#shhh...I’ll come back to this eventually

[neonbonded]

Midnight Promises

♡ ft. love and deepspace men x fem!reader + future children ♡ cw: fluff, domesticity, soft dad behavior, implied past intimacy, extreme husband material, babies everywhere ♡ a/n: Got a lot of asks for more wife/children with the boys so I had too! Love them so much! Also if this one seems a bit off sorry I have been drowning in finals

Caleb

It’s 3:42 AM.

You’re barely awake—draped in Caleb’s old flight hoodie, fuzzy socks mismatched, hair a mess. Your baby’s been fussing for over an hour, and the soft whines from the bassinet are just starting to edge toward a full-blown meltdown.

You don’t even make it out of bed.

Because Caleb’s already there.

You feel the mattress shift, the soft pad of bare feet, the faint rustle of fabric as he leans over the bassinet. Then—

“Shhh, baby,” he whispers, voice so gentle it cracks your heart open. “C’mon, lovebug. You’ll wake Mama.”

He says it like Mama is royalty.

He scoops up the baby with practiced ease—cradles them against his broad chest, one hand patting their back, the other supporting their head with the kind of reverence people usually reserve for ancient artifacts or handwritten love letters.

You watch, half-lidded, as he starts pacing the room barefoot.

He’s wearing soft cotton sleep pants and nothing else. Dog tags glint faintly under the moonlight seeping through the curtains. His hair is messy. His eyes are tired.

But none of that matters when your baby whimpers and he starts humming.

A melody you don’t recognize—slow, a little sad, sweet in the way old lullabies are. He sways as he walks, murmuring words you can’t quite make out.

You think you hear:

“You’ve got Mama’s nose…”

And:

“You’re already perfect. I’ll protect you forever. No matter what.”

Eventually, the baby settles. Caleb’s still moving—slow, endless loops around the room like he’d walk forever if it meant peace for both of you.

And then?

He comes back.

Leans down to kiss your temple first—soft and lingering—then lays the baby carefully between the two of you in the co-sleeper.

You’re half-asleep when you feel the weight of his arm slide around your waist.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers against your neck. “I’ve got you both.”

And you believe him.

Because he’s Caleb. And he always does.

Xavier

It’s late.

Too late.

The kind of hour where the world feels paused—still, heavy, suspended in moonlight.

You’re curled up on the couch in the quiet dark, cradling your baby against your chest. The nightlight glows dim in the corner, casting soft shadows across the living room. There’s a blanket draped around your shoulders. You’re swaying gently, murmuring something soft and sleepy.

But your eyes are fluttering shut.

You don’t even hear the door open.

Xavier steps in without a sound.

He’s still in his gear—jacket open, blade strapped to his back, boots silent on the floor. His hair’s a mess from wind and mission grime, and his shoulders are tense from too many hours moving through dangerous spaces.

But the moment he sees you?

Everything stills.

He crosses the room in a few strides. Drops to one knee in front of you—like a knight, like a sinner, like a man who can’t stop needing you close even when he’s exhausted.

You blink awake as his hand brushes over yours.

“You should be sleeping,” he says quietly.

You shake your head. “She wouldn’t settle.”

His eyes drop to the baby nestled in your arms, now sleeping soundly. His jaw clenches—not in frustration. In awe.

He leans forward—careful, deliberate—and presses a kiss to your forehead. Then another, just above your brow.

“Let me,” he murmurs.

You hesitate. He sees it.

“I washed up outside,” he adds, voice barely above a breath. “I’m clean. I promise.”

You nod, and he lifts the baby from your arms with heartbreaking care—like he’s holding something sacred. His hands are calloused. Steady. Gentle. He cradles her close to his chest, one hand splayed protectively over her tiny back.

And then he just… stands there.

In the living room. Rocking back and forth. Saying nothing.

He doesn’t speak much—not about his love, not about the aching protectiveness in his chest—but his actions are poetry.

His eyes stay on her face like he’s memorizing every blink, every breath. When she stirs, his voice breaks the silence, low and soft:

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

You watch as he walks the room in slow loops, quiet and constant.

When he finally comes back, he lays her down in the bassinet and turns to you.

He doesn't ask if you're okay.

He just gathers you into his arms and pulls you into his lap on the couch—your body curled against his chest, your face tucked under his chin.

“Sleep,” he says.

And you do.

Because when Xavier says he’s here—he means it.

Rafayel

It’s nearly 2:30 in the morning.

The studio’s dim, lit only by the soft flicker of string lights and the distant glow of the moon bleeding through the stained-glass window he swears wasn’t always cracked.

You’re half-asleep on the old velvet couch, wearing one of his oversized button-downs and curled under a blanket that still smells like him—smoke, lavender, paint.

Your toddler is curled up on your chest, drooling peacefully, one chubby fist tangled in your hair.

And Rafayel?

He’s sitting on the floor.

Cross-legged. Shirtless. Covered in gold leaf and paint smudges.

Sketching.

You don’t know how long he’s been at it, but there are at least six versions of you sprawled around the floor, each more unhinged than the last—some romantic, some ridiculous. One with you wearing a crown made of snack wrappers. One where the baby is glowing like a celestial being. One where he’s asleep in your lap, drooling.

(“For realism,” he mumbled when you pointed it out.)

He looks up and catches your gaze before you can pretend to be asleep again.

“Caught you,” he says, voice a little too loud for the hour. “Can’t sleep without me anymore, can you?”

You groan softly, not bothering to deny it.

He grins and sets his sketchpad down. Crawls across the floor like a lazy jungle cat and presses a kiss to your bare knee.

Then another.

Then a third, way too high up your thigh.

“Rafayel,” you warn.

He laughs into your skin.

“Okay, okay,” he says, pushing himself up beside you. “You win. For now.”

He curls around you on the couch, nuzzles his nose into your neck, and gently adjusts the blanket so it covers all three of you—his long arm curling around your waist and your baby like you’re both his personal treasures.

You hear his breath catch when the baby sighs in her sleep and curls instinctively closer.

“Do you think she dreams?” he whispers. “Do you think babies dream of past lives?”

You hum. “Probably not.”

“She’s ours,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “So if she does, she’s dreaming of color. Of brushstrokes. Of the way you laugh when I say I’d paint the moon just to match your skin.”

You roll your eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

He grins. “Neither do you. That’s why I love you.”

You fall asleep in his arms to the feeling of his fingers trailing over your hip, sketching shapes into your skin he’ll try to remember later.

When he finally dozes off, he dreams of nothing but you.

Zayne

It’s just past midnight.

The house is silent except for the faint whir of the baby monitor and the occasional rustle of sheets as you shift beside him.

Zayne’s lying flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes wide open—like sleep is something that’s just out of reach. Again.

You roll over, still half-asleep, and reach for him without even opening your eyes.

He exhales softly. That sound that always comes out when he thinks you’ve caught him thinking too much.

“Can’t sleep?” you mumble against his chest.

“I’m fine.”

You don’t believe him for a second.

He never sleeps easily. Not when there are scans to review. Charts to double-check. Or, more often than not, you and your daughter to hover over protectively when you’re both too peaceful to notice.

You shift closer, throwing a leg over his, curling your fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re doing it again,” you murmur. “Thinking too loud.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand just comes up to rest on the small of your back, warm and grounding.

“I keep hearing her cough,” he finally admits. “Twice. It was faint. Could be nothing. Could be—”

“Zayne.”

“I know.”

His fingers tighten slightly against your spine.

“I just… I’ve never had anything like this,” he says. “Not really. A house. A family. Something I could lose.”

You lift your head, blinking at him in the dark. His jaw’s tight. His brows drawn. Even now, he’s holding everything too close to his chest.

You reach up and cup his face.

“You’re not going to lose us,” you say.

“But I don’t know how to stop trying to prevent it. I don’t know how to relax.”

Your daughter lets out a tiny whine over the monitor—just a sleepy noise—but Zayne’s already moving before you can stop him.

You follow him down the hallway.

In the dim nursery, she’s sound asleep again, thumb in her mouth, little fist curled around the corner of her bunny blanket.

Zayne stands there for a long moment, watching her.

And then—surprising even himself—he reaches into the crib and lifts her gently into his arms. Just to feel her close. Just to make sure.

You step up beside him, arms sliding around his waist.

He kisses the top of her head.

Then yours.

When he speaks, it’s barely a whisper:

“She looks like you when she sleeps.”

You smile.

“She snores like you.”

His lip twitches, just barely. “She’s perfect.”

You press your head to his shoulder. “So are you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

But when you’re all curled back in bed—your daughter nestled between you, your leg tangled with his again, his hand wrapped tightly around your fingers—you feel it.

That quiet shift.

Zayne doesn’t sleep much.

But when he does?

It’s only like this.

With you.

Sylus

It’s past 2 a.m.

The house is quiet—but not asleep.

You’re half-asleep on the couch, still in your robe, a half-drunk cup of tea cooling on the side table. The nursery light is off, save for the warm glow of the star projector pulsing gently across the ceiling. Two soft little heartbeats breathe slow and steady in the twin bassinets by the wall.

And Sylus?

He hasn’t moved in over an hour.

Still shirtless, dark sweats low on his hips, he sits in the old armchair by the window—broad shoulders silhouetted in gold, silver hair tied messily back. One twin lies draped against his bare chest, asleep with a hand tangled in the crow pendant Sylus never takes off. The other had fussed, and he calmed her with nothing but his heartbeat and a lullaby you’d never heard him sing before.

He’s holding both of them like the world might try to take them away.

And he’s watching the window like he’d burn that world down first.

You don’t say anything when you approach. You just cross the room quietly and kneel beside him, one hand smoothing along his thigh.

“I thought you’d gone back to bed,” he murmurs without looking.

You shake your head. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He finally turns to you. His expression is unreadable—but you see it in his eyes. The softness. The weight. The disbelief that he has something so precious now.

“She cried,” he adds, glancing down at the baby in his arms. “Then he did. Didn’t want them to wake you.”

“You didn’t have to stay the whole time.”

“I did.”

Simple. Unyielding. Sylus.

You smile and rest your chin on his knee, watching the twins rise and fall with his slow breathing.

He shifts one arm carefully, just enough to curl it around your back and pull you close—right there on the floor. His fingers drift to the nape of your neck. His voice is quieter now.

“You’re not allowed to leave me alone with them like this again,” he whispers. “I’ll get soft.”

You laugh softly, eyes warm. “You already are.”

He hums.

Then, after a pause: “They make me want to be good.”

You look up. “You are good.”

“No. I’m careful. With you. With them.” He looks down at the sleepy weight in his arms. “That’s different.”

You don’t push it. You just nuzzle closer, his warmth sinking into your skin as the stars dance across the nursery walls.

Eventually, the baby in his arms yawns. He watches her like she’s a secret no one else gets to know.

“They’re safe with me,” he says, barely audible.

And somehow, you believe him more than anything you’ve ever known.

[mamiobesssionfics]

Where You Said You’d Be

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Warnings: mention of past abuse, angst

Summary: You made her promise, long ago, that no matter how bad things got between you, she would never let you fall asleep alone.

It wasn’t a complicated promise.

You had asked her early on when the two of you were just learning how to be soft around each other, what it would take for you to sleep peacefully again.

The answer had been simple.

“Just don’t let me sleep alone. Please.”

You had whispered it one night in her arms, her fingers tracing the outline of your spine. You had never explained the full reason.

Not at first. Not until months later, when the trust had begun to bloom.

Your ex-boyfriend had made the nights a battlefield.

The bed had become a place of tension, of fear.

You never knew if sleep would bring rest or violence if the turn of a blanket would lead to a bruise, a shove, or worse.

Even long after he was gone, you still woke in a panic, you swore you could hear footsteps that didn’t belong.

Rhea had listened, jaw clenched so tight her teeth might crack.

And she had pulled you into her arms like you were something sacred.

“I’ll never let you sleep alone again,” she had promised, voice low and steady against your skin. “Not even after the worst day. Not even if we fight. Never.”

And for a long time, she didn’t.

No matter how exhausted she was, no matter how busy her schedule got, she always found her way to your side.

Even when there had been arguments, tension, and slammed doors, she still crawled into bed beside you, pulled you close, and let sleep find you in the safety of her arms.

Until tonight.

Rhea had come home late, looking like she’d been fighting storms.

She barely glanced at you.

She threw her bag on the floor, kicked off her boots, and started snapping at you about dishes left in the sink.

“You could have done something while I was gone,” she said, brushing past you.

“I did,” you said quietly, confused by her sudden coldness. “I just, I didn’t get to the kitchen.”

“Right. Of course, you didn’t.”

It spiralled from there.

Words flung carelessly, old wounds tugged open. She was tired and frustrated. You were hurt, trying to keep your voice calm, trying to reach her.

But she didn’t want to be reached.

When you both stood on opposite ends of the room, breathing heavily, your throat tight with unspoken pleas, she turned away.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” she muttered.

You froze.

“Rhea,” you said, voice cracking, “please. Don’t.”

She didn’t answer.

You waited.

She didn’t come.

The bed felt like a tomb.

You tried to stay awake. Stared at the ceiling. Curled up with your back against the cold side of the mattress, trying to remember her warmth.

Eventually, sleep dragged you under.

And with it came the dream.

