#today it was me. tomorrow it could be you.

[julietsf1]

Post-Race Snuggles - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: After an intense Singapore GP, Franco’s idea of the perfect cool down is snuggling up in his girlfriend’s lap; very fluff <3

warnings: possibly incorrect Spanish?

AN - I can't keep lying to myself I think I am not just on here to read anymore lmao, this one is just 1k but I have another longer story coming tomorrow or so! enjoy my lovelies

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The sticky warmth of Singapore’s night air clung to me as I sat in Franco’s motorhome, waiting for him to return. I flicked through some post-race coverage on my phone, knowing how drained he must be after a race like that. The screen showed him smiling during the interviews, but I knew better—Franco’s green eyes gave away just how tired he was.

When the door creaked open, I glanced up and saw him there, looking utterly exhausted, his brown hair messy and damp from the heat. His race suit was unzipped, hanging loosely around his waist. Franco didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. He walked over with heavy steps, wrapped his arms around me, and buried his face into my shoulder.

“Hi there.” I laughed softly, reaching up to run my fingers through his hair. It was fluffier than usual, curling slightly from the sweat and humidity. “Tough day?”

He let out a low groan, not bothering to lift his head. “Si…” His voice was muffled, and I could feel the exhaustion in the way his body leaned into mine. “So tired.”

I smiled softly, running my hand down his back, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his suit. Suddenly, Franco shifted, pulling back just enough to take my hand in his. His eyes, though heavy with fatigue, met mine for a brief moment, and without a word, he gently tugged me down onto the couch beside him.

With a quiet sigh, he laid back, guiding my body to follow his until I was leaning into him. His head found its way into my lap as he settled in. I felt his hand resting on my waist first, a soft, grounding touch, before it slid down to rest comfortably on my thigh. His thumb moved lazily, tracing small circles, as if he needed to hold onto me even in his tired state.

“You want me to make you something? Mate, or a snack?” I asked quietly, brushing my fingers through his hair, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin.

He shook his head slowly. “No, just this. Esto es todo lo que necesito.” His voice was soft, the Spanish slipping out naturally as his eyes fluttered closed. His arms loosened slightly around my legs, his thumb brushing lazily against my thigh, the lightest touch, as if even that small movement required too much effort.

I chuckled, running my hand through his hair again, smoothing it down where it stuck up in odd places. “You did amazing today. P11! I’m so proud of you.”

A faint smile curved his lips. His breathing started to slow, the tension melting away as I continued stroking his hair. This was my favorite version of Franco—the quiet, soft one who didn’t need to be witty or flirty. Just the one who wanted to be close.

Franco’s weight settled fully against me, his eyes were shut now, his messy curls resting in my lap. His thumb continued its slow, lazy patterns on my leg, the sweet small gesture sending warmth through me. His skin was warm from the heat of the race, his hair slightly damp, and I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he looked, even when he was this tired. His lashes were long, his green eyes hidden behind them, and his lips, parted slightly as he breathed, were soft, with the faintest smile still playing there.

“You looked so good out there today,” I whispered, knowing he probably couldn’t hear me in his tired state. “Fast, confident… and you know, kind of cute with all that sweaty hair.”

He let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “Most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

I grinned. “Don’t get used to it. I’m only nice to you when you’re too tired to remember.”

His lips twitched into a smile, but he didn’t respond, his breathing evening out even more. The motorhome was dimly lit, casting soft shadows, making everything feel even cozier. The sounds outside—people moving around the paddock, the distant hum of engines cooling down—faded away. It was just us, tangled up in the warmth of each other’s presence.

As I stroked his hair, I could feel him relax completely. His body was fully at ease, and I knew he was almost asleep. He looked so peaceful, his usual spark of energy tucked away for the night. I smiled down at him, my heart full. These moments, after the chaos of race days, were our little slice of quiet, where it felt like the world didn’t exist outside this motorhome.

Franco shifted slightly, nuzzling deeper into my lap. I thought he was fully asleep until his voice broke the silence, soft and raspy.

“Te amo,” he murmured, his eyes barely open, heavy with exhaustion.

My heart skipped a beat. He’d said it before, but hearing it now, with his defenses down, made it feel different. I glanced down, expecting to see him fully asleep, but instead, those green eyes peeked up at me through his lashes, tired but full of something deeper.

I felt a rush of warmth fill my chest. “I love you too,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead again, my fingers gently running through his hair.

His eyes fluttered shut at the kiss, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Más que a nada en el mundo…” he mumbled, his voice trailing off into sleep, the weight of his words lingering between us like a quiet promise.

I stayed like that, holding him close as he drifted off completely, my hand still in his hair, thinking about how easy it was to love him—especially in moments like this.

[aurumalatus]

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 2.1k

genre/warnings. princess!reader, knight!kinich, slight enemies to lovers (not really, they just argue but idk the term for that tbh LOL), pixelprincess!au

summary.

ever since he became your personal guard, you've found kinich to be a royal pain in your ass. you've always assumed he felt the same, until the night of your matching ball. now, you're not sure what this burning in your chest means after all.

author's note. this is a drabble as part of a universe that i'm calling pixelprincess (knight!kinich x princess!reader). i don't really have a full fic planned for this or anything, i just have a bunch of small headcanons about them and i love aus so feel free to scream about them with me HAHA. thank you for reading! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

If there’s one thing you can definitively say about Kinich, it’s that he’s not stupid.

Honestly, you could say a lot of things. You’ve heard the rumors just like everyone else, about the fearsome Captain of the Guard who passed training within a single day. They whisper that he holds a dragon’s power in his heart, a fact that strikes fear into any nation that dares encroach upon your territory. His reputation precedes him, and he’s somewhat of a mystery to the general public—most of them envision him as a hero, the key to the nation’s defense.

If there’s another thing you can definitively say about Kinich, it’s that sometimes, you wish he was stupid.

The castle always feels larger during the summer, when the sunlight bathes the interior with gold and the halls bustle with movement during the day. Guards and aides rush in every direction, though none of them seem to spare a glance in your direction; there’s simply far too much to pay attention to today.

The maids are replacing the vases with fresh flora, Brilliant Chrysanthemums and Saurian Claw Succulents that make the room seem brighter, discussing which configuration looks the best. You know them all, of course; growing up within the castle meant that these women had practically raised you. Even as an adult, it’s hard to escape them when they feel like pinching your cheeks and reminiscing on old times.

Sensing the coast is clear, you crack the door open another millimeter, carefully slipping into the hall and blending in with the crowd. The maids, luckily, don’t notice, still fussing over petals and stems. You’d calculated this time exactly—right now, the guard patrol should be across the castle, checking the entrances before the ball tonight. If your information wasn’t wrong, then you should have just enough time to make it to the servants’ passages, and then out to the garden—

“Oh?”

The familiar voice makes you murmur some choice curse words under your breath. Of course, the dark-haired man in front of you is always several steps ahead of everyone. He’s leaning against the stone wall, looking entirely too pleased with himself, as if he knows something you don’t.

“Princess,” Kinich greets, bowing his head despite how you wave him off—you’ve never been one for formalities. “What are you doing here?”

“Just taking a walk.”

You move at a brisk pace past him, but Kinich is faster—he always is, the annoying bastard. Before you can turn the corner, there’s the blade of a greatsword blocking your path. No matter how much you see it, you’re always surprised by the size of the damn thing—you’re shocked he can even lift it as it is. A half-smirk rests on his lips when you gasp.

“Taking a walk away from your lessons? I do believe your teacher’s room is in the opposite direction.”

The annoying thing about Kinich is that he truly knows everything, including your schedules. He’s thorough to a near fault, though you suppose that that’s exactly the kind of person who would be fit for Captain of the Guard. Still, you duck under his sword, unwilling to make eye contact.

“Lessons are tomorrow. I have other plans today.”

Kinich falls into step beside you, and the halls are suddenly clear of people—the crowd parts before you, a stubborn rock among a rushing river. You’re unsure if it’s due to your status, or due to your temper—it’s a well-known fact in the castle that Kinich can get you wound up quite quickly.

“And what might these other plans be?” 

He always has too many damn questions, you think. Silently, you curse your father for assigning him to you. A series of attempts on your life last year had made him paranoid, and he’d been quick to promote the strongest knight as your personal guard. Back then, you’d been fooled just like everyone else into thinking that Kinich was some kind of serious, straight-laced hero. Instead, you’d since discovered that he was seriously annoying.

“Can I guess?” he asks, deftly dodging past the maids carrying bundles of tablecloths and the waiters carrying sky-high stacks of platters. 

“No, you can’t. In fact, you can’t even ask. I should have you executed for that.”

Kinich raises a brow, amused. “The Queen would never let that happen.”

And, unfortunately, he’s correct. Your mother absolutely adores Kinich as if he were her own son, and it irritates you to no end—especially when she heavy-handedly suggests that you make him your groom. The door to the back stairwell falls into view, so you break into a jog as you reach the end of the hall, but he’s right on your heel.

If I can just make it to the stairs…

Kinich steps in front of you again, not allowing you an inch further, and you nearly scream in frustration.

“If I didn’t know any better—”

You scoff. “And you, in fact, don’t know anything—”

“—I would say that you’re trying to avoid going to the ball.”

And, once again, you wish that just once Kinich would let something fly over his head.

Utterly defeated, you collapse into one of the plush chairs nearby, fanning your face. Kinich stands over you, a bit tense, as if he thinks you’re going to try to run again. You won’t; at this point, you’re too tired.

“So what if I am?” you finally admit. “You always complain about them anyway. I find it a little unfair that you’re allowed to and I’m not.”

As great as he is at his job as a guard, Kinich isn’t so great at facing the public, despite how popular he is among them (particularly the women). Whenever he can, he avoids social events like the plague, often volunteering to run perimeter duty as a precaution rather than attending with you. You, unfortunately, don’t have that luxury.

Kinich sighs, resting his weight on his sword. “I don’t complain, it’s just annoying when everyone is so loud and—”

You snap your fingers, interrupting and pointing at him accusingly. “You hear that? What you were just doing? That’s called complaining.”

Realizing he was caught in the act, Kinich rolls his eyes. “How very profound of you. If you put that much effort into your escape routes, maybe you would’ve made it this time.”

Your gaze narrows. “How about I stick a profound fist up your a—”

“Kinich? Is that you?”

The booming voice makes you both straighten up instantly. Kinich smoothly sheaths his sword, saluting to the king as he makes his way down the hall. You’re far less graceful about it, gathering up your skirts messily and quickly curtseying to your father. 

“Your Highness,” you both echo.

If your father notices the tension between the two of you, he doesn’t say so; he looks as jolly as always, even more so because of the event today. He’s the social type, a trait you unfortunately did not inherit.

“Just the two people I was hoping to see,” he laughs, a full-bodied sound that booms from his chest. “I’m glad that the two of you get along so well.”

To your irritation, Kinich smirks, while you offer your father a thin-lipped smile.

“Of course,” you lie, sneakily jabbing your guard in the ribs. He coughs. “We get along like a house on fire.”

“That’s good,” your father says, nodding encouragingly. “You’ll both do well later tonight then.”

Your heart drops at the thought of attending the event. You know how long your parents have been planning this, and how long they’ve been practically begging you to find a companion. It’s all a long-winded scheme to find you a princely partner, and not one that you particularly appreciate—a great majority of the princes you’ve met are far too full of themselves. You truly have no interest in any of them.

Kinich, however, pointedly clears his throat at your father’s wording.

“Both of us?” he asks, enunciating slowly. “I’m not sure I follow, sir.”

You perk up in interest—that detail had been lost on you.

“I invited several princes from neighboring nations today,” your father says, eyeing you with a pitying stare. You try not to feel offended. “I want my daughter to find someone suitable for her, no matter who that may be. Still, I was hoping you could attend with her this time? I know it’s not your favorite, but I would feel uncomfortable with her being around so many strangers alone.”

Kinich’s smirk falters, and he suddenly falls still. You wonder if he’s irritated by the prospect of attending the ball at your side. 

(Distantly, you wonder why the thought of that makes you feel a bit ill.)

The silence grows awkward, and you rock on your heels, searching for something to say. Your guard looks a bit lost for words, likely because he wasn’t prepared for so much social interaction today. You can’t really blame him—if you were in his shoes, you wouldn’t be thrilled either.

“Actually, Your Highness, that won’t be necessary.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull at Kinich’s reply, but you hurry to control your expression, unwilling to give anything away to your father. The king raises a brow.

“And why is that?” he asks.

Kinich gnaws on his lip, an action that is wholly unlike him—you don’t think you’ve ever seen him appear nervous about anything in his life. Still, he meets your father’s gaze head on, coughs once, then says:

“The princess isn’t feeling well. I think it’d be best if she didn’t attend the ball today.”

He nudges your foot just as your father’s gaze drifts to you, and you thank your lucky stars that you did inherit your mother’s dramatics. You throw a hand over your forehead, fanning yourself aggressively.

“Since this morning,” you explain, looking as pitiful as possible, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Thank the archons Kinich was here, otherwise I might’ve fainted earlier.”

