#we were all expecting a carrie moment but it was just mid

[suck-mein-pokeballs]

Watched "The Outside" from Guillermo del Toro's Cabinet of Curiosities with my roommates

We all agree it was wack and the weakest episode so far

[girl-in-the-chairs-void]

May I say just Tyler pulling you close to him while you’re staying safe from a tornado hmmm

A lil protective moment with him is all I want 🫠🫠. Ask and you shall receive, my dear.

Pairing; Tyler Owen’s x reader

Word count; 1.2k (I got carried away just a little)

cw; tornadoes, rodeos, idk what else? FLUFFF AND a sprinkle of angst.

“Is this how they do it in Texas too?”

You looked up at the man beside you, his green eyes stilled on you. You were focusing on the rodeo he’d brought you to, men out on horses and bulls, taming the wild animals, riding their fears.

You looked back Tyler, he was still focused on you and not on the game. Heat rose to your cheeks, turning them into a red mess as you rubbed your hands nervously on the fat of your thighs. It was too hot to wear anything but jean shorts and a tank.

“Pretty much, not different from how they originally used to do back in the early days actually. But Texans have their pride.” You didn’t really have the accent to be taken as someone from Houston, but the badges- fabric patches with Velcro- you wore on your jeans at all times were evident enough of how proud you were to be from Texas.

The man chuckled, his eyes getting just a little smaller as crinkles formed around them, his cheeks lifting forming into a beautiful smile on his lips.

“Well ain’t that the right way to do it”

You both laughed, turning back to the rodeo. You tried to get a little bit comfortable in your seat, adjusting yourself before deciding to just sit a little bit straighter. Your hands reach for the arm rests, expecting the cold metal to make contact, but it never happens, instead your met with a warm, calloused palm of Tyler’s. He’s a little surprised at first, you both are, he slowly gathers the courage and weaves his hand through yours, helping you adjust.

You keep a hold of his hand, looking at him wide eyed and he’d say you look like a deer caught in headlights but that won’t do the justice to how beautiful your eyes look right now. The way sweat glistened on your body, your lips parted and slightly heavy breath of yours that fans his face. You’re mere inches away but it feels too far to him. He needs to feel you, feel those lips on his, caress your soft skin under his rough hands an-

A loud siren buzzes through the arena snapping the two of you out of it. A tornado siren. You felt the continuous buzz of the alert through your jeans, looking back at Tyler with the same look in your eyes.

We gotta get out of here.

And so, in a very calm yet hasty manner, you and Tyler take off. Calmly brushing past the crowd and scared civilians to get to his truck. It might not be enough to stay in there but you may have enough time to get somewhere safe.

Think think think, where is safe? And suddenly it hits you.

Your hands are still attached, his hand squeezing yours a little too tight when he feels like you might get swallowed by the rushing crowd.

“I got it!”

You finally get to his truck, quickly getting in and driving.

Tyler is scared, but the way a smile forms at your lips, he almost forgets you’re in the middle of fucking life and death.

“You got somewhere close?”

You nod, giving him the directions as he hits the gas on full. It’s an old bunker you found literally yesterday when you came out to explore the town. Trying to figure out places that could be safe for the people to evacuate to. It is small, enough to fit around two or three people and you hope it’s not jammed up for the two of you to seek shelter.

The tornado is not far behind. Gaining speed and strength as it chases the two of you. You’re not ready, this was not in the plan and you’re certain that today is not the day you’ll die. Not when you’ve just stared to get to know him.

Tyler strategically positions his car, activating the drills as the two of you exit, running towards the patch of metal in the middle of the farm field.

He gets to it first, letting go of your hand mid sprint to open it up for you. Letting you climb down before getting in, the metal trap door a little too heavy with the winds and rain for him to completely shut it. So he leaves it open, letting the cold rain pour down into the bullet as he reaches for you.

You’re holding onto the pipelines, not having it in you to move further because of the wind. You feel his hand on your waist, holding onto you for dear life as your grip on the pipes tightens. One hand holding onto you and the other onto the pipe right above you, Tyler grounds himself on the floor. His feet turned soon as he tried not to move. Your hand comes up to where his rests on your waist, clutching it tighter before he pulls you even closer, chest to back.

You can feel his heart pounding, like your own, against your back. You’re both heaving. Your heavy breathes turning into calmer ones as your eyes closed, trying to breathe in his scent, feeling the way his arm feels around you. Thinking about anything but the giant tornado above your head. The smell of him engulfs you and you find yourself thinking and wanting to feel is him, him, him, him.

It’s enough. The sheer skin to skin contact, the smell of your hair right under his nose, the feel of his hot breath on your neck. It sends shivers down both of your spines and in no time the sky clears and the wind and rain passes over. The tornado moved or completely died, you’re not sure.

