

He didn’t even notice you.

You hesitated, then pushed the door open a little wider.

“…Mr Tenna?”

No answer. Just a fizzing crackle.

You stepped inside.

“Hey. It wasn’t a bad show.”

His head twitched toward you, screen still stuck in static. He laughed—but it was more of a digital gasp.

“‘Not a bad show,’ huh? Wow, high praise. Should I put that on a poster?” he snapped. His voice was strained, bitter, quieter than usual. “Did you hear them? The booing? You think that’s part of the act?”

You closed the door behind you and walked slowly toward him. “I heard it. But I also saw the contestants. They were good.”

“Doesn’t matter.” His hand dropped to the desk, fingers drumming a frantic beat. “I gave them energy. I gave them spectacle. And they still want something else. Something better. Flashier. Louder. They always want more.”

His voice cracked into a short, electric stutter. The static on his screen spiked, sharp enough to hurt your ears.

“…They want someone else.”

You stepped beside the desk, careful. “No. They want you. Just not the you who burns himself out trying to be perfect every night.”

His screen blinked. The static softened—just a little.

“…I don’t know how to be anything else.”

You didn’t respond right away. You just sat down beside him on the edge of the couch—quiet, no clipboard this time, no job title, just someone sitting with someone else who looked like they were about to fall apart.

“You don’t have to stop being loud. Or weird. Or dramatic. That’s who you are. But maybe… maybe you don’t have to run the show like your life depends on every single cheer.”

You could hear him breathing—shallow, mechanical. His fingers trembled.

“…They’re gonna forget me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Everyone gets canceled eventually.”

You shook your head. “Not if you let people see the real you. Even if it’s just a flicker. Even if it’s not always ‘on.’”

The silence settled in again, heavy but not cruel.

After a while, Tenna slumped forward, letting his head rest on the desk. His screen dimmed to a soft, snowy white. He didn’t speak again, but you thought—maybe—you heard the faintest digital murmur.

“…Thanks.”

The room stayed quiet.

A distant thud of stagehands packing up props echoed through the hallway. Somewhere out there, the crew was resetting lights, rewinding cables, pretending the day had gone fine. Pretending he hadn’t just taken a direct hit.

Tenna stayed curled over the desk, head still resting in his hands. The white glow from his screen lit the wall faintly, flickering like a low-battery bulb. His usual posture—big, commanding, theatrical—was gone. He looked like a broken set piece left behind after the show wrapped.

You stayed quiet for a little longer, just letting the silence breathe. Eventually, you stood and started picking up a few things around the office. Nothing major. Just busywork. A toppled mic stand. A stack of cue cards scattered on the floor. One of them was smudged—like someone had crumpled it in their hand too tight, then straightened it out again.

After a few minutes, Tenna finally moved.

He sat up slowly, one hand dragging down the side of his neck like he was trying to wring out leftover tension. His screen was back to its regular glow, dim but steady. Still no color. No flashy glitches. Just him.

“…I need a better hook,” he muttered. His voice was quieter now. Not exactly defeated—more like tired. “Something new. Something they'll remember.”

You glanced over. “You think that’s really what’ll fix it?”

He tilted his head your way.

“I think if I sit still too long, they’ll change the channel.” A bitter laugh. “Ratings are everything.”

You leaned on the edge of the desk, arms crossed. “You could also… I don’t know. Talk to them. Be real. Not just loud. People connect to that.”

Tenna leaned back in his chair, letting his arms dangle. He didn’t answer right away.

“You ever seen what happens when someone on live TV stops performing?” he said finally, voice flat. “Dead air. People panic. They cut the feed. Replace you. No one wants to watch a guy crumble.”

He rubbed at the base of his screen like it ached.

“…But today, they watched it anyway.”

You watched him in the dim office light, the way the static had drained from his voice. No theatrics. Just Tenna, underneath it all. Maybe the show didn’t go perfectly. Maybe the audience had turned on him. But for once, he hadn’t run offstage to reset and cover it up with louder music and brighter lights.

He’d let someone see.