And you really do feel guilty when your father’s eyes well up with tears of worry.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he cries, then turns to one of his aides in a panic. “Call the doctor! Have him attend to her immediately. And announce that she’ll be absent from our festivities tonight.”

You force yourself to hide your smile at his announcement. Your eyes flicker over to Kinich, but for once, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit amused—in fact, he still looks troubled. Your father fusses over you for a bit longer, asking a series of questions about what you’d eaten and who you’d been in contact with. You answer as honestly as you can—the least you can do—and then he directs Kinich to escort you back to your room.

The hallway seems to empty out quickly after that display, and then it’s just you and your guard. For some reason, he seems to avoid your eyes. He doesn’t speak, merely offering you his arm, and after a moment, you take it. 

“So, what changed your mind?” you ask, unwilling to let him sit in silence. He looks displeased by your question, but answers anyway.

“Nothing,” he says, expression blank, “I just didn’t think you should go to the ball tonight.”

The tips of his ears are flushed red, you note. Liar. 

Still, Kinich keeps countless secrets that you’re sure you’ll never know, and you suppose it doesn’t really matter why he decided to let you off the hook tonight. Really, you’re just grateful you’ll get to sleep peacefully with no stinking princes breathing down your neck. The thought makes you smile as you finally reach your bedroom door.

“Well, what a shame it is,” you sigh sarcastically, turning the knob, “I could’ve been dancing the night away with the love of my life. Now I might never meet him.”

The corner of Kinich’s lip twitches.

“As if,” he replies gruffly, a touch too fast. “You wouldn’t like any of them anyway. They’re not nearly capable of handling you.”

Your eyes narrow, irritated by the implication. “And you are?”

He raises a brow in response. “Aren’t I?”

It comes out uncharacteristically soft. A switch seems to flip in the room, and you suddenly start feeling sick for real—it’s too hot, too quiet. Kinich’s stare weighs on you heavily, and you get lost in the depth of it. You freeze where you are, bedroom door half-open, and you can almost pick out the meaning in his words when he turns away, clearing his throat.

“Goodnight, princess,” he murmurs over his shoulder. “Sweet dreams, and…get well soon.”

He makes his exit without another word, and you wonder if he’s still working tonight. Is he still going to guard the ball? The perimeter? What if one of the other princesses takes a liking to him—

You huff, deciding you don’t care and slamming the door shut. The ball is bound to be a drag, and you find Kinich annoying, you think as you fall into bed. You’re happy about this arrangement. Overjoyed, even.

Yes, you find Kinich very annoying.

…Don’t you?

[pixiecaps]

(Context: Foolish was playing Deadlock with Ellum and Cellbit and got called by BBH from Twitchcon.)

BBH: Do you want to talk to, uh, I got a fan say that they’re your number one fan. Do you want to talk to them?

Foolish: Yeah no, I would love to talk to my number one fan.

BBH: Alright, I’m going to hand it over, okay?

Foolish: Okay.

Roier: A ver hijo de tu puta.

(Foolish laughs.)

Foolish: Hola!!

Roier: Qué pasó cabrón? Qué andas haciendo, eh?

Foolish: Hola, hola pendejo!

Roier: Qué pasó pendejo-

Foolish: (Speaking over each other) Mi numero, mi numero uno-

Roier: Por qué no- Por qué no viniste a San Diego Twitchcon, eh? Por qué? Por qué?

Foolish: Ohh. Lo siento.

Roier: Por qué pendejo, por qué pendejo?

Foolish: Uhh yo necesito- (Roier keeps talking over him)

Roier: Por qué? Responde. Responde hijo de tu puta madre.

Foolish: Yo necesito- Puta madre? Chinga tu madre, chinga tu madre!

(Roier laughs.)

Roier: Aye, Foolish.

Foolish: Hello.

Roier: Pendejo, pendejo, pendejo, pendejo.

Foolish: Listen I-

BBH: Oh! It’s me again. Sorry.

Foolish: Oh damn.

-

(Foolish then talks to Tina over the phone and it gets handed back to Roier.)

Foolish: That’s a fun meetup going on there.

Tina: Anyways here’s your bestie!

Foolish: Wait, which one’s my bestie?

Roier: (Gets handed phone) Hello?

Foolish: Ah, fuck. Hello.

Roier: Hello, pendejo. Hey, come right now. Come right now, come right now.

Foolish: Right now? You want me to come?

Roier: I’m going to wait you here- What? Cum?

Foolish: That’s- I just said the same thing you said.

Roier: No, no, come here. Come here.

Foolish: Yeah! Exactly. Uh, ahora.

Roier: Ahora, ahora. Right now.

Foolish: Uhh.. espera. Espera para mi.

Roier: Okay, sí, sí, sí. Aqui te espero.

Foolish: Un momento, un momento. Uh. Uhh.

Roier: Sí?

Foolish: Busco, uhh, busco una- un aeropuerta. (Correcting himself) Aeropuerto.

Roier: Un aeropuerto, aeropuerto?

Foolish: Sí, sí, sí.

Roier: O voy a tu casa.

Foolish: Ahh- voy? Oh! Mi casa?

Roier: Sí, tu casa.

Foolish: Ooh. Sí, sí.

Roier: Y te mato, y te mato.

Foolish: Sí- “Mato”?

Roier: Te voy a matar.

Foolish: “Matar”? To kill me?!

Roier: Te voy a matar, te voy a matar. Sí.

Foolish: What? QUÉ?! POR QUÉ?

Roier: Porque- Porque no viniste.

Foolish: (Trying to understand) “No me viste”? Cause I didn’t visit you?

Roier: (Repeating) No viniste. No viniste.

Foolish: No me viste?

Roier: Viniste!

Foolish: No entiendo.

Roier: Okay, fuck you Foolish. Fuck you. Fuck you Foolish!

Foolish: Woah, woah! You can’t just give up! (Laughs)

BBH: (Gets the phone back.) So you had fun talking to your number one fan?

Foolish: Uh, yeah. He was a little aggressive but.

BBH: No, no, he loves you.

-

(Missa gets the phone next.)

Missa: Hey Foolish!

Foolish: Hello? Hello! Missa!!!

Missa: How’s it going?

Foolish: Oh my goodness.

Missa: I just want to tell you that I miss you and love you. And I-

Foolish: I love you too.

Missa: I just bought something because I thought it was going to- I was going to look at you in the eyes today but I didn’t so.

Foolish: Oh. Oh. Uhh.

Missa: But it’s alright. I just want to tell you that I love you and that’s it.

Foolish: Oh. (Laughs) Okay, listen. Maybe tomorrow.

Missa: Really??

Foolish: No. (Laughs)

Missa: Is that- Is that a promise?

Foolish: Uhhh, yes. Yes. A Christmas promise.

Missa: (Excited) I can’t- OoOohh. Okay. Okay. Thank you so much. Thank you so much.

Foolish: Yes, yes no problem. No problem.

Missa: I’ll see you tomorrow.

Foolish: Yeah, see you tomorrow man. See you tomorrow.

Missa: Yeah! See you tomorrow! See ya!

Roier: (Imitating Missa) Foolish, Foolish, Foolish. Fuck you Foolish.

Foolish: Woah?! Woah!

Roier: Fuck you Foolish.

Foolish: Woah!

Roier: Fuck you Foolish.

Foolish: That’s crazy!

Missa: IT’S NOT ME! THAT’S NOT ME!

Foolish: Oh, that was someone else?

Roier: (Still imitating) That’s me, Missa. That’s me, that’s me, Missa.

Foolish: Wait, Missa? Missa, what in the world.

Roier: Missa, yes. This is me, Missa. Fuck you.

Foolish: How could you say that? How could you say that, Missa? You just said you love me.

Roier: (??) and you smell like shit. You smell like shit now. I changed my opinion. I changed my opinion on you.

Foolish: Okay, you’re a bad guy. You’re a bad guy.

Roier: No, you’re a bad guy. You didn’t come to see me.

(Foolish laughs.)

Roier: To see MissaSinfonia.

Foolish: I had no clue you were gonna be there.. Missa!

Roier: No, I’m not going to be here anymore. Goodbye.

Foolish: Okay, goodbye.

(Audio cuts a bunch.)

Missa: (Imitating) Hey, I’m Roier right now. On the phone.

Foolish: Oh! Hello, Roier.

Missa: So, that’s my voice, yeah. I’m from Mexico. I eat tacos and stuff.

(Foolish laughs.)

Missa: I am Roier. I don’t have- I don’t have (Laughs) A piece of my intestine- I don’t even know what is the problem with Roier but yeah I’m Roier.

Foolish: Yeah, his stomach. His stomach is always, you know, always pooping. Always pooping.

Missa: It is, right? I’m so weird, I’m Roier. Yeah.

Foolish: (Laughs) Dude, that’s crazy.

Missa: Or as I say all the time, pendejo!

Foolish: Oh my goodness, Roier! It is you!

Missa: That’s me! That’s me as you can tell.

Foolish: Pendejo, pendejo.

Missa: See you! See you, Foolish.

Foolish: Oh, goodbye Roier!

Missa: I miss you!

Foolish: I miss you too man.

Missa: Have a good oneee!

Foolish: (Laughs) Thank you. Thank you have a good night.

Missa: Bye bye!!!

Foolish: Goodbye, Roier!

(The call ends.)

[little-diable]

Crimson River - Tyler Owens (smut)

This came to me while overthinking a situation I'm currently stuck in lol. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader and Tyler have been chatting online for months, and now it's time for them to finally meet in real life. Porn with some plot

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, some spitting, full on fluff

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader (2.5k words)

“So, when will I get to share these songs with you face to face?” Her thumbs were hovering over her keyboard, eyes flickering from his text to her calendar. (Y/n)’s heart was pounding, beating in her chest while her teeth tugged on her lower lip.

It could be easy, too easy almost. 

“How’s the weekend looking for you, you busy tornado wrangler?” Heat shot to her cheeks, leaving her to burn up while putting down her phone. This was crazy, and yet she couldn’t find it in herself to back down, not when she could finally meet him.

Him, the guy she had been texting for months now.

Him, the guy she had first bonded over music with, sharing a similar taste. 

Him, the guy whose every storm chasing stream she had watched ever since he had shared more about himself with her. 

“If it means I get to see you, I’ll hold it free, sweetheart.” A chuckle broke out of her. (Y/n) deeply exhaled before shaking her head at her screen. This was crazy, but the best kind of crazy, something she desperately needed to rip herself out of her daily routine. 

“Count me in, I’ll book my flights now.”

……

Her thoughts were racing, just like her heart. (Y/n) moved with the big crowd, knowing that she was about to step out into the arrivals hall, where he was already waiting for her. She was unable to shake the heat sticking to her, still not fully realising that she was about to cross paths with the man she had been in touch with for months without ever meeting him. 

And then she instantly saw him, eyes drawn to him like a moth to a flame, a gravitational field that left her buzzing in excitement. His strong arms found their way around her, pressing (y/n) against him while she sank into the hug. 

“I can’t believe you’re finally here.” With a kiss pressed to her temple, Tyler let go of her to reach for her bag. She could only smile up at him, taking in the handsome face she had seen on her screen too many times to count.

“Thank you for picking me up.” (Y/n) tried to rip her gaze from him, eyes set on the crowd he directed her through with one hand placed on her lower back. Her mind picked apart every little detail, their height difference, the scent of his cologne she’d probably never forget again, the way his warm hand felt pressed against her back. All of it left her buzzing, tingling in excitement. 

Only as she found herself sitting in his truck did she allow herself to relax and breathe. Tyler had instantly managed to lure her into a conversation, making her feel as if they had met up numerous times before today. And yet (y/n) still struggled to realise that this was really happening, that she was so close to the handsome man she had fostered a crush on for quite some time now. 

“I thought tonight we could go for something slow, maybe watch a movie? And tomorrow you’ll get to meet the crew.” He shot her one of his signature smiles, hand finding her thigh for a second. The touch felt intimate, shooting heat straight to the spot while her mind hyper fixated on the way electricity kept pushing through her as if lighting kept hitting her over and over again. 

“That sounds perfect, thank you.” She could already tell that a weekend was not nearly enough, parting again would hurt more than she could even imagine at that very moment. 

……

The screen of his TV kept flickering on, casting shadows in the spacey living room. It had been a while since they had arrived at his place. Both had opted for some downtime first before they’d get to cooking and sharing a meal. Even though she was slowly adjusting to being around Tyler, it still felt somewhat surreal, like a dream she’d be ripped from too soon.

“Hey, are you okay?” She had her feet pressed against his thigh, eyes flickering to them as Tyler softly squeezed her skin. The touch made her sink further into the couch, hoping that the way he made her feel wasn’t all that obvious to Tyler. But the smirk slowly tugging on his lips told her that he was all too aware of the way she struggled to hold it together, unable to speak much. 

Only a hum broke through (y/n), a sound that turned into a quiet gasp the second he tugged on her feet to place her legs over his thighs. One of his hands found space between her knees, grabbing her flesh while the other settled on top. 

How in God's name was she supposed to survive this? 

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” Tyler stopped the movie without taking his eyes off her features. She couldn’t help but wonder how he was already able to read her that well, how he managed to pick up on micro expressions even her closest friends would most likely miss. 