But you’re sure about the man that is still latched to you. Holding onto for dear life. The way he’s nuzzling his nose into your hair, his lips brushing against your scalp and leaving tiny kisses you can barely make out.

“It’s gone” your voice is nothing but a whisper. You turn in his arms, his hand still attached to your waist as you look up at him through wet lashes.

He has this wild look in his eyes, concern, fear, and love all moulded into one. You feel them dart to your lips, and back to your eyes before his other hand comes up to brush some hair from your face.

“Thank you for that” he whispers, “if you hadn’t known about this place, I’d probably be dead”

You give him a smile, squeezing his arm before snaking your way out of his grasp.he reluctantly lets go of you, wanting to keep contact with your soft skin and that close proximity that kept you warm. But he lets you go, you’re shaken, just a little bit. This wasn’t your first tornado, but god it felt like you both were about to die there.

He helps you get back up, climbing up the ladder just behind you.

The walk back to the truck is quiet, you’re only half an arm length away from him but it feels too far.

He opened the door to the passenger seat, letting you in before getting into the drivers seat himself. Letting out a long breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in before deciding to break the silence.

“So, you know anymore rodeos that end like that?”

A/n; The ending feels rushed, idk? I hope you liked it!! Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated, lovies🫶🏻🫶🏻.

[smoft-demons]

MC falls asleep on him

_______

Lucifer:

‘…?!’ Is what Lucifer is thinking as your head drops onto his shoulder.

You had cajoled him into doing some of his constant paperwork in a bigger chair for a change. So there’s room for you to sit next to him! You’re not even demanding his attention, or the spare time that he doesn’t have, you’re being very considerate, you just wanted sit next to him, that’s all, you had promised!

Lucifer caved, because he is very soft for his human—even though he’s loathe to look like it. You were in fact being considerate… so he had brought a stack of relatively low-importance papers out of his office, into the living room.

You were sitting on a couch together, him with his stack of administrative papers and you with a homework assignment. You finished yours quickly, so you ended up playing a game on your DDD as you lean against him.

He checks on you periodically out of the corner of his eye. He’s relaxed though—as relaxed as Lucifer gets. This is peaceful. Meditative, almost. He’s happy. All his brothers are elsewhere, his tasks are not too overwhelming, he gets to have a nice, calming afternoon sitting in companionable silence with his favourite housemate…

A sudden weight falling on him jolts him out of his trance. Your cheekbone thunks against his shoulder. He blinks. Processing.

In quick succession, his brain goes like ‘..?!’ then ‘it is mid-afternoon why are you sleeping’ and ‘have we been overworking our human?’ and ‘aww. MC really does trust me that much.’

He adjusts the way you’re situated so you’re more comfortable as he finishes up the last of his work. When he’s done, he takes a moment to just observe. To appreciate your trust in him. Also, to congratulate himself again for his part in the creation of the exchange program, because it brought you into his life.

(He tries to ignore the stubborn twinge of nostalgic heartache he feels as well. You’re reminding him so much of Belphie, from back when his relationship with him was good. He’d never admit it, but he misses having his babiest brother fall asleep on him like this.)

Lucifer gathers up his papers, then picks you up, being careful not to jostle you too much. Let no one ever say he doesn’t take good care of his human. He carries you to your room to put you to bed. Clearly you need the extra sleep. Or… well, he tries to. You’re holding onto him pretty insistently.

He expects himself to feel irritated, but… no. He can’t help but feel a little smug, actually. It’s cute, you’re cute, you don’t seem to want him to leave you. So… fine. He’ll oblige. For a short break.

(An hour or two later, you’ll wake up to the smells and sounds of dinner being prepared. You’re… not under your blanket? No, you’re covered by Lucifer’s ridiculously long coat. It’s warm, soft. It smells like him. In this moment, it’s impossible to miss how loved you are.)

_______

Mammon:

The first time this happened (in your room, watching movies without any of his brothers for once), Mammon was stunned. He had frozen up, stuttered some nonsense to no one in particular, then quickly slapped his free hand over his mouth as he realized he would wake you if he didn’t immediately chill out.

Now though? You’ve been in his life for a while. He’s your oldest friend here. Those movie nights had become a habit, even though it remained rare to have one with no one else joining in. So this has happened a lot, and he’s gotten used to it. He doesn’t react so outwardly anymore, not unless one of his brothers show up to make fun of him.

If they try it, Mammon is rather aggressive about shushing them. At first, because he hated to be so obvious about how much he cares about you, but now that he’s a bit more used to it, it’s because he doesn’t want them to disturb you. He feels like he’s protecting you by keeping his brothers from waking you up. Sometimes, he’s the one who wakes you up by telling them to shut up just a bit too loudly, or silently gesturing for them to be quiet or go away a little too enthusiastically.

His brothers roast him even more for that. Poor thing.

