#she'd have helped me go the first night I felt something wrong

[bibiana112]

fuck waiting until friday to get my cardio appointment actually

[inkedinshadows]

Where You Belong

Pairing: Azriel × reader

Summary: last part of "A Helping Hand". When Y/N realizes Azriel is her mate, it's only a matter of who will admit it first.

Warnings: language if you really squint, Azzie being a little (just a little, I promise) cocky, but honestly who can blame him

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: here it is. Sorry for the long wait. Hope you like it! 💙

A Helping Hand (part 1), Echoes of the Bond (part 2)

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Y/N didn't see anyone until dinner.

She spent the day alone, roaming the family library in the House of Wind, sifting through the books until she found one that piqued her interest. From that moment on, she'd been curled up in one of the cushioned armchairs that dotted the room. Occasionally, thoughts of her last conversation with Azriel interrupted her reading, but she did her best to block them out. She didn't want to think about his mate.

Only when her stomach grumbled did she rise from her comfortable position. Placing the book on the table next to her seat, she left the library and headed toward the dining room.

Indistinct chatter was coming from inside, and she quickened her steps, a smile already on her face as she pushed the door open.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to Azriel, standing in a corner with Cassian and Rhysand. But before she could even consider taking a step in their direction, Feyre appeared in front of her.

“Y/N!” Her friend linked their arms to lead her toward the table. “I was just about to come looking for you. Sit next to me.”

Y/N obliged, and everyone slowly took their seats around the table. Though she noticed Lucien's presence seemed to make everyone a bit wary, the atmosphere was lighter with Feyre back with them. Rhys, who was sitting on his mate's other side, looked particularly relaxed.

As food appeared on the empty plates and conversations started around the table, Feyre turned to face her.

“I'm sorry I didn't greet you properly this morning,” she said. “But my mind was… elsewhere.”

Y/N peered over at Rhysand, who was talking to Lucien and Cassian but seemed to be listening to their conversation.

She looked back at Feyre with a smile. “I know, Fey. Don't worry about it. I'm just happy I have my friend back.”

Feyre returned her smile, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I am too. I was worried about you, you know. How are you adjusting to this life?”

Taking a bite of her food, Y/N used the few seconds to weigh how much to tell Feyre. She wouldn't usually hesitate – not with her, never with her – but maybe a family dinner right after she'd come back to the Night Court wasn't the right moment for this sort of talk.

“I struggled at the beginning,” she said finally, avoiding details for the moment. “But Azriel helped a lot, and I'm doing much better now.”

As if mentioning him was enough to summon his attention, she felt his eyes settle on her from the other end of the table. She met his gaze with a smile, and the corner of his lips twitched upwards in response.

“Azriel?” Feyre's surprised tone brought Y/N's mind back to her friend, and the Shadowsinger refocused on his own conversation. Y/N rubbed a little spot on her chest.

“I'm glad he helped,” Feyre continued. “And that you're doing okay.”

Y/N nodded and took another bite of her food, but her thoughts were already drifting back to the spymaster. Now that they were in the same room again, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, and she kept going back to that morning – Azriel’s words about his mate.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Feyre always had a knack for knowing when something was on her mind. Even when Y/N thought she was concealing her thoughts, the youngest Archeron could pick up on them.

“I was just wondering… how does it feel to have a mate?” Y/N asked, her gaze drifting back to Azriel for a moment before returning to Feyre. “I mean, what kind of bond is it?”

Feyre’s expression softened, her eyes settling on Rhysand, warmth shining in them. As if sensing it, the High Lord turned towards her with a smile that spoke volumes about his feelings for her.

“It’s a bond between souls,” Feyre finally answered. “Like an invisible thread binding two people, a tug toward each other. If two mates accept the bond, then they belong together.”

A tug. Y/N had been feeling a tug toward something for a while now. What if it was toward someone instead?

“Honestly, I hope you'll get to experience it one day,” her friend went on. “It's a connection on a new, deeper level. It's always there, even when you're apart.”

“I hope so too,” she murmured, her hand once more massaging her chest.

There was a pause as they both took a sip of their drinks, the conversation still buzzing around the table. Y/N's thoughts wandered back to Azriel, his quiet presence and the comfort he had provided. There was something more there, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

“Have you ever met Azriel's mate?” she said suddenly, breaking the silence between them.

Feyre's brow furrowed in confusion. “He doesn't have a mate.”

Y/N's fork paused halfway to her mouth. “He told me he did,” she said slowly. Something dangerously close to hope stirred in her chest.

Feyre's frown deepened, and she shook her head slightly. “I had no idea.” She cast a glance at the Shadowsinger. “He never mentioned having a mate. I always assumed he didn’t.”

Y/N's heart raced as she processed the new information. Why would Azriel lie about something like that? She glanced down the table at him, her mind racing with questions.

A wisp of shadow curled around his ear, and his eyes slid toward her. He almost imperceptibly raised an eyebrow, but this time she didn’t meet his gaze and looked down instead.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, more to herself than to Feyre. “Why would he tell me that?”

Feyre reached out and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Maybe there's more to it than just that,” she suggested gently. “He’s quite reserved. I’m sure you’ve noticed that too.”

Y/N nodded, her thoughts a whirlwind. She knew Feyre was right. She needed to confront Azriel, to understand why he had lied to her or why he’d told the truth to her only and not to the others.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur, the Inner Circle and Lucien delving into a more serious discussion about war and High Lords, most of which Y/N didn’t really comprehend – even less so when her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Azriel and Feyre's words about the mating bond.

As they finished their meal and began to disperse, Y/N wished everyone goodnight and quickly slipped out of the dining room. She needed to be alone, a moment of quiet to think things through before talking to Azriel.

Because things didn’t really make sense right now.

Either Azriel had lied, or he really did have a mate. But if that was true, why didn’t his friends know? And why would he spend so much time with her and away from his mate?

His mate – the one he’d found just recently, who was as kind and gentle as she was, who he would leave behind every time Y/N needed help.

That last part didn’t sound much like the Azriel she'd gotten to know over the last few weeks, though.

With a sigh, Y/N closed the door to her bedroom and started getting ready for the night. 

Tomorrow, she’d find Azriel. But for now, all she wanted was to turn off her thoughts, if such a thing was even possible.

Sliding under the bedsheets, she tossed and turned for a while, trying to keep her mind blank and fall asleep instead. But every time she thought she was about to enter the realm of dreams, some kind of insect would fly so close to brush her face and she had to bat it away constantly.

After what was probably the fourth time in just as many minutes, she groaned and finally opened her eyes to find the culprit.

It wasn't a fly, like she’d thought.

In the dim moonlight, she could just make out one of Azriel’s shadows hovering right over her nose. She’d gotten so used to their subtle presence in her room that she’d forgotten about it. But that tendril was definitely seeking her attention now, and she watched as it surged forward and gently brushed against her cheek.

Something slid into place inside of her.

Azriel's shadows had been with her since she'd been given this room. They seemed to like her, and judging by Cassian’s reaction that morning, it wasn't common to be favored by the dark companions of the Shadowsinger.

And then there was that tug that Feyre had mentioned – a tug toward each other. She had felt it often during the last three weeks and it always seemed to grow stronger when Azriel was close.

It's always there, even when you're apart. She could feel it now too, like a thrumming presence next to her heart.

What had Azriel said about his mate? That Y/N reminded him of her, that they were a lot alike… and that he'd found her recently.

Just like she had met Azriel only recently.

She jolted upright as realization settled upon her.

But… could it be true? Could it really be that she was the mate Azriel had mentioned? The signs were there, yet he hadn't said anything about it. Not even that morning, when she had blatantly asked if he had one.

Every remnant of doubt and uncertainty faded away when she noticed the rising darkness in the room. From the tiny cracks on the floor and the little gaps under the furniture, shadows were now slithering out of their hiding spots to gather at the foot of her bed, seemingly writhing in what she thought was excitement. The lone tendril that had woken her caressed her cheek once more.

“Alright, alright,” she chuckled, waving it away. “I get it. He’s my mate.”

The solitary strand stilled its movements, and she took the chance to shoot it a warning look, though she couldn’t help the smile on her lips. “Now let me sleep, okay? I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

She was now too tired to go looking for Azriel’s room. She didn’t even know if he was in his room anyway. Besides, this was not a conversation she wanted to have when her mind was a bit sleepy. Better to let the realization fully settle in and deal with it in the morning.

The shadows seemed to understand, because they halted their swirling, and even the stray tendril drew back, returning to the pool of darkness next to her bed.

Y/N lay back down and closed her eyes again. A small smile still graced her lips when she finally fell asleep.

She woke up only a few hours later, her breath gasping and Azriel’s name on her tongue.

A nightmare, nothing more. She tried to calm down, silently repeating it in her head. It was just a nightmare.

But she had to check on Azriel. Her stomach was clutched by an uneasiness that she couldn’t shake. Yet she didn’t move.

It was the middle of the night. Surely Azriel was sleeping by now, and she didn’t want to disturb him, not for something as silly as a nightmare. He’d done enough for her already.

She tried to go back to sleep, to ignore that invisible thread that was pulling at her chest and the thoughts that kept drifting back to Azriel. But every effort seemed useless.

She sat up, running a hand through her hair. The shadows seemed to stir on the floor as if knowing she was considering getting up.

She had no idea where Azriel’s room was. But after realizing they were mates and now the nightmare… she had to see him. It was like a physical need, nudging her to go.

As soon as she rose from her bed, a single wisp of shadow flew from the floor to her, curling around her wrist. She had a feeling she knew exactly which tendril it was.

The bond seemed to pulse in her chest as she headed for the door. But once she was outside, she didn’t know where to go. Nesta and Elain were in the same hallway, but what about Azriel? Maybe he wasn’t even on the same floor, for all she knew.

The bracelet of darkness tugged her toward the left end of the hallway, and she looked down with a frown. It did it again.

“You want me to go in that direction?” she whispered, taking a single, tentative step.

A third tug.

This was a potentially bad idea. She should have stayed in bed. Azriel was no doubt sleeping, and she would only bother him.