You were back in that place. That voice. That room. The air turned heavy, his hands grabbing you, shoving you down, your throat closing in terror. You screamed and screamed and screamed.

Until you woke, sobbing.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t tell where you were. You were shaking, crying out into the dark.

“Please stop, please don’t, please don’t touch me, please…”

The door slammed open.

Rhea was there in seconds, still barefoot, eyes wide with panic. “Hey! Hey, it’s me!” She dropped to her knees beside the bed, grabbing your arms. “Baby, I’m here, I’m here.”

You flinched. “Don’t let him touch me again, please don’t let him-”

“Shhh, no one’s touching you,” she whispered, climbing into the bed and pulling you into her lap. “I’ve got you. He’s not here. He’ll never hurt you again. Never.”

You were shaking so hard that your teeth clicked.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you sobbed.

She held you tighter, swaying gently. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here. I broke my promise. I didn’t think, I just, I was angry and tired and selfish.”

You pressed your face into her chest. Her heartbeat was wild beneath your ear.

“You said you’d always stay,” you said through sobs.

“I know,” she whispered, kissing your hair. “I’ll never walk out again. I swear to you. I will never leave you to face the night alone. Not ever.”

You clung to her like she was the only thing keeping you from falling.

Eventually, the tremors stopped.

She tucked you under the blankets, curled up behind you, her arm strong and sure around your waist.

She didn’t let go. Not even for a second. She whispered apologies, lullabies, promises.

Her breath is warm against your neck.

And when you slept again, she was there. Just like she’d promised.

Right where she said she’d be.

You woke slowly.

The room was bathed in early grey light, soft and quiet, the world not quite awake yet.

And neither were you.

But what you noticed first, before the ache in your throat, before the memories creeping at the edge of your thoughts, was the warmth.

Her.

She hadn’t let go.

Rhea was still there, arms wrapped around you like a second heartbeat. One hand rested flat on your stomach, her nose tucked gently against the nape of your neck. You could feel her breathing slow and steady, like the ocean in sleep.

It felt safe. Real.

For a few moments, you didn’t move.

You just let the warmth of her back into you.

And then, as if sensing the shift in your breathing, she stirred.

Her arm tightened around you, holding you closer.

“You awake?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep and guilt.

You nodded.

Rhea pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you whispered.

She shifted slightly, enough to prop herself up on her elbow and look at you properly.

Her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked like she hadn’t slept much after you did.

“I messed up,” she said. “No excuses. No defence. I let my mood take over and I forgot what you needed from me. I broke a promise I never should have broken.”

You looked at her, really looked, and saw it in her, the regret, fear, shame. The same emotions that had clawed through you in the dark, now etched into her features.

“I didn’t want space,” you said softly. “I just wanted you.”

“I know. And I gave you the one thing I promised I never would.” She swallowed hard. “I heard you crying. It- God, it felt like I’d ripped the floor out from under you. I never want to hear that sound again.”

You blinked fast, throat tight.

“I don’t blame you for being tired,” you said gently. “But when you weren’t there, it felt like… he was.”

Rhea closed her eyes like your words physically hurt her.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she said firmly. “Today. Tomorrow. However long it takes. But for now, I just want to take care of you. Let me?”

You nodded, and she kissed your forehead with such love that didn’t belong to someone called The Nightmare.

She pulled the covers over both of you again and stayed wrapped around you, your bodies entwined like roots grounding each other.

Later, when the sun crept higher, she charmed you out of bed with soft touches and kisses.

She guided you to the bathroom and helped you brush your teeth with her arms around your waist.

Then she made you tea, your favourite kind, with a little extra honey and a clean hoodie draped over your shoulders like a hug.

She called out of training.

Didn’t even glance at her phone after that.

Instead, she stayed home, set up a nest of blankets on the sofa, and let you pick the movie. You barely watched it. You just curled into her, her hand resting protectively on your knee, thumb tracing circles into your skin.

She made you lunch. Cut the crusts off your sandwich. Kissing your cheeks between every bite.

“Do you still want me?” she asked quietly at one point, voice low like she feared the answer.

You turned to her, placing your hand on her cheek. “I never stopped.”

She kissed you like an apology, like a vow.

Like you were everything.

And that night, when sleep came again, she was already waiting. Arms open, body warm, lips at your temple.

“I’m here.” she whispered, as you drifted off.

And this time, you believed her.

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession (Part 4)

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Shhh,” Daemon rocks his wailing grandson.

Aegon the fourth remained quiet during their ride to Harrenhal, though he has since realized the man holding him is not his father.

“Are congratulations in order?” Alys calls. “I’d no idea you were expecting a babe.”

“He’s not mine,” Daemon tells her, “and he very well knows it.”

“Where did he come from?” The woman wonders.

“Come,” he ignores the question, “you’ve got the hair, see if he’ll take to you.”

“Her grace’s son.” Alys realizes, “I can’t imagine she’s happy about that.”

“If men off the streets can steal one of her heirs, anyone could.” Daemon reasons, “she has left the children weakly protected. I solved the issue.”

“If you say so,” the woman takes the babe from him, carefully. “Does he have a name?” Princess Y/N’s line is ever growing, it’s impossible to remember them all.

“Aegon, fourth of his name.”

“Named for the Conqueror,” Alys coos, allowing the child to take hold of her dark locks.

“My son, Aegon, is named after the Conqueror, this child was named for his father.”

“This babe is of very old magic.” She tells him, “he knows your distaste of those dearest to him.”

“He is a babe.” Daemon scoffs, “he knows naught but to feed and wet.”

“Yet he cries for you, and quiets for me.”

“Because you have the hair.”

————————————————————————

Y/N’s search for Aemond continues as members of the King’s guard race about the castle.

From the windows of the Keep, smallfolk call out. “Dragons!”

“Dragons?” Y/N stops one of the white cloaks with her hand.

“You must return to his grace, my Queen. We are under attack.”

“What of my son?”

“No stone will be left unturned, your grace. The Prince will be found.” The guard assures her.

Y/N releases his arm, taking the stairs two at a time down to the dragon pit. “I need Stormborn.” She tells the nearest keeper.

“Your grace?” The woman turns to her, “she has not flown since the loss of Sunfyre.”

“I’ll see to her myself,” Y/N decides, rushing past her. Her children’s dragons and Dreamfyre pay her little mind.

Stormborn lies with her head resting on her front legs.

“Rytsas, ñuha riña.” Hello, my girl. She addresses her in High Valryian.

The dragon whines.

“Nyke gīmigon iksā ojūdan mijegon Sunfyre. Iksan ojūdan tolī, yn istiti sīmonagon toliot īlva ōdres se sōvegon hēnkirī istin tolī.” I know you are lost without Sunfyre. I am lost too, but we must rise above our pain and fly together once more.

Stormborn extends her wing, allowing Y/N to climb onto her saddle.

“Sōvegon.” Fly.

————————————————————————-

“Is it terribly painful, father?” Visera asks, seated beside Dahlia on the right side of Aegon’s bed.

“Well, it is not pleasant.” Aegon admits, feeling her little fingers squeeze his. “But I have the maesters and your mother to help care for me. Each day the pain is less.”

Dahlia says nothing, staring at her father with tears in her eyes.

“Do not cry, my dearest love.” Aegon breathes.

“I worry for you, father.” She sobs.

“Come here.” He reaches for her with his unharmed arm.

“Mother said we mustn’t touch you.”

“See here, where the bandages are?” Aegon motions to his left side. “That is where I am hurt, you can touch me safely on this side. It’s alright.”

Dahlia carefully lies her head against his shoulder.

Aegon strokes her silver hair. “This will pass.”

She nods.

“Say it to me,” so he knows she understands.

“This will p-pass,” the little girl chokes out.

Visera rubs her sister’s back.

“Are you still doing alright, my darling?” Aegon asks his second eldest daughter.

“Yes, father.”

He catches her hand at Dahlia’s back giving a squeeze.

Laenor is easily entertained on the floor by Chérie, at only two years of age he does not understand that his father is fragile. The prince loves to pounce on his Papa.

When he finally does point toward his father, Chérie takes him into her arms, holding him over Aegon’s bed. “My Papa.”

“That is your Papa.” Chérie smiles, smoothing a hand through his light curls.

“I love you, sweet boy.” Aegon grins, despite the pain it causes.

The little boy looks to Chérie, “him wants a kiss?”

Aegon swallows hard, “I should love a kiss, but no hands please.”

Chérie is sure to hold Laenor’s arms to his sides as she dips him down to meet his father’s cheek.

“Oh, thank you, my darling. I feel much better.” Aegon thanks him. “Chérie?”

“Yes, your grace?”

“Might we have the maids so you are free to check in on our other endeavors?” Y/N and Aegon IV.

“At once, my King.” Chérie nods.

————————————————————————

“Has there been any lead on the Queen’s whereabouts?” Ser Criston asks.

“We’ve word from the dragonkeepers, they say she took to the sky.”

“I see the same two dragons,” Cole remarks. “Neither of which belong to her grace. Bring them down.”

Vermax and Moondancer circle the Red Keep, despite the firing of arrows from the castletop.

Jace spots his sister’s dragon, flying up to meet them.

“What are you doing?” Y/N demands, once she’s within earshot.

“We’ve come to provide you safe passage to Dragonstone.”

“Mother sent you?”

“No.” Jacaerys purses his lips.

“You must return to her. I cannot leave.” Y/N informs him, “Aegon is missing, stolen from his rooms. Guards are searching the halls as well speak.”

“How’d someone manage to steal the King?” Jacaerys wonders.

“My son,” Y/N clarifies. “I believe Aemond had a hand in it, but I’ve not been able to find him.”

“We will find him together,” Baela offers.

“I mean to kill him.”

“Even better,” Jace remarks.

A cluster of clouds roll over the sun, shrouding the earth in darkness. Then the storm breaks, and the dragons dance.

————————————————————————-

“Hold your fire!” Ser Criston calls, “that is your Queen.”

The arches lower their arrows, watching on as Vhagar charges one of the smaller dragons.

Despite Stormborn’s strength, she is but a third the size of Vhagar.

“Who is with the Queen?”

Cole paid little mind to the dragons, until a few short days ago. He knows the King’s and the Queen’s. Vhagar, of course. But he knows little of Rhaenyra’s dragons and from their current position, it is impossible to identify their riders. “It matters little. Rally the maesters now, they must prepare to receive her grace.”

“For what injuries?” The archer asks.

“Those similar to the King’s.”

“His grace was wearing armor made of Valryian steel…the Queen will not survive a fall of the same magnitude in only her riding gear.”

“I said ready the maesters!” Ser Criston snaps.

One of the smaller dragons fall, green with red wings, into the surrounding woods.

“Locate the fallen dragon and their rider. They must be identified.”

————————————————————————

“Jace!”

Moondancer is trapped in Vhagar’s hold as Y/N circles back, soaring up over Vhagar.

“Sir, Stormborn!” Now, Stormborn.

The dragon growls, sinking her talons into the larger dragon’s eyes.

Y/N tugs her reigns upwards, effectively blinding the beast and allowing Baela to escape her clutch. “Go now!” Y/N yells, hoping the other woman can hear her over Vhagar’s howling.

Aemond tries desperately to calm her, but the dragon is no longer heeding his command.

Baela nods, taking Moondancer to ground in search of Vermax and Jacaerys.

More damage has been done to the old dragon than even Y/N realized. The flapping of her wings slows, her blood staining the earth beneath them. Vhagar uses her last bit of strength to fly Aemond level with Stormborn.

Like a man possessed, he jumps, sword drawn onto Y/N’s saddle. Sinking his blade clean through her left shoulder. He grunts, crudely yanking it free, “I meant it for your heart.”

Y/N swings her leg out, kicking at him, as she clutches her injury. Scarlet droplets blooming between her fingers.

Aemond scoffs, “you’re finished, bastard.”

At her rider’s command, Stormborn leans to her left…and Aemond falls.

Part 5

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[letsseewherethisis-going]

P9 - Lewis Hamilton

Summary: a Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader one shot. Lewis joins Y/N at their hotel after getting P9 in the qualis of Bahrain.

I spent the last few days working on another one shot, which will be posted in the next few days, but I was inspired last night after seeing Lewis’ interviews 🥺 Feedback is appreciated! Enjoy

The door of your hotel suite opened suddenly as you were in the middle of eating your meal at the dinner table. Lewis and you had been texting back and forth since the end of the qualifications in Bahrain and he was obviously very upset and hard on himself. He appeared in the doorway, sadness written all over his face. You quickly swallowed the food that you were chewing and stood up slowly.

“Hi, baby,” you made your way towards him and when he looked at you it was obvious that he had cried. The sad expression on his face was killing you. You had seen all the post quali interviews and heard him on his radio apologizing profusely to his team. You knew Lewis and it was pretty obvious he was beating himself up for his performance. “Hey,” was all he said, and you hugged him tenderly. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer to him strongly. You heard him breathing heavily “shhh. I got you, baby,” was all you could say at first. The disappointment had been more intense each week, and you felt powerless seeing the man that you loved just not succeeding at what he did best. You planted a few kisses on his neck, your hands caressing his back slowly. You felt how tense he was.