Time and time again, you pass out on his shoulder. During a movie, mid relaxed hangouts with various groups of the brothers, in the rare times when hanging out solo with Mammon is a relaxing low-energy affair, while studying, during the lunch break at school, even in class sometimes. His heart warms, and he can’t help but smile at the familiar feel of you conked out on his shoulder again. He doesn’t even mind if you snore.

Mammon is usually such a loud, high energy person. Neither you nor him finds anything wrong with that of course, it’s one of many lovable things about him. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like being able to just chill with you sometimes though. It’s nice.

Eventually, he gets familiar enough with this that he’s willing to move you around to get more comfortable. With time, he learns exactly what ways he can move you without disturbing you. So most of the time when you fall asleep on him, you wake up in some other position. Sitting in his lap, lying down with a sleeping Mammon wrapped around you, being carried to another room, propped up against his side in your next class, being hugged like a teddy bear in his room, etc etc.

He never questions why you’re tired. He just lets you pass out on him. He wants you to be in the best possible condition, and he will happily take all the time with you he can get. He takes this to mean that you also want all the time with him that you can get, that you would rather stay with him than go to bed when you’re tired because you would rather not be separated from him. Just like how he feels about you. Why else would he be in your room as often as he is?

You trusting him enough to sleep on him all the time makes him feel like he’s being a good guardian demon, like he’s as precious to you as you are to him.

He’s a fan of all the free cuddles he gets out of this, too.

_______

Levi:

You’re in Levi’s room with him, set up very comfortably as you’re marathoning an anime together. You’ve been at it for hours though, you’re already a bit sleep deprived, and you’ve seen this one a few times already. You can’t stop yourself from nodding off. Your head drops onto his shoulder.

Levi freaks out.

“afgshrjdxssh—WH-!” He flails. You immediately snap awake again. “You—uhh-!” He shoves you away in a panic, then immediately changes his mind, pulling you back in, then freezes for a moment before letting go of you to flap his hands frantically. “Nonono stay—wait no, you don’t want to—I mean, you don’t have to—I mean, get o—uhh! Um! I mean! S-stay if you want, but I don’t care if you don’t want to—!”

You blink slowly at him a couple times. Trying to parse his contradictory sputtering. You’re tired, you’re not working at full brain power. You figure he means something along the lines of: ‘ooo I’m Levi, I have bad self esteem and I can’t believe you want to touch me, but I want you to, but I can’t say that because I cope with feeling unlovable by acting all tsundere because that way I feel less pathetic, love you though!’

You know. Standard Levi stuff. You love him so much—and you’d be very happy if he started therapy.

For now though, you just grab his arm and pull him closer to you again. You bury your face in his shoulder. This time, it’s unmistakably a deliberate move. Wordlessly telling him that you do in fact love him enough to want to touch him.

It’s like his body just took a screenshot! He keysmashes out loud.

Slowly, he calms down. He puts one hesitant arm around you. You don’t move. He can’t tell if you’re already asleep again or just pretending to be, but either way you seem to be comfortable.

Soon enough, he finds himself smiling like an absolute dork. This… is actually very effective reassurance. He feels all warm and fuzzy and loved. He likes holding you.

It’s reminding him of TSL fluff fics he’s read where absolutely nothing happens except Henry and the Lord of Shadows cuddle. A way for him to experience affection vicariously through a character he relates to and a character he loves, when he really wants hugs himself but can’t have any.

He squeezes you softly as his heart warms. He squishes his cheek against the side of your head.

“I love my Henry..!” Levi mumbles to himself, under his breath. He has no way of knowing if you heard that, which is why he said it out loud. It’ll be a while until he gets the nerve to say it when he knows you can hear.

_______

Satan:

He is HONOURED, he is OVERJOYED, he is MELTING, he is… very carefully remaining perfectly chill.

It’s the same type of happiness as when a cat decides to sit on you out of nowhere. He’s been chosen!

He is SO happy you trust him so much!

He had been reading, as usual. You had been sitting next to him, as usual. You had gotten tired, and without a moment of hesitation you had buried your face in his shoulder and fallen asleep.

He carefully contains all the joy this gives him, so he doesn’t disturb you. He wraps an arm around you, plants a soft kiss on your head, and goes right back to reading.

If you sleep fitfully, he’ll stroke your hair to soothe you.

When you wake up, he’ll ask if you had a nice nap. He won’t make any moves to make you get off him. If you choose to anyway, he won’t react outwardly, because he doesn’t want to discourage you falling asleep on him again. He wants this to happen lots more! So he’ll just smile at you and go back to his book.

But if you don’t choose to leave, he’ll shift you entirely into his lap to make you both more comfortable. He can hug you properly like this. If he’s sure you’ll be comfortable with it, he’ll kiss your forehead before going back to his book. He’s very happy to keep you there.

_______

Asmo:

Predictably, Asmo’s gonna take ALL the pictures of this!