Yet her feet moved, and she didn’t fight the shadow as it guided her through the hallways.

~~~~~~

Azriel knew Y/N had left her room the moment she closed the door behind her thanks to his shadows. What he hadn't expected was that she was coming here, yet a few tendrils curled around his ear, whispering the same word over and over.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

A moment later, he heard her soft footsteps down the hallway. They stopped right outside his door.

He waited for her to knock, but when no sound came, he debated whether he should go open the door and let her know he was aware of her presence.

Just as he stood up, three light and quick taps on the wood resonated in the room.

Azriel swallowed. Maybe this could be his chance to tell her about the mating bond.

He walked up to the door, opening it to reveal Y/N, barefoot and clad only in her nightgown. She was fidgeting with her hands and he could bet he heard her hold her breath when she saw him.

“Did I wake you?”

Azriel glanced down at the Illyrian leathers he was still wearing. “No,” he answered with a small smile.

Only at that moment did he realize a shadow was wrapped around her wrist, just like that morning. Knowing it had been caught, the stray tendril flew back to hover around his wings with the others. His dark companions seemed to be as captivated by her as their master was.

Azriel took a better look at her. She was beautiful, even with her unbound hair a bit tousled on one side of her head. That detail, and the fact that she hadn’t bothered wearing slippers, told him she had slept – at least for a while. But judging by her fidgeting and her presence here, something was gnawing at her.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, moving to the side in a silent invite to step in. “Did you have a nightmare?”

She didn't hesitate to walk past him. “Yes.”

Her sweet scent filled his nostrils, clouding his mind so much that he barely heard her answer. She was looking at him now, her brows furrowed.

“I thought you didn't have them anymore,” he finally replied.

“Not usually, but… this one was different.” He didn't miss the tension in her voice, or how she was avoiding his gaze. “It was about you, Azriel.”

His eyes widened. If she was upset about something, if he'd maybe hurt her in her dreams… but she probably wouldn't be looking for him if that was the case, right?

“It was about that day in Hybern,” she went on. “But I wasn't being pushed into the Cauldron. It was…”

When her voice trailed off and she didn't continue, Azriel stepped closer to her and gently brushed her arm. For someone who'd lived for more than five hundred years, he wasn't sure how to act around her. He didn't know if he was allowed to touch her to comfort her, despite the help he'd already offered her multiple times. Things were different now.

“It's okay, Y/N,” he said gently. “You don't need to tell me.”

But she shook her head. “You were dead,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “In the dream, you… you were dead and I couldn't do anything.”

Before he even knew what he was doing, Azriel wrapped her in his arms. He stroked her hair, his shadows joining in and swirling through her locks.

“I'm alright. It was just a nightmare,” he whispered. He felt a sob tear through her body, and for a horrible moment he thought she'd shrink back into herself like weeks ago.

And so Azriel kept murmuring soothing words while he held her close, to prevent her from turning again into a shell of herself or having another panic attack.

Yet when Y/N pulled away just enough to look up at him, her eyes were dry. Azriel could get lost in their depths.

“I know what you are, Az,” she said, and time seemed to slow as his mind came up with all the different possibilities of what she meant.

But what she said after wasn't one of them.

“I know you're my mate.”

Time stopped completely. Azriel froze, his shadows with him, halting their swaying around her.

He seemed to watch in slow motion as she brought up a hand to cup his cheek. As her eyes softened and a smile appeared on her face.

Maybe this was all some kind of dream. Maybe he'd fallen asleep without realizing. But his shadows were whispering to him again.

Real. Real. This is real.

Azriel let himself enjoy it then. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. His hand came up to cradle hers, a small sigh leaving his lips as he relaxed.

“You are my mate.”

How she knew, Azriel had no idea. He knew for a fact his brothers and Amren – the only ones who had figured it out – wouldn't tell her before he could. And if Y/N had pieced it together herself, it still wouldn't matter.

The only thing that mattered was that she was here now, and she didn't seem upset or angry.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” he finally replied. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling up at him.

The sight threatened to make him crumble. He wanted to pull her closer and kiss that soft smile.

Y/N just shrugged. “It's alright. I'm not sure I would have understood it if you'd told me sooner.” Her thumb brushed against his cheek before she stepped back, and Azriel reluctantly let go of her hand and mimicked her movement.

“But you could have told me this morning,” she added, her tone amused. “When I asked if you had a mate.”

Azriel ran his fingers through his hair as he offered her a small, nervous smile. “You caught me off guard. It doesn't happen often.”

“Oh?” she chuckled, the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He even forgot to say something else.

Instead, he reached for the bond he'd kept buried deep down and let it come back to the surface. He gave it a tentative, gentle tug and watched as Y/N tensed and her eyes widened, her hand going to that spot he'd seen her rub multiple times already.

A moment later, he felt her tug back. And knowing she wasn't running away from it, from him, he closed the distance between them once more. His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back and earning a small gasp in return. The need to kiss her was taking over his senses and he struggled to keep control.

Normally he'd go for it, the fact that Y/N didn't pull away and instead seemed to wait for his next move enough to tell him she wasn't going to reject him. And if she were any other girl, he'd do it. But with her, he needed to be sure. He didn't want to rush anything.

“Do you still think what you said earlier?” he asked in a hushed tone. “That my mate was lucky to have me?”

“I'm only more convinced of it now that I know it's me,” she murmured. Her smile lit up her whole face as she moved even closer. “I'm lucky to have you.”

For the first time in centuries, Azriel was feeling overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by her scent now permeating his room, by their bodies brushing against each other, by the mating bond finally out in the open and not hidden in the depths of his soul.

“No, I'm the lucky one to have you, Y/N.”

Their eyes met again and he was about to ask her if he could kiss her – Cauldron, he might even beg for it – when her gaze dropped to his lips. He waited one heartbeat, two, but when she still hadn't looked up by the third one, it was both the confirmation and permission Azriel needed.

With his hand still cradling the back of her head, he pulled her closer while he leaned down. They met halfway and Azriel’s first thought was that he would gladly stay like this forever.

Her lips were soft and warm, and they parted slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside. He felt her hands on his chest and his wings rustled quietly behind him, an involuntary reaction to her touch.

But Y/N pulled back, the absence of her lips on his like a sudden emptiness in his heart.

His fingers tightened in her hair and when she moaned softly against his mouth, Azriel knew he was a goner.

Her cheeks had taken on a light shade of pink that made him smile. He was so lost drinking her in that he almost missed the words she whispered.

“Stay with me tonight.”

His smile widened. “You're in my room, Y/N.”

“Right.” She chuckled even as she blushed, the sight endearing. “Then let me stay with you for tonight.”

Azriel tucked her hair behind her ear. “You can stay with me every time you want. Every night, if that's what you wish.” He leaned down to press a tender kiss to her lips. “Wait in bed. I just need to get changed.”

She nodded and stepped back, his hand falling away from her cheek.

As he moved towards his drawer, the shuffle of the sheets brought a smile to his lips. He fought the urge to turn and see her lying in his bed. His mate, in his bed. Something he had almost stopped hoping for, after so many centuries.

Eager to join her, he quickly took off his Illyrian leathers to replace them with his sleeping pants. 

He didn't need his shadows to whisper in his ear to know she was watching him. He paused just as he was reaching for the shirt and lifted his head instead.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a teasing not in his voice.

The only answer he got was a low mumble that he couldn't quite make out, which only made his smile widen. Cauldron, he really wanted to turn around and see her face. He was ready to bet she was blushing.

Deciding against wearing his shirt – definitely not because he was a smug bastard who wanted to see her reaction – he turned and walked towards the bed.

He was rewarded by Y/N quickly looking away, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red as she lay back down.

Azriel chuckled, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. A part of him felt a twinge of guilt, maybe he should have donned the shirt to spare her the embarrassment. But he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing her flustered.

With a swift movement, he joined her under the bedsheets. “Y/N,” he called gently. “You know you don't have to shy away, right?”

He ran a hand down her spine and felt her shiver through the thin fabric of her nightgown. “You're my mate,” he continued. “You can look as much as you want.”

She scooted over until her back was pressed against his chest. Azriel immediately wrapped her in his arms and relished in the way her body seemed to fold into his, like that's where she belonged.

“Those are dangerous words, Azriel,” she warned. He could hear amusement in her voice and he knew she was smiling.

“Why?”

She intertwined their fingers and, to his greatest shock, brought them up to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss on the back of his hand.

It had been decades since Azriel had learned to accept his hands and his scars, decades since he'd stopped hiding them with gloves or in his pockets. He'd done horrible and unspeakable things with those hands, but to protect his court – his family – he'd do them again. And yet to have Y/N, his mate, openly kissing them so tenderly…

He wasn't sure he was breathing.

His shadows curled around his ear, whispering something about an answer, and he realized Y/N had turned her head to look at him. She was frowning, the expression creating a small crease between her brows that he had never noticed before.

“You didn't hear what I said, did you?”

She only smiled, turning around again. “I said that I might not stop looking then.”

Azriel felt a heat creep up his cheeks. “Sorry,” he murmured.

His arms held her tighter, pulling her closer until there was no space left between their bodies. As he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, he whispered, “You're very beautiful too, Y/N. I've had a hard time not staring at you since the moment I met you.”

With their joined hands resting close to her chest, Azriel could feel her heartbeat increase. Grinning from ear to ear, he waited as she shifted a bit like she was debating whether to turn around in his arms or not. But she eventually settled against him again and murmured a thank you.

Shying away from compliments, then. He would remember that. And he would shower her with compliments until she too believed she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes on.

He wanted to start now, to make her turn around and kiss her again till their lips were swollen. Instead, he draped his wing over them, creating a little cocoon of darkness and warmth where only the two of them existed.

“It’s quite late,” he murmured against her neck. “We should sleep.”

 She hummed in agreement. “Goodnight, Azriel.”

“Goodnight.”

He closed his eyes, ready for the long hours it usually took him to fall asleep. It wasn't until he heard her voice again that he realized he was already falling into a peaceful slumber.

“Az?”

“Mh?”

Her voice was a whisper, barely audible even in the silence of the night. “This morning, when Cassian mentioned having the biggest wingspan and you snapped… is that a mate related thing, or just Illyrian?”

He had no idea how she'd come up with such a question at this hour. Smiling at her innocent curiosity, he tried not to let his mind wander into dangerous territory.

“I'll explain another time,” he mumbled. “Go to sleep, Y/N.”

She giggled, the sound like music to his ears. And with his mate in his arms – her scent filling his nose, her hair tickling his neck, her soft body pressed so perfectly against his – he knew he wanted to sleep like this every night.

After centuries of searching, Azriel had finally found the place he belonged.

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Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy

A Helping Hand Tags: @myromanempiree @loving-and-dreaming @satttanx @a-courtof-azriel @randomdumsblog @whistle1whistle @thecraziestcrayon @tinystarfishgalaxy @jesskidding3 @starlitlakes

[goldsbitch]

You texted...

Y/N and Lando are going through a rough patch in their relationship. Not really on speaking terms. This bad streak ends when there is a massive spider in her bathroom.

angst, one shot

The moment she spotted that creature sent from hell, everything else went out of the window. The dinner in the oven, the fact she was planning on doing a late night session in the gym, the fact her hair was still wet from the shower. The fact she and her boyfriend Lando were on "not speaking" terms.

Y/N was absolutely terrified of spiders her whole life and was never able to over come the fear by getting rid of them on her own. Lando was the one who always ever so kindly rescued her, he overtook this role her neighbor, who overtook it from her mom, who Y/N had trained to react immediately when she heard a very specific scream.

Now she was standing in her apartment, alone with nowhere to go, since her job was to stay frozen at one spot and stare at the creature, in case it moved, and not really sure who to call for help. Her best friend was the first option. Normally, it would have been her boyfriend, but something was stopping her from doing that.

"Come on, come on, come on," she whispered as she dialed her best friend living close by. "Pick up, dammit."

Finally, the tone she was praying for. "Hey, girl, what's up?"

No time for chit chat. "You have to come over now, immediately."

Her friend noticed the immediate distress and tuned herself in. "What's wrong?" she replied, sounding as she was ready to dial the police.

"There's a spider situation going on in my apartment."

"Uhm, I see," she said, more relaxed now, but still taking it seriously.

"It's huge, with like hairy legs and shit. You have to come over, now. We have a deal, remember?"

Her friend was equally terrified of mosquitoes, so they agreed that Y/N would deal with those while spider duty fell on the other lady. This has happened many many times before. Usually ended up with a nice girls evening. Ever since Lando appeared in Y/N life however, the emergency calls stopped.

"I thought Lando was around this week?" her friend asked curiously. "Not that I'm trying to get out of this, but I'm sort of like an hour away from you, so..."

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh. "Fucking hell...Yeah, we're not exactly speaking at the moment," she admitted.

"Wow, that's a first!?" her friend said, clearly surprised. "Why?"

"Look, I'd love to chat, but are you coming or not? There's no one else and I'm not calling Lando!"

"Yes, yes, I'm getting in the car, just let me say good bye to my friends here, we're having a picnic," she replied and muted voices of disapproval came from the background.

Y/N felt guilty about doing this, but she'd dropped everything she was oing for her friend many times, answered phone calls in the middle of the night even though she was an early bird. They just had this kind of friendship.

"Drive fast, please," she said, still stubborn and not about to call Lando.

//

Y/N sat there staring at the spider for good ten minuted before her friend called again.

"Ok, I'm in the car, you can talk about Lando now, keep me busy. I'm going to pass over the fact you and your boyfriend are fighting and I have no idea," she said unapologetically.

"Figured you'd be mad about that. Yeah, he's been acting like a bit of a dick..."

"But you're not broken up, right?" her friend asked, slightly worried about her favorite couple.

"No, I don't think so. I hope so," she realized, the spider in the corner becoming lesser of her problems.

"And what seems to be the problem? Did he cheat?"

"No, not that I'm aware," she replied without thinking.

"Did you cheat?" her friend asked, ready to support her in anything.

"Jesus, no. It's um...I dunno, we've just grown a bit distant. Lately it feels like I'm like at number 50 of his priorities list. It's always only racing, Quadrant, promo event this and that."

"That's shitty, yeah. Would you like to be included? I know you hate things like promo events and such."

"I do! But honestly, I miss him so much and frankly I'd like to be more included in his life somehow. Especially now that I have more time in my life."

"Does he know that?"

"No?"

Her friend let out a deep sigh. "Hm. You have to untangle that. It would be stupid to break up over that."

"Yeah, I'd hate that," she said, panic setting in.

"Text him to come. To save you from the spider. It's a nice excuse and good test. To see if he cares."

"I'm scared. What if he does not respond?"

Few moments of dramatic silence. "Well, at least you'd know."

"Yeah. Ok. Sending it." Y/N quickly typed something up, trying not to overthink it.

"What did you text?"

"Can you come over asap? I need help with a spider. It's urgent."

"Nice. Now you'll see what he does."

They stayed on the phone together for good half an hour. Catching up and distracting Y/N from the fact there was no text from Lando coming her way.

//

A doorbell rang.

"You're here already?" Y/N asked her friend, surprised by her ability to drive this fast.

"Nope, still very much far away. Did I hear a bell? Do you think it's him?"

"I dunno. I'll mute you and if it's him I'll hang up, ok?"

"Gotcha."

She opened the door with a heavy heart. What if it was not him?

But it was. Flustered Lando stood there without saying hello. The two shared a pain-filled look, neither of them enjoying this no contact streak they had.

"You came..." she said finally, ending the phone call.

"You texted..." he said dryly and in full macho mode entered her apartment without being let it. "Can you point me where?"

"That corner," she simply pointed, flushed with emotions. Happy that he came to rescue her, sad about his loveless tone and scared of what was to come after. She watched him from afar, as he skillfully took the spider and threw it out of the balcony.

"Don't say anything about him knowing his way back, please," he said, hinting on the countless debates they'd had before about Lando not wanting to kill every spider they'd encounter.

The air suddenly went very heavy. Lando casually headed to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water while trying so hard to make eye contact with her. The last time they spoke was few days prior - and it was not a nice conversation. Lots of built up emotions got out, frustrated speeches made and confusing sentences jumping one after another. Ending with Lando slamming the door on his way out.

She had no clue where to start. "So, how have you been?" she asked, not sure she was ready for his answer. He finally looked at her, and then with an annoyed eye-roll went back into staring out of the window.

Y/N threw her hands up in the air as the familiar feeling from few days ago kicked back in. "Ok fine, sorry I asked. Thank you so much for your help, truly appreciated, but if you hate being around me, just say so that we can-"

"We can what?" he cut her off, not having any of that.

"I don't know, you tell me!...I'm getting lost at trying to read you," she admitted, not even trying to hide anything from him at this point.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "I don't think I listened to you," he sighed before continuing, "Or more like did not hear what you were saying."

The validation felt rewarding. But she feared what would come next.

"What I heard at that moment was you not respecting my lack of time and the fact that things I'm involved in are important to me."

She took a breath and planned on interrupting him, which he noticed and tried to stop.

"Let me finish, please. But thinking about it, I figured that's not the case, and you were simply pointing out that I've been putting off spending time with you. Which you're absolutely correct. I figured since we've been going to strong lately, this would be fine. But truth is I hate this distance it created. I feel lost, uneasy and unable to focus," he blabbered something, which felt like he might have even rehearsed on the way to her. "What I'm trying to say is - do you still care enough for us to fix it?"

It felt vulnerable, raw and maybe even uncomfortable to have these kinds of talks. But this is ultimately what cements a relationship.

Feeling like he managed to destroy some of the wall they'd put up, she took few steps towards him.

"Lando, of course I do. It's not a rare event that I imagine our future life together, as a couple and one day potentially as a family. Never had this feeling before in my life. Please, let's figure out a way how to prevent the distance from happening. Things have changed now, the relationship has too. We've been together for almost two years. And my love for you has only grown."

He finally smiled, relieved that they seemed to be on the same page.

"I came right from the tennis court, left everyone behind. Would you like to go there with me? Hang out with the Quadrant squad for a bit and then have a nice dinner somewhere? I just want to spend this evening with you."

"And the night hopefully," she teased, trying to ease the mood.

"Always the night, it was absolutely horrible, knowing you're so close to me, yet having to sleep without you."

She closed the distance between them, embracing him into a hug. They bodies were more than familiar with each and it felt right to be that close. Definitely better than each of them standing in a different corner of the room.

"We still have to talk about this. I don't want our love to slip through by our fingers," she said, letting her anxiety out.

"We will. Tonight, we'll come up with a plan. Can you join me on few races later this month?" he asked, hoping for a positive answer.

"Of course, my love. I have to buy new clothes though, the cameras are savage."

He chuckled, relaxed now that he did not have to worry about having lost her. "Yes, they are."

She later call her friend to thank her for dropping everything and driving to save her, even though it was not needed in the end. Her friend was more than happy that she and Lando seemingly found the way back to each other.

She also admitted that she turned back the moment Y/N sent her text to Lando, knowing that this guy would come running anytime his girlfriend asked for help.

[patscorner]

FAMILY DINNER PART2

Summary: Chris joins your family for dinner for the first time and it does not go as planned

Tw: Swearing, physical altercation, mentions of blood, verbal arguing, panic attack mentions of alcohol use, mentions of ed, lmk if I missed something

______________________________

The rest of the dinner was just as awkward as you'd thought it'd be. You can't really come back from your father implying you and your boyfriend just fucked in the bathroom of your childhood home, at the first family 'reunion' in 2 years.

So there you sat, eating your food in silence, waiting -no- begging, that someone cut the tension.

And finally someone does. And as they say, careful what you wish for.

"How many plates have you had, dear?" Your mom asked, looking up from her plate. You look back at her, before glancing at your plate and back to at her again.

"This is my second." You say, mouth full of food. You were thankful that people took your mother's talking as an invitation to also continue their conversations.

"Maybe we should slow down, you know? Save room for dessert, which you clearly don't need." She smiles, as if what she said was the best piece of advice she'd ever given anyone.

Her comments always bothered you, no matter how much you were told to ignore them. But when it came to your weight, it hurt the most. The comments were the worst in high school, as you were a little heavier than the average petite high schooler. But it was never as serious as your mom made it. So when you were a sophomore in high school, you developed an eating disorder, where you couldn't eat even if you tried, where you spent hours crying in front of the mirror, wishing you were skinnier to fit your mother's impossible expectations.

You fought that battle for years, 3 years to be exact. Your mom couldn't help because she saw nothing wrong with what you were doing. She would say, 'It's worth it.' And when you're young, you tend to believe everything your parents say because they'd 'never hurt you.' So after you moved out, Chris helped you get help, and you won your long and cruel battle. Obviously, you still have your days and your moments, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be. Not with your new family. People who actually cared.

"S'cuse me?" You say, your voice laced with agitation.

"Well, honey, you don't want to get fat again, do you?" She said, shoveling broccoli into her mouth.

You had stopped chewing completely, making sure you heard her correctly. You looked over at Chris, who was looking at your mom with his jaw clenched. You look back at your mom and out your hand on Chris's thigh as to tell him to relax.

You felt him put his hand over yours and squeeze, a symbol of reassurance.

You sit back in your seat, looking at your plate in defeat. Guess you were done for the night. But your dad wasn't. In fact, your dad was drunk.

"Oh, honey, leave her alone. She's not nearly as huge as she used to be." He slurred, taking another sip from his beer.

"Okay, this isn't neces-" you start, only to be cut off by your parents. Shocker.

"What do you mean? I mean, look at her, David. She's just as big as she was in high school." You mom says gesturing to you.

Your heart dropped, anger and embarrassment filling your veins. "What the fuck, mom?!" You cry out. "Not only is that something you shouldn't say about people, especially your fucking kid, but I'm also right in front of you. At least have some decency to shit-talk me in private." You remove your hand from your boyfriends lap.

Your mom looks at you in shock, and your dad squints at you. "Woah, woah, relax dear. It's not only your fault. You can't help it." She said, reaching for your hand.

You pull your hand away, a look of disgust covering your face. "I don't want to hear that, mom, why's my weight always been a big fucking obsession of yours?" You snap. You feel Chris's hand on your thigh, which you push off quickly. Usually, when you're angry, the last thing you wanted was to be touched.