“You will be fine no matter what. I believe in you, honey, we all do,” he shook his head no and pulled away from you. “I’m sorry. It’s been such a shitty week, nothing has been working for me,” “I know, I know. Things will get better eventually, let’s be patient,” “I was supposed to do better than p9, my first try wasn’t even right,” he furrowed his brows and looked down. “It happens, it’s okay,” he focused on his phone for a second and then looked up at you “‘it happens’ won’t work, I’m ruining it all. Going to Ferrari was supposed to change everything for me but I keep failing. It’s all coming from me, it wasn’t coming from Mercedes and it clearly wasn’t coming from Ferrari either,” “It’s a new car-“ he interrupted you directly “the car is way better this weekend, and Charles did a great job with it. The problem doesn’t come from the car, it comes from me,” “I’m just saying that you’re not used yet to driving a Ferrari in F1, babe. There’s muscle memory and a lot of other things that can’t be erased after just a few weeks, even for you. Give yourself some time,” he avoided eye contact and pulled back, putting his backpack on the floor, “I’m sorry babe, I just need a moment to myself. I’m going to run myself a bath, and maybe I’ll make a few calls with the team. I need to figure something out, something needs to change, otherwise I’m fucked,” he focused on his phone again, clearly texting.

“Is there anything I could do to help you?” He looked up to you quickly “no, I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” you knew Lewis’ behavior was nothing personal and it was only the reflection of how he was feeling about himself, in that moment. He was so hard on himself and he had such high expectations for himself, and you knew that would never change. He took off his shirt and went in the bathroom of the suite with the most spacious bath. “Do you want to eat something? I could order room service for you,” you said almost shyly in the doorway. He was starting to take his pants off, the water from the tub already running. “I’m not hungry, thank you,” you nodded and closed the door behind you, giving him more privacy.

You made yourself comfortable in bed, doing nothing but scrolling on TikTok to distract yourself. Two boiling hot teas were on the bedside table, just in case Lewis wanted one as well. You had been hearing him talk on the phone with his team for about an hour, when it all went quiet. A few minutes later, Lewis got out of the bathroom wearing a towel around his waist. You heard him make his way to the bedroom and you waited until he got closer to the bed to look up.

“I made you some tea, in case you want some. Careful, it’s boiling hot,” he forced himself to smile and thanked you. “I’ve been talking with the team, they’ve been super understanding to me.. but at the end of the day, I’m the driver and I have to do my job, which I haven’t been doing,” you stayed silent and opened your arm for him to join you in bed, which he did. He laid down on his tummy “Sometimes I think..” he buried his face in the crook of your neck for one second and then rested his head on your chest, looking at your phone screen absentmindedly. “.. I think maybe people are right and I should’ve taken the easy way out and just left F1 last December,” he admitted. Your hand landed on the back of his head, your fingers caressing his hair gently. “.. but you’re not the kind of men who prefers to do easy things, are you?” “No, I’m not” “and I’m no F1 driver, but I know being a 7-time World Champion isn’t an easy thing,” “it’s not,” he sat up on the bed, facing you. He still had the same sad expression on his face, which was devastating to you, but you told yourself you had to be positive for him in these kind of situations. You took his hand “be patient with yourself, Lew. Just because it isn’t working so far doesn’t mean you’re doomed. Hard work pays off no matter what, you know that babe. Things may not be happening in your timing, but it’s still going to happen. I believe in you, always,” a sad smile appeared on his lips and he kissed your hand. “I’m just so gutted, I thought things would be different by now,” “it will be. You’ll see; you’ll have a different perspective on things tomorrow morning,” “uhm.. I’m not looking forward to that.. I can’t believe this is where I am in my career. I know tomorrow is going to be hell for me. And the pressure that I feel from the media is insane, too. Those dumb fucking interviews..” he sighed and shook his head, looking down at your hand holding his. “I know, honey,” you didn’t know what more to say. Oh, the love that you had for this man. You hated seeing him defeated and powerless. Lewis had such a sweet, kind, genuine, passionate energy in your every day life. He was wanted to succeed so bad at Ferrari. You knew he deserved better. “Anyway, thank you for the tea, and for being you,” he forced himself to smile again and leaned in for a kiss. “I love you,” he added, and pecked your lips. “Anything for you, Sir. I love you, too,”

2020-2025 © letsseewherethisis-going - All rights reserved. Please do not repost, plagiarize or translate.

[judebelle]

trent being a clingy needy bf? xx

menace - t.a.a. x reader

a/n : i’m so fucked w finals season but it’s almost break for me 😇 just gotta make it thru this week 😞 also i made this a drabble SORRYYYY but i think this is better short and sweet!

cw : swearing, clingy trent obv, reader getting increasingly more annoyed throughout the course of the fic, sexual insinuation, fluff

pairing : trent alexander arnold x fem!reader

wc : 704

---

it started off as bearable, but god, as the day progressed, you couldn’t deal with him anymore.

the him being sir trent alexander arnold.

it had just so happened that you and trent had aligned a few days off at the same time. this was a rare occurrence since your busy schedules kept you swamped 25/8.

this was the first of many days off. you just needed to get some things done around the house, but trent had other plans.

you almost took up his many offers to just lay in bed all day, but you knew you would feel better if you got things done first.

of course, trent wasn’t making this easy on you.

“c’mere, beautiful,”

“please stay here, just for a few minutes.”

“so sleepy, just nap with me for an hour, please!”

you had to resist the urge to physically roll your eyes at his constant pestering. you had to put your foot down and stop him before you ended up giving in.

“no, trent! i have to finish some things up, i’ll be done soon.”

he was still cuddled up in the bed when you finally left the bedroom to head to the kitchen. you began putting away clean dishes and cleaning the counter tops. as you wiped it down, you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist.

“y/n come back to beddd~” trent whined while propping his head on your shoulder to get a better look at what you were doing that was so important. you could feel him kiss his teeth when he saw you cleaning.

“i said, wait. if you keep annoying. me, it’s just gonna take longer!” you groaned when he didn’t let go of your body. “trent, let go. i need to go get-“

“you look so sexy in these shorts, just come back to bed.” you felt his hands slide down to cup your ass.

you rolled your eyes, a smile forming on your cheeks. “you can’t seduce me into going back into bed!” you sing songed as you turned to face him. his arms had you trapped in between him and the counter. he still his droopy eyes and his hair was a little frizzy.

you swiftly ducked out of his grip from under his arm and headed to your office, turning on your computer to print a few things. you heard the soft shuffling of socks on the floor, and low and behold-

“can you just come back, pleaseee!”

“stop it! how old are you? just give me a few minutes.” you had started to whine like a two year old, his complaints giving you a headache.

you placed the papers down and pushed past him to go to the living room, cleaning up blankets and books laying around. you grabbed the watering can and started tending to your wilting plants. all of a sudden-

“ah- get off me! trent! let go, now!”

your feet were hovering over the floor thanks to your boyfriend who had had enough of waiting. he threw your body over his shoulder easily and walked towards the bedroom.

you kicked your legs around, trying to wriggle out of his grip. you slumped against him when your efforts to escape from his death trap went in vain.

“this isn’t funny, y’know?”

he chucked despite your comment. “i can’t wait any longer, sorry.”

a stubborn smile broke across your face before he threw you onto the bed. you bounced onto the fluffy mattress with a gasp. “trent!”

he giggled softly before throwing himself down on top of you. “oww, trent you’re not light!” you found yourself laughing as he kissed your neck.

“shhh, just wanna cuddle.” he reached over and pulled the duvet over the both of you, wrapping his arms around your waist. he eventually let you breathe by rolling onto his side a little bit. you finally gave into his touch with a sigh, throwing your leg over his hips.

you reached your arms around his neck and nuzzled your head into his chest, his scent all over his wrinkled shirt.

“god, you’re a menace, you know that?” you laughed into his embrace and he responded by hugging you tighter.

“you love it.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Vampires of a Feather | Yandere Pomefiore

Think about modern life no magic

And you own an apartment with your loving and adoring boyfriend Rook

Unbeknownst to you 

On one of his oh so familiar nature strolls Rook found himself poking around an abandoned mansion

He won’t bother to say anything about the lovely boy he finds resting in there almost certain a dead body

Such luscious pale skin, such dark lipstick

He feels such beauty deserves a kiss even if their beyond the grave

But he won’t tell you that 

He’ll return home and kiss you as deeply as he does every time he sees you

You two will go on eventually settling down to have dinner 

When you hear something bang against the door

“Uh don’t worry babe, I’ll get it!”

“Be back soon beau trésor!”

Thinking it’s a failed knock you head for the door to open it 

Something small but sturdy whizzes past you 

Ricochetting off the walls and into some boxes you hadn’t unpacked

“Oh my Gosh Rook!”

“Oh my!”

“Ah Rook don’t go over there I think it’s a bat!”

“Oh how cute!”

“Not cute they have rabies!”

Despite your protests he’s forging on with you worriedly at his back

Come to find it’s that fellow from the abandoned mansion

And his name is Epel

“Oi what’s this weird place and why am I around a bunch of humans?”

“It’s a man!”

“Si magnifique! The joli monsieur from the house!”

“From the house?!” 

After explaining himself Epel explains how he a vampire found himself skyrockettng into your home

He unfortunately mistook the pheromone that would have led him to his pod for Rook’s scent

Thus he ended up here

“Vampires travel in pods?”

“Yes that’s how-”

“Like dolphins?”

“I guess…”

“That’s kind of cute!”

“No it’s not!”

“I agree mon chéri!” 

“IT IS NOT CUTE!”

From then on you and Rook help Epel blend in to the modern world

“Come on Epel no need to freak out!”

“No! Keep that terrible creation away from me!”

“It’s only a camera!”

“Come Pomme de poison! It’s a glorious tool (Y/n) and I are intimately close with!”

Slowly getting to a comfortable place where you both share your blood with him within reason

“Mmm Epel?”

“Yes (Y/n)?”

“Do you really need to lick my neck so many times? I’m ready for you to just get it over with.”

“Shhh let me enjoy this! Let me take my time.”

“Well okay…but does Rook have to sit so closely?”

“Don’t mind me, my Love! I’m only enjoying the enticing dance of life happening on your lovely neck!”

It’s only until a while of the domestic life along side him that you come to a sad realization

“Rook…he can’t stay with us.”

“Where is this coming from, mon chéri?”

“I was thinking…Epel’s going to outlive us.”

“Darling.”

“Then he’ll be all alone.”

“(Y/n).”

“We have to help him find his pod.”

Rook’s face drops every time you give him that look

Spending your free time devoting to properties his pod might own 

Your acutely aware that he’s not as enthusiastic 

But this isn’t about him 

This is about Epel

Who in the mean time doesn’t mind finding his pod 

But he doesn’t really care

“I’ve found two humans I like quite a lot. Besides I don’t really care about my pod especially since they’e a bunch of stuffy snobs. But it (Y/n) wants to find them I don’t mind.”

By the time Rook actually gets this from Epel you’ve already sent a letter to the one you’ve tracked down

“(Y/n)--!”

“--We have something to tell you!”

“Oh! Welcome home you two! You’re just in time to meet the vampire I found that's from your pod!”

“Oh no!”

“Wow!”

“Hello again Epel, I’ve come to take you home.”

It’s Vil Schoenheit a reclusive idol that’s supposed to be an old decrepit man you were sending letters with 

But alas he was a vampire 

And a very powerful one at that

He immediately begins critiquing Epel and subsequently Rook

“But at the very least you’ve found some decent hosts…for humans at least.”

“Hey! Don’t talk down to my humans!”

“Your anger is just as unbecoming on you as it was all those centuries ago.”

Ultimately it’s decided by Vil that Epel will be going with him 

To the country he quietly runs, where hundreds of lesser vampires serve him loyally

“I-I’m not going without Rook and (Y/n)!”

“Wait what–”

“C'est mieux que de te traquer!”

“Ugh I understand (Y/n) but this other one I’m not sure.”

Vil since he received your letter had been intrigued

A mere human who was so straight-forward with something many would call conspiracy 

Not to mention he’s absolutely enamored with ‘fixing’ you before properly elevating your status

To a vampire of course

He’ll find out he likes Rook too

but that's later

Until then he’ll just drag him along until Epel looses interest

With a snap of his finger tons of other vampires arrive taking your stuff and loading it in trucks

“Wait hold on! What are you doing?!”

“Do you have problems listening (Y/n)? You are coming with us.”

“But we can’t–We’d never live as long as you, it’s just not right!”

“As humans you won’t but once you’re a vampire that will change.”

“But I don’t want to be–”

“Hush. Rook if you’re good for anything you’ll help (Y/n) pack their bags.”

“Yes my Queen!”

“Rook!!”

No sooner than you could register 

You’re unofficially decided as one of the newest members of their pod

You’d like to think you weren’t alone in this confusion

But Rook doesn’t seem to have any of the same concerns you have

“Oh Epel isn’t this perfect! We’ll become members of your pod with the Queen!”

“Ugh! Not you too! I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t ruin you and (Y/n) completely.”

[lostgirlmuseum]

Bucky vs. Book

^Bucky on his way to you fr^

Summary: Bucky rushes to your aid when he finds out you’re upset. He’s never seen you this distraught before.

Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

Words: 600 (I don’t think I have ever written something this short before wth)

Warning: It’s kinda angst?? But mostly fluff. 

A/N: Sorry I haven’t been on much lately, school is keeping me busy. I wrote this pretty quickly and it’s just a short little treat while I’m in the middle of writing a mini series. Idk when I’ll finish writing it, but it prob won’t be done this month. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

“Bucky?” Sam asked.