A few in which he doesn’t look at the camera, as if they were candid shots. Some where he’s posing cutely, a couple where he’s kissing your head, a bunch of various angles of your sleeping face. What can he say, he thinks the way your cheek squishes against his collarbone is just precious.

A bit less predictably, he posts none on devilgram. No, these are just for him.

…maybe the best ones are for the group chat. He’s gotta show off his cute human to someone, it may as well be to his brothers. They’ll appreciate you properly. He’ll share after you’ve woken up, though. He doesn’t want anyone barging in to disturb you.

He’ll share the pictures with you as well if you ask, of course! What he will NOT do, however, is risk you deleting them! He’ll back them up first. He’ll store them in a hidden album if you’re shy about them, but he’s not deleting them!

Well, unless you’re genuinely uncomfortable. Then, okay fine. But please let him keep at least one? You’re so cute!

He’ll be more affectionate over the following days. Trying to be next to you all the time, inviting you to his room at every opportunity, pulling you to sit next to him. All because he hopes you’ll fall asleep on him again. Or just lean on him like that, and let him cuddle you. Please, he’d be SO happy!

_______

Beel:

Beel is so used to this behaviour. Belphie falls asleep on him all the time. He’d be the most chill about it.

As if it’s routine, he’ll secure you in your position with his arm, so you can’t fall and get hurt. He’ll rub your back and hum softly to you to help you relax if you don’t seem to be sleeping well. Beel is warm and soft and big and comfy, like the giant teddy bear he is at heart. He’s considerate and gentle. He’s always really sweet to you, and that doesn’t change one bit even when you’re unconscious.

When he inevitably gets too hungry to stay where he is, he’ll just take you to the kitchen with him. It’s no problem, he does this with Belphie all the time. It doesn’t matter how much you weigh, Beel can carry you easily. He thinks nothing of it.

He can cook one handed too if he needs to. He’s got practice—also because of Belphie. He’s chilling, he’s comfortable, there’s nothing unusual about this at all to him.

If the kitchen noises wake you up, he’ll apologize and share his food with you. He’ll tell you outright that he’s happy to let you use him as a pillow whenever you want.

(Also, he makes a mental note to drop you off with Belphie instead of bringing you along to the kitchen and risking waking you up again next time)

If it doesn’t wake you up, no problem! That’s what he expected. He just carries you around as he does what he needs to do around the house. He’ll put you to bed properly if he needs to go outside of course, but otherwise he’s bringing you with him.

When you wake up, he’ll put you down if you somehow indicate that’s what you want. If you don’t though, he just… won’t. He likes holding you. He’d do it so often if he thought you’d like him to.

_______

Belphie:

…Welp. The table has turned, hasn’t it.

People don’t fall asleep on Belphie while he’s awake too often! He’s not usually conscious to experience this! He likes it though. He thinks you’re being so cute.

9 times out of 10, Belphie will take this as his cue to cuddle up to you and join you in sleep. He can always be tempted into a nap. He’d make sure this the comfiest, nicest, most restful nap you’ve ever taken. He’d make sure you feel so safe and loved. You will NOT be disturbed on his watch.

On the rare tenth time, when Belphie isn’t tired, he might whine about being trapped. When one of his brothers points out that he can move you very easily, he glares at them. He maintains that it’s illegal to move when you’ve been chosen as someone’s pillow. When it’s pointed out that he’s perfectly capable of waking you if he really wants to get up, he looks affronted. He would NOT do that, he says. Do they think he’s completely heartless, he asks.

Well. He wouldn’t do that unless he’s feeling particularly bratty. He’d totally do it to any of his brothers… but he’s soft with you. He loves you. Be so for real, do you think he’d really ever pass up an opportunity to cuddle you? No way. He can go shopping later.

He won’t tell you that though. He’ll bitch about it to your face, complaining until you agree to go shopping with him next time, all the while refusing to let go of you.

He already was not hesitating to fall asleep on you, but he somehow gets more shameless and constant about it. Since you’re doing it too, it’s your thing now. You’d be a hypocrite to complain now.

Yeah, he couldn’t be happier about this. Please sleep on him all the time. Enable him even more! He’ll make sure you won’t regret it.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Ways to say "I love you" - Lewis Hamilton

I'm back with more Lew ❤️

warnings: mostly fluff, bit of angsty

wordcount: +3k

important: each drabble was writen as a snippet into different moments with Lewis. There's 10 more of those, but this was getting huge, so this is part 1.

With a hoarse voice, under the blankets

Life had been hectic, as it tended to be around the weeks before the final couple of races. You and Lewis had been on the road since mid October, not really going back to Europe since the US GP in Texas. The week off between São Paulo and Las Vegas the perfect opportunity to take a few days off in California with his friends. It was tiring, but you’d never complain of having a full passport as a down feature for your job.