"It's not my fault. You were huge. I was trying to help you. Nobody wants a pig as their bride, y/n." She spits. Her words feel like daggers, stabbing into your heart.

"You weren't trying to help. You were doing this for yourself. You never cared about it. You only did it because it made you look good to have skinny, petite children. I'm not you or any of them." You gesture to you siblings. The conversations had stopped by now, all of them watching as you and your parents bickered. Embarrassing. "You're a selfish bitch, who never cared about anybody else but herself a-"

"Hey! You watch how you speak to your mother!" Your dad stands up, and instinctively, so did you and your siblings. James and Peter were the first up, while Julia walked over and made sure Maya wasn't in the room.

Nick, Matt, and Chris all stood up too, but they weren't sure what to do, which you would've found funny, but considering the circumstances...

"Let's all relax, okay." Peter attempts to butt in. He's always been so soft-spoken, but if he needs to, he'll beat the shit outta someone. You knew what he was capable of. You'd seen it when your first boyfriend cheated on you.

Your dad directed his attention to Peter. "You shut the fuck up. You have no room to speak because you're a sorry excuse for a son." He drunkenly pointed at Peter.

"You're talking. You can't even see straight half the time, let alone be eligible to give advice." James, your younger brother spits.

Ah, you'd taught him well.

"You watch your mouth before I knock you the fuck out." Your dad spits, and that seems to shut James up. It breaks your heart knowing your father hadn't changed, and when you left, probably laid hands on your younger siblings. And it appears as though Peter's heart broke, too.

Peter stepped closer to your dad, with the same face of anger you'd seem many times before. "You hit them too, Dad? After what you promised!?" He said, his voice raised.

It was all too much. There are too many memories, too many flashbacks. There are too many similarities of past events.

"O-okay, Peter, relax." You attempt, knowing how fast this could escalate. You hold Chris's hand and squeeze tightly.

"Yeah, listen to the pig, Peter." Your father gritted his teeth.

"With all due respect, sir, I'm gonna need you to stop calling your daughter a pig." You hear an unexpected voice. Chris.

Your dad whips his head, staring at Chris with his eyebrows raised, unimpressed. Little did he know, Chris played hockey, and his brothers, who wouldn't hesitate to jump in, also played hockey.

"Chri-" You start.

"No, no, I'd like to hear what he has to say." Your father mocks.

"No! No, please let's just sto-" you get cut off again.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, Y/N." Your dad yells, taking very quick steps to you.

Chris stood in front of you, Peter and James behind your father.

"Move." He growled at Chris.

Chris sucked his teeth, with fake disappointment on his face. "Sorry, can't do that one, sir."

Your dad huffed, allowing Chris to smell every sip of alcohol he'd drunk. "Move." He stated again.

Chris shook his head. "That's my daughter! Get the fuck out of the way, tough guy."

Chris cocked his head. "Really, because based off what I've seen, you sure don't talk to her like it." He spoke, his voice calm, but stern.

That was it. Your dad snapped. He swung his fist, hitting Chris in the nose. "Dad! What the fuck!" You say.

You watch as Chris doubles over, holding his nose, followed by yelling from everyone in the room. You can't understand anything, but you do know that your dad's got his hands around your collar and is holding you close to his face.

You feel the tears start to fall as the scent of alcohol burns your nose. "You're a little bitch, letting this puny excuse of a man speak to me like that."

"Let her go, dad!" James screamed, followed by Peter's yelling.

You look over and make eye contact with your mom. She stood there, arms crossed, not a single expression on her face. She just let it happen.

Your dad shook you. "LOOK AT ME." He shouted in your face. You closed your eyes, as tears began to fall.

"CHRIS NO!" Nick yells. That's all you hear before you dropped. You didn't realize he was choking you until he let go. You look up and see Chris on top of your dad, landing blows like he if were in a hockey game. Your dad got a few heavy punches in, too, as you expected.

Chris had a bloody nose, a bloody lip, and crimson knuckles. Blood stained his big hands, and you couldn't tell if it was his or your father's.

Matt and Nick finally managed to push Chris out of the house, leaving you and your family. Your dad was still screaming drunk profanities, while James made sure you were okay. Peter and your mom held your dad back from chasing your boyfriend.

You had walked out of the dining room and went to sit on the stairs. Tears streamed down your face as you felt yourself slip into a familiar but unfamiliar trance. You were completely unaware of your surroundings at this point, so lost in your brain that the rest of your body was just frozen.

You don't know how long you are disassociating for, but you heard muffled shouting until you didn't. The yelling was replaced with ringing, something your brain did as a coping mechanism, mostly when you were young and hiding with your siblings in the bathroom while your dad trashed your home.

"-aby, can you take a deep breath from me?" You look up, but your vision is blurred, and you can't make out who's speaking - or anything for that matter.

You blink slowly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It usually took you a while to come back to reality during these moments.

"Can someone get her a cup of water?" You hear the voice again, and despite your yearning to speak, you can't get any words out. Your mouth opens, and you try to speak, but it comes out more of a choked whine.

"Shh, I know, sweetheart, it's okay." Chris wipes the tears coming for your cheeks. Your pupils were enlarged, and your eyes were open, but you couldn't see.

"Thank you." Chris muttered as Matt handed him a cup of ice water. "Here, baby." He put his hands in the icy water, shaking them, so his hands are damp. He took your hands, which had a death grip on your hoodie, and rubbed his cold fingers over your knuckles.

You focused on the feeling of his frigid fingers and you felt yourself coming back to reality.

You blink quickly as more tears fall. "Aw ma, don't cry, it's okay, sweetheart." Chris coos, placing his hands on your hips, rubbing his thumbs on the bone.

His attempts to ground you are successful, as your eyes finally focus on his eyes. "Hey, hey, you coming back to me, baby?" Chris asks, his voice soothingly attempting to comfort you.

You nod absent-mindedly, relief flooding your body as you come back to reality.

You take in your surroundings for the first time in what felt like forever. You're sat on the stairs, your hands shaking from the adrenaline flowing through your veins.

You finally make eye contact with Chris, his eyes full of love and worry. He's got a bruise on the side of his face, a busted lip, and blood falling from his nose, smeared on his upper lip.

"Chris..." you say, cupping his face, rubbing his cheeks down to his lip, frowning when he winced. "Baby..."

He pulls away, chuckling lightly. "It's fine, baby, I'm okay. I just wanted to make sure you were safe." He squeezed your hips in reassurance.

"I'm okay." You say. But then your mind screams at you. "Fuck, where's Maya... an-and, James. Oh, fuck, what about Julia and Pet-" your cut off by Chris's lips on yours. You sigh into the kiss, your hands trailing down his neck.

He pulls away and smiles sadly. "Thank you." You whisper, looking down. "Anytime, baby. I'm so sorry. God, I'm so fucking sorry." He said, leaning his forehead on yours.

You shake your head. "It's okay, he's a fucking asshole." Chris kisses your cheek. "Let's get outta here? I made a little bit of a mess."

You raise your eyebrows. "A little?" Chris kisses his teeth and scoffs.

You smile and kiss his cheek. "Anybody would've done it, Chris. It's okay, really." You speak softly.

Chris smiles and helps you up. "Let's go home." He leads you down the stairs and reaches for the door.

But it opens before he can open it.

"Oh my god."

______________________________

(Man, I wonder who that is)

Taglist: @sturnioloblogs @y0urm4m @sturniolosmind @thenickgirl @muwapsturniolo @breeloveschris @worldlxvlys @freshloveforthefit @miloisdone1 @vanteguccir

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[apomaro-mellow]

Wrong Number 1

Eddie kept up a texting chain with Steve while making himself a breakfast of coffee and cereal. He hadn't felt like this in a long time. Not since, well, when he thought of it when he was a teenager up all night in chat rooms and forums. When you found someone who you just clicked with.

[11:30] Any advice on how to fry an egg with a perfectly runny yolk?

(11:32) You like runny yolks??? 🤢 (11:33) It's scrambled or nothing for me (11:33) Cant help ya even if I wanted to

[11:35] I just want an egg on my avo toast

Normally Robin fried the eggs for breakfast. Her yolks were always perfect. But unlike Steve, she'd actually scored last night and was still with whoever she'd gone home with last night.

Eddie couldn't help but roll his eyes at the cliche. A guy who jogged and then came back home for some avocado toast with an egg on top? He just had to let his stance be known.

(11:35) Next ur gonna tell me bout your acai smoothie bowl rite? (11:36) Avo toast? Really???

Steve realized how he was coming off and had to quickly amend it.

[11:38] It's not what you think! We only got the avocados to make some guac the other day. There was one left and I wanted to use it before it went bad. And I'm all guac'd out. Hence the toast.

(11:39) At least you didn't use the avocado to make like ice cream or some shit

Finished with his own, normal, regular, average citizen breakfast, Eddie cleared his place and started to actually get ready for the day. His shift went from 2 to 10 tonight, so he needed to prepare for the long haul.

While brushing his teeth, getting dressed, and making something for his lunch later, he and Steve kept up the texts. Through their conversation he found out Steve's favorite ice cream (peanut butter), that he could cook eggs just about any way except sunny side up, and that he lived with a roommate named Robin.

Eddie got to his place of work and in a place like that you need to have some semblance of focus and attention, so he told Steve he had to get to work. He realized he was basically saying 'busy now, text you later?' to a stranger he'd only started talking to last night. Steve was completely in his rights to end the conversation there.

He could've ended it at any time really. What obligation did he have to keep on talking to him?

[2:01] Okay. Talk to you later

Steve stared at the message, already in the middle of agonizing over it when Robin finally came through the door of their apartment.

"Good afternoon. I wanna feel offended that I didn't get any texts or calls asking if I'm okay but I'm gonna choose to think it means you trust me and are a great judge of character."

For the first time in a while, Steve checked the time and actually realized how long it had been.

"Shit, Robs, I'm sorry." It had been over 12 hours and he hadn't checked in on her. All because he'd been texting a random number. "So you had a good time?"

Steve had been sitting on the couch and Robin plopped right down, laying her head in his lap.

"It was magical. Like something out of a movie."

"Aren't you glad I made you go and talk to her?", Steve smiled smug.

Robin smushed his face with her hands with a groan. "Don't look at me like that. You were right, okay? Me and her hit it off like, like uh, one of your sports metaphors."

"Robin you were in a soccer league just last year, stop acting like you don't know sports."

"Anyway, something grand must've kept your attention off me. Things go well with that girl you were talking to?"

"Umm, yeah."

Robin sat up, eyes narrowing. "And you came back here with her? Gross! Steve! Did you do it on the couch?!" She shot up immediately.

"I didn't", Steve rolled his eyes.

It was one of their main rules. No sex in the common areas of the apartment. Steve wasn't gonna tell her about the wrong number given to him. And he especially wasn't going to tell her he kept talking to it. The following lecture would have been unbearable.

"She gave me her number and we've just been texting back and forth."

Robin slowly sat back down on the couch. "Just texting? That's all you did?"

"That's all."

"Wow. You usually move faster than that."

"Well, I want something a little more this time. But enough about my snail pace romance. Let's talk about you and that girl, what was her name?"

He and Robin sat a long while, talking about her night, eventually going out for lunch together too. Not-Misty had said they were at work, but Steve couldn't help himself when he saw that Robin had ordered a burger with avocado on it and Steve had gotten a taco salad that came with, you guessed it, avocado.

[3:14] image.jpeg [314] Okay me and Robin might have a problem. But I swear it's not on purpose!

"Did you just send a picture of our lunch to someone?", Robin asked.

"Yeah to uh, to Misty. We were talking about avocados earlier and I figured she'd get a kick out of it."

Robin smiled through her chewing. She teased but she was glad that her friend had made a connection last night.

Meanwhile, Eddie saw the message, but didn't have a chance to reply, even on his lunch break. Through all the texting, he had forgotten to charge his phone, so it was on the plug and he was leaving it alone for now while he talked to his co-worker, Grant. He went through the rest of his shift, thinking about Steve.

What did he look like? How old was he? Where did he live?

He got off and made his way back home, stopping off somewhere to get dinner. It was a sandwich shop and he honestly contemplated getting avocado on his just to see Steve's reaction but he resisted.

'I can't be that down bad that I'm overthinking food now', he thought to himself.

When he got back home, he turned the tv on and took out his phone to reply to Steve right away.

(10:31) Back at home now (10:32) Work was crazy (10:34) And the 1st step to recovery is admitting u have a problem (10:36) But thru hard work we can get you addicted to a sensible veggie (10:37) Like broccoli

He thought since he kept Steve waiting for so long it might take some time for a reply to come, but his phone pinged almost immediately.

[10:39] First of all, avocado is a fruit. Second, I eat plenty of other vegetables. And third, what happened at work?

(10:41) It may be a fruit but I dont want it in my smoothie (10:42) And some guy came in and started throwing axes at the wall

Sunday evenings were usually more relaxed. It was why Eddie typically didn't work Friday or Saturday nights unless he needed some extra cash or they needed someone on deck.

[10:44] Hold the duck up someone was throwing axes!! [10:44] *duck [10:45] *FUCK

Eddie snickered through his eating and had to take a moment to swallow before something came up. He always enjoyed telling people what he did for a living.

(10:46) Cool your jets man (10:47) I work at an axe throwing range (10:48) The problem with this dude was he didn't have an appointment (10:48) Just came in and started throwing an axe at the wall

[10:50] Are you okay? That sounds dangerous

(10:50) My uncle handled it (10:51) Eventually the dude left

[10:52] Oh wow. Well I'm glad you're okay. Axe throwing tho. What an interesting job for someone of your age? 🤷

Steve was lying in bed and he buried his face into his pillow as he sent it with the shrug emoji. It was so transparent, he knew it. But he needed to have a better idea of who he was talking to. That way when Robin did eventually find out, he'd be able to tell her something, anything.

(10:53) Smooth (10:53) I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours

Eddie knew now was the time to be cautious. But he was also curious as to how much Steve would tell him and just what he wanted to know. He wasn't disappointed.

[10:54] Male, 23, 5'11

It was like the bare minimum of information and yet Eddie was already aggressively tamping down any hope that he might have a chance. Without his permission, hope bubbled up anyway

(10:55) Male, 24 going on 25, also 5'11

Steve stared at the text with the mystery person, mystery man's information. It seemed like so little and yet so much. He still hadn't an idea of what he looked like. But now he could at least get a general silhouette.

(10:56) Ur not one of those guys who lies about his height are you?

[10:57] Robin says my hair gives me two inches but she has no idea what she's talking about.

Eddie was thinking about how Steve must wear his hair. It could be in a sizeable pompadour, or maybe a nice afro. Maybe it was in a bun all the time? That was not what he typed out however.

(10:59) You know what they say (10:59) It's not the size but what u do with it

Okay this was it. This was where Steve stopped texting him. You can't just say that to guys you don't know-ping!

Eddie bit his lip and only had one eye open as he looked at Steve reply, preparing for the worst.

[11:01] Oh I know how to use my inches

Eddie dropped his phone onto the table and had to get up and pace, touch his face, his hair, throwing his hands in the air. Was this flirting? This felt like flirting. He wished he knew for sure. Maybe it was the lack of emoji. Had Steve put a winking face, he'd know for certain. Eddie leaned against his fridge, staring at his phone, sitting innocently on the table.

On the other side, Steve was burying his face into his pillow, pretending he didn't just say that. Would it come off as playful? As flirty? As casual? Should he have sent a wink? The seconds ticked and it felt too late. Like coughing after saying something awkward.

God, he was so desperate. Why was he even still texting? He had work in the morning. He should start preparing for bed so he had any hope of getting up on time. Steve pushed off the bed and went to his closet when he heard the notification sound and instantly returned.

(11:05) Let's get out the measuring tape (11:05) image.jpeg

Steve felt his heart skip a beat. The picture attached was of the very top of mystery man's head. He was holding up a lock of long, curly hair into the air. Steve studied the picture like he was getting paid to do it. He couldn't see any lower than the bangs on his forehead but there was still plenty to see.

The rings on his fingers for one, how his curls went this way and that. Steve quickly saved it and then replied with a similar pose, holding some hair by the fingers as far as it would go above his head.

[11:07] image.jpeg [11:08] I think you have me beat

They texted for about an hour more before Steve finally decided to be an adult and put himself to sleep, bidding mystery man good night.

Part 3

Fun fact, years ago I worked at an axe throwing place and yes, what happened to Eddie did in fact happen to me! On like my first week too I think

Tag Team

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @newtstabber @omletlove @ifyoudonlysurrender @rehfan @morganski-19 @corvidcantina @dragonmama76 @just-ladyme @tinyplanet95 @lolawonsstuff @goodolefashionedloverboi @idoquitelikebread @kittydeadbones @manda-panda-monium @rhapsodyinalto @paintsplatteredandimperfect @keylime-green @ihavekidneys @samsoble @honorarybrit81 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @420-hun @aizawa-emma @deleataecount @thesuninyaface

[bellaxgiornata]

A Favor from the Devil |Chapter One|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Mom!Reader Word Count: 2.2k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; Domestic abuse, depictions/mentions of sexual assault, struggles with past trauma, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut (possibly more warnings to come)

Summary: Between working cases at Nelson, Murdock, and Page and combating crime as Daredevil in Hell’s Kitchen at night, Matt had little time for much else. Until a new neighbor moves in across the hall and you attract his attention with your odd behavior. But when your quiet four year old doesn't just befriend the Devil–she unravels his biggest secret–Matt only grows closer and more protective of the both of you. Inevitably he learns the truth of your past, but that's not what surprises him most. It's a favor you ask of the Devil–a favor that initially leaves Matt conflicted.

a/n: This is a story I've had in my head for quite a few months now and have steadily been working on for a bit for myself, but now I've decided to share it. I've spent quite a bit of time outlining and fleshing out the story--more than I usually do. As always, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @kee-0-kee @dethspllz @a-half-empty-g1rl @senjoritanana

“And that's the end,” you said. 

Closing the book in your lap, you glanced up from the brightly colored illustrations of animals on the back cover to your daughter who sat clutching Barnabas, the stuffed teddy bear that she never went to bed without. Her eyes had grown wide and hopeful as they held your gaze–a look you'd long since become familiar with. It was the same one she always gave you when she was about to stall in an attempt to avoid her inevitable bedtime. And it often worked on you, whether she realized it or not.

“Again?” Evelyn asked softly, a little hand reaching out towards the book. “Please, mama?”

“Cricket,” you replied gently, glad to hear she was stringing more words together tonight despite the excitement of this evening's move. “I've already read it five times now. I think it's time we put it away for tonight and you get to sleep.” 

Evelyn's face fell at your answer and the sight pained you. It didn’t help that you knew just how anxious she'd been the entire weekend with all the big changes you both had going on yet again. She'd spent the past week barely saying more than a single word because of it.

“The book will still be here tomorrow,” you promised her. “We can read it again then.”

“Helps me sleep,” she whispered.

The growing frown curving her lips downwards and the little crease forming between her furrowed brows tugged at your heart. Especially with how she looked so small tucked inside the too-large sleeping bag you'd recently purchased at a thrift store. It looked as if she was being swallowed up by the giant purple thing considering she didn't even take up half the length of it. 

Sighing, you felt your resolve fading the longer she stared up at you with her pleading eyes. With everything that you'd both been through over the past few months, and how you'd already felt guilty for all of the things you'd done wrong and hadn't been able to give her–which included an actual bed to sleep in once you'd gotten this apartment–you knew you wouldn't be able to resist that look. The very least you could do was read the book to her for a sixth time.

Leaning back once more against the bedroom wall behind you, you settled in for another few minutes on the uncomfortable floor. “Alright,” you relented. “I can read it just one more time for you, cricket. But then you've got to promise me something. Can you do that?”

The expression on her face changed, her small nose slightly scrunching up as her head turned to the side. “What?” she asked.

“Promise me that you'll actually go to sleep when I'm done,” you said, reaching a hand out to lightly ruffle her hair. “Because it's late and you've got your first day of preschool in the morning. Remember?”

“Oh,” she whispered, visibly sinking lower into the sleeping bag. 

You frowned. She'd been nervous for that, too.

“Hey,” you said, your hand smoothing her hair before coming to gently rest along her shoulder. “You'll have fun there, I promise. I know it can seem scary going somewhere new, but you've been doing a great job adjusting to all the new things we've been through already. And you'll make friends, Evie. It'll be alright, I promise.”

The doleful look on her face didn't waver despite your attempt to comfort her. You hoped that beginning preschool tomorrow in conjunction with yet another move didn't set her back to nonverbal responses again. Guilt burned inside of you at the thought of how much your previous situation had led her to become so timid and quiet, afraid to use her own voice. It didn't matter that everyone at Hope Haven had tried to reassure you that none of what you'd been through was your fault, that you had done everything you could when you could. That didn't stop you from still feeling wholly responsible.

You should have seen it coming. Should have done something sooner.

But that was in the past now.

“And after work I'll pick you up and bring you back home with me,” you told her, trying to lighten her mood. “We can eat tonight's leftover pizza for dinner. And maybe I can get us some ice cream on the way home. How does that sound, cricket?”

Evelyn's hands began fidgeting with the edge of her sleeping bag, rolling it up between her small fingers. Her eyes remained downcast, avoiding yours. You knew she often fidgeted when she was anxious, a habit that just seemed wrong for a four year old to have acquired.

“Is this home?” she asked. 

The ever present guilt in your stomach burned, your chest tightening at the unexpected and loaded question. You hated that she worried about things that no four year old should be worrying about, too. Another thing that was all your fault.

Expression softening, you nodded. “Yeah, Evie,” you answered, your hand dropping down to wrap around her little one that was still fidgeting with the edge of her sleeping bag. “This is home. We're staying here. Hopefully for a long, long time.”

Glancing up at you from beneath her lashes, you could see the expression on her face had yet again changed. This time she was staring up at you with a look that you absolutely hated seeing on her little face. One full of fear and uncertainty. A particular memory flashed through your mind at the sight of it and the acid in your stomach had a wave of nausea hitting you. Eyes briefly dropping down to the scar across the back of your right hand, you tried to fight back the tremble that had begun in it.

“We're safe?” Evie asked.

Attempting to swallow down the lump that had formed in the back of your throat, you nodded. You gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, though it felt like your heart was shattering in that moment. Because after all, it had also been your fault that it had taken so long to get the pair of you somewhere safe.

“Yes,” you stated, your trembling hand gripping the book in your lap tighter in an attempt to calm the quivering. “We're safe here. Don't ever worry about that, alright? That's for me to worry about. And I will always make sure you're safe. You hear me? Always .”

There was a long pause before she very slowly nodded her head just once. Your left hand patted hers tenderly, sending her what was meant to be a reassuring smile. You hoped it had been, because you'd been doing your best to appear more put together than you actually felt lately. You didn't need Evie to be worrying about anything else.

“So,” you said, trying to change the topic, “I guess we should get back to finishing our bedtime story, huh?”

Evie nodded vigorously, pushing herself more upright in her sleeping bag, her expectant eyes on you. You sent her another smile before clearing your throat and focusing back down on the book in your lap. Opening it once more with your still quivering hand, you tried to push the bad memories from your mind as you began to read in an animated voice. 