“It’s just surreal, all of this, finally talking to you and being close to you. I knew we’d get along well, but,” the rest of her sentence was lost in the quietness of the room. Tyler’s thumb stroked along the fabric of her trousers, patiently watching her.

“But this is different.” He finally managed to finish her sentence, unable to bite down the smile both couldn’t shake now. “I know what you mean, I was hoping it’d work that well like it does when we text, but this is so much better.” 

Another hum left (y/n), she pulled her legs from his grasp to shift around, finding confidence in the way he had just expressed what she had also been feeling. Slowly, carefully almost, (y/n) placed her head against his chest, instantly pulled closer by the arm finding its way around her. Tyler pressed a kiss to her hairline before he started the movie again, unable to see the bright smile she now wore, perfectly matching his.

……

(Y/n)’s legs were dangling off the kitchen counter, eyes following Tyler around as he cooked for them. Music was filling the kitchen, playing a playlist both had crafted over the past months, their own personal blend. Ever since their moment on the couch, both had been unable to shake their smiles, hearts racing in sync. 

“Here, do you like that?” Tyler found himself settling between her thighs, looking at her while pushing the spoon past her parted lips. The moment had something awfully intimate to it, pushing heat through both of them. (Y/n) could only nod her head, not noticing how her legs had loosely found their way around his thighs, keeping him close.

Tyler’s thumb found her mouth, brushing away a bit of sauce clinging to her skin, a touch that made her breath hitch in her chest. She kept looking at him, getting lost in the piercing eyes that had seen more tragic glimpses of this life than (y/n) could ever imagine, and yet they were filled with a burning longing. 

For a few more seconds they kept holding eye contact, torn apart by his phone timer going off. Tyler had to clear his throat before he could focus on finishing dinner, trying not to pay her intense gaze any of his attention. He knew all too well that he was close to snapping, close to crossing the last line between them to press his lips against hers.

But as much as Tyler wanted to kiss her, to taste her like he had done numerous times in his dreams, he knew that he should take things slow. He didn’t want to push things too far on their first night together, all Tyler was focused on was seeing her comfortable and happy.

“We could eat outside if you want, stars should be out by now.” Her heart was close to jumping out of her chest, freed by the heat his words made her feel. Months ago he had shared a picture of the starry sky he was fortunate enough to look at whenever he was home, a sight that had left her to confess that she desperately wanted to see them too.  

“Thank you, Tyler.” (Y/n)’s words carried more meaning than he picked up on, not seeing through the adoration swimming in her pupils. 

……

“Tyler.” (Y/n) mumbled his name, eyes set on his features. They were still sitting on the bench outside his home, sharing a blanket to keep them shielded from the cold night. His eyes flickered down to meet hers, patiently waiting for her to keep on speaking. “Will you finally kiss me?”

Her words drew a loud laugh from him, he shook his head at (y/n) who could only grin up at him. Tyler’s hand found her cheek, wordlessly asking her to keep on looking at him while his eyes wandered over her features, “And here I was trying to be a gentleman.”

(Y/n)’s reply was lost on the tip of her tongue as he dipped his head down. Tyler’s lips ghosted over her’s, drawing a soft whine out of (y/n) as he kept a small distance between them. Only as her hand found his jacket, tugging on the fabric to pull him closer, did he properly kiss her. 

The kiss shot shudders down her spine, making hairs rise on her forearms while shuffling closer. Within moments she found herself straddling his lap, front pressed against his to cross any distance still lingering between them like two lonely ships crossing the sea to find back to one another, guided by nothing but their need to be close. 

Their lips moved perfectly together, the kiss wasn't rushed, but it was fuelled by their longing which had grown stronger over the past months. Tyler’s hands settled on her waist, fingers toying with the hemline of her sweater, set on feeling her warm skin pressed against his. For a moment they broke apart, grasping onto new air to fill their burning lungs. 

“Stop me anytime you want, sweetheart.” (Y/n) searched his lips again, not giving Tyler a chance to speak another word while his hands found her burning up skin. Her wandering fingers found his hairs, brushing through them to draw a moan from Tyler, a sound that vibrated on her lips and through her whole body. 

He didn’t speak a warning as he suddenly stood up, holding onto (y/n) to carry her back inside. With her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist, she let him carry her inside and towards his bedroom. Both were heavily breathing after pulling apart, chests rising and falling while chuckles broke out of them.

(Y/n) let him pull her sweater over her head, exposing her bra to his wandering eyes. The groan rumbling through Tyler made her grin, letting her hands reach for his belt loops to pull him closer, expertedly undoing his belt, “I know we should take this slow, but I really need you to fuck me now after all these months.”

“You’re killing me, sweetheart.” Their eyes held contact as she freed his hardening cock, letting his trousers drop to the ground. Tyler’s moans spurred her on, allowing her to marvel at the handsome man while pumping his length a few times. But Tyler didn’t have the patience to drag this out long enough, he gave her a push back, tugged her trousers and panties down her legs while (y/n) undid her bra. “You’re the prettiest sight, fuck, I’m the luckiest man.”

“Says you, I mean look at you.” She could only stare at him as the rest of his clothing was dropped, exposing his abs and his muscular chest – all while his fingers began to wander up her legs. He pressed kisses to her soft skin, sucking on her flesh as his fingertips ghosted over her warm folds, feeling her arousal already sticking to her skin. 

Tyler kept his gaze on her features as he spat down on her heat, spreading his saliva on her warm skin. He circled her pulsing bundle a few times to draw soft moans from (y/n), needing to hear them as if they were his favourite drug, high on her sounds. For a second, he parted from her to find a condom, to roll it down his cock, and to brush his tip through her folds. 

“Look at me, sweetheart.” (Y/n) looked up at Tyler, feeling herself getting choked up from the way he looked at her. Something she’d only be able to describe as love swam in his pupils – a love so intense it only grew stronger as he pushed into her. Her eyes instantly fluttered shut at the sensation, fingernails scratching at his skin, walls fluttering around him. Tyler held still for a second, giving her time to adjust before he dipped his head down to kiss her.

Their bodies met with every thrust, allowing (y/n) to feel him deep inside of her, stretching her with every move. With every contact even more sinful sounds began to claw through them, reverberating through his bedroom like a song woven together from shared experiences and unspoken longings. 

“You feel so good, fuck, Tyler.” Her words left him chuckling, he kissed his way down her throat, finding the spots that made her arch her back while she tightened the grasp of her legs around his waist. Tyler was fully focused on making her cum first, needing to watch her fall over the edge while knowing that he was the reason for the sweet sensation she was about to get tangled up in. 

“Touch yourself, sweetheart, make yourself cum on my cock.” Tyler’s voice grew raspier and lower with every syllable he spoke. Both were staring at one another, wordlessly telling them that they were ready to let go any moment now. Her fingers moved fast, giving herself the needed push with his name bleeding from her lips.

Tyler found himself falling in love with (y/n) some more as she came, eyes taking in every inch of her pleasure drunken features. He gave it a few more thrusts before he came, letting go with a groan while (y/n) kept clinging to him. 

“Christ, you’re perfect.” He pressed another kiss to her lips before pulling out. And at that moment, Tyler knew that he’d have to confess his feelings soon. Not tonight, perhaps not tomorrow morning, but the love bleeding from the tip of his tongue like a crimson river would pave the way for their following time together soon enough.

[bpmiranda]

Teacher/authority figure hugh please please!!

Follow My Lead (Hugh Jackman) nsfw

A/N: teacher!hugh, dancer!reader, virgin!reader, age gap, hugh is in his mid 40s in this one, 20+ f!reader, power imbalance, sir kink, unprotected sex

Landing a role in this particular broadway show was an honor beyond imaginable. You had worked incredibly hard to get to this place in your career and you couldn’t be more overjoyed, or so you thought. Apparently, Hugh Jackman was a co-director of choreography for this show and that meant you and your group would be learning the steps from him. Having been a fan of the X-Men franchise growing up, to say that you were starstruck by him would be an understatement.

“That’s very good, great job, you guys!” Hugh clapped for you and you all beamed happily, you and the girls in your line all turned to each other, giggling and sharing knowing smiles as he walked around and gave everyone a few pointers to work on for tomorrow as they filtered out. Your eyes locked with him and he gave you a charming grin as he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, is that right?” He asked you, leaning in close as if this were to be a private conversation. You give him a small nod, clutching your hands nervously close to your abdomen as he leans into your ear. “You moved so wonderfully today, I truly have no notes to give you.” He whispers and your heart skips a beat as your face warms up. “Perhaps this is a bit of an amateur production for you.”

“Oh, I-I don’t know about that.” You laugh lightly, shaking your head as he looks down at you with a small smirk. “I’m so honored to be here and working with you, sir. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hugh’s tongue peeks out to moisten his lips and he grins at you. “Care to stay behind and run the main number through, just the two of us? We still haven’t found an understudy for the lead woman.”

Your mouth falls slightly in astonishment and you press a hand over your chest, your heart beating hard in your ribcage. “Sir, I-I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure that I’m qualified, I mean-”

“Say yes.” Hugh whispers, his hand falling off your shoulder and down your arm until he squeezes your hand softly.

A breathless sigh falls out of your lips as you nod, looking up at him with doe eyes as you whisper, “Yes.”

After rehearsal had ended, Hugh insisted that you let him take you out for a quick bite so as to regain energy. “Can’t have you goin’ hungry if we’re going to put in some work.” He teased as you walked together to a casual restaurant around the block from the dance studio. Your face couldn’t seem to reach a temperature below hot as he continued teasing and complimenting you during lunch. It simply could not register that you were having dinner with him. “I’ve never seen someone so in tune with the steps, and not even just for your own choreography. I’ve noticed you counting the steps for the main number during full show runs.” He comments and you simply wave him off.

“Oh, please, I’m sure there are others in the class better than me. I just absolutely adore dancing and the choreography you’ve written is a gorgeous depiction of the story and the feelings of these characters.” Your hand inadvertently touches his as you gush and Hugh smiles at you.

“Well, leave it to you to know about gorgeous.” He says as he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. Again, your face warms up and you look away shyly. “Shall we get back?” He asks and you nod, almost too eager to spend one on one time with him.

It’s hard work, much harder and far more intimate than the background choreography you usually run. Hugh stands in for the part of the man who is gazing in bewilderment at the female lead before he jumps in to join her. The steps to the dance are quick tempo, fun and light hearted at the start. Hugh spins you around, he lifts you mid jump before you continue down the stage. Then the steps become slower, more intimate as the characters fall in love. Hugh’s hand runs down your back, guiding you around the stage, your eyes locked together while you breathed heavily. The man can’t let her go, he can’t have their dance finish before he confesses his love for her while she tries to fight against the fall, remembering there are other expectations of her than to simply dance, responsibilities much larger that would be cast aside if she fell head first into a romance. The music is dying down as Hugh suddenly stops, his hand still on the small of your back as you get in position for the big kiss which solidifies that the characters have fallen for each other.

There is a moment where you wonder if you’ll actually kiss, but you don’t want to mistakenly cross a boundary. “How was that, sir?” You find yourself asking, breathless from the dance and he glances at your lips. Your arms are trapped between your bodies and you settle your hands on his chest which rises and falls with his own heavy breathing.

His deep green eyes snap back onto yours and he smiles. “You’re a natural.” One of his hands comes up to your cheek and you inhale sharply as he smirks. “You’re really responsive to being led which is great for dancing.” He says, his other hand moves onto your hip and you inhale shakily. “It’s great for other things too.” His tone is heavy with suggestion and you feel your face warm up.

“Sir, I-should we-” You’re cut off by him suddenly kissing you, his lips are domineering and you all to eagerly give into him. One of your hands moves up his chest and over his shoulder as he blindly guides you backstage, your ass hits a table and he’s quick to sit you down on it. Without a thought, he pulls your blouse up and you let him take it off, shivering as he kisses your chest while undoing your bra clasp.

“You want a shot at that big role, sweetheart?” He asks against your breasts as you run your hands along his beard and you distinctly hear the buckle of his belt lightly jangling between you. Your body reacts to his words, your thighs clench around his waist and he chuckles. “It could be yours based on pure talent, but I can make certain it happens.” He whispers and you shake your head.

“I don’t need it,” You breathe out, biting your lip as you quickly lift yourself up so he can tug your leggings and jazz shoes off. “Not as much as I need you, sir.” You confess and he grins.

Hugh kisses you, hard, as he steps back between your legs and you run your hands up his shirt to feel on his toned, hairy chest. “Love how you keep calling me that.” He groans as he removes his t-shirt for you and you smile bashfully. “Such a polite little thing, aren’t you?” He teases as his fingers rub at your clit, prods at your entrance and he groans from how wet you are already. “You want this?”

“Yes, sir.” You sigh as you feel the head of his cock rub between your folds. You hook one arm around his shoulders while caressing his jaw, bringing his lips back to yours as he firmly places his hands onto the table behind you, pushing himself into your tight pussy. A sharp inhale catches his attention and he smirks.