You took a breath. “Hey. I’ve got a few more contestant leads. A couple of them seem sharp. Weird enough for the format, but not total chaos. You want me to screen them tomorrow?”

His head turned toward you.

There was a beat of silence. Not dramatic — not the kind he’d usually stretch for tension or effect — just a brief moment where he looked at you like he wasn’t sure what to say, or maybe didn’t trust himself to say it.

“…Yeah. Let’s do that,” he muttered finally, voice thin and crackling with residual static. Not defeated. Not grateful. Just… done.

You gave a quiet nod. “Cool. Get some rest, alright?”

He didn’t reply right away, just raised one hand in a vague wave — the gesture lazy, half-hearted, like he couldn’t decide if he meant it or not. But it was something. Not for the cameras. Just for you.

You had your hand on the door when his voice hit you again — low, frayed at the edges.

“Hey.”

You stopped.

There was another pause, longer this time. When he finally spoke, his screen dimmed a little, flickering like a light trying not to burn out.

“…You didn’t have to check on me.”

The words came out flat, stripped of showmanship. No booming reverb, no wild hand gestures, no self-mocking theatrics. Just Tenna — a little quieter, a little raw.

He didn’t look at you. Just stared straight ahead, like if he met your eyes, he’d unravel again.

“…Whatever,” he added quickly, static hissing through his voice like a defense mechanism powering back up. “Thanks.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Just gave a small nod — the kind someone only makes when they don’t want to break a fragile moment by naming it — and stepped through the door.

It clicked shut behind you.

No spotlight. No exit music. No laugh track. Just the soft hum of tired machinery and the distant flicker of a screen that hadn’t quite shut down.

Not off. Not yet.

Just… resting.

------

I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY THIS ONE AS MULH AS THE PREVIOUS ONE!

If you noticed any grammatical errors..... no, you didn't....!!!!!!!

TAGLIST: @fallendove @theilluminatidragonqueen

[seungmininmynheart]

First Encounter Didn’t go as planned.

Paring: Idol!Bangchan x Idol!fem!reader. Genre: Fluff. Summary: Reader is a new soloist at JYPE and has a thing for Bang Chan. Authors Note: This is my first fanfic on tumblr so yay. Also Grammar and spelling is not my strong suit. I hope you guys enjoying reading this as much as I enjoyed making it.

It was late at night and you sat at your desk at the JYP dorms. Your manager who you share a room with was already asleep. You were still up though, scribbling in your notepad. Writing down a little to do list, 1 say hi first, 2 strike up a conversation, 3 Leave a great first impression. You finished writing and crawled into bed, excited for tomorrow. You were excited because tomorrow is the day you meet Bang Chan

—

Your alarm woke you up. despite not getting alot of sleep you felt great and excited. Today was the day you get to work with Bang Chan. It was in your schedule to record your new debut song. Your manager had told you that you’ll be recording with Bang Chan. You’ve admired him and his music for the longest time. You kinda had a thing for him since before you joined jyp.

You Joined jype after winning their newest survival show for a female soloist. It was already done airing and you were on schedule to debut in a couple months. Your survival show had gotten pretty popular online but most people were happy you won.

You dressed comfortably but nice since you were going to be in the studio most of the day. Your manager just finished dressing too and she knocks on the bathroom door.

“you done in there yet? we gotta get going.” she called out.

“One minute” You respond back. You didn’t know your manager that well yet but she was nice to you and very patient. You check your expressions in the mirror, You gotta make sure your smile looks nice today.

“Okay I’m coming” You walk out the bathroom grabbing your bag, hat and Mask before following your manager out to the car.

—

You were already familiar with the layout of the JYP building. You knew the way to dance practice rooms, the cafeteria, and Recording studios. You stopped by the cafeteria first eating breakfast with your manager. You saw a couple of faces you recognized.

After breakfast you felt good because right now you were going to record your debut song. You check your hair using your camera making sure you look okay before going to the studio. You had prepared what’d you say to him. You had the perfect plan and couldn’t wait to be face to face with Bang Chan and be able to talk to him.