It wasn't until four pages later that you'd glanced up at Evie. She had leaned over to see the pictures in the book while you read, all traces of fear gone from her face. Instead, she looked enraptured in the story that you knew she had completely memorized by now with how often you'd read it to her. There was a ghost of a smile on her face as she cuddled Barnabas tightly to her chest. And in that moment your heart felt full of hope.

Running a hand across your forehead, you paced your way around the mostly unfurnished apartment you'd just moved into this evening. The sparseness of the place was truthfully embarrassing. Currently all you had was Evie's sleeping bag, a blanket and lumpy pillow set aside by Evie’s bedroom door which would be your bed for the foreseeable future, and the empty boxes tossed around what would someday hopefully be a living room. For now it was just a large, empty room beside the small, empty kitchen.

As you paced around another overturned, half-broken down cardboard box, your shoulders dropped. You'd managed to pack all of Evelyn's and yours’ belongings in those boxes now lying discarded on the floor. Just six boxes fit your entire life. You certainly hadn't had much when you'd grabbed Evelyn and ran those couple of months ago. Just one garbage bag filled with mostly her clothes and things with a few of yours mixed in. Though even if you'd had time to pack more, there wouldn't have been much else to bring with you because neither of you’d ever had much to begin with. 

And now here you were struggling to afford the very little you had as it was, no matter how desperately you were trying to stretch your measly new salary. It pained you to not be able to provide properly for you and your daughter. You remembered how you’d felt that very last night you'd stayed at Hope Haven, the women's shelter that you’d be forever grateful for taking the pair of you in and helping you start your new life. 

Long after Evelyn had gone to sleep on your last night there, you'd laid awake in bed crying quietly to yourself as you stared at that damn purple sleeping bag mocking you from across the room. You’d felt like a terrible mother–for more than one reason. As tears ran down your cheeks, you’d vowed to save up to buy Evie a bed, doing whatever you needed to until you could. You'd give her that at least, even if it meant skipping meals whenever you could to save the extra cash. But honestly, you found yourself already often having to skip meals just so you could afford to keep Evie fed.

Pausing in your aimless pacing, you came to a stop beside one of the large windows in the living room. Placing a hand against the cool glass, you looked outside at the city. Your eyes inevitably found their way to the massive billboard positioned on the building across the street which hung at precisely your apartment's height. But fortunately for you the eyesore was more directly across from the apartment next door to yours, making it less noticeable and disruptive from your view. Though you had no choice but to feel grateful for the hideous thing because it had been the sole reason you'd gotten such a reduced rent in the first place. Otherwise you'd never have been able to afford a place in a relatively safe area of Hell’s Kitchen.

As you blankly stared outside at the billboard, watching the advertisements change from one to the next, you hoped things would be different here. Better. Because both you and Evie needed that. Your daughter needed a stable place to live, one she felt safe coming home to for once, and you desperately wanted to provide that for her. With every fiber of your being you hoped that this place would finally become the home you'd been struggling to create since the day she was born.

Pushing away from the glass, you rubbed at your tired eyes. It was late and you knew you should probably get some sleep yourself now that Evie had finally fallen asleep a little while ago. But the prospect of sleeping on the cold, hard floor with nothing but a singular blanket and pillow didn't sound that appealing. You certainly weren't rushing to get to sleep yourself. 

Making your way back across the apartment, you reluctantly picked up the blanket and pillow from the ground. Carrying both of them over towards the closed door of Evelyn's bedroom, you set the pillow down. With both hands you tossed the blanket out, splaying it wide across the floor. You realized it was probably ridiculous sleeping in front of her bedroom door like this, especially because there was another bedroom, but it made you feel better. Because laying here, you knew that you were between your daughter and anyone who might come through the front door–namely one person in particular. 

Not that he even knew where you were.

Beginning to lower yourself to the floor, preparing to get some rest, movement caught your attention out of the kitchen window across the room. You stopped instantly, head spinning fully towards the window as you sat half-crouched like a startled animal. Adrenaline and fear spiked through you as your eyes caught a shadow darting across the neighboring rooftop. For a moment you could have sworn the shadow had been shaped like a person, but as you scanned the rooftop now, you didn't see anything at all.

Shaking your head, you blinked hard a couple of times as you finally sunk to the floor. You had to have been seeing things because you were overtired and on edge. That's all it was. There was no reason for someone to be running along a rooftop late at night.

[tacticaldiary]

hi hello, if you have the chance, could u write a ghost x reader of an overworked/ burnt out reader who faints or something. just stressed out overprotective ghost to warm our hearts <3

thank you so much xxx

Bone Tired

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort ; Fluff

Ghost knows she's been pushing herself but he didn't think it was this bad. She nearly gives him a goddamn heart attack by collapsing right in front of him.

"Don't make me tie you to the bed."

"Jokes on you, I'm into that." She snickers at the long-suffering sigh he lets out.

Masterlist

Just because they weren't deployed on a mission didn't mean things were any less busy for them back at base. Drills, morning runs, training, paperwork, and more; there was always something to keep them busy.

"Focus." The low timber of his voice snaps her out of her thoughts, dragging her back to the present. "I would've incapacitated you three times by now." Ghost says with a frown. Or at least she thinks he's frowning under that mask. He sure sounds like it.

"Yeah, sorry L.T." She blinks, widening her stance and dragging her tired mind to attention. Everything just felt...off. Her clothes were too itchy, the bright fluorescent lights hanging from the room were too prickly, and the training mat under her feet felt difficult to get her footing into. Maybe she was catching a bug? She'd been feeling mildly feverish the past few days, after all, sporting a headache she opted to power through with painkillers.

Grunts and groans and jeers echo around them as others take their turn to spar with each other. She'd already lost against Gaz once, a rare outcome in itself, and now she was pretty sure Ghost was going easy on her. She's surprised she isn't face-first on the mat right now, actually.

Blinking away the knowledge that her arms feel like lead and her mind foggy, she lunges at him with her fist, an attack easily parried and side stepped by the man.

In all honestly, she's known for a while that she needed a proper break. A few days to herself full of nothing. The last op she'd been on had been long and gruelling, a solo one at that, weeks' worth of trekking through a mountain range far south in the cold to get to an isolated camp where their target had been laying low. It was a success, but she swears she can still feel the snow bite into her flesh if she thinks too hard about it.

The moment she'd got back there had been debriefings with Price to attend, files to be reported to Laswell, all the while keeping up with her usual routine and drills...

Her eyes widen as she's spun around, an arm circling her throat and pinning her in a hold.

"You're sloppy." Ghost clicks his tongue from behind her, and if she were any less exhausted, maybe she would have felt a shiver go down her spine.

Here, they were just soldiers, but in private? That's a whole other story. Their relationship had to be kept under wraps for a multitude of reasons, but Simon was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. Having someone who understood her work, who shared the experience and knew exactly what she was talking about, who knew the best ways to comfort and listen and advise her...it was rare.

A rare and beautiful thing, that's what they had. They helped each other grow, made up for the others weaknesses and blind spots.

But they weren't in private right now, so after she taps his arm to concede, he pushes her away, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Are you ill?" He asks tightly, eyes going up and down her body as if he could detect whatever was making her pause. She'd seemed fine the last time he saw her, but clearly something was wrong if she was this...dazed?

She shakes her head. "Just didn't sleep well last night." She lies through her teeth. She couldn't afford to be sick right now, couldn't afford the luxury of wasting time resting. She still had to report to Laswell, attend a meeting on what the next steps were to reach their targets close contacts. Then she promised Soap she'd hit the shooting range with him, and then Gaz asked her to help him with that paperwork he had to fill out...

Taking a step back, she stumbles a little.

It all bubbles up inside her, overwhelming and insurmountable, a mountain of work that keeps piling up to reach new heights and-

Was Ghost talking? She blinks, trying to get the ringing out of her ears. It was loud and annoying, and it made the headache she'd been sporting since yesterday stronger.

Ghost's eyes widen. He's definitely saying something. She hopes Simon knows she wasn't ignoring her on purpose. She was always good at reading him, so maybe if her vision would stop spotting and focus, she could actually see his eyes properly and figure out what was wrong.

In the end, the roaring in her ears becomes deafening, to the point where she squeezes her eyes shut. How easy would it be to just...stay like this. Just for one moment. To revel in the nothingness of the dark, where she got just one second of silence away from the list of things she had to keep doing.

Just one more moment.

Another step back, an unsteady sway.

She hits the ground hard, the last thing she hears being the yell of her name from that familiar, rough voice.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Bleary eyes blink themselves awake, squinting against the warm glow of the lamp by her bedside table. Groaning, she attempts to sit up, only to widen her eyes in alarm when a hand firmly pushes her back.

Instincts kicking in, her hand flies up to latch onto the wrist in a weak grip.

"It's just me." The low voice has her relaxes instantly, hand falling away onto the bed.

"Simon." She says, surprised when her voice doesn't come out as more than a whisper. "Where...what happened?" She winces at the throbbing in her head as she takes in the scene. Simon settled down in a chair next to her, a book laying open faced on her side table.

"You passed out." He says, plainly worried. "The medics said you fainted from exhaustion. Ain't that something to explain, love?" Now that he's ditched the mask, she can see the creases of worry in his forehead, the downwards quirk of his lips. "Damn near gave me a heart attack."

"Passed out?" She echoes, trying to remember. "I...guess I did."

She sure feels like it. Her body feels like lead, as if it's doing everything it can to ensure she stays in bed. Shivering slightly, she looks around for another blanket. When she reaches for the fluffy duvet folded at the foot of her bed, it's immediately snatched out of reach by Simon.

"Give it." She demands, reaching a hand out.

"You have a fever." Simon shakes his head, holding the item out of reach. "It'll break quicker this way."

"I'm fine." She protests, managing to sit up this time under his unimpressed stare. "I'm alright, Simon. Can't afford to be sick right now."

"That's not how it works." He sighs, standing up. "I thought I'd hurt you for a moment." She watches him walk towards the small table near the opposite wall, fiddling with something there while he talked. "Damn near took a year of my life away with how you crumpled onto the mat."

"It wasn't you." She assures him quickly. Some of the tension visibly drains from his shoulder in what she can only assume is relief. Needless as it is, she feels a little guilty. How long had he been thinking her passing out had been his fault? No, this was on her, on her busy schedule and-

Wait, what time was it?

Dread curls up in her gut as she slowly turns towards the small window. The lamp was on when she woke up, of course it was night.

"I was just tired is all." She says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "But I'm as fresh as a daisy now, and I've got so much shit to do." She lets out an anxious, long breath as her brain kicks in, charting how much time she'd lost, how quickly she'd need to work to get it all done-

"I have that meeting with Laswell...I wonder if Price thinks I just didn't show up to his office..." She doesn't realise she's been muttering her thoughts aloud until Ghost cuts her off.

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart." He declares over his shoulder. "Get your ass back in bed."

"I can't, there's too much I have to do today." She protests. "And I've already lost half the day-"

"I wasn't asking."

"Simon-" He turns around and she finally sees what he's been doing.

"Don't make me tie you to the bed." His threat is much less effective when he's holding one of her mugs that says 'Bad Bitch' in obnoxious neon pink calligraphy, the phrase surrounded by a flowery border. She'd got it for him as a gag gift for his last birthday and had cackled at the dead, unimpressed stare he fixed her with. It had remained in his room for a while before she'd snatched it, claiming she'd actually appreciate it.

"Jokes on you, I'm into that." She snickers at the long-suffering sigh he lets out. Her laughs morph into a deep chest-rattling cough that wipes the smile off her face and leaves her wincing.

Sitting next to her after tossing the pillow onto the mattress, he brings the warm mug of tea up to her. "Easy does it." He mutters quietly when she grabs it from him and takes a drink.

"Thank you." She sighs, handing it back.

"Talk to me." He orders, not unkindly. Simon wasn't someone who was all lovey-dovey, but he loved just as hard and much as the next person. Just because he didn't choose to flourish it with pretty words and smiles doesn't mean she felt any less cared for.

He was a man of action, through and through.

Little touches throughout the day, silent glances checking in with her. Staying by her side during missions, working in tandem and recognising when she needed space versus when she needed him near.

He was her other half, and it had been eating away at him that he didn't fucking realise she was this unwell until the consequences caught up with her.

Ghost won't admit the primal flash of fear that struck through him when she'd crumpled to the ground like that. He thought he'd hurt her while sparring, that he'd done something to make her pass out like that. Even after the medics cleared her and he carried her here, tucked her in and everything, there was still a nagging worry of 'what-if' in his mind.

The relief of hearing her confirm it wasn't him was tainted by the knowledge that he hadn't noticed her pushing herself.

After a moment of deliberation, she gives in, tucking herself back into bed and thinking for a moment. She tells him everything, tells him how she hasn't had a second to herself in these past few days, telling him about the load she has on her shoulders and the crushing time limit ticking down in her ears for every task she had.

He listens quietly, to his credit, doesn't interrupt her even when she trails off, having to muster up the energy to keep going.

The fact that talking tired her out to this degree made his heart twist uncomfortably.

"I didn't think I had a choice but to take it all head on." She finishes, stifling a yawn. She looks up at him for his response when he doesn't talk, finds him staring at her with a half-lidded gaze, a furrow in his brow.

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"Ask you what?" She asks, confused.

"For help."

That was...a good question. It takes her a second to come up with a sheepish answer. "I...I didn't think of that." She admits, drawing out another quiet sigh from him.

"You're going to be the death of me." He grumbles, but she can't complain when he's gently tugging her to the side and climbing in with her under the covers. "I've sorted things out with Price and Laswell. Do whatever else you need to when you're capable of not face planting into the mats again."

A warm feeling of gratitude washes over her, her heart warming with the kind gesture. It was so...it was so Simon.

When he tangles their legs together and tucks her into his side, she wrinkles her nose. "I'm all sweaty." She tries to argue, tapping at his shoulder half-heartedly when he lays down with her, a strong arm around her waist pulling her in.

"I've had your blood on my hands before, I don't think sweat is going to be a problem." She can hear his voice rumble low in his chest, right under where he head rests, and she hides a smile in the fabric of his shirt.

When he runs a hand through her hair, she practically melts against him.

Eventually, her shivering stops, replaced with a bone-deep warmth that nothing could chase away. Simon. The warmth of him, of his care, of his love. She'd take it over a heatpack any day.

His arms around her make her relax. Nothing would nag at her, drag her away to chain her to a desk under Simon's watch, that much she knows. Safe. Protected. The feeling was rare living the life she did with her job, but Simon made it so easy to believe that she was untouchable as long as she was with him.

Before she knows it, her eyes flutter shut and her breathing evens out, because goddamn did the bastard know exactly where and how to touch her to get her all sleepy and relaxed.

"Thank you." She mumbles against him, words half incoherent.

"Always, love." He rumbles back, brushing his lips over her head.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(16/07/2023)

[xoluvx]

i can fix her (no really i can); b.eilish

They shake their heads saying, "God, help her" When I tell them he's my man

smut

She was loud. Her voice filled your ears like a siren’s call. Her laugh shook you to the core. The sweat made her black hair cling to her forehead and her red roots glowed under the fluorescent lights. She was a walking angel.

With a devilish streak.

“Yeaaah,” she cheered slapping the girl’s ass that was bouncing to the beat of the song.

She was entrancing. With all those beautiful girls around her yet she was the only one who caught your eye. The only one that held you locked in.

Eventually, you found yourself in the midst of the circle dancing to a song she hadn't yet released, but was all too familiar to you. She stood behind you, grinding against your body, holding your hips not giving a shit who saw.

But let's rewind a little here.

How did you end up at this party with Billie basically dry humping you in the middle of the dance floor? Easy.

It may have been hard to believe, due to the events unraveling at this party...but you were an item. Girlfriends? Maybe. Definitely girls that were friends who also fucked. But were more than friends, but didn't really care about public labels. Yeah, whatever you would call that.

She partied, you tagged along and watched. It didn't really matter because you knew she'd always come home with you and that's exactly what was happening right now on the dance floor. Your hand reached up behind you resting on her neck as her mouth ghosted near your shoulder. Everyone's cheering and own bodies bouncing to the music balanced out the fact that you were so far gone right now.

Stumbling away from the dance floor, your hands found themselves tangled in her hair. Your lips were sloppy, tongues deprived of touch all night. Her fingers dug into your hips as she pushed you against the wall. The music still bumping making the walls vibrate on your back.

"Let's get out of here," her voice husky as her lips found your neck. She placed opened mouth kisses along your skin until her teeth grazed your ear.

"No," your voice was low as you pulled her head back. Your fingers buried in her hair holding her in place. Her mouth fell open.

"Do you enjoy embarrassing me?" your voice fired against her jaw. You felt her chest heave, a sound catching in her throat.

"I thought it turned you on?" she replied snaking her fingers around your neck, it was your turn to groan. She wasn't wrong. But she needed permission and she damn well knew that.

This battle for dominance transpired from the first night you met. The first night you danced with her like you were on her bed. Then she ditched you for something so minuscule you couldn't remember anymore. And of course you had to confront her about it when she tried to slither back before the end of the night.

"What are you going to do about it?" her voice was laced with hot honey, face inches away from yours. If you leaned forward only an inch your lips would brush and surely you would melt right where you were standing.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" you whispered back challenging her. Two could play that game and you knew how to play so fucking well.

Her hand was on the back of your neck in seconds, lips brushing against your own. She held you in that position for what felt like an eternity before letting you go. A wicked smile on her face.

You didn't realize you'd been holding your breath so when you exhaled then inhaled the oxygen rushed to your brain and your legs wobbled.

"Woah," Billie chuckled holding your waist. Your hands held her arms. Your eyelids fluttered as they traced the side of her neck, so inviting. A blank canvas.

"My sweet sweet Billie," your voice angelic as one hand pat her cheek before cupping her jaw. Billie growled baring her teeth. "I think I need to remind you who's in charge here," you purred running your hand up the side of her face kissing her hard. So hard she melted into you without protesting.

When you stumbled into her house, you were quick to push her against the wall wedging your leg between her thighs. She groaned grabbing your head as your lips connected repeatedly. Your fingers worked the belt on her jeans, it clinked and clattered on the floor as you pulled her pants down.

She was wearing her slutty thong and you bit her bottom lip at the realization. Billie moaned into your mouth pushing her pelvis forward.

Your hand tugged at the fabric until it was pushed to the side, fingers desperately entering her pussy without warning. You were in charge. You made her feel it with each push, deeper and deeper. You had to crouch so your hand was at the perfect angle that sent her into a rage of pornographic moans.

She held your head, teeth biting at her shirt. Chest rising and falling dramatically as her walls tightening around your fingers.

"I know you want to cum for me," you looked up at her. Her head tossed so far back all you could see was her jaw clenching.

"No, no, no," she huffed holding your hand. Her fingers tight around your wrist. She could. She could cum right now on your fingers, but she wasn't going to give in so easily. Not without a fight. A fight that she'd happily lose. But she wasn't going to tell you that.

She tried gathering her strength, cupping your face. She kissed you ferociously kicking her jeans to the side. Her hands trailed down your ass and behind your thighs. The silent demand urging you to jump, wrapping your legs around her torso. She held you, walking you to the couch. Her body plopped down with you on top, but she was still very much in charge.

She moved under you, your lips never faltering. Her hands gripped your hips helping you move to match the rhythm of her jerks. Your skirt rode up, your underwear bunching from the friction. Billie groaned as you dug your hands in her hair, hips moving faster. She was desperate to her feel you, to taste you.

Without warning she twisted your bodies so you were pinned under her. Her hand dragged your underwear down your legs as she shimmied her body down so she had the perfect view of your throbbing wet pussy.

Her tongue ran a stripe between your folds and you moaned arching your back. She didn't waste time burying her face in your cunt. Her nose pressed against your skin as her tongue flicked your clit. She did so repeated before sucking and releasing it with a pop.

Her tongue was ruthless working in unimaginable ways to make you cum. Her lids fluttered as she drowned in the taste of your pussy. The sound of her lapping your wetness and the steady string of moans and curses falling from your lips created the perfect environment for you to just unravel all over tongue.

But doing that would be admitting defeat and you still had it in you to fight back.

And maybe it'd be a battle all night long, but it’d at least it’d be full of pleasure.

You couldn’t truly tame her.

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Little Dove

Quinn Hughes X Pregnant! Reader

a;n it took me forever to finish this chapter, but I think I'm finally back in my groove. I can't wait for you guys to read I've been so excited to put out more fics.

Warnings: pregnancy, arguing, toxic family, suggestive wording lol, anxiety

masterlist link / previous chapters

summary: Y/N's world is turned upside down when she suspects she might be pregnant. Consumed by fear and uncertainty, she takes a pregnancy test but can't bring herself to face the result. She throws the test away and seeks solace in a hot shower, trying to escape the relentless thoughts plaguing her mind.

word count - 4629

...

Y/N stood before the imposing black door, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to gather the courage to face what lay beyond the wooden door. The sleek, polished surface seemed to mock her, its very presence a reminder of the power her parents held over her life.

The stone wall surrounding the entrance loomed above her, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and grab at her, pulling her towards the inevitable confrontation.

She inhaled deeply, the cool evening air filling her lungs and doing little to calm the storm of emotions that raged within her. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to turn around, to run back to the safety of the car and drive away, leaving behind the suffocating expectations and demands of her family.

With a trembling hand, Y/N reached out and grasped the golden handle, the cold metal biting into her palm. The sensation was almost a relief, a sharp contrast to the burning anxiety that coursed through her veins. She squeezed the handle tightly, as if the physical act could somehow give her the strength she so desperately needed.

"Come on," Quinn urged softly, his voice a gentle whisper in her ear. She felt the warmth of his hand on her back, a comforting presence that seemed to anchor her in the midst of her thoughts. His touch sent shivers down her spine, a reminder of the love and support that he offered her unconditionally.