“M’ busy.” Bucky mumbled, curling a barbell like it was a dumbbell.

“Someone just informed me they heard crying coming from your girl’s room.”

“What?” Bucky dropped the barbell on the ground with a loud thud. 

“Move, out of the way!” Bucky yelled, nearly knocking Sam over as he started sprinting to the gym exit.

Bucky ran so fast that he was bumping into walls and hitting corners, trying to locate the nearest stairs. 

He took the stairs by three, his heart hammering against his chest, his ears on high alert in case he could hear you calling for him.

Finally, he made it to your room, and swung the door open without a second thought, just needing to know if you were okay. Bucky’s wide eyes spotted you instantly, curled into yourself on the rug, tissues littering the floor, sobbing. He had never seen you so upset.

He wasted no time sliding onto his knees and to you.

“Doll? Doll, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?” He tried to lift your chin to see your beautiful face, but you barely acknowledged him, your puffy eyes cast down.

“My h-heart,” you choked, clutching your chest.

“Are you having a heart attack?” He couldn’t stop himself from sliding his hands all over you, checking for injuries.

“I feel– s-so sad,” was all you could make out between sobs.

“Baby, who hurt you?” He was panicking, he needed to know what happened, why you were so distraught so he could fix it. 

“Stupid book!” You cried, and flung yourself at him, holding him close, and tucking your head into his chest. Bucky immediately reciprocated, wrapping his big arms around you, squeezing you tight, one hand brushing your hair.

That’s when he noticed the outline of a book under a couple tissues.

“It’s not fair,” you cried, body shaking with each breath.

“I know, I know,” he soothed. He, of course, did not know, but he was enormously relieved to see the perpetrator was only a book. 

“They were supposed to end up together! They were p-p-per–” You squeezed him tighter, struggling to get the words out. “Perfect together! Why did the author ruin it? It’s not fair, it’s not fair, they deserve to be happy!” 

“Shhh,” he whispered, starting to rock you back and forth.

“It’s not fair,” you whispered through another cry, and collapsed fully into him.

“It’s not,” Bucky echoed.

Eventually your cries quieted and slowed, and Bucky kissed your forehead and let go of you. You barely had time to question what he was doing when he picked up the book from behind you and started to pretend to punch it. 

“Bad book,” he chastised, “you made my baby cry. Nobody makes my baby cry,”

You couldn’t help but giggle, and wipe the remaining tears from your eyes.

Bucky continued to scold it, and even positioned himself to body slam it.

“Bucky,” you full on laughed, “stop,”

“Not until it apologizes,” he grumbled, faking a chokehold on it. “Oh, shit–” Bucky rolled onto his back and held the book above him, acting out a struggle. “It’s got me baby, help!”

Giving in to his shenanigans, you leaned over and grabbed the book from his hands, and gave it your own weak punch. 

“Fuck you, book,” You sniffed and laughed.

“It can’t hurt you anymore,” Bucky said, patting your back. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” 

“I’ve got you, doll.”

“Why are there dents in all the walls?” Tony’s raised voice could be heard all the way from the floor below.

You looked at Bucky.

“What?” He smiled cheekily. “You needed me.”

Thank you for reading!

My Masterlist if you'd like to check my other stuff out :)

Oh oh and this is inspired by my reaction to Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. I hate that book so much. I love that book so much.

[alliisinwonderland05]

Wisdom Teeth~

Summary: Routledge!Reader gets her wisdom teeth out n' JJ takes care of her :) based off of this request!!

Warnings: Mentions of blood, just fluff other than that have fun y'all :)

Note: barely proof read as usual- I'M SO SORRY FOR HOW FUCKING LONG THIS TOOK PLEASE FORGIVE ME!- also i kinda imagined this with Routledge!Reader(when do I not) - I hope that's ok!! I’m always cool with rewriting if you imagine smth else :) 

The dentist has always made you anxious, but getting your wisdom teeth out is like that times a thousand. You and JJ Walk into the office, you’re squeezing his hand so tight he thinks it might fall off, but he just rubs circles on the back of your hand gently as you check in.

“Ready mama? S’gonna be ok- promise”

He says as the two of you make your way to the waiting room and sit down.

“Uh- i mean I’m kinda freakin’ out but s’no ig deal”

You mumble, visibly anxious, he chuckles slightly and kisses the back of your hand. You both look up when a woman in scrubs calls your name and looks around the room, her eyes land on you when you and JJ both stand, she smiles and waves you back toward the hallway behind her. JJ pulls you into his arms and whispers reassurances into your ear.

“You got this pretty girl, I’ll be waitin’ for ya when you’re done”

He says quietly and kisses you on the cheek as he pulls away. You nod, giving your boyfriend one last squeeze before pulling away, you shoot him an anxious smile and a timid wave as you follow the woman back to your impending doom.  

The next few minutes happen fast, and the nex thing you remember is waking up ion the twinkie in JJ’s arms, with your brother behind the wheel.

“Dude be fuckin’ gentle man! Would it kill you to like, not swerve as much as possible?? Oh shit-”

 He looks down when he sees your eyes flutter open, hew smiles.

“ there she is- how ya feelin’ mama?”

He asks, and you just laugh, you can’t really feel any pain, and your head feels floaty, so you just laugh before your memory fades again.

You regain consciousness in your bed at the chateau, with your boyfriend sitting behind you. Ow. you groan slightly and he turns to you immediately.

“ hey- how’s it goin'  , mama- lotta pain?”

You nod slightly na dhe frowns before yelling for Pope, you try to mumble a “Pope’s here?” but your mouth is full of cotton and it hurts to move, you groan agaon and pope comes in.

“ can she have  more meds yet? She-”

“ I know she’s in pain man but she’s got another hour ‘fore she can have more”

JJ groans, like it physically pains him to watch you suffer

“M’sorry mama- lust a little longer ‘kay?”

You nod a little, pathetically reaching for him, he smiles softly and adjusts the two of you.  You’re sure you look awful, like your mouth is bloody, your face is swollen, and your hair is probably a mess, but he doesn’t gove a damn, and despite the pain, it’s comforting.

“Shhh i gotcha..”

He kisses you on the head and puts on your favorite movie

“My strong girl..”

He whispers sweetly, you smile as much as you can and look over when your brother walks in and laughs

“Holy shit dude you look so fucked up”

He says, out of breath from laughing, you frown as much as your face allows and JJ does too, he gets out his phone to take pictures of you and you flip him off.

“Get the fuck outa here man! 

He throws a pillow at John B and he reluctantly leaves, still laughing

 Audibly through the door.

“ you look fine pretty girl- promise- m’sorry he’s an asshole”

You smile softly and place your focus back on the movie, eventually falling asleep in your boyfriend’s arms.

[yourbestprincess]

Uhhh this is so awkward to write but erm like can you write about jealous care sex with ellie

YES OF COURSE ANON!! :D

You’re mine.

Ellie Williams x fem reader smut! Dubcon, Ellie being aggressive and protective, Ellie beating the shit out of someone, Ellie is SO jealous, fingering, scissoring, Ellie eating reader out, Els being demanding as HELL. Kinda sorta proof read, I’ll read it again later :3 have fun!

Ellie has always been the jealous type. Another girl looks at you? She’s getting death stares. If another girl touches you or better yet, flirts with you? She’s in the goddamn hospital. Ellie will do absolutely anything to help her sweet girl (you).

It was a pretty normal day, you and Ellie decided to go out shopping with you because god forbid you go out alone.

“Princess, wanna go into this store? Looks pretty cool.” She says as she points to a camping store. You giggle at such a thing. Of course Els would pick that store.

You give her your puppy eyes, “Okay, hehe.”

You guys walk into the store, and Ellies already in her own little world, looking at the hiking shoes.

After a couple minutes, another masc girl comes up to you.

“You need any help?” The girl smirks as she talks.

“I-uh…I think I’m okay.”

“You just look like a lost puppy, hun. Don’t want you to be all by yourself.” The woman places her index and thumb on your chin to force you to look at her. You turn your head to where Ellie is to get her attention. She’s already looking at you two, and she’s fucking pissed.

She walks over with a burning anger, her eyes fixated on you and her brows furrowed.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” She growls at the woman holding you.

“This your lost puppy?” She drops her hand from your face as you hide behind Ellie.

“Get the fuck off of her before I rip your goddamn face off, bitch.” At this point you can hear Ellie’s heartbeat and you can feel the heat coming off of her.

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave your puppy out on display for the people that want her.” The woman shrugs

Ellie rolls up her sleeves and swings at the woman. She pushed Ellie way too much.

“Els!” You exclaim as you hold her back. The other woman tries to fight off Ellie but Ellie is too strong. “Ellie! Enough!” Ellie gets up and wipes off her bloody knuckles off on her pants.

She throws you over her shoulder and runs out of the store. “Ellie! What are you doing?!?”

“Don’t worry about it, princess.”

Eventually both of you get to Ellies car. She drops you off in the passenger seat. You watch Ellie get into the drivers seat as she gives you a stern look. Is she…jealous..or upset?

You finally get to Ellie’s house as she demands you to get out.

“Go to my room. Now. This is your only warning, baby.” She tries to keep her composure.

You rush to her room, taking off your clothes until you’re only wearing panties, luckily you wore her favorite pair. You grab one of her shirts off the ground, throw it on, lay on her bed, and wait for her to come.

“Good girl.” She says, eyeing you down. She always turns you on when she looks at you with such lust…

“Anything for you, Els…”

She climbs onto the bed, putting herself in between your thighs. She pushes your panties to the side so that she has access to your sweet spot. She licks her middle and ring finger before ruthlessly pumping them inside of you.

“Els! Oh~ it’s too much…t’ much Ellie…” you whimper and cry out.

“Shhh, princess. You’re gonna take it like a good girl.” She growls, which makes you moan even more now.

“So good for me, baby.” She removes her fingers, making you whimper and feel empty. She licks one of her fingers. “So sweet, princess. You taste so good.”

“Ellie-“ before you can finish your words, her face is in your pussy. “Oh my- Els…”

Ellie mumbles something but it’s too muffled to hear anything. She roughly sucks on your clit while harshly fingering your g spot.

You can feel your orgasm building from everything she’s doing. “Ellie! I can’t take it! Please-“

Ellie rips her fingers out and lifts her head up. “Nope. You’re not cumming until I fucking say so.”

You go silent, obeying her. She gets off of the bed and takes her pants off. You hear the zipper of her jeans and you immediately know your gonna be crying by the end of this.

“Take those panties off. Now.” You obey, quickly sliding them off and tossing them to the side.

She gets back on the bed, pushing your legs apart and putting herself in between them. She grabs your hand and pushers your middle and ring fingers into her sopping cunt.

“Fuckkk yes, thats it princess. Tell me what you need me to do for you.” She barley makes out from getting finger-fucked by you.

“Need you to fuck me Els…please.” You look up at her and she could never say no to you when you look like this.

She positions herself to line up her pussy to yours. She starts grinding herself on you. Both of your moans fill up the room.

“Don’t you ever fucking let another girl talk to you or touch you like that. You’re mine.”

You nod you head, feeling your orgasm come close.

“Els! I’m so close, please..”

“Me too baby. Cum for me, be a good girl and cum for me sweet girl.”

As soon as she said that, both of your orgasms come crashing down, moaning in each others mouths as you kiss.

“Good job, princess. You feel so good. Sorry if I was a little rough…think I got a little jealous.”

[hearts4chriss]

Fresh love for the fit.

Boyfriend! Chris x poc! Girlfriend

prompt: chris asks you to sit on his lap while he’s working only to discover ur only wearing panties

Part 8

Contains: cockwarming, mentions of reader having a fat ass, p in v, backshots, creampie, dirty talk, dom!chris pet names, ass slapping/grabbing, dirty talk, semi public, warehouse sex, caught??

Chris had draggedddd me with his brothers to the warehouse because he insisted I be with him.

They all had to sign their 6 million cards for their merch and I was sitting at the table with them as music played , I was wearing his oversized pink freshlove hoodie and a pair of panties which is not what I had intended on wearing but Chris didn’t know so I decided not to change.

I watched how they all worked taking breaks every so often trying their best not too as they had a lot of cards to sign.

that didn’t stop Chris to glance over at me with a smile pretty often resulting in his brothers groaning telling him to focus.

eventually he took his phone out sending me a text

my man😛💋

come sit on my lap baby

my girl🫶🏻

Chris no😭

my man😛💋

pleaseeee😁

I’ll behave

Now he was gonna realize I only had panties on and I was screwed, quite literally he would fuck the shit out of me for only wearing panties.

I roll my eyes and sit on his lap and he shifts his hips before pausing and whispering in my ear.

“are you only wearing panties?” His raspy voice rings in my ear allowing my pussy to react to his words and feeling his bulge through my wetness.

“God you’re such a whore, should’ve known.” Chris mumbles in my ear seeing his brothers completely in their own world.

He lifts my hips up and slides my panties down to my thighs and removes his sweatpants allowing his cock to rest on my ass.

“Chris no-“ I whine and he stops me by lifting up my hips slightly sinking me down onto him allowing him to be fully inside me, his balls resting on my clit as I tried not to moan.