The week of the Las Vegas GP was packed of events and promo for everyone, and to top it off a quick impromptu meeting with the board in the media day of the GP turned into a 5 hours long debate, that went well into the night.

You got back to your suite almost at midnight in serious need of a shower and some sleep. What you didn’t predict was Lewis already tucked into the bed, sound asleep.

You tiptoed around the room to try and find your things, not being lucky in the slightest you settled for a shirt Lewis had used in the road trip from LA to Vegas. The quick shower, only meant to decompress, had you engulfed in Lewis’ perfume, from both his shower products and shirt.

Lewis soft breathing guided you to the bed in the darkness of the room and when you got under the soft covers a pair of arms guided you to his chest, the one place sure to get you blacked out in minutes.

“They're in serious trouble for keeping you for so long” his horse voice an indication he had been in deep sleep already

“Sorry, took longer than we expected”

“Can’t wait to have you all to myself. Gonna have to lock you up at home during winter”

“No need, I’ll always find my way to you”. You mumbled into his neck, already nestling closer to him, ready to drift off.

A scream

“I love you” You screamed when you realized you’d never catch him, mid airport track, hoping the wind would somehow carry your words. His head turned abruptly, his face had confusion written all over his features, he was stuck in place, too stunned to comprehend the sudden confession you were hollering to the world but couldn’t say aloud to him just hours ago. You ran to him, security, people and restrictions be damned, that was your one chance.

“I love you, Lewis. I have loved you for longer than I care to admit, I have not stopped loving you even when I said I didn’t, even when hating you was all I wanted.” within arm’s reach you admitted breathlessly, doe eyes looking at you with such intensity you were sure he could see into your soul. His hands cautiously outstretching towards yours, waiting for you to take it, waiting for your mind to catch up to the feelings you had just admitted, waiting to see if you’d finally let your heart take over.

You didn’t take his hand though, going instead for the back of his neck, caressing the soft skin at the base of his hairline with your fingers, his overwhelming gaze waiting for your next move, for you to fully give in, looking from his eyes to his mouth until his scent and his touch were all that you felt. His hold on the lower of your back, the brush of his eyelashes on your cheeks and his taste on your lips were all you could ever want. The decision of a lifetime, one that after that day you would make every day, over and over.

On a random Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair

The thing with Lewis was he was too much of an Capricorn for his own good, the earth in him urged for stability and trust, and in the familiarity and serenity of home he urged for security, not that he wanted a predictable life, but he wished that no matter what, he had someone he could fall back on.

“Move in with me” He blurred out of nowhere causing you to lightly laugh at him, scotching closer to his chest as if there was any space left between you, both laying comfortably tangled in each other in his house in London. Pillows and blankets around you on the floor, the late afternoon sunlight hitting the glass on the dining table and reflecting up at the ceiling, a movie on the tv neither were paying attention to.

“I mean it. I don’t see myself without you, I don’t want to anyway.” he almost whispered in your ears, the low volume to his voice amplifying the seriousness in his proposal. Turning your head to look at him you held your gaze into his for minutes, almost daring him to call off the offer, but he never did. His warm smile spreading onto his features when you crocked your head and smirked, specks of the late sunlight glowing where they hit your hair.

“I’d love to” you murmured, straddling him and pushing his chest so he’d lay back down on the blankets, hovering your face over his, leaving ghostly soft kisses on his lips, coming back up to look him in the eye, time and time again. Convincing yourself that it was okay to finally let your walls down for good.

“I love you; you know?!” a statement so surely presented to your, so pure. He didn’t wait to hear it back before pulling your to his chest and his lips, he didn’t have to.

When baking chocolate chip cookies

“We’re baking chocolate chip cookies!” You exclaimed as you entered his home gym in London mid-winter break, supplies in hand already anticipating half of the ingredients wouldn’t exist in his fridge.

“Excuse me?” He questioned as he set the weights down and reached for the towel to get the sweat dry from his forehead

“C’mom, vegan chocolate chip cookies” you rushedly told him already half way back inside, leaving a confused Lewis searching for any meaning to what had just happened.

As he approached his kitchen, he could hear the soft music playing in the speakers in the background while you danced around arranging the things you’d need.

“Care to explain, love?” He leaned at the stool just under the glistening spotlight and the couple of trays spread at the kitchen island.

“Your niece and nephew are coming over tomorrow” She retorted, almost a duh expression on her features as she chopped the vegan chocolate bar.

“Y/n, they know I’m preparing for the season” He lovingly replied, getting closer to you.

“Oh, they’re not exactly for you, Lew. I mean, they’re still vegan if you want to try them.” You turned into his embrace, leaving a kiss to the corner of his lips before wiggling back to where the many food items were.

“You show up at my house midafternoon, fully stacked, to bake vegan cookies for kids that aren’t coming until tomorrow and don’t really expect to eat anything but fruits ?!” He crocked his head, smirk fully on display as his eyes gleamed.