At her silence, Quinn pressed harder, his fingers kneading the tense muscles of her back. "It won't go as bad as you think it will. I'll be with you the whole time, honey."

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to draw strength from his words. But the unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach refused to be silenced. "I know, Quinn," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her own heart.

"It's just... I have a really bad feeling right now. They've never wanted to meet any of my boyfriends, let alone invite them for family dinner. Something about it feels so wrong."

Quinn's hands continued to move along her back, his touch a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. "How about this," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "How ‘bout we play perfect couple with your parents, and then after all of our pain and suffering, we head back home, and I give you one of the Quinn special massages.”

As he spoke, Quinn's hands inched higher, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her spine before coming to rest on the smooth skin of her shoulders. Y/N couldn't help but let out a soft moan as he massaged a particularly tense spot, the sensation causing her head to fall back against his shoulder. “You can relax and let me take care of things."

"Sound good?" Quinn asked, his voice low and full of promise.

Y/N allowed herself a small smile, the first genuine one she'd felt all evening. "That sounds amazing," she breathed, her body already beginning to relax under his expert touch.

Quinn pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away. "Let's go before they get suspicious, hmm?"

With a final squeeze of her hand, Quinn stepped forward and rang the doorbell, the sound echoing through the stillness of the night. Y/N took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and preparing herself for the awkward silence and judgmental stares. She knew that with Quinn by her side, she could face anything her parents threw at her.

As Quinn gently pushed Y/N forward, taking the lead and opening the door, they were greeted by an eerie silence that seemed to permeate the house. The absence of voices, the usual bustle of family life, was unnerving, and Y/N felt a chill run down her spine. The only sound that pierced the stillness was the high-pitched, excited barking of the family dog, Cinnamon.

From the shadows, a blur of fur came charging towards them, a ball of energy and enthusiasm that seemed to light up the dimly lit entrance. Y/N couldn't help but let out a squeal of delight as she knelt down, her arms outstretched to catch the wriggling bundle of joy.

"Hi, Cinnamon baby," she cooed, her voice filled with affection as the small dog eagerly licked at her face, its tail wagging furiously. For a moment, all of Y/N's worries and fears melted away, replaced by the pure, unconditional love that radiated from the tiny creature in her arms.

Quinn watched the scene with a smile, his heart warming at the sight of Y/N's happiness. Her laughter, so rare in the face of her family's expectations, was like music to his ears. He chuckled softly as Cinnamon hopped off Y/N's lap and made a beeline for his own legs, her tiny paws clawing at the fabric of his neatly pressed suit pants.

"Hello there," Quinn said, his voice soft and gentle as he leaned down to pat the dog's head. Cinnamon's fur was soft beneath his fingers, and he marveled at the way such a small creature could bring so much joy and comfort to those around it.

But the moment of levity was short-lived, as a voice suddenly spoke from the opposite side of the room, shattering the brief respite from the tension that hung heavy in the air.

"Sorry for the interruption, Miss Y/N," the voice said, its tone formal and detached. "Your parents are ready for you. Please follow me."

Y/N felt her stomach drop at the words, the bitterness and unease settling back into her stomach. She glanced at Quinn, her eyes wide and filled with a silent plea for strength. He gave her a reassuring nod, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Together, they followed the worker, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor. There was something ominous in the air, a sense of foreboding that seemed to grow with every step they took. But she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the warmth of Quinn's hand in hers, the strength that flowed between them.

…

Y/N stepped through the sliding door, her heart racing with anticipation and nervousness, she was immediately greeted by the sight of her mother rising from her seat at the table.

Dedra's movements were graceful and measured, her posture perfect and her expression carefully composed. Y/N could feel her father's piercing gaze on her and Quinn, his eyes narrowing as he silently assessed the young man by her side.

Despite the palpable tension in the room, Quinn maintained a charming smile, his demeanor confident and unflappable. He strode towards Derek's seat at the head of the table, his hand outstretched in a gesture of greeting. "Mr. L/N, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said, his voice smooth and polished. "I've heard so much about you."

Derek regarded Quinn for a moment, his expression unreadable, before accepting the handshake with a firm grip. "Quinn," he acknowledged, his tone cool and measured. "Welcome to our home."

Y/N quickly guided Quinn to the seat beside her, her fingers lacing with his under the table in a silent show of support. She could feel the weight of her parents' scrutiny, the unspoken questions and judgments hanging heavy in the air.

Dedra, ever the perfect hostess, smiled warmly at the assembled group, her face a mask of polite interest. "Let's begin, shall we?" she said, clapping her hands together. At her signal, a team of immaculately dressed servers emerged from the kitchen, bearing trays laden with an array of sumptuous dishes.

As the servers efficiently set the table, Dedra settled back into her seat, her dress clinging to her figure like a second skin. The chandelier above cast a dazzling light across the room, its crystals refracting and casting shimmering patterns on the walls.

Y/N couldn't help but marvel at her mother's impeccable appearance, the way she seemed to effortlessly command attention and admiration.

But the illusion of perfection was shattered a moment later, as Dedra fixed Y/N with a critical gaze, her lips curving into a small, condescending smile. "Well, you've gotten fat," she remarked, her voice dripping with false concern as she raised a delicate flute of champagne to her lips.

"You know, the past few weeks, your cheeks have seemed to get chubbier. Are you skipping out on that yoga class I recommended?"

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face, her stomach twisting with a mixture of shock and humiliation. She glanced at Quinn, her eyes wide and pleading, silently begging for his support. Quinn's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he fought to maintain his composure.

Clearing her throat, Y/N forced a smile onto her face, her voice trembling slightly as she replied, "I've been focusing on my career, Mom. The yoga class hasn't been a top priority."

Dedra tutted softly, shaking her head in disapproval. "Darling, you know how important it is to maintain your appearance. You don't want to let yourself go, do you? What will people think?"

Y/N bit her lip, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She could feel Quinn's hand tighten around hers, a silent promise of support and protection. But even his comforting presence couldn't erase the sting of her mother's words, the way they cut straight to the heart of her deepest insecurities.

…

As the servers cleared away the first course, Derek turned his attention to Quinn, his eyes narrowing slightly as he appraised the young man. "So, Quinn," he began, his voice deceptively casual, "I hear you're a hockey player. For the Vancouver Canucks, is that right?"

Quinn nodded, his expression confident and self-assured. "Yes, sir. I've been with the team for a few years now. It's been an incredible experience, both on and off the ice."

Derek leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "And what exactly do you do for the team? Are you a starter, or do you mostly warm the bench?"

Y/N bristled at her father's tone, the barely concealed disdain dripping from his words. But Quinn seemed unfazed, his smile never wavering as he replied, "I'm a forward, sir. I play on the first line and contribute regularly to the team's success."

Dedra chimed in, her voice saccharine sweet. "That must keep you very busy, Quinn. Do you have any time for hobbies or interests outside of hockey?"

Quinn chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Of course. I believe in maintaining a balanced lifestyle. When I'm not on the ice or training, I enjoy volunteering at local youth centers, mentoring kids who come from tough backgrounds. I also have a passion for photography and love exploring the city with my camera."

Y/N felt a swell of pride at Quinn's words, the way he spoke with such conviction and sincerity. She knew how much his volunteer work meant to him, how he used his platform as a professional athlete to make a real difference in the lives of others.

But her father seemed unimpressed, his mouth twisting into a sardonic smile. "Photography and volunteering? How... quaint. And I suppose these activities are what brought you and Y/N together?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, her palms growing clammy as she anticipated Quinn's response. They had agreed to keep the details of their relationship private, to avoid giving her parents any ammunition to use against them.

Quinn, however, remained unruffled. "Actually, sir, Y/N and I met through a mutual friend. We connected over our shared love of art and culture, and things progressed naturally from there. We've been seeing each other for almost a year now, and I can honestly say that she's one of the most incredible women I've ever met."

Y/N's cheeks flushed at Quinn's words, a warm glow spreading through her chest. But her happiness was short-lived, as her father's expression darkened, his eyes flashing with barely contained anger.

"A few months?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "And you didn't think to inform us of this development, Y/N? Your mother and I have a right to know about the people you associate with, especially when they're..." he trailed off, his lip curling in distaste as he glanced at Quinn.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She opened her mouth to respond, to defend herself and Quinn, but the words stuck in her throat, trapped behind the lump of fear and anxiety.

Quinn, sensing her distress, reached under the table and took her hand in his, his fingers intertwining with hers in a silent show of support. "With all due respect, sir," he said, his voice calm and measured.

"Y/N is an adult, capable of making her own decisions. Our relationship is built on mutual trust, respect, and love. I understand your concerns as her parents, but I assure you that my intentions towards your daughter are nothing but honorable."

Derek scoffed, his eyes narrowing to icy slits. "Honorable intentions? From a professional athlete? Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken accusations and barely contained hostility. Y/N's hands clenched into fists beneath the table, her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to contain the rage that boiled within her.

She had endured her father's snide comments and thinly veiled insults all evening, biting her tongue and forcing herself to maintain a facade of civility. But as Derek's words dripped with venom, his contempt for Quinn and their relationship laid bare, something inside her snapped.

"Enough!" she shouted, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. "I will not sit here and listen to you disrespect the man I love, the man who has shown me more kindness and support than you ever have!"

Derek's eyes widened in shock, his face reddening with anger. "How dare you speak to me like that, young lady? I am your father, and you will show me the respect I deserve!"

Y/N laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and grating in the tense silence of the room. "Respect? You want to talk about respect? Where was your respect when you belittled my dreams, when you dismissed my accomplishments as nothing more than frivolous whims? Where was your respect when you tried to control every aspect of my life, molding me into your perfect little puppet?"

Dedra gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in a gesture of feigned shock. "Y/N, please, let's not do this here. We have a guest."

Y/N's gaze snapped to her mother, her eyes blazing with a fury that bordered on hatred. "Oh, spare me the theatrics, Mother. You're just as bad as he is, always pushing me to fit into your narrow little world, to be the perfect daughter you can parade around like a goddamn show pony."

Quinn reached for Y/N's hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Y/N, baby, it's okay. We don't have to do this."

But Y/N shook her head, her jaw set with determination. "No, Quinn, it's not okay. I'm done letting them dictate my life, done letting them treat me like some kind of possession they can control."

Derek slammed his hand down on the table, the dishes rattling with the force of his anger. "That's enough, Y/N! I will not tolerate this kind of disrespect in my own home. If you insist on continuing this relationship with this... this hockey player, then you can consider yourself cut off. No more trust fund, no more fancy apartment, no more cushy job at the family company. You'll have to live off your precious Quinn's salary and see how far that gets you."

Y/N stared at her father in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest. She had always known that her parents' love was conditional, that their support came with strings attached. But to hear it laid out so plainly, to know that they would cast her aside so easily, was a blow that left her reeling.

Slowly, she rose from her chair, her legs trembling beneath her. "Fine," she said, her voice low and steely. "Cut me off. Disown me. Do whatever the fuck you want. But know this: I will never, ever forgive you for this. You may be my parents by blood, but you are not my family. Quinn is my family, and I choose him, now and always."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room, her head held high and her heart shattered into a million pieces. Quinn followed close behind, his hand resting on the small of her back.

they stepped out into the cool night air, Y/N let out a shuddering breath, her entire body shaking with the force of her emotions. Quinn pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she sobbed against his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt.

"I've got you, baby," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. "I've always got you. No matter what happens, we'll face it together. You and me against the world, remember?"

…

Y/N stood motionless in the bathroom, the white tile floor cold and unyielding beneath her bare feet. The room was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where she could escape the chaotic thoughts that swirled through her mind like a relentless whirlwind.

The pale blue walls, once a source of calm and tranquility, now felt oppressive, as if they were closing in on her, trapping her in a prison of her own making.

The air was thick with the scent of lavender and vanilla, the candles she had lit earlier in a futile attempt to soothe her frayed nerves. But even the familiar, comforting aroma couldn't ease the tension that coiled within her, the knots of anxiety that twisted her stomach and made her heart race with a sickening pace.

Her gaze was drawn to the vanity, its white marble surface cluttered with the detritus of her daily life. Makeup brushes and half-empty bottles of lotion jostled for space with hair ties and stray earrings, a chaotic jumble that mirrored the turmoil within her own mind.

And there, amidst the disorder, sat the small, unassuming box that held the key to her fate, the answer to the question that had haunted her for weeks.

With hands that trembled like leaves in a storm, Y/N reached for the box, her fingers clumsy and uncoordinated as she tore at the plastic wrap. The pregnancy test felt heavy in her palm, a tiny stick of plastic that held the power to change her life forever. She stared at it for a long moment, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to summon the courage to take the next step.

y/n had bought the pregnancy test on a whim, a nagging suspicion in the back of her mind that refused to be silenced. She had always taken pride in her appearance, in the way she maintained her figure through rigorous exercise and a carefully controlled diet. But lately, no matter how much she pushed herself at the gym or how little she ate, the numbers on the scale continued to climb.

She thought back to the dinner with her parents, to the cruel words her mother had hurled at her like poisoned darts. Fat. Lazy. Worthless. The insults had cut deep, leaving invisible scars that ached with every breath. And now, with each passing day, those scars seemed to grow, festering like open wounds that refused to heal.

And then there were the other symptoms, the ones she had tried so hard to ignore. The sudden bouts of tearfulness that overtook her at the most inconvenient moments, leaving her sobbing in the grocery store aisle or curled up on the couch in the middle of the day. The strange cravings that hit her out of nowhere, leaving her ravenous for foods she had never even liked before.

With a deep breath, Y/N tore open the box, her hands shaking as she removed the small, plastic stick from its packaging. She read the instructions carefully, her heart pounding in her chest as she followed the steps, her mind racing with a thousand different scenarios, each more terrifying than the last.

Y/N's mind raced with a thousand different scenarios, each more terrifying than the last. What if she was pregnant? What would Quinn say? Would he be happy, or would he see it as a burden, a trap that would tie him down and ruin his promising career? And what about her own dreams, the hopes and aspirations she had clung to like a lifeline in the face of her family's suffocating expectations?

She felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over her, and she gripped the edge of the vanity for support, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grasp.

The room seemed to spin around her, the walls and floor blurring together in a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and light. She closed her eyes, taking deep, shuddering breaths as she tried to regain her composure.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N opened her eyes, her gaze falling once more on the pregnancy test that lay on the counter, its display window facing downward. She knew that she couldn't put it off any longer, that she had to face the truth, no matter how painful it might be. With a trembling hand, she reached for the test, her heart pounding in her ears like a drum.

But at the last moment, she faltered, her courage failing her. Instead of looking at the result, she tossed the test into the trash can, burying it beneath a pile of crumpled tissues and discarded cotton balls. She couldn't bear to see the truth, couldn't face the reality of what it might mean for her future.

The sound of the shower called to her then, the steam billowing out from behind the glass doors like a siren's song. Y/N stripped off her clothes mechanically, her mind numb with fear and confusion. As she stepped under the spray, the hot water hit her skin like a thousand tiny needles, the pain a welcome distraction from the chaos that raged within her.

She let the water wash over her, her eyes closed as she tried to lose herself in the sensation. The heat seeped into her bones, melting away the tension that had coiled within her like a snake ready to strike. She breathed in the damp, misty air, the scent of her lavender shampoo mingling with the steam in a heady, intoxicating aroma.

Behind her, the pregnancy test lay abandoned in the trash can, its display window hidden from view. Y/N had thrown it away without even looking at the result, too afraid of what it might reveal. She knew that she would have to face the truth eventually, that she couldn't hide from reality forever.  

in this moment, alone in the bathroom with nothing but the sound of the water and the pounding of her own heart, Y/N allowed herself to be still, to exist in a world where the future was still unwritten, and anything was possible.

She clung to that fleeting sense of peace like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft, knowing that it was all she had left to keep her afloat in the stormy seas of her own mind.

…

Quinn turned the key in the lock, the soft click echoing through the stillness of the house. He pushed the door open, the familiar scent of home washing over him like a comforting balm. The living room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the streetlamps outside the windows.

He set his bag down by the door, the heavy thud of it hitting the floor breaking the silence. His shoes came off next, the laces loosened and the soles kicked off with a careless ease. He padded across the carpet in his socks, his footsteps muffled by the thick, plush fibers.

The house was quiet, almost eerily so. Quinn listened for any sign of Y/N, any hint of her presence, but he was met with only the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of a car passing by on the street outside. He wasn't surprised by the silence, given the late hour of his arrival. Y/N was likely already in bed, lost in the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Quinn made his way down the hallway, his steps heavy with exhaustion. The bathroom door was ajar, the soft glow of the nightlight spilling out into the darkness. He pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly as he stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was the damp carpet beneath his feet, the fibers squishing slightly with each step. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head at Y/N's characteristic forgetfulness. She always seemed to leave a trail of water behind her after her showers, a small quirk that he found strangely endearing.

Quinn reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. The cool air of the bathroom hit his bare skin, sending a slight shiver down his spine. He tossed the shirt into the hamper, the fabric landing with a soft thud amidst the pile of dirty clothes.

He turned on the shower, the water sputtering to life and filling the room with a soft, steady hiss. As he waited for the water to heat up, Quinn's gaze drifted around the small space, taking in the familiar surroundings.

The white tile gleamed in the soft light, the grout lines perfectly straight and clean. The mirror above the sink was slightly fogged, the edges blurred with condensation.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Quinn caught a glint of something shiny, a flash of light that seemed out of place in the muted tones of the bathroom. He furrowed his brow, his curiosity piqued by the strange reflection.

He scanned the room, his eyes searching for the source of the light. And then he saw it, a small, foil-wrapped object nestled in the bottom of the trash can. His heart skipped a beat, a sudden sense of unease washing over him like a cold wave.

Quinn crept closer to the trash can, his steps slow and cautious. He peered down into the empty bin, his eyes widening as he recognized the shape of the object within. It was a pregnancy test, the plastic stick lying stark and white against the dark plastic of the can.

With trembling fingers, Quinn reached into the trash, grasping the test by its hilt. He lifted it out of the can, his heart pounding in his chest as he turned it over, the display window facing upward.

The moment of truth, the answer to the question that had been weighing on his mind ever since he had noticed Y/N's strange behavior over the past few weeks. The late-night tears, the unexplained mood swings, the way she seemed to retreat into herself, lost in a world of her own thoughts and fears.

Quinn stared at the test, his eyes tracing the lines that appeared in the small window. And then, with a sudden, sickening clarity, he saw it. Two lines, bold and unmistakable against the white background.

Positive. Y/N was pregnant.

Quinn felt the world tilt beneath his feet, his mind reeling with the implications of what he had just discovered. He leaned against the sink, his knuckles white as he gripped the cool porcelain. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his lungs burning with the effort of drawing in air.

…

Tag List <3

@ru-kru, @bunbunbl0gs, @hischierswhore, @alwaysclassyeagle, @shawnshoney, @fearfam69691, @fulla02, @njdkatie, @dancerbailey3. @jamieeboulos, @ceces-obsessions

[adventuringblind]

Stash

Oscar Piastri x Autistic Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Summary: Oscar confronts his lovers' weird habits for food storing.

Warnings: talks of eating disorders and past abuse

Notes: based on personal experience. My therapist says she's glad that I have an outlet. Apparently, writing myself into scenarios like this is healing. Who would've ever thunk it??

Masterlist

Oscar was prepared for a great many things when his girlfriend moved in with him. Things they had already talked about extensively. Like how she has her own routine that she follows, even if it doesn't feel like it. Or how she has sleeps on top of the duvet instead of under it.

Things that seem very minor to him. Apparently, other people have said it's weird, and she felt the need to warn him about her habits before moving in. She likes to communicate like that. Another thing he loves about her.

What he was not expecting was to find food stashed away in the most random places.

He didn't confront her about it at first. Maybe this is just a way she feels safe or a reminder to herself to eat something when she sees it. But then he started getting concerned when he wasn't seeing her eat at home.

She followed him around to races and could eat at restaurants, given she was with safe people who didn't tease her for being so plain. She ate snacks when she felt the need.

While she was out one day, he asked Lando over. The Brit was mildly confused as to why he was helping search the depths of the flat for food.

"You litterally have stocked cupboards."

"It's not for me! My girlfriend is stashing food around the house, and I'm trying to see if there is a pattern and maybe figure out why."

"Have you considered asking?"

"Not after she joked about her relationship with food."

Lando, who knows very well how hard eating can be sometimes, comes to the realization that there may be more to this then just sensory issues. Insecurity and scrutiny are hard things to deal with. He wouldn't be shocked if that's the reason she has foods she loves in places Oscar wouldn't find them.

Eventually they do find a pattern. It's not about where they are hidden, it's about what is hidden. It feels as if a child thought they were going to get in trouble for not asking to eat first. It's saddening to Oscar that his lover doesn't feel she can just eat normally around him.

"Do you know if she grew up doing this?"

"No clue."