“You a virgin?” He asks curiously and you shyly nod, looking at him with such a submissive gaze he can’t help the twitch in his cock and you whine softly. “Fuck, how’s that possible?” He grunts, pumping slowly and deeply into you, his lips attaching to your neck while you moan in his ear. “You’re so damn gorgeous.”

“Just-uh-waiting for-oh, my god-the right guy.” You whimper, holding tightly onto him as your walls coat him in a sheen of your arousal. It’s embarrassing how eager you are, how wet you get for him, but Hugh is crazy for it. Crazy for you.

“Want me to be that guy, sweetheart?” He asks, his forehead resting against yours, his lips kissing you softly as you nod desperately while your lower belly tenses. “Yeah? Want me to make you cum?”

“Yes, sir, please!” You mewl against his lips and he groans as he presses himself flush to your cervix, one hand squeezing tightly onto your hip, and you suddenly gush all around his cock. It surprises the both of you that you squirt, and Hugh can’t help the breathless gasp that falls from his mouth.

“Shit, baby.” He groans, smiling to himself quite proudly.

“Fuck!” You cry out, breathing heavily as he leans further over you, his hand pressing you into him by your back as you hang onto him and let him fuck himself into your sopping cunt. Hugh growls lowly against your neck as he quickly pulls out and unloads his release onto your thigh, his body jolts and his arms flex from the force. His hand squeezes your other thigh tightly as he milks himself onto you, groaning softly as you caress his shoulders and watch him, all dazed and high on the endorphins that cloud your mind. It’s quite a sight seeing him, the Hugh Jackman, so vulnerable here with you. “Was that-was I good?” You ask, swallowing hard as you steady your breathing. Hugh cups your face in his large hands to kiss you sweetly, making you whimper against his mouth.

“A natural, sweetheart. Is there anything you can’t do?” He teases and you laugh softly, sighing contently as he pulls away from you. “Come home with me?” He asks you as he grabs the towel he had been using during rehearsals to wipe your leg off and you nod, smiling sweetly at him.

“Yes, sir.” You say, earning a chuckle from him.

While writing this one, I realized I enjoy the sir kink a whole lot more than I thought🤭

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12 @shybluebirdninja @iamburdened

[barcaatthemoon]

“i’d like u to spend the week with me” , lucy bronze :)

communicative || lucy bronze x reader ||

Getting back together with Lucy was weird. It had been almost 15 year since you had broken up. Both of you had been through a lot since then and had many opportunities to become different people. And in some ways, you were both completely different, but some things never changed. It seemed like there were some habits neither of you could shake, and for Lucy, the one that stuck out the most was how pouty she tended to get.

"Stop looking at me like that," you said as you glanced at Lucy's reflection. You were getting ready for your first little interview since you'd announced as the head coach for England's rugby team.

"Like what? I'm not doing anything, that's just my face," Lucy huffed. You turned around to fully face her, knowing that wasn't the case. Lucy was pouting at you, just like she had been since you told her that you were going back to your place at the end of today.

"No, you're pouting because you want something that you're too proud to admit. I won't play this guessing game anymore, just say what you want from me," you told her. Lucy glanced down for a moment, almost like she was embarrassed. "Come on, we both have to communicate, and now it's your turn."

"I don't want you to leave. It's like you just got here, and so much of your time has been taken up by everybody else. I'd like you to spend the week with me, that's all." Lucy bit her lip as she waited for your reaction. The first time around, Lucy had been terrified of being clingy with you, so she pushed you away. You were secure enough in yourself now that she couldn't do that, not when it had factored so heavily into your breakup before.

"I still have to run home and grab some clothes, but I'll come back. Better yet, you can take me tomorrow after your practice is over. See how easy it is to get your way when you don't act like a little baby?" you asked teasingly. Lucy scoffed and sat up to tug you into bed with her. She was about to try and make out with you, but you reluctantly stopped her. "I'm not redoing my makeup, nor do I trust you to fix what you fuck up."

"Fine, but I want kisses when you're done."

[andcars]

# 𝗙𝗖𝟰𝟯 ─── MAKE IT UP OFF-TRACK MASTERLIST . . . REQUEST ME . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3

YOU'VE RACED WITH HIM AND you've been under him. still, it hurts you when he outqualifies you. it almost hurts as much when you both still think you're just fuck buddies. ────── original prompt req.

PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “You’ve been staring for a while” PROMPTED TAGS . . . # praise kink, rivalry, friends with benefits, jealousy ADD. TAGS . . . # quickie vibes, sex in the hospitality, author has a language kink, but also deepl translations WORD COUNT. . . # 1.6k

────── AO3 VERSION

P11. Fucking P11.

Everyone else is in the garage as you come in, all angry and disappointed. You were tenth of a second behind P10 and you weren't able to push it on the last lap because you went off track limits.

What’s done is done. You can’t work with a car that clearly doesn't wanna work with you. The better part of you wants to let this go and simply rest for tomorrow. Call it a day. Think of how to dominate tomorrow. Sleep it off.

But Franco walks to the garage at P7 and proceeding into Q3. The plan gets thrown away immediately.

You don’t hate the guy, of course not. You’ve met him times before when he was still in F2. If, of course, meeting him included hotel rooms and secluded bathrooms. You met him a lot, if so.

It’s not his fault that he’s better than you, as of now. You should be happy, really. But fuck, it should hurt how some rookie is better than you in a car you’ve driven for a year.

Despite all of this anger bubbling in you, you can’t stay mad at him. You could never stay mad at him, you think. Yet it hurts all the same.

You look away as your eyes meet. Not giving him a chance to even confront you or attempt to comfort you, you leave.

It’s pivotal now to talk with your strategist. He’s expecting you, unfortunately. Knowing damn well that your next duty was to come to him to see how to improve your performance, he already had your data pulled up.

Your, and their, wrongs are being talked into your ear and out the other. The farthest screen turns black, and you see Franco in the reflection. His blurred figure is towards you, his panting from the race still evident on him.

It’s difficult to pretend to care about racing right now. It’s not like they say anything different anyway. The rear wings are fucked, the tyres are fucked, the wheel can’t turn, and your head is just in the wrong direction. All the same things said before.

To the driver’s room you go. Q3 starts and you don’t do anything. The TV screen shows the delayed race as the crowd cheers from the opposite sides of the wall. Franco is in danger, with Mercedes finally coming out from the pit—you don’t expect anything more.

After the stretched minutes alone in your room, a knock comes on your door.

You say, “I’ll be out soon, tell James to get some patience,” with your head in your phone. No fucking way you’re going to be dealing with them while you’re still pissed.

The door opened and you grunt. Looking up, Franco was grinning at you.

“I’m also hiding from Jego,” he says, the grin on his face annoying, “can I come in?”

“And we both get caught?” It doesn’t matter what you think, he puts his feet in anyway.

The couch is uncomfortable. If they aren’t spending money on the car, they might as well spend it on the seats. With you laying across the couch, he kneels between your legs. You raise an eyebrow at him as he undresses his fireproof suit.

You ask, “You seriously wanna fuck?” and he laughs.

“¿Me dirás que no? (Will you tell me no?)” he murmurs, getting on top of you with his hips pressing against your ass. “Did you know I placed 6th today?”

“Mhm.”

“No?” He places a kiss on your cheek. “Didn’t watch me? What were you doing in here?”

His lips ghost over your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a small shiver down your fine. You know he felt it when he chuckles in your skin.

“Getting fucked my brains out,” your voice is flat. “What were you doing out there?”

“Ah, amor (love), you won’t get me like that,” he whines and kisses you once in one side. Then twice the other. He says, “You are so mean though, telling me things like this. Do you wish you were with someone else? Hm? ¿No me querés más? (You don’t want me any more?)”

Franco comes up to part your lips open with his tongue. You gasp a little, your arm limp over his back. His mouth wide open, chest pressed against yours, tongue just brushing against your lips, he says—

“Quiero coger. Te quiero comer a besos. Quiero que me hagas tuyo, mi amor. Don’t go making me jealous because you are.” (I want to fuck you. I want to lavish you with kisses. I want you to make me yours, my love)

His hand is gentle on yours, playing on the hem of your pants as his kisses turn wet. Desperate. Loving. It hurts you how careful he is with you when you spent the past hour hating him in your head.

And he’s always so gentle. He always used to ask you if you liked it, his words almost always in Spanish. As if he’s lost in you, he doesn’t know what words to use.

He no longer needs your permission now. A finger rubs between your clothed cunt as his hand pushes your shirt up to hold your tits. He moans more than you, in love with your body.

“So good,” he murmurs, “don’t ever look for anyone else. For me, please?” You moan against his cheek as he focuses on rubbing your clit through your pants. “I can make you feel so good. Amor, I can be yours.”

In moments like this, he’s too drunk on sex to know the words he’s spewing. He reaches for the lube and condom hidden in your desk. His movements are sloppy. You swear he struggles a little in opening the cap up.

He asks you something in Spanish. It’s out of your vocabulary, so you tilt your head.

“I don’t need to prepare you, right? You’re still loose?” You can see his hips grinding against the palm of his hand. His cheeks are flushed, and you see drool coming down his chin. It’s pitiful.

You nod. “Yeah, just give me a bit to adjust if you wanna—fucking hell.” It’s out of your control when you laugh. Franco eagerly shoves his pants down alongside yours.

“What has gotten you so eager?” you ask.

“I got P6,” he smirks. That little fucker.

His cock is rubbered and wet when it enters you. He moans loud as your hand comes to his cheek. It’s catlike, the way he goes soft against your hold.

Shifting slowly, he grinds inside of you. The soft rubbing inside your walls almost has you mewling. But you keep your eyes on him, ignoring the pooling pleasure between your legs.

Telling him, “You’ve been looking at me,” has his lips pouting. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were in love with me.”

“I am in love with you,” your cheeks flush, and you’re not sure if it’s the sudden thrust of his cock or his words. “I’m in love with the way you race, how you over-perform a dying car, how you move.”

His eyes drop to where you two meet, jittering his hips a little. With the quick thrusts, you’re caught off guard and moaning out his name. He looks very satisfied with it.

“Oh, amor—” his words turn gibberish to you as he starts to move. His pace is uneven, driven by the thought to take you carefully and the urge to bring the both of you to climax. Not a single word is getting into your head.

But his voice is so loving. He’s panting between every other word, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed. His voice is getting louder, and you put your hand against his mouth.

“Shut - oh, God… Shut up,” you whine, feeling the cockhead rub against your g-spot. “You’re so fucking… good. Just like that, fuck me.”

He shuts up when he goes down to kiss you. Both his arms wrap around you, embracing you as he finds the right angle to make sure you’re still getting stimulated. His hair is rubbing against your clit, the little tickle in them getting you to moan a little louder.

You feel dizzy. It’s not the lack of air during the kiss, you know it. He’s just holding you close to him while he takes you like you’re his lover. Your heart curls in itself, punishing itself for its own stupidity.

But fuck, you want to focus on the now. The way his hands are going up and down your back, soothing you as you get lost in the pace of his thrusts. The way his body towers over you, completely enveloping you in his hold. 

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, his pace barely slowing as you assume he cums inside of you. You whine when he bottoms inside.

Franco knows you. He knows you too well. He grinds inside of you before pulling out. Still, he doesn’t let you think another thought before he’s flicking your clit.

“Shit, fuck, Franco!” he smiles under your silent praise as his other fingers tease at your hole. “I’m gonna cum too. Just like that. Don’t fucking stop.”

He only leans down to spit on your pussy, easing the rub as you’re moving your hips along him. You cum with your back arched and your hips off the couch. His hand stills on your clit as his eyes are fixated on the way cum leaves your pussy.

You drop back down when he places your hips on his lap. “Don’t get it dirty,” he reminds you, tying the condom and throwing it in the bin. “It’s embarrassing to explain to the cleaners.”

His humour comes in at the worst moments. You grunt and he only laughs. “It’s not even funny. You’re just telling the truth.”

“It’s funnier in Spanish,” he promises.

You think about how it probably sounds just about the same.

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . first time writing for bro ! i'm so open to writing more of him so i added him in my taglist options, so if you wanna be tagged for future fics of him 👀 you know what to do . if you already sent me a form before , you can resend another with him included ! anyways , fixing up the next few fics soon . ˎˊ˗ ᝰ. ──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[bbydoll18xx]

This Is Me Trying

'I just wanted you to know that this is me trying.'

Azzi Fudd x Reader

Based on this request (sorry it took forever lol)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.1k

Themes: depression, mild alcohol abuse, hurt/comfort

A/N: hiii so here i am trying out writing for someone other than Paige, and I really hope you like it! If this is a decent success I may write for other people as well :) And of course it was time to write a fic to go along with my most favorite song of all time (folklore stans rise up)

Lets do thisss

also sorry this is lowkey kinda depressing i am a sad girly

~

Your lack of sleep was showing in deep purple bruises under your eyes that no amount of even the heaviest concealer could adequately cover. You haven't slept well in days, and today’s shift had not helped your exhaustion. The day was filled with incessant neediness, people cussing you out, and an endless amount of shit.

Literally and figuratively. 

You walk into your apartment, just wanting nothing but to fall into Azzi’s warm and loving arms, but you’re met with the still darkness of an empty home. Your girlfriend was in Las Vegas playing against the Aces, and she would not be home until tomorrow afternoon. 