You were right in front of the door to the studio. You held the handle slowly twisting it. The door swung open slowly and looking in you see a couple staff members and Young K. You quickly greet him making sure your face doesn’t give away your confusion. You sit on the couch looking at your manager confused. She just shrugs.

—

After finishing your first recording of your debut song Young K lets you know that’s all for today. You thank him on his way out and the staff that were there helping. You walked out last, seeing your manager in the hallway wrapping up a call.

“I thought I was working with Bang Chan today?” You asked her confused as you guys started walking.

“I thought so too, There must’ve switched I guess.” She tells me. You were bummed out even though Young K is still someone you admire. You were disappointed that you had planned your whole first encounter with Bang Chan just for it to not happen. First encounters are always so hard, because nothing goes as planned. you sigh.

“Wait where are we going right now?” You asked

“Vocal lessons remember? your teacher is waiting” She reminded you of your schedule for today. She went on about your schedule for the day but you weren’t listening because you had just heard a familiar voice. You look infront of you and walking just a couple steps ahead with his back facing towards you was Bang Chan and right next to him was Han. Suddenly all background noises were cancelled.

Just three steps in front of you was your idol you could just walk up to him and get a chance to greet him and Han. You would strike up a conversation and he’d ask your name and you’d leave a great first Impression. You imagined how it’d go down in your head.

“Y/N, are you listening?” Your manager asked. You stop walking and pay attention facing her again.

“Hm?” You say.

“What’s up? are you tired” She asks. You shake your head letting her know your okay but when you look forward again he’s not their anymore. In the short moment you stopped to talk to your manager he had disappeared. Dissaspointed once again about how your day isn’t going according to plan and you just missed your chance.

—

The rest of the day was uneventful except seeing Yeji in JYP cafeteria when you were eating lunch. It was getting late and after practicing dancing for a couple hours you were tired. Your manager had some things to do leaving you to practice alone. You were sweating and tired you took a couple of selfies before grabbing your stuff to leave for the day. It was 10pm so you were just going to grab a taxi to take you back to the dorms.

You put on your mask and hat before walking outside, and you realized it was raining. You thanked yourself for remembering to grab your umbrella before leaving this morning. As you were pulling out your umbrella from your bag you heard a sigh.

“No way it’s raining, this is just great” You heard the familiar Australian accent. Your heart stopped turning around to see Bang Chan just two feet away from you. Even if he had a mask and a hat on you could still recognize him. You quickly greet him and he greets you back.

“Do you have an umbrella?” You asked nervously trying to sound causal but respectful.

“No, but it’s okay my car isn’t parked far” He reassures you. You suddenly get an idea to leave a good impression. You offer your umbrella to him.

“You can have this I have another umbrella in my bag” you give him a sweet smile.

“Are you sure?” He asks you. You nod and he accepts your umbrella. Your hand grazing his, this moment couldn’t get any better for you. He opened the umbrella thanking you.

As he started walking away you felt on top of the world. Even if you didn’t get a chance to introduce yourself and he didn’t know your name or would be able to recognize you because you had your hat and mask on.

“I owe you now, Y/N!” He called out before turning around and continuing to walk away. You couldn’t stop the smile on your face or the happiness you felt. You didn’t know how he knew who you were but this moment was something you’d always cherish.

The whole encounter was beautiful. You stood there for a minute even after he was long gone. You didn’t have another umbrella but it was okay.

Ding Water droplet landed on your cheek as it started to rain harder but you didn’t mind. Nothing could ruin your mood. You didn’t bother to grab a taxi you just put your hood over your head and ran. The dorms weren’t far away so it was okay.

—

When you opened the door to your apartment you were dripping wet. Your manager who was already home was shocked, ran to grab you a towel before you could even take your shoes off.

“What happend? I thought you were gonna take a taxi home?” She said handing you the towel trying to dry you off.

“I guess I forgot” She scolded you about taking care of yourself and to bring an umbrella if you wanted to walk. you didn’t mind thought. You were smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt. You couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Do Not Re-upload Anywhere.