~~~~~

When she got home that night, she found Oscar setting the table for dinner. Which is already odd considering they don't eat at the table. She hates eating at the table. It feels like she's being judged while she eats and makes her unable to think clearly.

But she would suffer through it. Why? because Oscar has made her comfort food, and it would be a crime not to eat with him after he did such a thing.

"What's all this for?" She asks while setting her things down.

"Well, I know you hate the dinner table, but we need to talk about something, and I thought comfort food and dim lighting might help the anxiety."

She takes her seat and thanks him for the gesture. The pit in her stomach aching with the thought of what he may want to talk about.

"So, your food stashing habits...."

Oh. Oh no. She'd been found out. She is going to get lectured just like she did at home. The one thing she was trying to desperately to avoid.

She drops her head in shame. "I'm so sorry."

"You didn't do anything wrong, alright?" I just need to know why and if I can help. You're not eating full meals when we're home and the food your hiding makes me think your self-conscious. I just want you to feel safe here, with me."

She sighs. The female knew she would have to confront this eventually. It's not that she doesn't feel safe eating here, it's that these are learned habits that she has yet to unlearn.

"My parents would often get upset when I didn't eat what they made. It's not that I was being ungrateful, I just couldn't keep it in my mouth without gagging. Textures and things."

Oscar hums as he listens. He knows textures are hard for her. Food, clothing, even certain blankets are hard for her to feel.

"My parents were also always talking about my eating habits. So, to avoid being scrutinized, I would hide food in my room to eat when nobody was around."

Oscar is a soft person. Easygoing, quiet, and according to Lando, boring. In this moment he is none of those things. He feels for his lover that she doesn't feel safe eating at home because of her parents.

Thus enters a time of Oscar warming her up to eating in the house. Not just small things, real meals and snacks and simply whenever she's hungry.

It's definitely a slow process. Oscar still finds food in strange places occasionally, but he leaves it and reminds her that it's okay to put her food in the cabinet.

He never makes a mention of what she's eating. Even if he's just curious. He never talks about it.

Eventually, she starts putting her food in the cupboard. conversations about food become a little easier and doesn't send her into a flurry of insecurity.

Every little step counts, and Oscar is proud of her for every single one she takes.

[jareaul0ver]

Come With Me

Summary: Nika gets drafted to a team all the way across the country, and you're terrified of what's coming next, but she has everything planned out.

inspired by this request

wc: 917 warnings: angst if you squint, nothing else really pairings: nika muhl x fem!reader

After being with Nika for the last three years of your life, spending almost every single day with her, sleeping in her bed every night, you couldn't imagine how life would be if she got drafted to somewhere far from you.

You were hoping she'd be drafted to the Connecticut Sun, so you two could stay together after graduation. If that didn't happen, you at least hoped for a team on the east coast.

Of course, your hopes and dreams were shattered, but momentarily put on pause, when you heard her name called as the Seattle Storm's first draft pick.

Pushing down any emotion but happiness for Nika, you jump up and hug her tightly. "I'm so proud of you." You whisper against her ear. She pecks your cheek before hugging a few others and heading up to the stage.

You can't help but let a few tears fall down your face as you watch her. You're overwhelmed with pride, excitement, sadness - pretty much every emotion ever.

Your girlfriend is going to be a professional basketball player. How many people get to say that?

When she comes back over to you, your arms wrap around her neck and you pull her body close to yours. The two of you have never been much for PDA in the past, but in the moment, neither of you cared.

"I am so incredibly proud of you, my love." You mumble before pressing a sweet kiss on her lips. She can't help the smile forming on her face, and she kisses you back before pulling away.

Her hands settled on your waist and she spoke softly. "I love you."

"I love you, Nika."

The next few days felt like a blur. Nika was packing her things to head to Kelsey Plum's Dawg Class training camp. As you watched her from the doorway of the bedroom, a small frown etched itself on your face.

Nika glanced over at you and saw your expression. She stopped what she was doing and immediately walked over to you. "What's wrong, bebo?"

You shook your head. "You're leaving."

Her hands settled on your waist and pulled you towards her. "Only for a week. Then I'll be back and-"

"And then you have to go to Seattle. Not just for a week or two, but for good." The tone of your voice was sad, and Nika found herself frowning.

"That's only if I make the team." Her thumbs gently stroked the fabric of your shorts her shorts that you stole.

You laughed in a bit of disbelief. "You're making the team, don't be ridiculous." You stared at her and felt your eyes beginning to water. "I really don't want you to go. To leave me." Your voice was low and shaky.

She placed a kiss on your forehead and pulled you into a tight hug. "I don't want to leave you, either. If I could stay, I would."

You sniffled and nodded. "I know. You're just-" You took a deep breath. "You're gonna be so far."

Nika pulled away and looked at you, her soft brown eyes not leaving yours for a second. A brief light lit up in her gaze, and you noticed it. "Then come with me." She spoke quickly, like she was ripping off some sort of metaphorical band-aid.

"What?" You looked up at her.

"Come to Seattle with me. After graduation, we can move out there, and- We won't have to be apart." Her words came out so delicately and you found yourself mentally falling apart.

Uprooting your life and moving to the other side of the country? It sounded insane, almost. "Nika.." But you would do anything for her.

"I'm serious, we can get an apartment- or even a house- and it'll be perfect!" You had never seen her so genuine about something in her life. Your heart was pounding against your chest, you felt like at any moment it would leap out and expose to Nika how she was making you melt.

You stared at her for what felt like forever as you contemplated your choices. You could either go with her after graduation, and live the life you've always wanted with her, even though you'd be throwing everything in Connecticut behind. Or, you could stay here, losing the best thing that's ever happened to you.

You'd lose the one person that kept you grounded, that knew your coffee order without having to ask, knew what temperature you liked the bedroom to be at night. She was the only person in your life that had ever given you so much security to where you felt like, maybe, you just could give up everything else for her.

"Okay." You nodded, tears spilling from your eyes. "Yeah, okay."

Nika could’ve screamed at your answer. "Really?" Her eyes widened and she brought a hand up to wipe your tears. "You really want to?"

“I do.” You sniffled, angling your head to lean into her hand.

Her smile was wide as she leaned in and pressed your lips together, only for a split second before pulling back and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, bebo.” She mumbled.

You tucked your head under her jaw and took a deep breath. “I love you.”

[ashen-char]

i say that i hate you with a smile on my face 🔞

ship: amber freeman (scream) x gender neutral reader

warnings: explicit smut so minors get out. hate sex, sex while driving

summary: amber is furious after seeing you with another girl at a party. the only way to deal with her jealousy is to fuck it out of her.

word count: 2700+

By the time the party ends, it's almost 3am. Early hours have always felt so strange to you, so mysterious that liminal time past midnight and before the sun rises. Everything feels slower. Less alive, almost. There aren't any other cars on the street, aren't any lights on in the houses you pass as you make your way back to Amber's.

The radio is off and the streets are quiet. You almost wish that Amber would go right back to yelling at you because at least it wouldn't be this mind-numbing silence. You're so tense, shoulders stiff and defensive, your grip a vice on the wheel.

You had danced with another girl, sure.

Chad had introduced you to some new girl that Liv had befriended and told to come. You can't even remember what her name was. When Liv got roped into a night shift and couldn't go, she'd told her friend to stick to a familiar face.

Really, you think that Chad just wanted to ditch her on you so that Liv wouldn't tear him a new one for leaving her friend while he got wasted. You owed Chad a solid for helping you score a reservation at some fancy restaurant for you and Amber's anniversary after you forgot it, and you didn't see the harm. That was your first mistake.

Amber's expression is unreadable, her grip white-knuckled on her knee as she stares out the window of your car. Speaking first would feel like you lost - you still don't think you did anything wrong, feels that Amber's reaction was way too far. And you're stubborn. But Amber is even more so. And your relationship is more valuable than winning... whatever this is, so

"I didn't do anything," you say for what feels like the hundredth time that night.

"You hear how you sound right now?" Amber snarls, her own shoulders tensing up. "That's what everyone says when they're caught. I didn't do anything," she imitates your voice in a whine.

Mocking you? How mature.

Letting go of her knee, Amber folds her arms over her chest, looking away from you again. You can see her roll her eyes and scoff a “whatever” under her breath.

You grit your teeth. Possible responses whir through your brain - a joke, an apology, something to diffuse the situation. You know what you should do, know that Amber’s only jealous because she’s desperate for reassurance from you. But God is it exhausting navigating Amber's complex emotions when she doesn't even care if she hurts yours.

Tonight was supposed to be fun for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to go to a party and have a blast, not get into another stupid argument.

Amber hasn't apologised a single time since you two started dating. She hasn't once promised she'd be better like you always do for her. She had yelled at you the second you two left the party, fighting from the porch all the way to the car. She wouldn’t hear you out even once as you were vehemently denying her accusations. You truly believe that you shouldn’t be the one to apologise. Not this time.

So this time, you don't do that. Your hand reaches out, sliding over to the passenger seat until you're grazing Amber's thigh. "What did you think you saw me do, huh?" you say.