She had promised to call you after the game, but you weren’t sure if you would even make it through your shower, much less wait up for her by the phone for another three hours. 

Your eyes fill with tears, the feeling of overwhelming loneliness mixing with your exhaustion, and as you throw your stuff on the floor, dredging your body into your bathroom, letting the downpour of water drown out your own tears. 

You had become quite accustomed to hiding your feelings behind bright smiles and fake laughs, desperate to clutch onto the need to prove to everyone that you were okay.

Even if you really weren't.

Your girlfriend had enough stress on her, and the idea of her needing to worry about you, too, was enough to send guilt shooting through your entire body. 

You had kept up your facade all throughout college, choosing to take long, solo car rides until you had to pull over, the tears swimming in your eyes nearly blinding you. And when you were strung along to the bars with Azzi and the rest of her teammates, you drowned your sorrows and fears with liquor, numbing your thoughts and your body until you were delirious. 

You were the golden girl. 

You knew what jokes to crack for which group of people you were around at the time. Your grades were stellar. And you had bagged the prettiest, sweetest girl in probably the entire universe. 

So, you resented yourself for feeling anything other than being on top of the world, because it was actually quite the opposite.

It got worse once you graduated. 

Azzi was often gone, traveling for away games, and that left you alone to process the unimaginable emotions that came with your budding nursing career. Feelings of loss and incompetence clouded your brain constantly.

Today was no different. 

You had lost a patient, a kind, gentle woman who finally let go, taking her last breath while gripping your hand, completely alone. 

It broke you, and the devastating reality had sunk into your chest, crushing all of the air out of your fragile lungs. And you were now gasping for air, leaving you feeling bereft and vulnerable, like an open wound. 

Maybe that’s all you’d ever really be, and you could not help but think that you were the festering wound in yours and Azzi’s relationship, threatening to slowly tear it apart until the two of you were left standing in the tattered shreds of what used to be. 

You wanted things to be okay so, so badly, but the overwhelming feelings of loneliness and longing had set in, chilling you down to the bone. And you were scared. 

So you would just continue on pretending. 

Azzi comes home the next day, and you put the mask back on the second she walks through the door. You’d be lying, though, if her presence didn’t make you feel the tiniest bit whole again. You melt into her arms, drinking in her presence, as she rubs your back soothingly, her face pressed into the crook of your neck. 

Maybe everything would be okay, if only you could be honest with her.

~

Azzi lays in bed next to you, and you indulge in the way her smell has permeated the soft bedsheets again, after days of the scent slowly becoming less and less potent. She smells warm and comforting, and you nuzzle into her, desperate for her to fix every little part of you that was screaming out in insecurity and despondancy.

A low sigh escapes your throat, secretly wanting your girlfriend to pick up on your mood, and because she knows you better than anyone else, she does. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” She questions, her tone filled with concern and worry. She places a hand on your cheek, coaxing you to look into her eyes, and the glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the kindness emitting from her deep brown irises. 

“I–” You begin, taking a deep breath and then stopping. Trying to put all your emotions into coherent words was quite the task. And honestly, you were terrified of how Azzi would react. 

Her thumb strokes your cheek, as she sits up fully next to you in the bed, eyes still peering into yours. 

“It’s okay, it’s just me,” she murmurs gently, and something clicks inside of you.

It was Azzi. You could tell her anything, and it would never even come close to dimming any of the love she felt for you. 

In that moment, all the anxiety you felt about coming clean seemed silly, like it had been built up in your head to great heights, and here it was now, crashing down all around you.

“I’ve been really depressed,” you mumble, your cheeks feeling warm from her touch and the prickling of shame. “For a long time, actually. And I really fucking miss you. I hate feeling like a needy girlfriend, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

The confession pours out of you, and as the air stills between you, your heart races as you watch Azzi’s face contort into a look of hurt and confusion.

“Oh, baby,” she breathes, scooping you up and setting you into her lap, legs draped over hers as she interlaces your fingers with hers. 

“I’ve been missing you, too. And I didn’t want you to feel like you had to sacrifice your career for mine,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss onto your temple. 

Your shoulders sag in relief, and you connect your lips in a kiss. There were numerous unspoken words shared as your lips entwined in a sheer display of passion.

As you break apart, you gaze back into those dark brown eyes, pupils now blown wide. “Guess this means we’ll have a lot more time to be doing this,” you giggle, wagging your eyebrows at Azzi.

She shakes her head fondly. “Just want my sweet, happy girl back,” she whispers in your ear.

Little did she know, you already were.

~

I really hope everyone enjoyed this. I have been toying around with a lil Pazzi fic, so let me know if you'd be interested :)

xoxo katy

Taglist:

@fullladypanda-blog, @omg-imtumbling, @tenaciousglitternerd, @oldcrdigan, @paigebuxkets, @the-other-half , @patscorner , @dietcokesmom , @tndaqltoifwy

Want to be added to my taglist? Comment or send me a message!

[ninjaturtlemaniac]

Parasite? Happy Broppy Day!

Poppy stuck her head into the doorway.

“Branch?!”

No response.

Next room?

“Branch?!”

The emptiness of the half built room made her voice echo.

She continued down the hallways. There's quite a few rooms he could still be in.

Lots more rooms than I remember being in the plans. More places to hide! I'll have to note the best spots I find.

“Braaaanch! I love hide and seek as much as the next Troll but no one has seen you all day and it's getting dark~!” She called out in a singsong voice.

She stopped in the main ballroom. The construction Trolls were finishing up for the day and packing away their equipment.

One of them noticed her in the doorway.

“Queen Poppy, did you need something?”

“Have any of you seen Branch today?”

“I saw King Branch this morning!” A Troll further away from them shouted.

“Wonderful! Where did you see him?”

“North edge of the village.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“I tried, he wouldn't let anyone near him!”

“What do you mean?”

“He told us he had very important King duties to attend to and he shouldn't be disturbed. Which is fair, if I had important King duties I wouldn't want to be disturbed either.”

The trolls around him nodded in agreement.

“Thank you everyone. Everything is looking fantastic. Please have a good night annnnd you know what? Take a rest day tomorrow.”

The trolls cheered with high fives and praises for their Queen as they left.

King duties? North village edge?

Poppy tried to think what would be upsetting Branch that he would be avoiding everyone.

If Branch was here, he would be able to figure out what was upsetting Branch.

She tapped her chin as she made her way to the north edge to find clues.

Poppy hadn't gone this long without Branch around her since he was still living in…

The Bunker!

Once she knew where to go, Poppy was at the hatch in no time.

She grabbed the handle and pulled.

Nothing happened.

She knocked.

No response.

Maybe he's not here?

She thought about leaving but then noticed the pile of dirt next to the hatch.

Almost as if the hatch had been opened recently and the build up of dirt had slid off.

Good work me!

Poppy knocked loudly on the hatch and called out his name over and over.

“Go away!” a muffled voice shouted from below her.

“Branch it's me, Poppy!”

“Poppy, go home! You can't be here! It's not safe!”

“Not safe?! Branch what's wrong? Let me help you! Please let me in!”

Poppy pulled harder on the handle.

“I can't!”

“Why?!”

“Cause I'm dying!”

Poppy didn't let go of the hatch, but she did stop in surprise.

“Branch, this isn't funny. You're scaring me. If you love me you will open this hatch!”

“It's because I love you that I will not open this hatch!”

“Whatever is making you feel like you're dying, we made a promise. In sickness and in health! Remember? I'm not leaving!”

They argued back and forth over and over for a while before Branch stopped responding and descended back down his elevator.

An upset Poppy rushed back to the village to find Branch’s brothers.

She was able to reach Floyd and Boom's pod first.

They were able to calm her down long enough to get a vague explanation of what was going on.

They decided Boom would go and get the other brothers while Floyd went back to the hatch with Poppy.

After a while all of the brothers as well as Boom were all attempting to help Poppy get Branch to open up about why he thought he was dying.

At the very least they were trying to get him out of the bunker.

They all had very different ideas.

“Branch, it's Bruce. I'm going to count to three and you better hope that this hatch is open by the time I get to three. ONE…. TWO…”

Clay crossed his arms “Bruce, stop. I can feel Branch rolling his eyes from here.”

Floyd pulled a sleeping Angel out of his hair and handed him over to Boom.

Angel immediately began fussing.

Floyd sat down next to the hatch.

“Branch, okay, you're sick. I understand that and I believe you.”

Floyd winked at Poppy.

“But how do you know YOU are patient zero? You might have picked it up from someone in town?”

There was a long silence before he finally responded.

“…..Maybe?”

“So why don't you tell me what kinda sick you are? Poppy can check with everyone in town to make sure it doesn't spread any further.”

“……..Well…”

Poppy silently cheered that Branch was finally sharing what was wrong.

“My hair, it's somehow oily and dry at the same time but also changing shape at random. It's flaking and itching and it's making my whole body hurt! I have split ends! I've never had split ends! I haven't been able to find what it is in ANY of my books on diseases and chronical illnesses but that just means it's more important you guys stay away!”

Bruce sighed as he looked over to Boom. Angel’s cries had woken Phoenix and John Dory was trying his best to help Boom soothe them.

His eyebrows shot up.

How did he not think of it sooner?

“Branch, have you been getting sharp aches down your neck?”

“…Yeah?”

Bruce chuckled deeply.

“Bro, you can pop open that hatch. You're not gonna get anyone sick. I promise.”

“How can you promise that?”

“Becaauuuuuse I've had this before!”

A series of mechanical knocking sounds were heard, before the hatch finally lifted slightly.

Branch's eyes appeared just below the lid.

“…You have?”

“Sure have! Thirteen times!”

“THIRTEEN?! And it's not contagious?”

“Not in the slightest!”

“What is it then, if it's not contagious, is it genetic?”

“ HA ! In a way, yes!” He grinned. “Come on out, Branch. I'll show you.”

He hesitated, but Branch lifted the hatch all the way and slowly stepped out.

The group was able to collectively let out the breath they had been holding.

Poppy launched herself at Branch and held onto him tightly.

“Okay, what's wrong with me, Bruce?”

Bruce gestured for Branch to lower his head so he could look in his hair.

Branch hesitated but slowly lowered his head.

Bruce gently pushed his hands through his brother's hair.

The thick hair tried to push back but Bruce was able to get to the particular spot.

It confirmed his theory.

He smiled widely and laughed.

He held the hair open with one hand and used the other to invite Poppy over to look for herself.

She blinked in confusion at first.

A knot?

…

Wait?

A ‘KNOT’ KNOT?!

She gasped and looked over to Bruce for confirmation.

He nodded.

“EEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeEEEEEE!”

Poppy squealed!

Branch was startled out of Bruce's reach.

“What?! What is it?! Is there like a parasite or something?! Someone better tell me or… I'll do something, I'm not sure yet!”

“Branch, you silly Troll, it's not a parasite, it's a baby!”

Everyone around them gasped!

“A….a what?” he said shakily.

Bruce put a hand on Branch's shoulder.

“Branch you're hair is forming an egg!”

Branch's eyes darted back and forth, waiting for the punchline.

He touched his hair slightly.

He thought back to everything that's happened.

It actually made sense.

“An…. an egg… I.. that's… wow… Poppy”

“Branch?”

She held out her hands, inviting him to take them.

“I'm so sorry Poppy. I just-”

“Stop right there mister! You did what you thought you had to do. You were willing to cut yourself off from the world to keep everyone safe.”

“You're not mad?”

“Oh believe me, I am so mad right now!”

Her voice became much softer as she stroked his face.

“But at the same time, how can I be mad right now?”

“We're…having a baby” he laughed through small happy tears.

Poppy held his face and they shared a sweet kiss.

Poppy grinned wide as her body became jittery.

“Pleasepleaseplease pleaaaase! Can I get excited now?”

He smirked.

“I'll allow it.”

And Poppy burst!

“AHHHHHHH! AN EGG! WE'RE HAVING A BABY! GUYS WE'RE HAVING A BABY. I'M GONNA BE A MOMMY! BRANCH IS GONNA BE A DADDY!”

Everyone cheered excitedly. Shouting their congratulations over each other.

Poppy jumped between each brother, hugging them tightly in her excitement.

“AHHH! WE HAVE TO TELL VIVA! But oooooh we should probably tell Dad first. Then of course I have to tell Bridget, but then…”

Poppy continued listing off everyone they should tell. She wasn't telling anyone in particular, just kinda listing thm to herself out loud.

Branch received hugs and congratulations from each of them as well.

This was definitely better than how he thought the night was going to go.

Branch looked over to Floyd and Boom holding their two sleeping babies in their arms.

He smiled sweetly, suddenly being able to picture a similar future, with he and Poppy and their own kid.

[iheartz4starzz]

NEVER THERE 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

husband!chuuya x f.reader

SYNOPSIS: you only get to see your husband, chuuya, once a day, which is late at night when you're about to go to sleep. the next morning, you always wake up to him gone.