“Stay quiet sweetheart.” He kisses my head beginning to work on the cards again as I tried my best not to shift on top of him knowing one singular moment would’ve sent him into a spiral and he’d bend me over this table right here.

The head of his cock rests against my g-spot making me bite my lip feeling the tears in my eyes from how desperately I wanted him to move and just fuck me.

Chris knows how easily it is to make me sexually frustrated and he seemed to notice by my quiet whimpers.

“hey Nick and Matt can you guys go grab us food? We’re gonna be here for a while let’s take a break.” Chris smiles warmly at them as if he’s not buried inside my cunt.

“yeah sure we’ll be back in like 30 minutes?” Matt says grabbing his Keys nick following him as they exit out the back of warehouse. The second that door closed Chris slides out of me standing up pressing my stomach on the table bunching up my ( his ) pink freshlove hoodie completely ripping my panties making me yelp.

“Chris I liked those!” I whine and he slaps my ass rubbing over the soft skin before rubbing his dick in between my folds making my legs quiver at the feeling and wet sound it made.

“I’ll buy you 100 new ones.” He chuckles resuming that same action

“Please baby- fuck me-“I moan pushing into him and he bunched up the hoodie against my back before slowly sliding inside me making my voice cry out.

“shhh baby we gotta be quick yeah? I’ll make you feel good I promise.” He whispers before beginning to thrust inside me at such pace I couldn’t keep up with.

I choked on my moans as my body rocked against the table, my ass meeting his pelvis making a clapping sensation sound from the size of it and how hard Chris was fucking me.

“oh fuckk! Chris feels so fucking good-“ i throw my head back as he gripped my ass rocking me back and forth on his cock roughly, his tip abusing my g-spot.

“shit- been waiting to fuck this pussy all fucking day”-he groaned slapping my ass again and I shudder but moan in response from his thrusts.

Chris slid out an inch or two then ramming back into my pussy causing him too knock the wind out of me every time, the sounds of us fucking only rising by each passing minute.

“shitt so deep Chris-“ I squeal feeling him so far inside in such way I wanted this to last forever, if I let him Chris could go round for round without tapping out.

“yeah? Like feeling my cock inside ur tight pussy? Like a slut? Couldn’t fucking wait His his snap with mine and I let my jaw hang open at his vulgar words unable to form a sentence

“Answer me sweetheart or I’ll stop and you won’t cum.” He smacked my ass and my head props up and I throw it back as he waited for me.

“Fuckk! I love ur cock in my pussy baby-“ my legs shake at his touch and his words alone seeing starts from his pace.

“mm that’s a good girl gonna stuff ur pussy with my cum, would you like that? Wanna be my cumslut?” His raspy groans and filthy wording shoots directly too my abused cunt clenching around his thick cock in desperation to cum.

“Fuck Chris! I-I wanna be ur cumslut- please let me cum-“ I sob helplessly feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes my lash extensions poking into the corners of them and he gripped my ass tightly.

I lost all control and his hands attached to my waist forcing me too take all of him to drive me to a mind blowing orgasm.

“Fuck- that’s right baby cream my dick.” Chris lays another smack too my ass reaching down to rub my clit chuckling when he feels how swollen it is.

“god Chris I’m cumming!” I cry out hoarse and I creamed his cock in a matter of seconds after that sentence left my lips him soon following behind stuffing my hole with his hot liquid.

“Fuck-“ I pant as he carefully slides out of me, us wincing at the feeling and loss.

“damn mama look at the mess we made.” Chris pants grabbing napkins to clean me up for the time being and I smile along with him realizing my handprints and body print were on the table.

“you okay? I wasn’t too rough was I?” He says pulling me up to look at him.

“No I’m okay- my legs just hurt.” I flush a bit and lean on the table.

“need these?” Chris smirks holding a thin lace material in his hand in a pinkish color matching the hoodie I’m wearing.

“Are those my- Where’d you get those?!” I say snatching them sliding them over my legs.

“I was planning to jerk off with them but, you definitely fixed that problem.” Chris says going in for a kiss before Nick and Matt walk back in with two boxes of pizza.

“Y’all did NOT fuck in here did you…” Nick says questioning us both inspecting for anything weird.

“Alright shut up I’m superrrr hungry.” I groan sitting on Chris’s lap like before and they just look at each other.

Remember what got us in this situation before sweetheart.

@mattsleftnipple03 @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturniolopowers @gdsvhtwa @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @worldlxvlys @chrisslut25 @princessbetsy123-blog @mattslolita @guccifrog @blahbel668 @mattsneezing @trickywritters @hearts4chris

@nonamegirlxsturniolo @luvmxtt @theyluv-meee @mattsnymphette @hoesformatt @luv4kozume @kikisturnioloo @itzdarling @pepsiimaxx @babyddolly @iiheartstef @junnniiieee07 @ratatioulle @ast3ro1dzz @sturniolowhore @st7rnioioss @emma4eva @braindead4l @ihearttsyouu @kqyslyho3 @sturnsfav @sunsetsturniolos @stqrnstars @dlyansworld @chrisloyalgf @soimightlikeoldmen69 @abbie13sworld @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @chrissgirlsstuff @luhsexcbihh @nicksmainbitch @rubyjaneaxx @love4chris @breeloveschris @meetballmatt

[orphicreveries]

Part 2 of Henry Winter eating you out whilst making you translate Greek:

You’ve barely made it through two lines.

You should be fluent, or at least passable, but every time your eyes skim the Greek, Henry’s mouth drags against you, tongue deliberate, maddening. He’s not even trying to be kind about it anymore.

He’s slow.

Precise.

Cruel, in the way that makes your thighs ache and your mind turn blank.

“I—I can’t,” you gasp, fingers gripping the worn leather of the book.

Henry pauses. Looks up at you, lips slick with you. His expression is maddeningly calm. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

You’re already shaking your head, breath caught in your throat. “Please, I—I can’t think—”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, the gesture almost reverent, then leans forward and kisses your inner thigh like you’re blessed.

“Not even halfway through,” he says, tongue teasing again, soft but relentless. “And already giving up?” He tilts his head. “I thought you were smart.”

You whimper, hips bucking involuntarily. He clamps his hands around your thighs and holds you still.

“I’m not stopping,” he murmurs, licking a stripe up your core with all the patience of a sadist. “You’ll translate when you can. Or not. I’ll still get something out of you eventually.”

You let the book slip from your hands, head thrown back against the leather. “Henry—”

“Shhh,” he soothes, fingers now involved, rubbing slow, perfect circles. “Don’t think, sweetheart. Just let me ruin you.”

And you do

He buries his face back between your thighs with no restraint now, none of that torturous patience he had while you read. Just mouth and tongue and desperate, filthy need. You’re already on the edge, shaking so hard you think you might black out, and he’s devouring you like he wants to make you forget your name, your language, the world.

And just before you come, he lifts his mouth just barely to whisper filthy atrocities, really, into your skin before completely finishing you off.

And when you do, the only thing you can say…again and again, is his name.

You’re still trembling when he pulls you into his lap, legs spread over his, skin flushed and slick from where his mouth left its mark. He’s already hard beneath you, pressed firm against the slick heat of you, but he makes no move to take you fully yet. Instead, he picks up the book again, flips to the page with infuriating calm, and taps the paragraph with one long finger.

“Again,” he murmurs. “From the top.”

You blink at him, dazed. “W-What?”

“You said you could translate,” Henry says, tone casual, though his hand is already wrapped around your hip, grinding you slow against him. “So do it.”

The words blur on the page as you attempt to focus, his other hand sliding between your thighs again, unrelenting. “First line,” he says, voice low and amused. “I’ll stop if you mess it up.”

You choke on your own breath as his fingers slip inside you, impossibly slow.

“Translate it,” he demands. “Now.”

Your voice is shaking when you begin, stumbling through the Greek, translating each line to English with a strained whimper between words. He doesn’t stop moving beneath you, doesn’t stop touching you. Every slip-up is met with a firm grip on your hips, a hard grind up, the twitch of his cock beneath you like a threat.

“You’re making a mess all over my trousers,” he murmurs against your throat. “And for what? A few poorly spoken lines?” He lets his lips brush your ear. “Come on, sweetheart, you’re a good scholar, you can do better than that, can’t you?”

You moan, louder than you mean to, and Henry laughs, breath hot against your skin. “What’s the matter, darling?” he whispers. “Does the syntax get harder the wetter you are?”

You whimper as your thighs begin to tremble again, and his voice lowers, just above a growl. His fingers move inside you at an achingly slow pace.

“Finish the translation before you finish. Or I’ll start the passage over.”

You’re already shaking—your muscles twitching with the effort of holding on, holding anything together. His voice is velvet-covered steel behind your ear, and the way his fingers crook inside you is maddening—precision weaponry, designed to break you down to nothing but syllables and slick.

You try, God, you try to read the line, your voice warbling in a breathless whisper

“That’s not the line,” Henry murmurs, and his hand stills inside you. “Do it again.”

You nearly sob. Your body aches, soaked and needy, the pulse between your legs unbearable with the sudden loss of movement. You blink at the words, your vision blurry with tears and frustration and arousal. When you speak again, your voice is shaking, barely legible.

“There you are,” he whispers, and he starts moving again, slow, dragging thrusts of his fingers, curling up inside you with every second syllable.

Your hips stutter forward and he clicks his tongue, hand wrapping softly around your jaw, forcing you to look at him and meet his intense stare.

“Focus.”

You try, again, to finish the sentence, translating it into trembling English

“Good girl,” he breathes, letting his thumb brush against your clit. “Now keep going.”

You can’t. You can’t.

You’re gasping through every breath, every phrase, the language falling from your mouth like a prayer, like worship, while he ruins you from beneath.

And just as you reach the end of the passage, teetering on the edge, he slides his hand up your back, tangles it in your hair, and pulls your head back just enough to look up at you with that fucking face, all cool detachment, except for the raw want in his eyes.

“Now,” he says softly, “come for me. Let’s see what that tongue’s good for when you’re not trying to be clever.”

And when you do, he doesn’t stop. Not yet.

Because Henry Winter has never believed in half-measures.

[lillaydee]

Shhh!!!

Celebrity!Joel Miller / F Reader

A reluctant celebrity contractor who has closed his heart for love meets a celebrity-hating Cafe on Wheels owner...

She HATES him. Thing is, he couldn't get enough of the coffee she makes...

Tag List:

@kirsteng42 @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @joelalorian @vickie5446 @inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @brittmb115 @peedrow

Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list.

Dividers by the awesome @saradika

WARNINGS: Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Celebrity Joel Miller, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy.

SERIES MASTER LIST

“Come on Joel! It’s not that big a deal! I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m 16!”

“No!”

“Why not? It’s not like I’m asking to get married or anything like that… Ew… even the thought makes me want to puke.”

“You’re still in school. I don’t want you to lose focus. You don’t need a job.”

“I just want to get some experience. And I wanna save up for a car.”

“I’ll buy you a car.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. What did Sarah do when you bought her one instead of letting her work for one?”

Joel sighed. He downed the rest of his coffee. Grimaced at the now cold coffee and went to get a refill – but the pot was cold now, too. “Damn it,” he grumbled. The fucking coffee maker was broken. Again.

“You know, you might be the richest man I know who still drinks coffee from a 20 year old machine you got as a birthday present. You know you can buy a new one for less than 100 bucks? You give me more weekly.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. I’ll just rewire it. Again.”

Ellie banged her head on the breakfast counter. “Quit being such a cheapskate, old man. How are you okay to buy me a car if you won’t spend less than 100 bucks on yourself?”

Ellie regretted her words before she could draw breath after that. She knew he was not a cheapskate, exactly. It wasn’t about the money. It was the coffee maker. What it symbolized.

His late wife had given it to him as a birthday present when Sarah was about one. She died in a car crash a week later. He was suddenly a widowed single father at 22.

He refused to replace that coffee maker, even though the coffee now came out burnt and ridiculously bitter. It had been rewired and fixed so many times neither Ellie nor Sarah wanted to touch the damned thing, worried they’d get shocked by it. Ellie swore she saw the lights flicker when Joel turned it on that morning.

But he didn’t react, just rolled his eyes at her, again, before picking up his keys and pushing her out the door, nowhere near fulfilled, coffee-wise.

Ellie wanted to shake the man who had been taking care of her since she turned 12. She had been Sarah’s mentee at the rec centre, and when her mother disappeared, Joel took her in, no questions asked. Her life took a 180 that day. He made sure she had everything she needed, got her into school, took interest in her progress, listened to her when she needed advice, even listened to her rants, albeit with a grumpy face.

She felt bad for him, he worked ‘til midnight yesterday. Shoot ran long. Ellie was sure he didn’t get home ‘til 2am. And now he’s already up to drive her to her summer art programme. She didn’t want to tell him about the programme at first, knowing it would take time out of his day to drive her back and forth. His schedule was bonkers to begin with. He’d done enough. So she got the bright idea of having a summer job. If she could buy a car, she could drive herself. There would be no need to trouble Joel anymore. Sarah drove her sometimes, but she wouldn’t be back from school for a couple more weeks.