“What are you-”

"You think I touched her?" Your fingers trail their way up. The fabric of her leggings is thin, so you can feel the heat of Amber’s skin as you caress her inner thigh. It’s a tease, a war of nerves, wondering when the other will give in. "Like this?"

Amber's still worked up, blood still pumping; the adrenaline from the argument is rushing through her veins. But you know that no matter how pissed off she is at you, there’s no way she’d push you away. You swear she actually moves closer.

“You would,” Amber challenges. “You know, if I knew you were gonna be another unfaithful piece of shit, I wouldn’t have agreed to go out with you.”

You can tell from her tone that she’s trying to rile you up on purpose. Like she’s enjoying getting under your skin. She wants you as heated as she is so it becomes a level playing field. Amber does this whenever you two have a fight, like she's just waiting for you to blow up at her so you feel as insane as she does about you. You know it's all coming from the same place as the jealousy does. She feels so fucking much about you that she's begging for more. Needs retribution so bad. Needs to feel something.

"Sometimes I swear you start fights out of nowhere on purpose," you say. On her upper inner thigh now, your hand squeezes, almost hard enough to bruise. Your thumb runs up down, up down, never quite getting close enough to where she wants it. "Because you like when I touch you while you pretend to hate my guts."

"You're an idiot. Why would I want you to touch me?" Amber clenches her thighs, holding your hand in place, preventing it from slipping back down. You can hear how her breathing gets laboured. She's too stubborn to admit that she wants you to keep going, but you both know it. She can't help the mix of hatred and lust that fuels her veins right now. "I do hate you. I hate you so goddamn much."

A red light. You breathe out in relief.

Finally, your attention doesn't need to be split between the road and this argument. You can see the smile on her face as she swears that she hates you. Good. That wild look in her eyes tells you that you can be more aggressive with her. Amber loves that. 

Your hand slips up right where she wants it, until you're cupping at her center. Only a thin scrap of fabric separate your fingers from the cunt you love so much. You could do it. You could tear through her leggings and fuck the shit out of her. Amber's legs part for you and you swear you hear her whimper.

"What would you do if I did flirt with her, huh?" you say. "Would you break up with me?"

"Fuck you," she spits, though with her shortness of breath it sounds more like a plead. "I bet you wanted to get her to some spare room. You're desperate enough. Were you hoping to get your fingers wet with some other bitch even when you went there with your girlfriend?"

Her mouth is so filthy. You should do something about that. Amber shouldn't be allowed to talk right now. "What's your fucking problem? I was with you all night!"

God, this is fun. Amber's grinning and her eyes shine, the golden light coming in from the streetlights and making everything glow. You squeeze. The meat of your palm is grinding up against her clit but it isn't enough. Not with all that clothing between you. She moans, clenching her legs once more, needing more pressure there.

"You're my problem!" Amber shrieks.

Fuck.

The second you're about to leap in and devour Amber in a kiss, the light you're stopped at turns green. The car behind you honks and you're forced to turn your attention back to the road. Amber lets out a frustrated groan at that - that stupid honking throwing the moment entirely.

"You know what, screw this," she says. You hear Amber unclick her seatbelt, and before you can tell her to strap back in she grabs your hand.

"What are you-" You barely get the words out before your hand is shoved down into her leggings.

Amber's soaked. She's as sticky and warm as the last time you touched her, and you know just how good she'd taste right now too. It isn't your dominant hand - that one is busy on the wheel - so you actually haven't touched her with this one before. It's unfamiliar territory and the same all at once. She pushes her panties to the side with her own hand but it'll be yours that she makes do all the work.

"Shut up. I need this." A low guttural sound escapes her lips as she finally, finally feels your hand where she wants it. Her head tilts back and you feel her thighs squeeze at that first sharp sensation of pleasure. "Shut your mouth and drive," she practically hisses.

You have to focus on the road. The guy behind you is already pissed from how slow you were to keep driving after the green light, and how Amber had given him the middle finger. He's driving so close behind you know that a single slip up could mean a crash. You're so fucked. Especially your fingers, which Amber is sliding her slit up and down on, collecting her wetness with a satisfying shlick.

"Amber," you try to warn. As hot as this is, you do not want to get into an accident because your girlfriend was just so horny during a fight.

Her mouth hangs open in pleasure as she rubs her clit against your palm. It's so much better when you can feel her. You wish you could turn to look. But you can feel Amber's eyes on you, probably still glaring at you with the same hateful glare she had earlier.

"She wouldn't be this wet for you," she tells you.

The girl at the party could not be further from your mind right now. "I don't give a shit about her," you admit. "God, you're so wet, baby." You can feel your own excitement between your legs, can see how your windows are starting to fog up as both of your breaths heat the air.

She lets out a moan, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. "That's right. Because you're mine." Her nails dig into the flesh of your forearm, a threat to scratch you up if you so much as attempt to move away. 

Your fingers slip inside. Two at once. Amber normally likes to play the long game and build up to more, letting you tease her with one sliding in and out until she screams at you for more. But the thrill of the danger and anger and jealousy is getting to both of you. Her hips grind and wind as she rides your fingers, while your other hand desperately grips onto the wheel as you will yourself to concentrate on the road.

"Say it," Amber breathes out. "You're only mine."

A part of you thinks that'd be no fun. "You should've trusted me," you say instead. It's so much more fun when she's seething. It's like her anger is heating up her insides. She feels different. You curve your fingers inside her and she cries out.

"Fuck!"

"Yeah? You loving my fingers in your pussy?" You wriggle the two until you're pressing at the spot that always drives Amber crazy. But it's clumsy. You never use this hand and eventually it'll cramp up and get tired. You know you're doing your job well when she digs her nails in even harder and her hips thrust. Neither of you give a shit when the car behind you honks and overtakes you.

She's too wound up right now, too far gone. Her mouth twists into a vicious smile that you can't see, but you can hear it in her voice. "Y-you wish," Amber struggles out. "You think you're so good. I'm using you here, not the other way around."

She rides your fingers like that for a few minutes. As you had suspected, the lack of practice means that your forearm is already getting tired. As hot as this is, you can't pump as easily as you could if you were on a bed, not worrying about driving. You can tell that Amber is getting frustrated. Maybe that's making it better.

Everything is a blur of rage and lust until you realise you've driven right past her house. Whatever. You're dying to stop the goddamn car and set Amber right. You slam the brakes now that there's no car behind you to hit, sending the car lurching to a stop. Your fingers slide deeper into her cunt with the movement and it makes her scream.

You pull into a residential side street, one even quieter than the rest. Finding a spot to turn off the engine and throw the car into park is easy enough when your brain is putting I need to fuck her right now over safety.

The second that ignition goes off, Amber is already on you. You slip your tired hand away, the other going to her leggings and slipping them off. Her expression is still twisted in that rage that never quite goes away - she hates you, she hates you, she hates you - but she loves you so much when you shove three fingers into her.

You feel her tongue invading your mouth, probing and searching, while her hands continue to grip and claw at your clothes. It's like she's trying to claim you; she wants to take away all evidence of you being your own person, to take away your control.

"Is this what you wanted?" Amber whispers against your mouth. "Why do you make me feel like? You want to see me like this? Huh?"

It's reckless and out of control and perfect. You don't even care that any second you could get caught. You could lose yourself in this moment, in this golden haze that illuminates your fogged up windshield. The car's starting to sway with your movements.

"How do I make you feel, baby?" Her pussy feels so good as you surge your fingers in deeper. "Tell me."

"Like I'm going crazy," she whispers, her voice breaking a little with emotion. It's too much. It was too much then at the party, when she saw you dancing with some other girl, too much when you started touching her. 

Everything about what you're doing to her is bringing Amber closer and closer to that point of no return. "Like you're making me crave you." Her hips rock against you again, her breasts soft as they rub against you too.

This is Amber making you feel the way you make her feel. When you dance with other girls, when you don't text back for hours, when you forget your anniversary. Every time you brushed off an insult and didn't let a fight escalate, this is what she wanted. How pent up she must have been, swallowing down the rage and accepting your apologies.

Amber whines when your thumb grazes against her clit. Every bit of her feels like it's tingling and she's practically soaking your lap at this point. "I hate you but I can't live without you." Amber sounds like she's on the verge of tears. "It scares and excites me at the same time. I- I've never cared this much."

You keep pumping right back into her, never stopping, only growing more and more intense. Her body trembles but you're holding her. Amber's hands grasp at your forearm again, like she can't decide whether to push you away or pull you in. You don't know what to say. She was enjoying the fight earlier, instigated it even, but she's so vulnerable now.

"You're the only one I want," is what you end up settling on. Your thumb stops those teasing grazes now, rubbing against her clit proper. Her wetness makes it so easy. "And I am yours."

This is what makes Amber shudder and dissolve in your arms. The tension finally breaks and she starts squirming against you, fingers lodged so deep into her body it's like you're grazing at something deeper, body shaking violently. She's so close, so impossibly close, a moment of pure ecstasy that lasts seconds before falling apart in a burst of heat and pleasure.

"You're mine!" This she shouts so loud you'd be surprised if the entire neighbourhood didn't wake up.

You two fall silent for a moment, both taking slow, shuddering breaths. Amber can feel her brain is still short circuiting, trying to calm down; it's like her stomach has been replaced with a ball of fire.

"Still hate me?" you whisper, leaning in to kiss Amber.

"Just shut up, okay," she murmurs, kissing back happily now, her voice still raw from the edge of tears and the intense orgasm that had wracked her body. "Don't ever do that again."

[thriftedtchotchkes]

love like you

pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader

summary: mike helps you through a rough patch by reminding you of the many, many reasons he loves you

warnings: established relationship, angst, comfort, mentions of depression, anxiety & panic attacks, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts

word count: 2.1k

"Why do you love me?"

You ask the question so quietly, Mike almost misses it over the movie playing in the background. At first, he's not sure how to respond—or at the very least, where to begin.

You've never asked him that before, and he'd never given it much thought if he's being totally honest. He assumed you hadn't, either. It's just something he feels.

It's something he's always felt, gradually building since the day you led his sister back to him after she'd wandered off in the supermarket. He took one look at you, your kind eyes and patient smile, and asked you on a date without a second thought. That's what it's like to love you—instinctual.

He glances away from the TV and looks down at you curiously. Your head is nestled on his lap, eyes already locked on his and filled with apprehension he can't even begin to understand. There are a thousand and one reasons to love you; don't you realize that? He'd tell you every one if you asked.

He loves you because you're always there, through the late-night shifts and nightmares, helping him parent a child you shouldn't have to be responsible for at such a young age. You confiscate his controller every time he tries to smash it in a fit of rage, beating whatever boss he'd been fighting for hours like a champ. He thinks you're so fucking cool.

And you understand him like no one else ever has, so attentive and always willing to try. You kiss away his fears, strip him bare, unmask him. Allow him to seek shelter inside you, ride him to a mind-numbing release when his darkest thoughts threaten to consume him.

You hold him when he wants to give up, when the weight of the world is too much and persevering is too hard. The familiar, soothing tone of your voice reminds him to breathe, to tune out the little things and remember that there's still good to be found in life.

It's everything you do and everything you are. That's why he loves you.

But before he can say anything at all, your face screws up and your bottom lip begins to tremble. His chest immediately tightens.

"Woah, hey. It's okay," he murmurs, keeping you grounded in the present despite his rising panic. "You're okay."

You're prone to spiraling, but after years together, he knows the best way to mitigate it is to stay calm. Regardless of the raging storm in your head, you're safe with him, warm and dry at home on your couch.

He caresses your cheek, then trails up to scrub at the crinkle in your forehead. "What's going on up there?"

"Nothing. It's—really, it's nothing. I'm sorry, I don't know why I asked you that," you shake your head, averting your gaze elsewhere. But after a moment, your eyes snap back to his, and there's so much pain there, he can almost feel it.

"No, it's...it's everything. My brain won't shut up, and it's mean and loud, and I just—," you pause, clenching your jaw in frustration. "I just don't get it. Of everyone you could've been with, why me? I can't understand why you chose me."

The question feels like a slap in the face. Like he had so many choices and only picked you based on some predetermined criteria of what someone should want in a partner. He didn't just pull your name out of a bowl, either. You chose each other.

He wracks his brain to figure out what he could've said or done to make you believe otherwise, but then remembers this isn't about him. He tries again to explain all of the reasons he wanted to before, to tell you that the unrelenting thoughts ping-ponging in your head are wrong, but you continue on, unraveling before his eyes.

"I'm a shitty person. I'm selfish and useless, and all I do is make everyone around me unhappy. There's always a crisis, I'm always sad. And I always make everything about me," you tell him, getting angrier by the second. "Ugly, worthless, selfish, selfish. I’m a fucking burden. You know, I—I just keep waiting for you to figure it out and leave. To get sick of this...of me."

He listens helplessly as you tear yourself apart, the ache in his chest intensifying the worse your verbal barrage becomes. He knows he can't just reassure away your insecurities or magically heal your trauma, no matter how badly he wants to. But he also can't let this go on any longer.

"Stop," he says softly, cutting you off. Hearing the full extent of your criticism is agonizing, and if it's hurting him this much, he hates to think what you must be feeling. "None of that is true. I think...I hope, deep down, you know that."

The broken look you give him tells him you don't, or maybe that you can't, at least not right now. You open your mouth to retort, but he shakes his head and hauls you up into his arms. He holds you close as you start to tremble, guiding you to rest your cheek on his shoulder.

"There's nothing shitty about you, alright? You're the least selfish person I've ever met. Kinda wish you were so you'd stop prioritizing us over yourself all the time," he murmurs into your hair. "And you're fucking gorgeous. I don't want to hear you say any of that ever again."

He tilts his head to meet your eyes. "Got it?"

You shake your head, turning to hide your face in the crook of his neck. He sighs. He just can't fathom how you could possibly look at yourself and not see what he and Abby do. But then again, he might understand more than he'd like to admit.

Everything you've told him tonight feels jarringly familiar. The self-hatred, the unending criticism—he wallows in those thoughts all the time and knows better than anyone that they'll eat you alive if you bottle them up for too long.

He hates that you have to suffer through this just because brain chemistry is indiscriminately cruel. It's unfair. He, at the very least, deserves it.

Except, that's not actually true, is it? And if your roles were reversed, you'd remind him as many times as it takes for him to believe it. You'd tell him that he's perfect exactly the way he is. That he's a good parent, brother, and partner, and regardless of all of the shit life has thrown his way, he's still a good person that isn't defined by his lowest moments.

So, he'll do the same for you.

He shifts you on his lap so you're face-to-face, your legs bracketing his thighs, and cups your cheeks to keep your attention on him. He's not letting you hide anymore. He needs you to hear what he has to say and trust that he'd never lie to you.

"You're not worthless or useless or anything else your brain is telling you right now. Okay? You're perfect," he says quietly, stroking your cheek. "I've always thought you were perfect, from the moment I met you."

Doubt clouds your expression. "I don't believe you."

"Why would I lie to you?"

"B-because that's what you're supposed to say when you're trying to make someone feel better," you reply shakily.

Ouch. He hadn’t expected that answer. It stings that you'd think so little of him, especially after all this time. He feels like he’s grasping at straws now, but everything he wants to say is just a variation of how highly he sees you. It’s all equally true, but if you can’t accept that, then what else can he do?

"Then, tell me what you need to hear right now. Tell me how to help you through this, because I love you so fucking much, and I will do anything," he pleads, his frustration bleeding through despite how hard he tries to suppress it.

It’s starting to affect you. You’re shaking like a leaf, and he can tell you want to run away, but instead of letting you go, he wraps his arms around you as carefully as he can to keep you from leaving. He doesn't want to force you to face this. He just needs you to stop hurting yourself. Your face crumples, and he feels his own do the same.

"I don't know. Probably nothing," you tell him, voice cracking. "Look, we don't have to talk about it anymore. I'm sorry for bringing it up in the first place. Can we just go back to watching the movie? I’ll rewind it—“

But Mike doesn't want to let this go. Even if he should, even though you're asking—he's determined to make sure you go to bed tonight knowing how loved you are. His next words come out harsher than he wants them to, but he’s getting desperate. He’s only human.

"Fine. You want the truth? Being with you is hard. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done, and sometimes, it hurts like hell," he starts. Your expression morphs from sad to devastated, and he feels terrible for upsetting you, but he has to say this for both of your sakes.

"But that's what makes it worth it. I've never felt this way about anyone, probably never will again. Not because it's easy; because it's you. Sure, no one's perfect, but you're about as close as it gets. You're it for me.”

He truly believes that. Maybe you do, too. The tension in your body is beginning to bleed away, and you slowly sag against him, tucking yourself into his chest. He catches a glimpse of your face as you melt into him, and for the first time tonight, you look hopeful. Nuzzling into your hair, he continues.

"I can't imagine a life without you anymore. It's like you're part of me now, maybe even the best parts, and I fill in the gaps in between. We just…figured it out at some point. Together.” He’s starting to ramble, but he’s too invested to stop. Judging by the fact that you haven’t interrupted him or tried to intervene, it doesn’t seem like you want him to, either.

“Even the small shit other couples fight about. Like the dishes—you hate doing those because digging the silverware out of the sink grosses you out, so I do it. And you fold the laundry because I always burn myself taking the clothes out of the dryer. We talk shit out. We try."

He squeezes you a little tighter. “Maybe those seem like shitty reasons to love someone, but they’re real. Just as real as what I told you before," he says softly, pausing to kiss the top of your head. "You're beautiful. You're kind and passionate, and I’m just the lucky guy that gets to be with you. I’ll be here as long as you want me.”

When he finally finishes, he’s all but gasping for air. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, and he’s breathing so heavily, he feels like he just ran a marathon. But it’s worth it to see the look on your face as you peer up at him, cautious but peaceful.

“How could I not want you?” you whisper, splaying your hand across his chest, just below his collarbone. You're feeling his heartbeat.