TW: slight angst, but dw, it'll be fluff at the end, might be a few grammar mistakes

NOTES: fun fact: a lot of these oneshots are based on my c.ai chats <3

Btw I never specified if the reader was taller or shorter than Chuuya, so you can just imagine it urself. ^^

You heard the door unlock, revealing a redhead mafioso, who peaked his head into the room. He let out a sigh and stepped through the door, running a hand through his hair as he set his hat onto his nightstand.

"Doll, did you wait f'me again?" Chuuya asked and crossed his arms.

There you were, sitting on your guys shared bed with your phone in hand. You were playing mobile games while waiting for your beloved to return home after a long days worth of work.

"Yeah. It doesn't feel the same when you're not here next to me when I sleep." You replied, averting your gaze with a slight pout.

Chuuya let out another sigh, but couldn't help but chuckle and smile warmly at how cute his wife was. He quickly showered and changed into his bedtime clothes before getting into the sheets next to you.

Resting your cheek on your husbands toned chest, you let out a breath of contentment before closing your eyes. The sound of his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his arms was soothing for you, which was perfect to help you sleep.

"How was work today?" You asked with a yawn, trying to keep yourself awake.

"Fine. I had to fix a smuggling deal that one of my stupid subordinates messed up." Chuuya sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

You laughed, then snuggling closer to the redhead. You let out another yawn, to which Chuuya noticed and ran his fingers through you (h/c) hair. "You're tired, doll. Go to sleep now."

You shook your head in protest, blinking your eyes. "Nuh-uh! I want to spend more time with you, so I need to stay awake."

Chuuya shook his head and pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead. "Sleep now."

"But I-"

"No buts."

You sighed, closing your eyes to let your sleepiness consume you. Before you could final succumb to your slumber, you looked up at Chuuya with tired eyes.

"Will you be here next to me when I wake up?"

Chuuya could only bite the inside of his cheek and shake his head. "No doll, I'm sorry. I have work tomorrow."

You nodded and closed your eyes. "I love you, Chuuya."

"I love you to, (Name)."

The next morning, you woke up per usual to Chuuya not next to you. You let out a sigh of disappointment and stretched, then moving your feet to over the edge of the bed. You unplugged your phone from your charger and noticed a note and a red rose sitting on your nighstand.

You took the letter and read it, smiling in the end. The letter said:

'Dear (Name),

I'm sorry I can't be there to greet you in the morning. I promise I'll make it up to you next time with a bunch of presents, love, and kisses.

I love you.

Your husband, Chuuya.'

Though the letter was sweet, you couldn't help but frown in disappointment. That's what he would always say when you brought up the fact that he was never there for you. Pushing the thoughts down, you got up from bed and headed to your office to start working.

Usually you stayed home, due to the fact you were a stay-at-home wife, and partially of the fact you also worked from home. It was only those one times you went outside if you wanted to go shopping.

One work was finished, you went to the kitchen to make dinner and clean up around the penthouse. Once again, you ate dinner alone and left leftovers for Chuuya to eat once he got home. You then got ready for bed and got under the covers, bringing out your phone and began to wait till Chuuya came home.

Another hour passed, and Chuuya was still not home. You let out a sigh and laid sprawled out on the bed, starfish style. Bringing your arm up into the air, you stared at the hand with a ring wrapped around your ring finger. You chewed the inside of your cheek and rested that hand on your chest. You yearned for Chuuya's love, and missed him dearly.

Just then, the door to the bedroom unlocked, revealing the redhead who walked inside with a tired expression.

"Hey, Doll. I'm back." He greeted you with a smile.

"Welcome home." You replied and sat up.

After Chuuya was done with getting ready for bed, he got under the covers with you. Chuuya let out a sigh and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"I missed you." Chuuya told you.

You stayed quiet for a moment before responding. "I missed you to. But, you're not going to be here next to me when I wake up..."

Chuuya frowned. He felt a twinge of guilt in his heart and began to rub your back apologetically. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, (Name). You know how my boss is."

Suddenly, Chuuya heard sniffling. He watched you sit up from his arms and bury your face into your hands, beginning to cry. Chuuya felt his heart shatter to see you sobbing because of him. Chuuya sat up quickly and rubbed your back.

"(Name)?" He mumbled quietly, his soft voice laced with concern and worry. "Hey, what's wrong, baby?"

"I-I'm sorry. It's just that— I miss you so much, Chuuya. I only see you one time a day because you always come late from work." You sobbed and wiped your tears. "But every time I stare at my ring, I have to keep reminding myself that I have a husband! But it feels like I don't, because you're never here!"

Chuuya didn't know how to reply, and only felt his guilt increase from hearing your pain and yearn for his love. Chuuya cupped your cheek, turning you face towards him. "(Name), I—"

"Am I pushing you away? Am I to clingy? Is that why you're spending so much time at work instead of at home with me? Your wife?" You interrupted Chuuya, sniffling again. "Is your job really more important than your wife? Do you still love me?"

Chuuya's eyes widened when he heard that last question. He quickly brought you into a tight hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "No, I still love you! And you're not pushing me away, (Name)—"

Chuuya took a deep breath before continuing. "You're not pushing me away, love. I would never allow that to happen, because you're the most important woman in my life. I love you far to much to ever let you go. It's just... it's my job."

"But wouldn't Mori understand that you have a wife at home? You're not just some mindless pawn for his use! You're your own person, Chuuya!" You argued, tears streaming down your cheeks. "N-No, I'm sorry. I understand that you're doing this for the both of us. I understand that you're working really hard to have a roof over our heads..."

"(N-Name), don't just brush if off like that," Chuuya stammered, cupping both of your cheeks. He let out a sigh before pressing a kiss against your lips. "I'll see what I can do, alright? Just... please don't cry. I can't bare to see you like this."

You nodded and laid back down in bed with Chuuya, wrapped in his arms. You sniffled again and wiped the left tears on your cheeks, your eyes puffy and red. "I'm sorry, Chuuya. I just don't want you to overwork yourself."

"I know, Doll. I understand where your pain is coming from, I really want to do something about it." Chuuya replied and brought your closer to him, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "I love you, (Name). Don't think to much about it, okay?"

You nodded once more. "I love you to, Chuuya."

The next morning, you stirred from your sleep, blinking your eyes awake and looked to your side. Frowning to see that Chuuya wasn't there, you got up and ran a hand over your face.

'Don't be such a bad wife, (Name). Chuuya is doing this for both you and him. At least appreciate what he's doing.' You told yourself and got up from bed, making your way to the kitchen to make breakfast.

As soon as you left the bedroom, the smell of eggs and bacon wafted through the air, tingling your taste buds. You breathed in the smell, licking your lips as you approached the kitchen. You peaked around the corner, your eyes widening to see Chuuya standing at the stove with a apron that said 'Kiss The Cook.'

"Chuuya?"

Chuuya jolted and turned around, quickly turning off the stove and smiled at you warmly. "Morning, Doll."

You teared up, smiling as you ran towards Chuuya, crushing in a hug. "Agh! W-Why are you crying?" Chuuya frantically asked, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

"N-No, it's happy tears, Chuuya! Happy tears!" You repeated, laughing at his misconception.

Chuuya smiled and cupped your cheeks, giving you a morning kiss. "You're such a crybaby." He teased and flicked your forehead.

You whined and held your forehead, pouting as you looked up at Chuuya. The two of you laughed it off in the end. Chuuya wrapped his arms around your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck. The two of you connected lips, the kiss strong, passionate, yet gentle at the same time.

After a few moments, the couple broke the kiss and smiled at each other. You rested your forehead against Chuuya's, eyes closed as the two of your soaked in the moment.

"I love you, Chuuya." You whispered.

"I love you to, (Name)." He replied, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"Soo... Kiss the Cook, eh?"

"Shut up!"

ENDING NOTE: i didn't want to make readers wife role seem to clingy, or to unappreciative. i hope i didn't make anybody upset with reader, tho.

luv u all! <3

-mai

[inkandtension]

OF INK AND CHARCOAL.

Artist! Hyunjin x Writer! Reader

Theme: sad, drifting away from each other, hope towards end

You sat by the window, your laptop open, fingers tapping idly against the keyboard. Outside, the sky was bleeding into sunset—the colors fierce and bold, blending like they couldn't decide whether to end the day or prolong the inevitable.

It made you think of the words in Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar:

"I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, 'This is what it is to be happy.' But happiness, too, can feel like suffocation."

You often found yourself writing through that lens. Capturing moments that stood still, forever on the brink of something profound. But today, your mind was blank, heart weighed down by an inexplicable heaviness. It was like you had too many words, too many emotions, and no way to release them.

“I don’t want a box of fancy chocolates, I want you, sitting next to me”

The words were those that you said, yesterday was your 4th year anniversary, and he wasn’t home.

Or rather a house, because it refused to be your home, not anymore.

He thought you were overthinking, He said many anniversaries like this would come, that you both could spend them in amazing ways when things weren’t so busy. But that’s when it hit you—he actually believed you’d be together for a long time. That there were countless tomorrows waiting for the two of you.

He didn’t understand.

It wasn’t about the day. It was about him. About how he was drifting further away from you with every passing second, and he didn’t even realize it. People change; so did he.

He used to be your best friend, your confidant, the one who understood every silence, every glance. He could finish your thoughts before you even had to speak them. Now, the silence between you is heavy, tense, and unbearable. You’ve started to feel like strangers who share the same space but live in entirely different worlds. You’re still here, still trying, but him? He’s somewhere else.

You feel like strangers, when you meet a stranger, you smile, not out of undying love, out of compulsion.

He thinks it’s about the missed anniversary. But it’s not. It’s about all the moments that have passed with him not truly seeing you. You’re right there in front of him, but it’s like he’s looking past you, through you, at something else—something you can’t reach.

The problem is, he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t see how his distance is tearing you apart. How your conversations have become shallow, how the meaningful exchanges you used to have are now just brief, distracted words before he retreats into his world. You wonder if he even remembers what it used to be like, back when the two of you would sit in silence, and it would still feel full, still feel like everything was right in the world.

Now, the silence feels empty, a void between you that grows wider each day.

He spends more time with his art, disappearing into it. And maybe, that’s where he’s been hiding all along. You think of how he once told you that art was about capturing a moment, freezing it in time so it could live forever. But you don’t want to live in frozen moments. You want him here, now, fully present. You want him to realize that the distance between you isn’t something that can be brushed aside with promises of a future. It’s something that needs to be addressed now.

He’s always that you tend to dwell too much on feelings, on little things that don’t matter. But this isn’t little. This is everything.

You miss the way he used to look at you, the way his presence alone could make you feel whole. Now, even when he’s there, it’s like he’s somewhere else. You see it in the way his eyes glaze over when you talk, how his focus always seems to drift. You’ve started to wonder if he even cares anymore, if he even realizes that his absence—though physical—has become emotional too.

The truth is, you don’t care about fancy chocolates or grand gestures. You never did. You just want him. You want the man who used to make you feel like the only person in the room, the man who used to understand you without needing to ask. You don’t need extravagant gifts. You need his time, his attention, his love—the way it used to be.

But he doesn’t see that. He thinks there’s always time. That you can make it up later. But what he doesn’t realize is that every day he pulls away, a little more of you pulls back too. The cracks in your relationship are growing, and the longer they’re ignored, the harder they’ll be to repair. He thinks you’re just upset because of the anniversary. But this has been building for months, maybe even longer. And now, it feels like you’re both on the verge of breaking.

You wish you could find the right words to make him understand, to make him see what’s happening between you. But every time you try, you stop yourself. Because deep down, you know that he’s not ready to hear it. Or worse, he doesn’t want to.

People change. You’ve changed too, but you’ve grown in ways that are trying to hold onto him, while he’s slipping away into someone you barely recognize. And the hardest part is knowing that he thinks everything is fine. That you have time. That you’ll figure it out later.

But you don’t want to live in the future. You want the present. You want him next to you, really next to you, not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, in every way that matters.

Because you’re tired of waiting. You’re tired of hoping that things will get better on their own, that the distance between you will magically close. You know now that it won’t—not unless something changes. Not unless he changes.

Hyunjin must have noticed the stillness, as he quietly approached.

He stood behind you, his fingers brushing against your shoulder, warm and grounding. you tilted your head back to meet his gaze, but his eyes were somewhere else—far off in a world you couldn't reach.

"Writer's block?" he asked softly, his voice like the brush of a fine-tipped pen over canvas.

You shrugged, looking out at the twilight, thinking of how words could so easily fail when you needed them most.

It wasn't that, and the fact that he failed to recognise that was proof, that he indeed is drifting.

"Something like that."

He knelt beside you, his head resting against your knee.

Hyunjin had never needed words in the way you did. His language came in strokes, colors, textures—the way paint blended into something more than itself, how the space between two figures could tell a thousand stories without saying a word.

He pulled out a sketchbook, his charcoal pencil already dancing over the page. He didn’t need to speak; his art was the dialogue. The curves and edges of the lines formed into abstract shapes, slowly coming into focus.

You watched as he sketched two figures—"us" he said. But something was different.

"You’ve drawn us before," you said, your voice softer now. "Why does this feel different?"

Hyunjin paused, looking at the sketch. "It’s not about us. It’s about the distance between us."

you stared at the unfinished drawing, your breath catching in your throat. "Distance?"