Ellie and Sarah would talk sometimes, worried about Joel. He worked too hard. No social life to speak of, at least, not that they knew about. His life was the two of them, his brother Tommy and his work. They asked each other the last time they remembered him going out on a date, or even a vacation, for that matter, and neither could recall for sure. For a while, they thought he and Angela, his manager slash agent was a thing. But Tommy vehemently denied it, saying they were just business acquaintances. He changed the day his wife died, Tommy said. He became hardened. Stoic. Grumpy. To everyone save for Sarah, and now, Ellie. Not to worry, Tommy had told them, your father had people he could call if he felt… lonely, he said. Neither girls wanted to ask Tommy about their father’s social life, or lack thereof again after that.

Not that they were denying what Tommy suggested. It wasn’t as if he was short of interested parties. Being on a show as big as his and Tommy’s, he didn’t want for screaming ladies, something he was never interested in. He and Tommy started as contractors, renovating houses, their small company doing okay to support their small family, even in an expensive town like LA. They renovated a producer’s kitchen one day, and he offered them a contract as set builders for a show he was producing, and then the next, and then the next, and before they knew it, they had a show of their own, beginning with basic DIY stuff for a morning show, expanding to full on house renovations and builds. Tommy was the handsome, friendly, bubbly face of the show, and Joel the grumpy, reluctant contractor in the background. ‘Build with the Millers’ was a huge hit, and Joel Miller was the grumpy contractor that ladies and men alike swooned over.

Why exactly, neither Ellie nor Sarah understood. He was the same, scruffy man in his 40s that he was at home, just as he was on TV. No make up or overly styled hair for him. Apparently, after an incident involving a broken, aforementioned coffee machine and a late night taking care of a feverish Sarah, no make-up artist on set wanted to go near him again, lest they lose a few fingers trying. So he was on TV, face oily, scruff unkempt, hair unruly and all, dressed in whatever comfy shirt or flannel he managed to grab from his dresser that morning, and still the ladies swooned over him.

Fans approached him all the time, asking for pictures, often ignored. It became a thing at one point, people posting about their disappointing encounters with Joel Miller. He just walked past, hands around Sarah, shielding her face in case people took photos of her. He had relaxed a bit nowadays, but still wouldn’t entertain requests for photos, and still kept his arms around his girls when he noticed people whipping their phones out to take a picture. He left the glamourous part of the job to Tommy, much to Angela’s chagrin. He could make so much more, she had coaxed at one point. He didn’t need any more money than he already had, he said. So he left all the money making dalliances to Tommy.

Sarah once told Ellie that they lived in their old house for quite a while after the show took off, Joel only investing in a bigger place with a yard, only so that he could make sure Sarah’s privacy and safety was under control. He had woken up to a strange woman in his kitchen making breakfast for him and Sarah once and had to get a restraining order against her. He contacted a real estate agent that very day, and he slept better at night knowing that his daughters were safer behind the tall fences and a top notch security system.

Even though he himself was a simple man, he made sure his daughters want for nothing, as long as they remained humble. No designer anything for them. He still drove his beat up truck, so no Ferraris for the girls. He himself didn’t have the opportunity to go to college, so his girls were going, no matter what. That was why he was so against them having a job, he wanted them to focus. But what he didn’t realize was the girls looked up to him and lived by his example, wanting to work hard to enjoy their earnings more. When he bought Sarah a car instead of letting her get a job, she sold the brand new Prius he got her and gave the money to the rec centre she volunteered at, where she met Ellie. She got a job and got a second hand Mini instead.

And Ellie was determined to do the same.

She took out her phone and texted someone, glancing at her yawning adopted father as she did so. “So, can I get a job or not?”

“No.”

“Come on!!! Just for the summer. Not like I have school.”

“You have this class. This art thing. You begged me to get this tutor to teach you for the summer. Focus on that. I thought you wanted to go to art school.”

“Yeah, but we finish at noon. And they are prioritizing those going to colleges for volunteer work right now, so that’s out. What the hell am I supposed to do ‘til the next day? And I have to wait around for you to pick me up and you are not always on time, and you wouldn’t let me take an Uber.”

“So let me buy you a car.”

Ellie gave him the typical Miller girls’ combo of a side-eye and eye roll. “I guess the rec centre could use the money I will get from selling it.”

Joel stopped the truck at the rec centre, taking a deep, deep breath of frustration. He wanted to persist, but he could see he was fighting a losing battle. “Where exactly is this job you’re planning to get?”

Her face lit up, opening the door and jumping out, yelling at him to wait. She disappeared around the corner to the side of the building, coming back out not five minutes later, a massive cup of coffee in her hands. She presented it to him with both hands, complete with a curtsey, head bowed. “Coffee from my new work place, Your Majesty,” she said.

Joel rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he hated more than anything else in the world, it was pretentious fancy coffee, robbing people of their money. He didn’t take it.

“Come on, old man. You know you need this. Go on, I promise you it will be better than the ones you burn every morning.”

“How would you know that? You don’t even like coffee.”

“There’s a long line every day. Must be good. Plus, I need to help my new boss sell coffee now, don’t I?” she smirked.

Joel took yet another deep, impatient breath, took the coffee and had a sip.

Ellie watched as for a split second, his entire body relaxed, eyes closed, and breathing calmed. Just as quickly, though, he opened his eyes and sulked, placed the coffee in his cup holder and passed Ellie her back pack. “Pick you up around the usual time.” Ellie stepped back and waved Joel goodbye.

Huh. The man who swore coffee that didn’t come from his ancient coffee machine or the craft service of his show was crap just had a good reaction to that cup of coffee. Coffee that he would classify as ‘a modern fucking robbery’ just because they took some time to craft and cost more than a dollar. She walked back to the truck she had gotten the coffee from, taking the slotted tray with another cup of coffee and an iced tea placed on the sill.

“I guess I’ll see you after class then, Boss!” she semi shouted.

You dipped your head low to see her from your perch, winking at her, “Counting on it!” you called back, handing your next customer her usual cappuccino.

That first day, you made Ellie watch for an hour. She would mainly be taking the orders for you, handling the payments and cleaning the small fold out tables outside. You made sure she flipped through the booklet to make the teas and other drinks, the easier stuff. When she could stand to stay in the truck for longer than an hour without getting a headache from the smell of coffee, then maybe, just maybe, she could help you clean the machine.

You had taken over the truck from your stepmom Jenny, the woman you called Mom a couple of years before that. The woman had had enough of the glamorous city and decided to leave for her hometown, longing for a quieter life. The two of you started the moving café after your father passed a few years back, moving from one spot to another, going wherever the customers might be. Your father had owned a chain of cafés and sold them all when he decided to retire. You respected his wish to sell, but part of the reason you decided to open a moving café with Jenny was to have a connection with him. You worked for him most of your life, and making coffee made you feel closer to him. Apparently, he gave you a hollow ball with coffee beans inside as a rattle. His nickname for you was coffee related. This was what you loved doing.

Jenny did invite you to move with her, maybe start a business with her there, but you were in love then. So you stayed. Of course, the man you were so besotted with, the one who begged you to stay in LA with him rather than move with the woman who raised you decided that an opportunity to be with his dream actress was too good to pass up. He broke up with you over voicemail when she approached him at a party, drunk off his ass, all excited that she would even look at him. Last you heard, he lost his job as the manager at one of your Dad's old cafes for missing too much work to be with her on set and had become her personal assistant instead.

You went about your life, driving your little café around before deciding you couldn’t be bothered to do that anymore, and paid for a spot at the rec centre food truck centre. On your very first day there, two girls came running to your truck, the older one, Sarah, ordering the biggest iced latte you could offer, the younger one, Ellie, an iced tea, nose all scrunched up from the smell of coffee, which she apparently hated. And now she’s decided she was going to work for you. Go figure.

You didn’t really know much about her per se. You knew that Sarah’s father had adopted her, that he was a contractor, that she spent her evenings after school volunteering at the rec centre, just as Sarah did, and that she was taking personal tutoring from one of the art professors who volunteered at the centre during the summer. She spent her evenings at your truck while waiting for her dad, whom she only ever referred to as the old man to pick her up, yammering in your ears as you cleaned for the day, often running off with a quick see you tomorrow Lil over her shoulder when he called to let her know he had arrived.

You loved her company. To be frank, after Dave dumped you, your life consisted of work and sleeping, having to wake up super early to get the truck ready for business. You even open on the weekends, only taking every other Sundays off to spend some time with your Uncle Bill, Jenny’s only brother. That was it. You open and close at six every day, clean up, wash your truck on your way home, have a quick dinner, do some chores, read, and sleep. You tried to watch some TV at one point after Dave left, but his girlfriend Cleo’s face graced the homepage of your Netflix account, so you cancelled your subscription. You stopped your social media involvement, with the exception of the Insta page for your truck. Everything else would put you at risk seeing your ex with his glamourous sweetheart.

Ellie provided you entertainment, so to speak. She told you about the books she read, the movies she watched, the classes she took, and you found her excitement infectious, even if you had read and watched the movies she was talking about. She had a hard life before, not having the opportunity to enjoy the books and movies most people have at home, so her excitement in learning all these new things was something to celebrate. She started complaining about wanting a car, that her old man had offered to buy her one. But she wanted to get one on her own, just like her big sister. You suggested she get a job, just like you did back when you wanted one for yourself. Yeah, she had groaned, her old man wouldn’t let her get one. But she was going to talk at him until he gave in.

And gave in he did, apparently.

She was a hard worker, very friendly with the customers, cleaning as she went. But at the end of the day, she was exhausted, telling you she was going to sleep well that night. She helped you clean up before running off to use the bathroom.

Her phone started buzzing. ‘Old Man’ blinking on the screen. It went dark. And then buzzed again. After a few missed calls, a tired looking man in flannels came storming around the corner, panic written all over his face, eyes searching for someone amongst the parked trucks and the buzz of the people cleaning the area before dialling and placing the phone on his ear. Ellie’s phone buzzed again. It went dark as soon as the man took his phone away from his ears, dialling one more time.

Okay, it’s possible this was Ellie’s old man.

You walked up to him, the man walking in circles frantically looking for someone. You tapped him on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir, are you…”

He turned to look at you, an exasperated look on his face, “Look, lady, I’m in the middle of something, I don’t have time to take pictures right now, okay?”

Huh?

He saw your confusion, took a deep breath, “I’m looking for someone, so no, now is not a good time for pictures, okay?”

You stood there, still confused. The fuck was he talking about? What pictures?

“What?” he barked at you, annoyed that you couldn’t understand a few simple sentences.

Okay, you’re angry now.

“Well?”

“I was just going to ask, sir, if you are looking for Ellie,” you spat out. Slowly. Deliberately.

His expression changed. His stance shifted, his body language got softer. “Uh, yeah.”

“She’s in the bathroom,” you snarked, going to your truck to get her backpack and phone, shoving them both into his chest.

He finally saw the name on the truck. Wheely Coffee. That name was on his cup this morning. He closed his eyes, regret clear across his features. “Look, I’m sor…”

You slammed the door of your truck in his face, the door actually hitting his shoulder so hard he staggered backwards. You got in the driver’s seat and drove off, leaving him standing in the street, Ellie running out to meet him, confused as to what had just happened.

He looked at her, snapped out of his shock, handing her the back pack and phone.

Ellie didn’t take them, her arms crossed on her chest, staring at him with laser eyes.

“What the fuck did you do, Joel? What the fuck did you say to my boss?”

Part 2

[bri-cheeses]

| Rosekiller Microfic | Word count: 818 | We love forced proximity <3 |

-

“Barty, if we get in trouble for something as stupid as this—”

“Shhh,” Barty interrupted, placing a finger on Evan’s lips. Evan swallowed, hard. “It’ll be fine, no one comes in here during this period.”

Evan placed a hand on Barty’s wrist and pulled it away from his mouth. That out of the way, he was free to speak.

“Okay, but what about janitors and other students and stuff?”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll just find my phone and be out of here in no time.”

Evan had his doubts, but he pushed them aside for now. They wouldn’t do him any favors if Barty was this dead set on what they were doing.

“Fine. Where would it be?” Evan asked.

Barty looked around the room, gaze roaming over the rows of chairs and desks.

“I’ll take the teacher’s desk,” he decided. “You take those cabinets. I’ll join you over there when I’m done.”

Evan nodded and made his way to the far end of the classroom, where a row of cabinets stretched from floor to ceiling. Why an English teacher needed this much storage space, he would never know, but he started opening doors anyways. The first one contained a coat, scarf, and several stacks of books and… no phone. Evan closed the door.

The next one was a bit harder, as it was filled with shelves of various objects. Evan was in the middle of inspecting a pile of board games when Barty appeared at his side.

“Find it?” Evan asked. Barty shook his head. “Okay. Then you can go look in the next cabinet, I guess. We have to find it eventually.”

Evan had just finished up with the last of the shelves, closing the door with a high pitched squeak when they heard footsteps from outside.

Evan froze. Next to him, Barty did the same.

“I thought you said that no one comes in here during this period?” Evan said out of the corner of his mouth.

“First time for everything?” Barty smiled weakly.

The handle on the door moved, and Barty moved like a flash. He snagged Evan’s shirt in his hand and dragged him into the cabinet he had been looking in, closing the door behind him as soon as they were both in.

And this? This was not ideal. The space was shallow and not very long across, allowing only for mere inches between their two bodies. Evan, at least, could recognize that as the danger it presented.

“This is cozy,” Barty whispered, mouthing the words more than speaking them. Evan wanted to strangle him. Could he not hear the person walking around the classroom? Was he not at all worried about getting caught?