“That’s like half the reason I came. Apples and bananas are fine, but they are kids.” You shrugged as that was the most obvious thing.

“We’re really baking cookies then, I guess?!” He reached to you and grabbed the flour off of your hand, pouring it into a bowl.

“Chocolate chip cookies” You corrected him, laughing as he stole a few of the chopped chocolates still sitting on the chopping board 

 

Not said to me

You jolted up from your sleep when you heard a loud cry, frantically looking around the room you remembered you weren’t home when your eyes found the luggage in the corner, yours and Lewis’s belongings neatly tucked in the adjoining closet, a stark contrast to the baby clothes and toys scattered around the floor and armchairs. Slowly coming to your senses, you realized the crying was in your dreams when you heard a happy babble, followed by your husband’s low voice coming from the balcony of the hotel room.

“Sshh love, we don’t want to wake mamma up now do we? She’s taking a nap so we can go for a walk down the beach later.” The little girl instantly responding with a babble at the word she knew all too well.

Getting up you didn’t have the heart to interrupt the scene that played out when you peaked from the opened French doors of the room, deciding to quietly watch from the threshold as he kept blowing raspberries onto your daughter’s tummy, the chunky toddler in nothing but her diapers, in the hot afternoon summer breeze of Italy in July, excitedly clapping her hands for her dad while sitting on his legs.

“Oh, I miss her too baby, even when she’s just in the other room… I’ll tell you a secret though, even if momma tells the world we’re twins, every time I see your eyes, I see hers, the same one I’ve been in love with for a long time. Everyone says you are my hard carbon copy, but I love that I get to look into a piece of your mommy whenever I look at you".

When we lay together by the sun

The sun in your skin felt divine, a stark contrast to the wintery end of year you’d been having back in Europe, the heat and humidity in the air bringing to your senses the familiarity of northeast Brazilian weather in the hottest months of the year. His touch on your shoulder blades providing even more warmth, big hands massaging your whole back with sunscreen.

“By all means I’m the biggest fan of your back massages, but I put on sunscreen just a couple of hours ago” you giggled looking at him over your shoulders, sunglasses on the tip of your nose.

“Just making sure you’re protected, will you do mine?” He asked after tying the strings on the upper part of your bikini and giving your bum a checky light smack.

“Yeah… come here you Briton” grabbing him by the arms you sat up on the lounger and guided him to sit in between in your legs, his back already hot from the sun exposure.

“Thank you for coming here with me, I know we made it a 4 times header not going home to rest for a bit after Mexico.” You told him while spreading the white content of the Brazilian sunscreen you’d bought, throwing away the british one, not properly suited to sun in the tropics from your past experiences.

“Any time, love.” turning to face you he pulled you by the waist, his signature smirk and relaxed eyes scanning yours. “Especially when it includes this little paradise.”

“Have I told you I love you yet?” You questioned, the toothy grin he loved so much splattered on your face, his strong arms around you, the sounds of crashing waves in the background, white sand in your toes and his skin smelling just like your favorite childhood memories did.

“Not today, I don’t think so. Eu te amo” a questioning look as he tested his Portuguese around you, crushing his lips in yours while you giggled, raising you up to his body so he could hold you in his lap, his touch also how home felt to you. 

Over and over again, till it’s nothing but a senseless babble

He felt the first little droplets of rain hit his skin as soon as she screamed “run”, laughing while holding her oversized hat to her head. He sprinted towards her, grabbing her waist, effortlessly stopping them both and turning her body to him, her eyes holding the warmth that lately he could only find there, his face adorned with adoration, her dimples fully showing as her lips plastered the sweetest of grins.

“I love you” He couldn’t help himself, those 3 little words coming out as easily as breath, the thought of how hard it’d been to get them out in the first place long forgotten. She held his gaze as if trying to eternalize those memories, the afternoon summer rain falling hard around them whilst rays of sunlight hit the concrete, their clothes drenched, drops of water running down their tangled bodies.

“I love you; I love you; I love you” senseless babbles that professed his utmost emotion, holding her up to him and kissing in the pouring rain like they were teenagers in a cheesy movie.

A whisper in the ear

Being back to Europe always took you some time to get acclimated, and it didn’t help that that particular winter had been the coldest in years, so much colder than what your body was used to, so you wrapped yourself up in blankets waiting for your boyfriend to get out of the shower and join you in bed, hopefully helping you to warm up.

His parents, siblings, niece and nephew were gathered for an impromptu 5 days getaway in the mountains, in the middle of wintery January, snow everywhere and days filled with winter sports, fireplaces and laughter from the people that had welcomed you as family. 

“Hey gorgeous, I thought you’d still be down there” he smirked his way to the open luggage on the little sofa by the bed, towel low on his hips and another in his hand for his face.