"I've been asking you that all damn night," he chuckles. Cradling your head in his palm, he swipes away a few stray tears that fall with the next flutter of your lashes. "So, did I answer your question or should I keep going? Because seriously, I can keep going—"

You snort, effectively cutting him off, then give him a wry smile. The relief he feels is palpable.

“You know, I really don’t deserve you," you murmur as you lean up to kiss the underside of his jaw. When your lips linger, he ducks down to press his against yours, kissing you deeply and pouring in everything left unsaid.

"Sure, you do," he says kindly, but with finality. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, you're both starting to look as tired as you feel. But more than that, he's grateful; to have you in his life and to be able to comfort you when you need it most. You taught him that. "And I think we both deserve some sleepytime tea and a really soft blanket...if Abby didn't already steal it off our bed."

Your face lights up, and it's as if he solved all of the world's problems with that one simple offering. It's the same look you give him when he tells you he loves you. The corners of your eyes crinkle as you say it back.

"I love you, too."

thanks for reading!

divider by @saradika-graphics

a/n: this was a homework assignment from my therapist 💀 oops

[mustainegf]

Hiiii

Can you pretty please write something for the young parent James hetfield AU where Lucy is the biggest daddy's girl and they do everything together but reader feels kinda left out and it's just fluff🙏🏻🙏🏻

HAVE A GREAT DAYYY💕

FINALLY A REQ FOR ONE OF MY AU'S HOLY SHIT!!?!?!?

—➤ 𝐀𝐔’𝐬

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 ¹⁹⁸⁸

I had always dreamed of being a mother, but nothing could have prepared me for Lucy. Our daughter, golden curls and bright blue eyes, the spitting image of her father, was my perfect girl, my everything. Lately though, she seemed to think different.

Every morning's the same. I wake up to tiny feet tapping down the hallway, her high pitched voice calling out, "Daddy! Daddy!" She never looks for me first. It's always James she wants, James she runs to. Every time she bypasses our bedroom, not even glancing in my sleepy direction.

It's what I'm used to, but that doesn't make it hurt less.

This morning, I watched them from the kitchen as I was making breakfast. Lucy was sitting on James's lap, her chubby little hands tugging at his hair, giggles everywhere. James was fully devoted to her, and I don't blame him.

"Good morning, sweetie," I called to Lucy, hoping she'd look my way. But she didn't. She was too busy showing James her new stuffed animal, a gift I'd picked out for her just yesterday.

"Lucy," I tried again, a bit louder this time, "Did you sleep well, baby?"

She kept ignoring me, looking at her dad, who was in his own little world, with her. My chest ticked. All I wanted to do was shrug it off and say that it didn't matter, but it did. It mattered a fucking lot.

I went over to the table with a plate of pancakes and set them down in front of the two. "Lucy, look your favorite," I said, smiling as I attempted, and failed, to catch her eye.

At last, she raised her eyes to mine, and they didn't show interest.

"Lucy, don't you want to say thank you to Mommy?" James urged gently, having felt that something was clearyly wrong.

She looked at me for just a moment, muttering a forced "thank you" before hiding her head in James's shoulder. It hurt.

For the day, I kept busy cleaning, organizing, anything to get my mind off Lucy's uninterest, but it didn't matter what I did, it just didn't take away from the fact that I was losing my daughter to her own father.

I did try to help out the best I could, so I took Lucy out to the park in the afternoon with the hope that spending quality time just with her would bring us closer. "Lucy, honey, do you want to go to park with Mommy? We can play on the swings, your favorite."

She hesitated, looking up at James as if for permission. He smiled back, encouraging, but she wasn't enthused by the prospect. "Um, okay…" she said, her small hand slipping into mine without enthusiasm.

At the park, I did try everything. I pushed her on the swings, played on the jungle gym, I even tried offering her food. Every response or sentence offered always came so sullen, her mood was disinterested. Every time I tried to get her to talk or change her frown to a smile, she'd say, "When are we going home to daddy?"

My heart shattered.

An hour later I gave up and brought her back in. James was in the living room working on his guitar. The moment Lucy glanced at him, her face lit up, and she ran right into his arms. She didn't even glance back at me.

That night, after tucking Lucy in bed, I dropped onto the bed, and I felt the tears rising.

But James knew. He always did.

"You've been quiet today," James commented softly, taking a seat beside me. "Everything okay?"

I nodded, trying to force a smile. "Yeah, I'm just tired."

He looked at me hard, and I knew he didn't believe me. "It's Lucy isn't it?

All I could do was break. "I just... I just don't know what I'm doing wrong, James," I said fearfully. "She doesn't even want to be around me. It's like. it's like she doesn't love me."

James hugged me closer as I began to cry into his chest. "Hey, don't say that," he whispered. "Lucy loves you more than you know. She's just… she's just really attached to me right now. It's not about you."

"But it feels like it is," I sobbed. "It feels like she doesn't even see me."

"shhh, shh,' he comforted, holding me tight until my sobs lessened. He pulled away from me and looked into my watery eyes. "I'm gonna talk to her. She needs to understand she can't treat you like this, even if she doesn't mean to."

The next morning, James kept his promise. He sat down with her again and tried to explain as gently as possible that she was hurting Mommy's feelings. I watched from the doorway, heart still breaking while his words soaked into her brain.

"Mommy loves you so very much, Lucy. When you do these things to her, it makes her sad because you don't show her you love her too. Do you understand?"

Lucy looked at him with wide eyes, clearly confused and just a bit frightened. "I didn't mean to make Mommy sad," she said, her voice sounding so small and guilty.

"I know, sweetheart," James returned, pulling the little girl onto his lap. "But you need to remember that Lucy. Mommy has feelings too. She needs your love just as much as I do."

Lucy looked up at me, her big blue eyes starting to realize the weight of it all. "Mama... I'm sorry," she whispered through a cracking voice, holding out her little arms.

I knelt beside them, pulling her into a tight hug. "It's okay, baby," I said into her forehead, pressing a kiss between her eyes. "Mommy loves you so much.

"I love you too, Mommy," she said with her head buried in my shoulder. I knew she meant it. I felt it.

I rocked her in my arms as James encircled us both. The love I always wanted was right here in this small, beautiful, messy family that we had made.

[bexdrey]

READ MORE???

The sun was setting and Drakken had just landed the hovercar. Another failed attempt and this time Drakken was at his wits end. He got so focused in his own thoughts he had forgotten Shego was with him briefly. She'd tried a few times to get his attention but failed. This confused Shego, normally Drakken would go on and on about how next time would be different. He'd immediately try delving into another plan, but this time was different. This defeat felt worse than the others. Drakken found himself walking down parks path, his hands folded behind his back. His eyes fixated on the ground. Until he paused, lowered his arms and looked up at the sky. "I have failed time and time again. I've done countless plans, some... worse than others, but some of them were brilliant!" Drakken suddenly spoke. "And yet every single one of them end in some kind of failure. Heck, I can't even convince you to come with me to Karaoke night anymore." He didn't meet her gaze and only kicked at the ground slightly before furrowing a brow. He didn't even feel Shego's hand start gently stroking his shoulder. There was a good long pause before he finally spoke once more. "Shego... why do you stick around?" He questioned, his tone unreadable. "With every failure, you complain and tell me everything that went wrong, everything I should've done instead. You'd probably take over the world on your first try if you wanted to." His gaze finally lowered. He stared at the ground for a moment before looking over at Shego, who looked stunned and who's hand had stopped moving. "So why do you keep helping me?" His gaze bore into Shego's, desperately looking for an answer, something that made sense. Shego's hand finally left Drakken's shoulder and she began to run her fingers through her hair. She glanced away, her heart racing. What did she say to this? Did she even know why she stuck around? It was true, she probably could successfully take over the world if she wanted... and yet she didn't have the desire. Something about the thought didn't sit quite right. It was almost like some form of Deja Vu when she thought of it. So then why did she stick around? "Well..." She began before clearing her throat and glancing to the ground, a brow furrowing. "Unlike other villains... I can trust you. I can sleep comfortably at night knowing you aren't gonna try and do something to me while I sleep." She couldn't meet Drakken's gaze as she spoke. She wasn't entirely sure why this was so important to him, it was incredibly rare for Drakken to get like this. Normally she'd give some snappy response, such as the pay being good and her having a free room to bunk in every night instead of some shady hotel. She gave a little shudder at the memories of hotel jumping. "Not to mention you give me my own space to sleep." She muttered slightly. "And you know, you're really fun to bicker with. Easy to mock. Someone like... I dunno, Killigan or Monkey Fist either don't give me good responses or just don't respond at all. You make it interesting." She felt herself relax a little as it seemed she was beginning to understand, herself, why she stuck around. "And you aren't lazy. In fact, I'd say you work a little too much. You're creative, so even though plans fail, there are some that even I fully believed would work." She had stopped playing with her hair at this point and was gesturing with her words. "But I think... I think I stick around because I trust you. You think I'd trust someone like Dementor to help pull off a proper heist? He's too loud! And he doesn't think." She finally met his gaze and Drakken looked surprised. His brow was raised.

"I can't trust anyone else." She stated, matter-of-factly. She remained silent for a moment, trying to garner some expression off Drakken other than processing. "Now, are you gonna mope around the rest of the night feeling sorry for yourself, or are you gonna turn around, get back in the hovercar, take us home and start planning the next 'take over the world' scheme?" With this, Drakken blinked and smirked. "Yeah! You're right, I'm an evil genius, not a sad... lazy... erm.. man!" With this, Drakken turned heel and ran towards the hovercar, but not before grabbing Shego's hand and practically forcing her along. "Come Shego, we've much to do." Of course, at this point, Shego expected these sudden grabs. A part of her even liked them. She'd never admit this though.

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Weee story and picture :D Mindless doodles turned finished lol

[bensoloslover]

Stolen Moment

Kylo Ren x Fem! Reader.

Word Count: 1,771.

Warning: Suggested Nuidty, Mild Kidnappings, Nothing Crazy.

*Reader and Kylo have a establsihed realtionship. Reader is kidnapepd and has a small meeting with an old friend.

Masterlsit

“Ky” Her voice felt shy as she spoke, which was contrasting to the normally warm and easy going personality she carried that he loved so much.

“Yes, (Y/N/N)?” She was laid on his chest, (Y/H/C) down for once and body nearly bare against his. They spent many nights like this. Ever since their days learning under his uncle, how he hated that man for everything, but her. He would thank him for the chance of meeting her.

“Does something feel…” the pause had the hair on his arms sticking up. “Out of place to you? Like something is going to happen? Something almost strange feeling?” She looked up at him now, eyes showing a fear he wished she didn't have to endure.

(Y/N) was force sensitive, in her own way. She had a harder time connecting with the physical side of things, but her connection to the force itself? He envied it. It spoke to her in ways that sounded almost surreal, even to a powerful force user like himself. Where he could bend the force to his will, move through peoples mind, bend will. She could get into the soul of the universe, tell stories of things that haven't even happened yet. Understand the world in a way one could only dream.

“I can have the Knights stand guard of you tomorrow, and you may even shadow me throughout the day if you’d like?” They had been at war with the rebellion for sometime now. He knew she had no interest in the fight, she’d made that very clear, but he knew she'd feel safer by his side as he went about his day then to be apart with these feelings.

“I don't know yet if it's that serious, I can't really get a grasp on what is going to happen. Just. Something.” She laid back down to his chest.

“Well maybe some sleep will clear your vision, after you meditate tomorrow morning come find me and we can spend the morning tomorrow. I only have a few meetings before training.” She hummed her reply, he knew she was in agreement, she came to find him almost every morning once she'd gotten through her routines.

“Goodnight my love.” Her voice was more velvety now, he knew she'd sleep soon, and he'd have the knights guard her till she woke.

—

When Kylo woke up his morning went as usual. Tuck (Y/N) back to bed, shower and change into his usual attire, meditate for a few minutes in his study, head to the bridge to meet Hux and start his day. Nothing seemed off yet. Rebels were still out of their reach currently, so nothing but trying to track them down was really important at the moment. Rey and his mother had been blocking any trace of them from him for weeks now.

They're here. They're on the ship, Ky.

He heard it loud and clear, his body running frigid at the panic in her tone. He could always feel her, she was like a constant warm aura around him, no matter the distance, and suddenly everything had run cold.

“Man the ships, all gun up. The rebels are on the ship.” He heard Hux start shouting commands as stormtroopers left and right started marching in groups around the ship in an instant. He ran down the halls as he made his way back to their living quarters. How they had even gotten on the ship he couldn't phantom.

Kylo Help. The Jedi. She’s here.

For the second time that day dread filled his core. Not her. Not now..

I’m on my way (Y/N)

His footsteps sped up, he was running now, sliding through turns and ripping the doors open with the force as he attempted to reach their quarters. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He got on the elevator to their floor, pacing the small room when it happened.

He felt nothing. For the first time since the first moment they met, he felt nothing of her presence. The elevator started to creak and groan as the force around him began to swell with his anger.

As the doors exploded open he ran down the hall. The knights he left to protect her laid on the ground, leading up to the room. He blew the doors straight through to the back wall tearing off his helmet as he looked for the worst imaginable. Their bed was made. A still hot cup of tea sat by her meditation seat in their living room. The breakfast cart still set up neatly by the dining room table, untouched.

But (Y/N)? Nowhere to be found. He ripped through every room twice. Then he broke. He felt his anger explode through the room. Felt the ship tremble as he screamed and slammed his helmet into every thing within arms reach.

They’d taken the one person on the ship he would break without, and they knew it.

—

(Y/N) remembered waking in a cold sweat. She remembered trying to get her morning started as normal.She remembered the fighting outside that broke her from her meditation. The rebels burst into her room. Her fear as she begged Kylo for help, though for the first time she couldn't feel if he was answering her or not. The silence. Cold.

Now she was here, wherever that was exactly. She couldn't feel Kylo. She couldn't remember how she had ended up. There was nothing in the room around her and there was no way she could escape the ropes bounding her to the chair she was in.

“You’ve grown into a marvelous young woman, (Y/N).” Chills ran up her neck. She could pick that voice in a chorus of millions.

“Mrs. Solo.” She felt it now, the force moving back through her. Her mother in law’s presence. Leia had always been warm, her aura like a blanket to whoever could feel it. She was strong, and easy to be around. She emerged from the shadows, pulling a chair with her to sit across from (Y/N).

“Oh no, we never married.” Her chuckle reminded her of her years at the Jedi Temple, she could never dislike Leia, no matter how much Kylo resented his mother, she was always a kind soul. “I'm still Organa, or Skywalker if you please, darling. Only Ben carries Han’s name.”

“Ben goes by Kylo Ren now.” Leia rolled her eyes at the announcement. As if she had just been told her son just broke another plate.

“Ah yes, Kylo Ren. I find it funny he chose a name that rhymes with Ben. Since he clearly hated the name so much.” She sipped on a cup of warm tea while speaking. “How is he?”

Her question was genuine, (Y/N) could feel it. She could feel him again, suddenly. Hot. Red hot with anger. Then he was gone, as quick as he was there. Cold again. She knew it had something to do with Leia and Rey, her lack of his connection with him. They were good at blocking him out, keeping their rebels safe at all cost.

“He’s quite angry right now.” She felt the ropes drop from her arms. The force.

“You just gave him my location, you do know that.” (Y/N) rolled her shoulders back. Neck cracking from the uncomfortable position she had been held in.

“I'd rather him come get you. You're more of a hazard to keep around, he’d mount every one of my soldiers head’s on his saber before he let a single hair on your head be harmed.” Leia chuckled. She knew her son had fancied (Y/N) since the day she dropped him off with Luke. She was beautiful. “I told them not to take you originally. These youths are far too ambitious though, not listening to their elders.”

“Am I a mother in law yet, or has he not made you empress of the new empire yet?” This time it was (Y/N)’s turn to laugh, she looked at the black kyber crystal on her ring finger.

“Engaged, not yet married. Said he'd like to have squashed out your rebales before we sat down to plan our future.” She held up her hand to show her the ring, Leia taking it into her own.

“What a beautiful kyber crystal, he must have looked far and wide for such a rare color.” She turned her hand to watch it sparkle.

“General Leia” a voice spoke up from behind the two. A man with curly brown hair and a warm complexion walked into (Y/N)’s eyeline. He was nervous, she could feel it. He looked at her then back to Leia, a allure of confidence she knew he didn't possess in his voice. “Everyone is either up in the air ready to go or on their way. Just us left.”

“I'll be ready in one moment Poe, let me have one more moment with my daughter.” (Y/N)’s heart warmed at the title. She knew Leia didn't agree with Kylo’s ambitions, neither did she honestly, but she knew she'd never be anywhere but his side.

“Tell my son I love him for me. No matter what.” Leia squeezed her hand. “It's time for us to leave before Kylo shish kebabs us. There's tea and some crackers on the table for you dear. I know you'll feel him as soon as we leave so no need to give you a eta I'm sure.”

“Thank you, please be safe.” (Y/N) leaned over and hugged her, taking in the warmth of her hold. She felt like Ben in a way, like mother like son she supposed.

“You too dear.” With that Leia walked out. (Y/N) felt no need to follow her. She heard her spacecraft leave the atmosphere as she sat and took in her empty surroundings. Standing up she walked to the table and took a bite of one of the sweet crackers Leia had left her. Taking her tea out the door.

She felt him then. He filled back into the coldness she felt all morning. Their connection was unblocked. She could tell he was close. She could feel the force around her again.

(Y/N) ? Can you hear me? Are you okay? You're calm. Are the rebels gone?

Yes love, I’m fine.

I’m on my way. I saw your location for a moment. Enough time to find you.

I know. I’m waiting.

She took a sip of her tea and chuckled, banthas milk and some sugar, just like how Ben likes it.

----

Just some Kylo Ren/ Ben Solo brain rot I've been thinking about.