His answering glare caused Barty to grin and nudge Evan’s foot with his own.

“Come on Rosie, don’t be like that.”

“We’re stuck in a closet right now,” Evan shot back. Barty’s eyes gleamed.

“Interesting choice of words.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Evan eyed Barty warily. He didn’t like the way that Barty had swayed closer, taunting him. He doubted that Barty realized the effect he was having on him, doing things like that, saying things like that, when they were so close together. It wasn’t fair.

Something must’ve shown on his face, because Barty’s expression took on a concerned edge.

“You okay, Evs? You’re not claustrophobic or anything, are you?”

Evan shook his head. No, not claustrophobic. At least, not usually.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“You’re just, uh, very… close. Right now.” The words came out awkwardly, and Evan’s face burned. Oh, he hoped Barty didn’t realize what lay behind those words.

“Am I making you nervous?” Barty murmured. Evan sucked in a sharp breath.

Yes, he thought, but didn’t say it. You always make me nervous when you look at me like that, because I don’t know what I might do in response.

He shook his head.

Barty huffed a disbelieving laugh, and Evan felt a hand tug on the edge of his shirt. He looked down as if the culprit wasn’t obvious, but when he looked up, Barty hardly seemed aware of what his hand was doing.

“If that’s the case,” Barty whispered, “then come closer.”

Evan’s heart stuttered in his chest.

“What?” he managed, sounding just as breathless as he felt.

Barty leaned in until his face was hardly an inch from Evan’s own. Evan felt his gaze drop to Barty’s lips as he spoke.

“Come closer.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline from almost being caught. Maybe it was the years of wanting to do just that. Or maybe it was simply the way that Barty was leaning in to him, practically begging for it.

Evan couldn’t help it. He closed the distance between them and crashed their lips together, kissing Barty like his life depended on it.

And funnily enough, they never did end up finding the phone that Barty had been looking for.

-

[notjustjavierpena]

Mouthful

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Made with the help from my loveliest @strang3lov3 with a talk about men conking out after cumming and how Hubby Javier still hasn’t gotten his dick sucked. So to all the girlies who want to give your fictional husband a blowjob, this one is for you.

Summary: Javier is starting to come down with the flu but he just simply won’t lie down to have some rest. You have a trick that never fails.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, husband!javier, domestic life, sickfic, Inés is a menace, Javier is a stubborn man, ❤️ JAVIER HAS A DAD BOD!!!!!!! ❤️, blowjob, deep-throating, mouth-fucking, praise, dirty talk, cum-swallowing,

Word count: 2.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52856839

Mouthful

You hear the clink of plates being lifted out of the dishwasher, the sound of Sebastian crying, stuttering sobs as he is bounced, and Inés going on about something that happened in preschool. Javier is barely listening, replying with half-sentences that seem to make his daughter more frustrated with her father not paying attention and eventually leading to her talking louder. 

The idea of what will meet you in the kitchen is enough to make you want to flee to the bedroom, enough to make you want to pretend that you haven’t heard them during an extended nap. However, you could never bring yourself to let Javier go through the hell of late afternoons with children alone.

“Look who’s up,” he says with a desperate smile as you enter the room, twisting his whole body to make his crying son spot his mother. As soon as Sebastian’s eyes gaze upon you, his wails die down and they stop completely the moment you take him from Javier’s arms. 

“Mom! Guess what happened today at school,” Inés interrupts just as you are about to say something. She speaks loudly, and you automatically reach up to cover Sebastian’s ear that isn’t pressed into your shoulder. 

“Inés, indoor voices,” Javier finally manages to say, reaching up to rub his temples, “Shhh…”

“Sorry,” she makes a face, not completely convinced. 

“What happened at school?” You ask but instead of looking at her, you find yourself staring at your husband who looks like absolute hell, glassy eyes and exhaustion radiating from him. Inés giggles as she tells a joke that isn’t really a joke, too lost in her story to notice that you aren’t really listening. 

Javier places a hand on the kitchen table, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. His shirt is crumpled, his eyes have dark circles and you don’t actually think that he has even noticed that he is sniffling every other moment. He sighs deeply, breathing mostly through his mouth as he does it, and then goes back to emptying the dishwasher.

“Are you okay, honey?” You ask him, stopping midway to shush Inés who doesn’t look pleased, “You look under the weather. Are you feeling okay?” 

There’s an almost offended nature in Javier’s reply. He doesn’t stop what he is doing, sorting through the cutlery, “What? No, yeah. Estoy bien, mi amor (I’m fine, my love). Just need to get this done.”

“And then what?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

“And then I’ll get started on dinner,” he tells you with a tired smile that isn’t very convincing. 

“You look like… m i e r d a (shit), and you probably feel it too. I was sick last week,” you spell out the dirty word, using the Spanish word because the English is short enough to make Inés guess what you are saying. 

“Mom,” Inés predictably complains. 

“I’m fine. I just need 20 minutes where no one comes near me,” he says with exasperation. He finishes up the bottom drawer of the dishwasher and goes to pull out the top one. You find yourself laying a hand on top of his, stopping him in his tracks.

“Javi,” you say softly. 

“What?” He grumbles.

“I can finish up here. I’ll cook dinner,” you tread lightly, knowing that he hates being babied by you. Him not pulling his weight is a common fight that the two of you have had, and he probably feels on edge when you ask him not to help out with the kids. 

“I can do it,” he snaps but suddenly sneezes, and it ends up making his nose prickle enough to cause his eyes to water. 

“Go do something else, laundry maybe. I’ll do this,” you say a little more firmly, strategically sending him to your bedroom to make him spot your bed and have some well-earned rest, “It’s really not a problem, and you know I hate doing laundry anyway.”

“Fine,” he holds his hands up in surrender. 

“I love you,” you say in a sing-song voice as he leaves the kitchen, “Go have your 20 minutes.”

Inés looks longingly after her father but you manage to distract her with a snack before she runs after him. You run your free hand over her hair as she eats a peanut butter sandwich, Sebastian cooing happily on your hip as he has been allowed to chew on a banana.

“Do you want to watch cartoons before dinner?” You ask, “Give Mommy some time to get things done in the kitchen, and then I can hear all about school while we eat?”

“Fine,” she parrots her dad, holding up her hands as well and running off to the living room. You follow her, setting Sebastian down in his playpen and turning on the baby monitor. Then you turn on the TV, adjust the volume, and let Inés busy herself by singing along to her favorite theme song. 

You finish emptying the dishwasher, cut vegetables, and throw them into the slow cooker with other ingredients, and after you check on both of your kids, you realize there’s some spare time before you have to pick Lucas up from his play date. 

You decide to go upstairs to do another round of laundry, but when you cannot find the laundry basket, you go to your bedroom. Javier must have taken it when folding clothes. 

“Jesus, why are you not resting? I sent you here so you’d eventually nap,” you groan as you enter the bedroom and see Javier putting his shirts on hangers. 

“I told you I’m fine,” he seems even more sick at this point, nose slightly congested and causing him to speak nasally, “I can do this.”

You walk up to him to yank a clothing hanger out of his hands and throw it onto the floor, receiving a glare in response. Javier doesn’t look pleased with your behavior, but you don’t find his stubborn attitude charming either. 

“Javier F. Peña,” you tut, “Just go lie down and trust that your wife has everything under control. It’s what a lot of husbands do, you know.”

“Well, wife, I don’t need your permission to do housework,” he tries to push past you but you catch him in a disarming embrace, giggling as he tries bending down to pick you up so he can move you out of his way. You avoid his efforts, catching him by the wrists when he straightens once more, and push him back towards the bed. 

“You need rest, husband,” you shove him when the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he lets himself fall down into the mattress, bouncing slightly as it connects with his back. 

“I don’t need a nap, I’m not a child,” he groans dramatically. 

“Then stop acting like one,” you pull the baby monitor out of your pocket and place it on the nightstand. When Javier tries to sit up again, you snap your fingers and point at him, “Nuh-uh, lie down.” 

It makes you realize that you need to use alternative methods to get him to obey; he simply won’t do as he has been told, and if anyone is ever in doubt about where Inés gets her stubbornness from, you’ll simply glance over at her father to answer the question. 

“What if I treat you to something special?” You ask with a little smirk, moving to the end of the bed so you can proceed to crawl onto him. You sit on his legs, “Think that’ll make you relax?”

You already know the answer to that question. He looks ready to conk out. 

“I’m actually fine, I don’t need—“

“I know, Javi,” you reply. Your fingers find his crumpled shirt and you pull it out of his jeans, shoving it up over his stomach so you can access his belt, watching your husband twitch underneath you at the sound of the buckle clinking as you undo it. 

He lifts his head to watch as you tug down his jeans and underwear, “Just so you know, I’m not sleeping after this. I have to—“

“I know, Javi,” you repeat, bending down to nuzzle your nose against his soft stomach. His cock lays flaccid against his thigh, but you pull it out from underneath the waistband of his briefs to lay it against his tummy so you can skim your palm up and down the shaft. His soft cock slowly comes alive underneath your touch, and soon you can wrap your fist around him to stroke him till he stands completely erect. 

Below you, Javier groans when you press a kiss to his belly, “And I have to get the laundry done.” 

“Whatever you say, baby, let me take care of you and I’ll let you do as much laundry as you want,” you hum against his skin, relishing in his warmth and his so-called dad-body - the last year has blessed you with Javier getting a little softer to the touch - that you nuzzle up to at every opportunity you get. 

Javier isn’t a fan of himself growing soft around the middle but you savor it every time you get to see that bit of pudge strain against his usual jeans (which he refuses to buy in a bigger size). If you thought he was gorgeous when his muscles were toned and his body looked younger, you had not been prepared for how good he looks now that he is older, rounder, and getting comfortable. His arms are still deliciously strong; an overwhelmingly sexy result of still carrying Inés around everywhere, picking her up from the ground if she has a tantrum at the grocery store. 

“God, you’re so sexy,” you pinch his stomach to earn a little noise. Javier says your name in disapproval but you just look up at him with a smile, grabbing more of his pudge before biting into it and kissing it afterward, “Let your wife have her fun.”

Javier is just about to say something - you don’t know whether it is about his body, the lack of a blowjob, or laundry once more - but you know it’s more complaining and so you cut him off by running the flat of your tongue from base to tip of his cock. He tastes like salt. If you had the time, you would not finish until his scent and taste were everywhere on you. In your clothes, etched into your skin, and on your tongue. 

“Oh shi—“ he gasps, resting the back of his head on the mattress once more. He breathes deeply in through his mouth, nose still stuffed, and stares at the ceiling as you work your tongue up and down his shaft only to follow the wet trail with your nose.

When you reach his cockhead a third time, you suckle on the very tip to rid him of the pearl of precome that has accumulated at the slit and is threatening to slide down (you want to treat yourself to it before it does). Above you, Javier moans at feeling your mouth, not your tongue, properly for the first time. 

“Fucking hell, baby, gotta admit that I didn’t see this coming,” he half-chuckles, half-groans.

“Maybe I just wanted to shut you up for a moment. You are stubborn, you know,” you pull back to talk, look up at him, and nuzzle needily at his cock. He looks down at you but you simply smile, “I looove you for that though, not annoying at all.”

You follow your little snarky remark up with a press of your lips to the underside of his shaft, using a hot open-mouthed kiss to cut off whatever offense he might take from your teasing. He doesn’t even seem to register it after feeling your mouth on himself again. 

Then you let saliva gather in your mouth before spitting directly onto the head, using your hand to smear it down his length by stroking him a few times. You lean over him and bring your mouth down over his girth, no teasing or anything, until the thick head hits the back of your mouth. 

“Fuuuck, and then up again,” he groans, a strong hand reaching for whatever he can grab of you. His fingers curl around your shoulder, moving inwards until they dig into the back of your neck. Slowly, you drag your lips all the way off of him again. 

Javier makes a sound when you pull off but it quickly turns into a whimper as you let more saliva drip down. You smear this too, swirling your sinful tongue around the tip and occasionally licking like were you eating a popsicle on a summer’s day. 

You can feel him pulse against your lips, so you show mercy and let him into your mouth again. He is hot and heavy on your tongue and a moaning mess above you, nails starting to dig into your skin. 

You start bobbing your head, hand on the base of Javier’s cock to hold his generous size in place. When he bumps against your throat for the first time and thus makes you gag the first time, he lets out a sound that you can never get enough of and it causes your cunt to throb between your legs. 

“Who would think that a pretty girl sucks cock like that? Oh, fuck… I love you, just like that—” he talks in a way that makes you think he might not even be aware of what he is saying but is simply letting his mouth run, “Suck that cock, baby. Good fucking girl, married the right one, didn’t I?”

You hum in reply and he growls at the vibrations of your voice. The pride you feel is indescribable, and so you seek out his approval once again by moaning as you taste him. Even if it results in your eyelashes dampening from Javier pushing his hips upwards, you lean further down and force yourself to relax your throat. 

He slides into the tight space at the back of your throat and his hand flies to the top of your head. He fists your hair desperately when you gulp around him and make your throat spasm, tugging at your follicles to the point where tears slide down your face. Soon, they also mix with the spit coating his cock.

You swallow around him again. Javier holds your head with both hands now, “Can I - Christ - can I fuck this gorgeous mouth? Por favor (please), baby.”