His hand traced the space between the two figures he’d drawn. "We’re close, but not touching. Like we’re in different worlds... I don’t know how to explain it with words, but sometimes, I feel like we’re speaking different languages."

So he did feel it.

It made you think of Picasso, how his blue period captured his own internal isolation—despair hidden in soft hues, sadness under every stroke.

Hyunjin smiled, though his eyes remained serious. "I think silence is a language all on its own. Just like your pauses when you write, they say just as much as the words."

The silence stretched between you both then, a moment so textured with meaning that words would have felt intrusive. You turned away from the window and faced him, the intensity of his gaze making you feel as though you were a character in one of his pieces—forever captured on canvas, never truly understood.

"Do you ever feel like we’re stuck in our own worlds?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "You, with your art. Me, with my writing. Sometimes I wonder if we’re talking past each other."

He frowned, his fingers pausing over the sketchbook. "Sometimes, yes. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think we’re just... translating differently."

You suddenly remembered a quote from

Murakami's Norwegian Wood:

"What happens when people open their hearts?" I asked. "They get better," she said.

You wanted to believe that. That even in the silence between you both, even in the spaces, that you were opening your hearts in the only ways you knew how.

"I write because I want to make sense of things," You said quietly. "But you—" You hesitated, unsure if you were getting it right. "You create to express what can’t be made sense of, don’t you?"

He smiled, his eyes softening. "Exactly."

For Hyunjin, art was never about answers. It was about capturing moments that words could never fully express. He often spoke of how Van Gogh’s Starry Night wasn’t about the sky or the stars—it was about feeling the vastness of everything and knowing you were a part of it, yet so far away from touching it all.

He slid the sketchbook toward you, and you stared at the drawing again. The figures—"us"—still remained apart. But this time, you noticed something you hadn’t before. The way his hand had darkened the space between 'us', as if to suggest that the distance wasn’t empty, but full of unsaid things.

"This is how I feel when you’re lost in your stories," Hyunjin said. "Like you’re right next to me, but your mind is miles away. I don’t know if you’re with me or somewhere else."

you ran my fingers over the page, over the shadowed space. "Maybe that’s just how we’re meant to be. Maybe that space is what gives us room to grow."

He watched me for a moment, his lips parting as if to say something, but then he paused. Instead, he reached for his paintbrush, dipped it in blue, and ran it over the page. The blue spilled between the figures, a vibrant, living thing, connecting us in a way the lines alone couldn’t.

"It’s not about closing the distance," he murmured. "It’s about filling it with something meaningful."

You sat with that for a moment, letting it sink in. How you had both been trying to make sense of the space between yourselves in your own ways—you with your words, him with his art. But maybe Hyunjin was right. Maybe the space wasn’t something to fear or fill, but to cherish. A space where your worlds could coexist without fully merging.

"Virginia Woolf once wrote," You began, " ‘I am rooted, but I flow.’ I think that’s us. We’re both rooted in who we are—me as a writer, you as an artist—but we flow through each other’s worlds. We don’t need to be the same to be together."

He reached across the table then, his fingers brushing yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence between you both wasn’t heavy. It was light. Full.

Hyunjin smiled, his eyes softening as he closed the sketchbook. "We don’t need words or paintings for everything. Sometimes, just being here is enough."

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

imagine steve waiting on you

this goes out to all my babes that love punk music

The hallway leading to your office was quiet, the echoes of Steve Roger's footsteps were quiet but pronounced. He checked his watch and smiled, you were supposed to meet him downstairs fifteen minutes ago. As he drew closer to your office, the silence had gave way to heavy, loud music. He chuckled to himself and opened the office door. As always his ears were assaulted by the sounds of lead vocalist Keith Morris of Black Flag. Of course, he had left the band citing creative differences and a self proclaimed coke habit but you had always preferred Morris's vocals over the other singers.

Why did Steve know this?

Because you were a complete music nerd and he adored getting you drunk to hear your rants over why the southern California punk movement produced some of the greatest punk bands of all time.

Anything for love.

"Your ears are going to bleed out," Steve turned down the speakers near the door and smiled over at you.

At your desk, you looked up from your computer. "Shit."

"Yup."

Steve looked handsome and put together, while you were wearing an old Bad Religion tee from your high school days. "Fuck."

Steve laughed, telling you it was fine. "I sorta lied about the reservation time, we still have an hour."

Shutting down your computer, because work can wait until tomorrow, you smiled up at your boyfriend. "You are so getting your dick sucked tonight."

He laughed, cheeks redder than a tomato. "At least let me buy you dinner..."

Moving from your desk to Steve, you melted into his arms as he kissed your forehead, then your lips. His arms wrapped around your body and you relaxed under his touch. "I can give you dessert now, if you want..."

Steve groaned but kissed you softly on the lips. "Later, baby. I know you haven't eaten much today. Let me take you out to dinner."

Nodding you kissed him once more. "Fine, I better go get changed. This dissertation is kicking me in the ass. After this is all done, I want to take a long vacation and fuck your brains out."

Again the man blushed but quickly added that California could be a good vacation spot. Your eyes immediately lit up and Steve laughed as you listed all the bands that came out of California. He helped motioned you out of the office, letting you go on and on because even though he hadn't the slightest clue what you were talking about - he loved seeing you so passionate and he had to admit, it kind of turned him on.

[alieinthemorning]

How’s It Hanging, Beautiful? [Ace Trappola]

Content: Fluff, Established Relationship, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Remaster of: “You’re so beautiful.” | Ace Trappola [400 Follower Event]

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

Ace wouldn’t say that he wasn’t a morning person, but instead a deep sleeper. Usually, it’d take a lot to rouse him from sleep. However, there was one thing that could always get him up, no matter what. 

And that was the smell of Sunday morning breakfast. 

Saliva was pooled in his mouth before he even opened his eyes. He swallowed it as the rest of his body followed the lead of his taste buds. He stretched (carefully, he didn’t want to get a cramp), letting out a satisfying groan. Then he sat up, eyes finally opening to the dimly lit room. 

You were not there beside him or lingering in the room, but that made sense since you had to be the one cooking. What was odd was that Grim was nowhere to be found, but maybe today was his lucky day, and you’d give him some extras (when would he learn that he’d only get anything if he’d actually help). Shaking his head, he grabbed his phone, and headed for the bathroom. 

After fixing his rough bed head and rinsing his mouth out, Ace made his way downstairs to join you and Grim in the kitchen. You must have gotten up earlier than usual today because breakfast was almost done.

“Come on! Lemme just have a little—” Grim’s paw was reaching toward the bowl of strawberries, but you quickly swatted it. 

“Let it alone. Go take your seat.” You didn’t even bat an eye.

Grim huffed, hopped off the stool, and retreating to the dining room. 

Ace didn’t bother with teasing him, and instead honed in on you. 

“Morning.” His arms wrapped around your waist. 

You turned in his arms, “Morning, sleeping beauty.” You pecked the underside of his chin. 

He returned your kiss with one on your forehead. “You coulda woke me up, you know…” 

“Yeah, but I like watching you drool.” 

Ace pulled back, “I do not drool.” 

You simply smiled as you picked up the plate of pancakes. “Time to set the the table.” 

Sundays were lazy days, most of the time the three of you would just stay huddled up in bed all day after breakfast. Today was no different, except for Grim leaving to follow the sun (he was an expert sunbather, after all).  

Ace was a deep sleeper, but for some reason something pulled him from his sleep. And he was forever thankful for it. 

You were turned toward him (you were facing away from him when you fell asleep, you’re such a wild sleeper), mouth slightly open (no drool, damn it), lashing gently resting against dark circles. His thumb brushed against your lower lid. He should talk to Crowley about lessening your load. 

“How’s it hanging, beautiful?” 

Ace jolted, not expecting you to speak, let alone be awake. 

But then he smiled, “Not much, what’s going on with you, beautiful?”

“Just admiring you.”

“Crazy, me too.” 

You both laughed at yourselves,

and the beauty of your relationship.

Happy Birthday, Ace!

And now that I've said that, time for a serious end note lol

Sooooooo on the 9/1/24, I had emergency gallbladder surgery! And now I'm having an emergency hysterectomy (Tomorrow lol)! Originally, my appointment was in November, but after another trip to the ER they finally realized that bleeding for 6 months straight actually isn't normal, and something should be done about it!

So, yeah, I'm gonna be out of commission (again)! Which, I've barely been posting anyway, but I've also been in excruciating pain for the past six months, sooo yeah!

I'll see yeah when I see y'all!

Ko-Fi | Masterlist

[tradgedyinwaves]

Touch - Ch. 12

tw: medical jargon, allusions to sex,

“Oh, Si, I wish you were awake. I miss your voice.” 

“I left some hyacinths for you. I hope you can smell them in there.” 

“Johnny was released today. We’re just waiting for you, Si.” 

“We miss you, Si. We aren’t the same without you.” 

“They’re waking you up tomorrow.” 

The more you spoke to him, his visions would change more and more. One time you weren’t beaten so gravely before having your skin sliced open. The next time there wasn’t any torture, just you and him staring at each other. After that, you were free, standing in the room as you watched him. Then you were both unbound in the same cell. It continued until finally the pair of you were in your bedroom in your tiny flat, enjoying each other’s presence. 

When the haze finally lifted, he didn’t come out thrashing and cursing like he had before. He was calm, eyes blinking at the fluorescents. You lifted your head as you felt him twitch under your cheek. “Simon? Simon!” you gasped, hand flying up to cover your mouth while tears filled your water line. The doctors had lifted his sedation hours ago, stating it might take him a while to come out of it, if he did at all. 

A nurse flew into the room at your outburst, immediately coming to check on Simon’s vitals. A low growl filled the room and your hand grabbed his, giving it a light squeeze. “She’s just checking to make sure everything looks right. She’s not going to hurt you, Si,” you gave him a small smile as his dark eyes came to meet yours. A grunt and a nod were the only response he provided.

Once the nurse left, he opened his mouth to say something but you quickly shushed him, grabbing a cup of water from the table. Giving him the same treatment Kyle had given you and Johnny, you held the straw to his lips and let him drink down what he could. “You had a feeding tube so your throat is going to be sore,” you explained before retaking your seat and setting down the cup of water.

“Do you think you can write?” you asked and he nodded, giving you a pained look. “I know, my love. It sucks but we’ll get you taken care of. You’re already healing so fast. The doctors think you can leave in about three weeks. The rest of us are okay. Even Johnny. We’ve been waiting for you to be woken up.” You explained every bit of information you thought he needed from a list of everyone’s injuries to what you knew of the operation. “They won’t tell me what happened to Moses. I don’t have the clearance.” your voice conveyed your annoyance, but you’d been reassured that he’d been handled. How, you didn’t know. You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before grabbing the whiteboard and marker from your bag and laid it in his lap, removing the cap so he could use it. 

Are you okay?

“I am. I start seeing a therapist next week, but all of my physical injuries are mostly healed. Just have the shiner and the permanent choker,” you joked, lifting your chin so he could see the half healed wound across the front of your throat. 

He made a face at your joke, quickly erasing his words and writing something else down. 

Not funny

“Oh come on, Si. It’s a little funny,” you teased but sighed when his brow rose and he made a face. “Alright. It’s not funny. But I’m coping and it’s a reminder that I survived,” you reasoned, lifting a hand to run your fingertips over the tender, pink flesh. 

He scowled in response before his eyes widened at the intrusion of the other three into his room. “Aye, look who finally woke up!” Johnny called from the door as he came to sit on Simon’s other side. Kyle’s hands wrapped around the foot board of Simon’s bed, leaning on it as he examined the lieutenant on the bed. John pinched the bridge of his nose at Johnny’s excitement. “Alright, Si?” John grunted at the bedridden man and Si nodded back before furiously writing on his whiteboard.

Moses?

John just nodded, eyes darting to you then back. 

She deserves to know

“It’s not up to me. You know I’d tell her if I was allowed to,” John replied while you sat there, looking back and forth between the two men. Frustration was getting to you again. You wanted to know what happened to the man that had had you kidnapped. It was the least they could do.  

Tell her

John looked between you and Simon as he waged a war inside himself before sighing. “Everything I tell you here, you don’t know. If anyone asks, you claim you know nothing,” John looked at you with fierce eyes while Kyle went to close the door. You nodded, frowning a little at the seriousness of the situation. 

“He’s dead. Or will be at least. He’s being held in a secure location until they can charge him with everything,” John explained, watching your reactions. You nodded, letting the information worm its way into your brain. “So I’m safe? All of you are safe?” you queried, catching your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yes, petal. We’re safe.” Johnny replied for John, giving you that wonderfully lopsided smile of his. 

Three Weeks Later. 

Simon groaned as John helped him from the bed while you watched from the wall. You weren’t nearly strong enough to help lift the behemoth of a man. You’d figured that out when you took Simon for a walk and he happened to stumble. You caught him, sure, but more as a landing pad than anything else. Since then, there was always a male nurse or one of the guys with you if you were the one to take him on his stroll. 