“Everyone went to bed, something about getting some sleep to beat you on the slopes tomorrow” You giggled the last part, knowing how competitive they could get. He chuckled and made his way towards you, getting under the blankets and bringing you over to his side, just his presence enough to soothe away the tight muscles from the cold.

“How come you’re always running so cold?” he whispered in your hair, wrapping his arms around your waist and hips and bringing you to his chest. His skin radiating warmth and the smell of your body wash, since he’d forgotten to pack his. Fingers absentmindedly tracing random patterns on your thighs, your eyes lazily trying to focus on the news on the tv but failing miserably, the world could wait until the next morning.

“I love you” was the last thing you heard he whisper, his hoarse voice heavy with sleep, his arms scooching your body closer to his while making sure the blankets covered you both before he let his own sleep take over.

As we huddle together, the storm raging outside

Sundays after races would always be busy for the both of you. The rain was falling hard as you entered the small RV as quietly as you could, founding Lewis ingulfed in his own thoughts and feelings when you finally cleared through your duties, way past the time you wish had.

Taking in how his arms and back looked tense while he rested his head on both his hands sitting in the small sofa, you brought yourself to stand right in front of him, softly running your finger on his neck until he looked up offering a sad side smile and tugged you to his lap. You hadn’t spoken to each other since before he got in his car, well over 4 hours prior, but you didn’t have to.

He needed time to process what happened, he always did. Lewis could always come to interviews looking like he had it all together, always with the right words, but you knew, from the crease in his forehead and the way his shoulders dropped whenever he breathed a little deeper, that his calculating-looking actions and words were just knee-jerk reactions.

“I love you” you said into his neck, a consolation of sorts, huddling together, sitting on his lap with his head resting on your chest and his arms holding your waist tightly. At least in that small room, neither of you had to think about the storm brewing outside, not yet anyway.

Over the shoulder

The championship had, yet again, came down to the last race and the doom could be felt even from outsiders. The last time it happened Lewis wasn’t even a Ferrari driver, but everyone remembered.

You had tried to block the subject from your conversations with him, warned everyone he had enough of the comparisons, made sure he had all the space to breath, concentrate and shield all the noise from the outside. Yet, in the apparent serenity of the hotel bedroom, the quietness would scream back at him.

“What if it’s not meant to be?” He snapped you out of your thoughts as you finished some reports on your computer. His eyes a mix of something you couldn’t quite pint point, his walls up even for you.

“Then you’re still a 7 times world champion, a driver who’s won for McLaren, Mercedes and Ferrari, a trailblazer in the sport, entrepreneur over a variety of assets, founder of Mission 44, British knight, Brazilian honorary citizen, Anthony and Carmen’s son, Nicolas’ brother, my mom’s favorite son-in-law… oh and Roscoe’s dad, of course.” He smiled as you got to his family, scootching over to be by your side on the balcony sofa and laying his head on your lap.

“I would hate to be an almost champion… twice”   

“Yeah, we would all hate that too. And it’s okay to feel all kinds of way about possible results, but we’re not gonna known until we know, right?!”  You felt him humm in response, your fingertips going through his braids, trying to sooth the tensions away from him.

It wasn’t until the soft humming of a phone in the bedroom that you realized you had fallen asleep in the balcony, his body moving almost automatically to get him up while his features revealed how he too had dozed off.

“Will you still love an almost champion?” He prompted suddenly, almost like he had just remembered he had to know, eyes twinkling under the lights.

“Babe, I stayed even in the timbs phase, didn’t I?” You smirked back earning a full soundless chuckle, those that had him reach for his diaphragm and shake his head left to right.

“You’re lucky I love you; you really are.” You heard as he looked over his shoulders just as he got back inside.

[redr0sewrites]

Aftercare Hcs with Lucifer <3

i wanted to write sum for him to start off my entrance into the hazbin fic writers fandom ajdjdjdj-

🥀 Cw: none, mentions of previous sex, fluff, lucifer being whipped and sleepy

lucifer is most definitely WHIPPED for you, no matter how long the two of you have been together he is the type to fall HARD

this transfers into aftercare, but also affection with him in general

he is especially clingy after sex, he wants all of your praise and attention~ who are u to refuse?

i feel like lucifer is the type to definitely prioritize cuddles and physical contact over cleaning up, he doesn't care how messy the bed is as long as he gets to be held by u!!

you often have to carry him to the bath while hes half asleep, he'll pout and whine about how hes "perfectly fine"

"do we haaavee to get up?"

"darling, do you want to sleep in your own cum?"