Even if it is hurting a little, you nod the best you can because Javier’s groan as he starts thrusting his hips upward is worth any ache in your body. Your thighs flutter, your clit pulses. 

Both his hands gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail. He uses it to move your head as he pleases, makes you bob on his dick until you gag wetly with every other thrust of his hips. Every time he bucks his hips, his thigh muscles flex and your nose buries itself in his happy trail. 

“You gonna take it?” He rasps, chest heaving. He is nearly there, muscles in his whole body twitching as he slowly loses control over himself when pleasure is so close. The next thrusts are maddening and you can’t blink any tears away even if you tried, “Fuck, swallow, baby. Take my come.”

You look up at him through your wet lashes and hum a mhm, confirming. Yes, yes, yes, give it to me.

You know he is peaking when his breath stops. He holds it during the last thrusts, finally letting out a loud moan as he finishes and sucks in a deep breath afterward. 

His cock spurts in the next moment. You can feel it hit the back of your sore throat, warm and salty, in several pulses and automatically, you swallow hungrily around his girth. The action makes him groan weakly and his hips stutter until he finally needs to let go of you. His arms lie flat along his side.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he sighs contentedly when you pull off, “Fuck, I don’t even know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, Daddy,” you tease, and then you treat the sensitive head of his cock to a few innocent kitten-licks, essentially cleaning him up until he softens. 

He whimpers when it becomes too much, and so you pull off to kiss him along his stomach. You can hear his breathing changing, turning into something less erratic. 

“You okay?” You eventually ask but receive no reply. You look up. 

As predicted, Javier snores. You smile to yourself as you push yourself away from him, careful not to wake him up as you pull his briefs and jeans up again, leaving the latter unbuttoned. 

“Javier Peña, the most stubborn man on the planet has a weakness,” you whisper and shake your head with a fond smile. 

You grab the baby monitor from the nightstand and leave him to sleep, knowing he’ll wake up feeling a lot more sick and, hopefully, a lot more cooperative. You bring him a glass of water and some Tylenol to wake up to, write a note for him about how much you adore him, and that you’ll take care of everything. He needs it. 

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[littleadaline]

Grief Has No Shape [P.G8]

Warnings: talk of death, heavy feelings, grief

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Sorry for being MIA, I have been focusing on university. I wrote this piece as a way to channel the grief I often carry around when it comes to my grandfather. Although he passed away when I was 11, I often feel down when I see people who have grown up with their grandparents near them. It makes me wonder how his and I’s relationship could have evolved, the bond we could have developed had we had more time, had cancer not happened. To all of those who are grieving, or have been grieving, I send you all my love xx

——————————————

Grief was weird. It knew no bound, no shape, and it didn’t have an expiration date. You have grieved your native city, relationships and friendships, life experiences that were ripped away from you, but the hardest was when death and its effects rippled through your life.

You walked back into the shared house, the dimmed lights greeting you, the lack of warmth holding a mirror to your reality. Your bag slid off your shoulder as you took off your shoes. On the console table, a card caught your attention. You slowly picked it up, your eyes glazing over the picture, your heart clenching at the sight of that smile that once felt like home. The front door opened once again, this time, Pedri walking into the house. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, which he gently placed on the mahogany table. He untied his tie, slipping off his shoes, his hand faintly laying flush against your waist.

“I’ll make us something to eat.” He placed a kiss on your cheek, his hand stroking your hair. “I’m so sorry, mi vida.” He held your face in his hands. You looked away, kissing the palm of his hands, feeling your grief flooding back to the surface. You leaned in closer, the weight of everything bringing you on the verge of tears. Your arms hugged Pedri’s waist, the sound of his heart keeping you from spiraling.

He led you to the couch, sitting you gently. Before you could react, his grip tightened on you, holding you with such force that you thought your ribs would break. On any other day you would have jokingly kicked him away, tickling him under the chin, leading to him loosening his grip on you. But today, you needed his reassurance, you needed his presence to keep you sane.

The faint ticks of the clock in the dining room crowded the room. Feeling unable to verbally communicate the weight of your emotions, you laid back into his arms. Outside, the neighborhood was vibrant; the sound of family picnics; laughing children; and faint music flowing through the streets, creating a stark contrast between your life and the one outside.

As if life was punishing you, you heard a child in the streets scream.

“Abuelo, espérame!”

You buried your head into Pedri’s chest, unleashing all the grief you had been enduring for the past days. Your shoulders shook as your walls came crashing down. Your chest tightened, your mind racing to all the times where you had come short of being a good granddaughter.

“Shhh.” Pedri cooed as he rubbed your back in a desperate attempt to regulate your breathing. He leaned over, grabbing a tissue, lifting your head to wipe away your tears. You closed your eyes at the gesture.

“How does one get over this?” You asked, the emptiness of the room making your skin crawl. It had been 4 days since you had received the call that had changed your life. 4 days since you had fallen down to your knees, your sobs flooding your face as you called out for his name, praying to God that it wasn’t real. 4 days since Pedri had rushed out of training as soon as he got word of what had happened.

He unbuttoned his cuffs, scooching closer to you. He took your hands in his, thumb rubbing your skin in a slow, circular motion.

“Mi vida…You don’t. And I know it’s probably not the answer that you’re looking for, but…the grief will eventually subside and you’ll feel better. It’ll stop occupying all this space and will eventually find its own place in your soul.” He took a deep breath. “Grief is love that has nowhere to go.” He bent over, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Pedri took your hands, placing a delicate kiss on each knuckle.

“Despite the distance, you showed up for all the family reunions, every doctor’s appointment, every birthday. When some family members took advantage of his situation and stole from him, you stood your ground. Put his most precious possessions into a safe and changed the locks on his house.”

You cracked a shy smile.

“I just miss him, you know? I’ll miss how he used to call as soon as the clock struck twelve on my birthday, or how he always had my favorite candle burning in the kitchen whenever I visited.” You fiddled with the obituary picture in front of you. “He was a good man, Pepito.” You laid back into his arms. “He taught me how to ride a bike, and how to change a tire. And he made the best walnut pie.” You chuckled.

“He helped raise a strong, courageous and righteous woman, who has a soul as warm and welcoming as a thousand suns. You may feel like you’re scared of losing the memories of your grandfather, but I promise you, for as long as you breathe, his love will shine through your actions.” His hand brushed over your thigh, giving you a reassuring squeeze. He got up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen, flicking the lights on as he began to rummage through the pantry.

“What are you looking for?” You asked him without getting up from the couch.

“Something.. you’ll see.” He waved you away, his head still in the pantry cabinet.

You sat back, your body melting into the soft fabric of the couch. As your mind begins to wander, you find yourself being lulled to sleep by the ticks of the dining room clock. Unbeknownst to you, Pedri set the dusted book down on the coffee table, hoping that you’ll find comfort in it, once you woke up.

A few hours had passed when you began to stir awake from your sleep. The house looked different. The sun was shining lower in the sky, the air was colder and sharper, and you were hungry, very very hungry. You looked around the room, only to be met with silence, and darkness. A similar smell passed you by, a smell that reminded you of home. Walnuts, butter, brown sugar…

“Pedri?” You got up from the couch, making your way across the house.

“Bathroom!” He yelled out, meeting you halfway in the hallway. “How’d you sleep?” He kissed the top of your head gently.

“Not bad…that couch is insanely comfortable.” You buried yourself against his chest, arms hanging around his waist.

“I’m glad, my love. I have good taste in furniture.” He hyped himself up, wiping away his hands from the excess lotion. His hand found yours, dragging you to the bedroom. Out on the bed, lay a pair of pjs.

“Why don’t you get changed and meet me on the couch in a few? Mh?” He left you alone to get changed, his scent hanging in the air as he exited the room. You sat on the bed, the task of getting out of these clothes seeming impossible. You had never particularly liked this specific pair of pants, nor the shirt, but they were your grandfather’s favourites. You closed your eyes as you took off the shirt, the fabric heavy in between your hands. Your skin felt hot and cold at the same time, confusing feelings taking over. Would you ever be able to wear these clothes again? You fiddled with the garments before throwing them at the back of your closet, choosing to avoid the issue. The pyjamas Pedri had laid out felt plush and soft against your skin, like a built in hug that never faltered.

You met him back on the couch, his head turning at the sound of your feet against the floor. He extended his hand out to you, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you. You plopped down next to him, your head resting on his shoulder.

“I made something for you while you were asleep.” He handed you a plate where laid a slice of pie…a walnut pie. Walnuts, butter, brown sugar… You took a whiff of the dessert, your heart swelling with gratitude. You grabbed the spoon, digging carefully into the slice. The flavours exploded in your mouth, memories flooding your mind.

“I… don’t know what to say, Pedri.” You said, setting down the plate on the coffee table. “It’s exactly how he used to make it.” You hid your sob. “How did you know? How do you have the recipe? He never wrote it down for anyone.” Your voice choked up.

He knelt down to pick up the dusted book.

“When he got the diagnosis that the cancer had spread, he came to me. We got to talking, and he explained to me how cooking together was an activity that meant a lot to the both of you. We got to work together, creating a cookbook of all the recipes he wished to pass down to you. There’s about…every recipe you guys have ever cooked together, as well as family recipes. He made me promise to give you the book only after he passed.” He handed it to you, the weight of the book taking you by surprise.

Your fingers traced the fine engraving on the leather jacket, the title making your heart clench. ‘The Best Granddaughter’s Guide to Cooking’. You fought back the tears as you began flicking through the pages, your heart swelling with every turn of the page. There, in all its glory, was the walnut pie’s recipe. In writing, in physical form for you to keep for the rest of time. You looked back at Pedri with glossy eyes, a thankful smile on your lips.

“Thank you.” You whispered, a knot in your throat.

As you continued to flick through the heirloom, your eyes caught the pictures added to each recipe. Pictures of birthdays, monthly visits, family vacations, the first time you had ever cooked with your grandfather. Your favorite picture was the one where you were sitting on his lap pretending to read the newspaper in a language you had no knowledge of.

It then dawned on you, that your grief would always follow you. Grief was indeed love that has nowhere to go, but it was the ultimate act of love you could show someone who meant so much to you. Some days would be easier, some wouldn’t, but as time would go on, you’d learn to live with the loss, turning it into an eternal symbol of love for your grandfather. You were mad at life for putting you in this position, but it was undeniably a guaranteed cost of being alive and loving.

[20doozers]

★cold bed, warm boy★

TW: cuddling, fluff, some sexual undertones but mostly fluff,

A/N: sorry about disappearing for a while, I’ve been busy and taking care of my own metal health so why not come back with a Georg fic??

The sun was low in the sky as Georg laid in bed, soft beams of sunlight peeking through the curtains as he slept peacefully, his arms around his lover and his face resting on the pillow, his hair splayed out in a sort of mess from tossing and turning. Georg was always a rough sleeper when he slept with m/n. The two teens always stayed together when they could, so when they finally got some alone time when Georg’s parents went out of town they stayed at his place.

Georg’s shirt had been discarded onto the floor at some point, now only in a pair of sweatpants, m/n on the other hand was just wearing a hoodie and boxers he’d stolen borrowed from Georg’s closet. But slowly the two began to wake up, m/n waking up first and Georg following when he felt a warm body press against him. He sighed and murmured, sleepily murmuring a soft “g’morning..” as he pulled m/n closer.

M/n could only hum in response, accepting the gentle pulling as he was soon pulled close against Georg’s chest, rolling his eyes as he felt Georg lightly grind against him from behind.

“Georg…” m/n whined, too tired and not really in the mood.

“Shhh… ‘m not gonna make you do anything.. just letting you know..” Georg murmured into the crook of m/n’s neck, sex wasn’t usually a heated passionate thing, it was always either sleepy morning sex or sweet sex that was more of a ‘I love you you’re my everything’ thing. Even if they did have more urgent sex they always cuddled after, aftercare was always super super important for the two.

Georg hummed quietly as he gently kissed m/n’s neck, Georg was always patient and gentle. If m/n wasn’t in the mood then Georg didn’t push, if m/n just wanted to kiss and jerk off then Georg was okay with it. Sure Georg was the dominant one but communication was important and he never wanted m/n to be uncomfy with anything he did.

“Jus’ relax baby.. you want anything at all? Or do you want me to fuck off and go do it myself?” Georg asked with a little grin, kissing m/n’s cheek as he rolled over to look at Georg.

M/n couldn’t help but giggle, rolling his eyes at Georg’s teasing. “Noooo… leave me and my innocence alone.”

Georg sighed and sat up, patting m/n’s side before climbing out of bed. “I’ll be back eventually, feel free to come join.”

Georg then left, leaving m/n alone in bed, but m/n didn’t care much, just sighing as he sleepily snuggled down into the blankets. The bed was warm and smelled like Georg and m/n loved it, quickly falling back asleep as georg went to go shower and sort himself out.

When georg returned he found a sleeping m/n splayed out across the bed, sleeping peacefully with his face shoved into Georg’s pillow.. what was he gonna do with this boy?

HIIII!!! Sorry about disappearing, I’ve been super busy and struggling with mental health and now I’m sick, but I’m back with a short Georg fic for redemption. Mkay love you guys!!

Tags: @itsmealaiahh @itsmealaiah @itsangelll @d0wn-in-the-morgue @billskeis @divinelolita let me know if you wanna be on the tag list!!