Once he was up and properly supported by John, you joined the two and took up Simon’s other arm. Laying it across your shoulders, you smiled up at him softly. He was still healing, but his doctors were no longer worried about his chest collapsing in and damaging his organs, so they released him. You were pretty sure they were relieved too. 

Simon hadn’t been a very good patient. Sneaking out of his bed in the middle of the night, just to be found at the end of the hallway on the floor when he slipped. Stealing extra food when he was finally able to shuffle around without falling. And he was always sneering at everyone. The nurses hated to come by, finally just asking you if he was good before skipping out after quickly reading over his monitors from the door. 

Getting him home had been another feat. He demanded to have real food, insisting on the diner down the road from his flat. Kyle had called ahead, running inside once there and collecting the massive order before returning to the truck. Simon immediately dug into his burger, silent as he ate the entire thing in the five minutes it took to get back to the flat. 

When they finally managed to get the hulking man up into the flat, there was another tussle. Johnny had left the dishes in the sink, Kyle hadn’t taken out the trash and the clicking sound still remained in the freezer despite John saying he’d take care of it. You seemed to be the only one who could do no wrong to Simon. 

He spent the first two hours he was home, tearing into all of them for not taking care of HIS flat. While they were all welcome to live there, he was still the one paying for everything and all he asked was that they cleaned up their messes. Eventually, you got him to leave them alone, shooting each of them a look that told them to scram and get their shit done.

It took another week before the five of you found a system. Simon still couldn’t lift anything so most things were left to the rest of you, but he always did the dishes. Johnny wasn’t supposed to lift things, but he found that taking out the trash didn’t pull his side. Kyle made dinner every night without fail and made sure you had lunch for the next day. John fixed the freezer. And the squeaky door hinges. And the flickering light in the hall. 

You’d been going to therapy for a month at that point and while you’d been cleared by both the doctor and your therapist, the boys refused to touch you. Before everything had happened, they couldn’t keep their hands off you. Someone was always touching you whether it was an arm around your shoulder or a hand on the small of your back. You even missed Simon and Johnny poking you randomly throughout the day. 

When John actually flattened himself against the wall when passing you so he didn’t accidentally brush against you, you snapped. “All of you, living room, now!” You practically screamed, puffing as you headed into the living room yourself. You never raised your voice so the increased volume had them tripping over themselves.

Johnny actually pushed Kyle out of the way in his fear, making the other man bump into the wall and groan. Once they were finally all seated, you stood before them with your arms crossed and a hard look on your face. “Will one of you please explain why you are all so terrified to touch me?” 

They all looked appropriately sheepish, even Simon who hadn’t had to move from where he’d been sitting on the couch. “Well, see, we just wanted to give you space, right? We didn’t think you’d want to be touched,” Johnny tried to explain, sufficiently nervous. You glared even harder and tapped your foot.

“Didya even think to ASK me? Ever think talking to me might have been a better way to do things?” You were glaring at John now, their captain and usually the leader of the ragtag group of men. “We just didn’t want to upset you, little bird. I know the therapist said you were okay, but we were scared we’d trigger something,” John tried to explain, looking up at you with those soft baby blues.

“Well, knock it off. I miss my boys,” you pouted at them, bottom lip jutted out and everything. John raised up onto his feet and stepped towards you, making your eyes travel up rather than down at him. The others joined him, surrounding you in a wall of big burly men. You swallowed hard, their gazes dark and filled with lust now that you’d given them permission. 

You’d never been with all of them at the same time. Usually, it was only one of them except for the few times that John would lean on the door frame and watch one of his boys ruin you while adjusting himself in his trousers. 

Simon stepped up behind you, pulling your hair back from your neck before ghosting his low, husky words across your skin. “Oh, luv, we miss you too.” 

Alright. We're getting so close to the end. Honestly, I know I just reposted the poll and said there'd be another part. But I think the epilogue is next.

Thank you to everyone who has been supporting this series! I really appreciate every comment, reblog, and like. <3

[ivygrowing]

I Could Have Been A Lover

- A.C. 1:07 p.m.

My dear Spring. Yesterday, when I woke up on that bright fall morning, All I could think about Was how you could've made the space in my bed warmer, But you decided not to Because of who I am, Because of who I chose not to be. Pondering about the spring that was once ours, The life that you had built for me. My dear cowboy. Today, I will cook my eggs alone. I will turn on the music a little louder, And sit outside until my cheeks get rosy by the fire. This is all I can do to remind myself that I am still alive. I look over to see that Your seat on the porch is empty, It reminds me that you are still alive too. For now, all I can do is miss you, But tonight I won't call, Because even though you are on this earth too, You chose God instead of me. My dear lover. Tomorrow, I will walk to my car alone, Get myself a coffee, And drive by the Church where you looked me in my eyes, And said that you could love, But never marry me. I will tear my hair out at the memory, And even though my hand will reach for the phone, I will not pick it up. Instead, I will sit there with my sorrow and dream about the life I could have had, The life I had made up for us inside my head, If you would have just said yes. Yes to me and my non-belief. Yes to me and all the mess I may bring. Yes to me and all the love I could have given you. You made this so tragic, But doesn't that make it all the more sweet? Is it truly that bad, To think about a life with me?

[pdriesta]

PROLOGUE

“even when it’s bad, i love you”

pairing — trentxblack!girl

genre — angst, angst and more angst

word count — 1.8k (for prologue)

summary — y/n and trent's once strong relationship is strained by his growing distance and her unexpected pregnancy. as they clash over their future, y/n faces the painful choice of leaving behind the love and they love they worked so hard creating. will they overcome their struggles and rebuild their love, or will their fractured bond break beyond repair?

an — i’ve been so excited for this series! it was on my old blog but i never got to start it out. i’m so happy to finally post it! let me know if anyone is interested in a taglist <3

masterlist

he morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the bedroom. y/n lay beside trent, listening to the sound of his breathing, steady and familiar. she shifted slightly, her heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid between them. even in sleep, there was a tension in his body, a distance that had grown wider with each passing day.

trent stirred, his eyes fluttering open. he turned his head to look at her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “morning,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

y/n forced a smile in return, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “morning,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something more than just the usual stress of their lives.

trent reached out, brushing a strand of hair that fell out of her stain scarf from her face. “you okay?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes. “you’ve been quiet lately.”

she hesitated, wanting to tell him everything that was on her mind—the worry, the fear, the uncertainty that had taken root in her heart. but the words caught in her throat, and instead, she just nodded. “i’m fine,” she lied, the weight of her own doubts pressing down on her.

trent studied her for a moment longer, his brow furrowing slightly. he could see through her facade, but he didn’t push. “you sure?” he asked again, his hand lingering on her cheek.

she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth and familiarity of him. “yeah,” she said softly, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “i’m just tired.”

trent sighed, his own exhaustion seeping into his voice. “you’ve been sick a lot lately,” he said, his thumb tracing circles on her cheek. “maybe you should see a doctor, get checked out.”

y/n swallowed, the knot in her stomach tightening. she hadn’t told him about the nausea, the way she had been waking up every morning with a churning stomach and a feeling of dread. “i’ll be okay,” she said, forcing a smile. “i just need some rest.”

trent didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded, not wanting to press her further. “if you’re sure,” he said, his voice laced with concern. he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “i’m heading to training in a bit. you want me to pick you up from work on the way back?”

y/n shook her head, the weight of her secret growing heavier with each passing second. “no, i’m good,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “i called in sick today. i just... i don’t feel well.”

trent’s eyes darkened with worry. “you’ve been sick a lot lately,” he repeated, his hand slipping from her cheek to her hand, squeezing gently. “if you’re still feeling bad tomorrow, promise me you’ll go to the doctor.”

she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. trent searched her face for a moment longer, then leaned in to kiss her softly. “take care of yourself, yeah?” he whispered against her lips before pulling away.

trent didn't say much more of how she was feeling because he was already deep in his own head. his mind was a maze of doubts, insecurities, and the weight of expectations that had been pressing down on him for weeks. as he pulled on his training gear, his thoughts were a tangled mess of worries about his performance, his place in the team, and the gnawing feeling that he wasn’t enough—not for his teammates, not for the fans, and maybe, just maybe, not even for her.

y/n watched him get out of bed and start getting ready, her heart aching with a mix of love and fear. she could see the lines of stress etched into his face, the weariness in his movements. he had been carrying so much on his shoulders, and she knew how much he doubted himself, how much he questioned his worth, even though he would never admit it.

but he couldn’t say any of that, not when he knew how much y/n was already dealing with. so he kept quiet, hoping that his silence would protect her from the storm raging inside him. he didn’t ask why she’d been so quiet lately, or why she’d been sick so often. instead, he just leaned down to kiss her forehead, his lips lingering there a moment longer than usual, as if trying to pour all the words he couldn’t say into that one gesture. he paused, to look at her, his eyes softening. “i love you,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

trent’s expression softened, and he leaned down to press another kiss to her forehead. “i love you too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “more than anything.”

“take care of yourself, yeah?” he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with an edge of desperation. he didn’t look back at her as he left the room, the door closing with a soft click that echoed in the stillness.

but as he pulled away, y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that love might not be enough to bridge the growing distance between them. she watched him leave, the door closing with a soft click that echoed in the silence of the room.

the quiet settled over her like a blanket, suffocating in its intensity. y/n lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. the nausea that had plagued her for days returned with a vengeance, and she curled up on her side, clutching her stomach as if that could somehow ward off the dread that had taken root inside her

as soon as he was gone, y/n curled up tighter on the bed, the emptiness beside her feeling more pronounced than ever. she had seen the way his eyes had darkened with worry, had felt the tension in his body when he kissed her. but she couldn’t bring herself to voice her fears, not when he was already carrying so much. instead, she buried her face in the pillow, her heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

after a while, she forced herself to get up, her body moving on autopilot as she reached for her phone. her hands trembled as she dialed the familiar number, and when her mom’s voice came through the line, warm and comforting, y/n felt the floodgates open.

“mum,” she said, her voice strained and broken. “i don’t feel right. i’ve been sick every morning for a while now, and... and trent’s been so distant. i don’t know what to do.”

her mom’s voice was like a balm, soothing the raw edges of her anxiety. “oh, sweetheart, that sounds awful. have you been under a lot of stress lately? sometimes that can make you feel sick.”

“i guess,” y/n replied, though the words felt hollow. “but it’s more than that. something just feels... off. i can’t explain it, but i know something’s wrong.”

there was a pause on the other end of the line, and y/n could almost hear the gears turning in her mum’s mind. “y/n, when was the last time you had your period?”

the question hit her like a freight train. she froze, her mind racing as she tried to remember. she hadn’t even thought about it, too wrapped up in everything else—the tension with trent, the constant nausea, the overwhelming sense of something being wrong. but now that her mom mentioned it, she realized it had been a while—too long. panic began to set in, her heart pounding in her chest.

“i... i don’t know,” she whispered, her hand unconsciously resting on her stomach. “mum, do you think...?”

“it’s possible,” her mom said gently. “why don’t you go get a test, just to be sure?”

“no,” y/n said quickly, the word spilling out in a rush. “i mean, i’m not ready for that. trent and i... we’re not ready for kids. we talked about it, but it was always something in the future, not now.”

her mom’s voice was soft, soothing. “i understand, honey. but it’s better to know. and if it’s positive, we’ll figure it out together. you won’t be alone in this.”

y/n’s mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and fears that threatened to consume her. “but what if i’m not ready?” she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of her doubts. “what if i can’t do this? i’m too young, mom. i don’t know how to be a mom. what if i’m not good enough?”

“oh, sweetheart,” her mom’s voice was thick with emotion. “no one ever feels ready. but you are strong, and you are capable. if you’re pregnant, then this baby is already so loved, just by being a part of you. and you have trent, and you have me and your dad. you’re not alone in this, y/n. you can do this, one step at a time.”

y/n’s tears flowed freely now, her chest tight with a mix of fear and love. she clung to her mom’s words, letting them anchor her in the storm that raged inside her. “i’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“it’s okay to be scared,” her mom reassured her. “but you’re not alone, y/n. you have so many people who love you and will support you, no matter what happens.”

after a lot of convincing and a few more reassurances, y/n found herself at the pharmacy, staring at the rows of pregnancy tests. it felt surreal, like she was watching someone else’s life unfold. her hands shook slightly as she picked up a box, paid for it, and headed back home, her mind numb with fear and uncertainty.

the next hour was a blur. y/n sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the test in her hand, waiting for the timer to go off. the minutes dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity. her mind raced with thoughts of what this could mean—how it would change everything, how it might push trent even further away.

when the timer finally beeped, y/n took a deep breath and looked down at the result. two lines. pregnant.

her world tilted on its axis, and she felt like she was drowning. tears welled up in her eyes, and before she knew it, she was crying—deep, heaving sobs that shook her entire body. it wasn’t that she didn’t want children. she did, but not like this, not now. she felt too young, too unprepared for the responsibility that was suddenly thrust upon her.

y/n tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths and reminding herself that trent would be there for her. he loved her, and they had built a life together. but as she sat there, alone in their bathroom, she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to change, and not for the better. she clutched the test to her chest, her tears soaking into the fabric of her shirt . the only through running through her mind was one question, “what am i going to do?”

© PDRIESTA 2024