"...fine"

lucifer would absolutely feel bad about leaving the entire mess for u to clean up and will always offer to assist u

mind u, he can barely stand upright from exhaustion and hes covered in bites and bruises and soaked in sweat and... fluids

join him in the bath after cleaning up, you two have a giant bath that can fit the both of you (perks of being rich) that often leads to another softer round of sex or just sweet cuddles and massages

SPEAKING OF MASSAGES!!!!! HE WILL TOTALLY GIVE U MASSAGES WHEN YOU JOIN HIM, ALONG WITH WASHING YOUR BACK AND HAIR ETC

wash his wings, he will melt

praise him, tell him how good he was for you and how good he made you feel, it may not seem huge on your end but bc of how self conscious he is it definitely boosts his ego

once you both actually get to bed, his favorite cuddling position is either spooning, or just laying beside you with his arms (and wing) draped over you as your both pressed as close to eachother as possible. he loves when your faces are super close together too, so he can press soft kisses to your lips or boop your noses together

speaking of spooning, he will be little or big spoon! i hc him as a switch, so the same way he'll top or bottom in bed, lucifer is def down for being held and cuddled or holding you!!

lucifer is the type to enjoy soft chatter as you two drift to sleep, he loves getting to ramble to you about his latest rubber duck or his day or anything he wants, while you enjoy listening to him and admiring him while he slowly drifts off

he asks the weirdest questions after sex, especially when it was very intimate. hes def gonna ask u if u would still love him as a worm and then turn into a worm for good measure

"duckie, if you were an ant monarch, and you got to name your own ant hill, what would you name it?"

"...."

all the while, lucifer is just smiling this big goofy grin, watching you with lidded eyes and soaking in the warmth of getting to be with you

he just loves the fact that hes yours, that the two of you get to share these intimate moments together and that you both care for eachother so much

he falls asleep mid sentence too, it's actually really cute

"and then, *yawn*, i said.... like.... mhm... "

"goodnight luci~"

AUGHWHEHEEEHEHHEHEHEHEUEHEHEHEGEHESUAHAIEJEGEJEH

the soul ascending love i have for him and hazbin hotel is not normal i swear. expect more soon and please, for the love of all things good and holy, send in reqs im begging 👹

also sorry this is so shit i was gonna make this a full scenario but decided it was more fun as hcs bUUUUT i can do a scenario if yall want- i live to please

[seventeenpins]

Can we perhaps have something where stepdad Joel makes reader squirt-😗

alskdfjal yes of course this is so perfect :))) thank u for the prompt 💕

practice makes perfect

pairing: stepdad!joel miller x f!reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: follow-up to bad girl. your mom decides to go out one night, leaving you and your stepdad at home alone together. feeling hurt and petty in response to his wife's cheating, he has no qualms with fucking you in your mom's bedroom. you make a mess.

warnings: okay lets go, a lot of fucking (so much fucking), stepcest, infidelity, oral sex (mentioned), unsafe piv, SQUIRTING, dirty talk, fingering, daddy kink, age difference (reader is late 20s, joel is mid-40s), a bit of dom/sub vibes, multiple orgasms, creampie -- let me know if i missed anything?

a/n: i am so completely blown away by the response to my first stepdad!joel fic -- thank you all so much for the comments and reblogs and messages, i fuckin cherish them all. as always, pls feel free to reach out. i hope you enjoy this instalment!

for the first week after joel walked in on you, you were half convinced your entire experience with him had been a fever dream. you hadn't seen all that much of him on account of a big project he's been grumbling about, something about a delayed material delivery that pushed him closer to a deadline than he'd prefer. you were busy yourself, too, going out with friends and spending long hours on some of your freelance work.

there were moments, though, that you'd catch one another and there'd be a glint of something in his eye.

one night, you, your mom, and joel are all sat at the table for a family dinner. your mom has drained her wine glass twice already, and is reaching for the bottle again as she tells you both, "i'm afraid i can't stay for long tonight, i just got a text from vera. sounds like she's having a bad night and needs a friend."

joel makes a sound like a snort that he follows up with a cough. "poor vera," he says, "she's been havin' an awful rough time lately, hasn't she? it's like she's inconsolable every other day."

"yes," your mom says, "she has been going through so much."

joel stares at her for a moment and you almost expect him to challenge her on it, but then he lets out a breath and smiles.

"you're such a good friend, baby," he tells her and she grins before turning back to her glass of wine and taking a big gulp. joel fixes you with a knowing stare and smirks. you both know she's not going to vera's.

after she finishes picking at her plate, she announces that she needs to get ready and dips out of the room.

"so, vera, huh?" you ask and joel snorts.

"can't believe your momma forgot she made me follow that woman on instagram months ago. according to her recent posts, she's currently travelling through iceland."

you roll your eyes and laugh, "seriously?" you ask, and joel nods.

"you'd think she'd be a better liar by this point," you say, and joel smiles but winces a little too.

it's not a game. you know it's not a game. just because you're used to your mother's antics doesn't mean it isn't new to joel, and he's only known for certain for a week that she's been unfaithful to him and that's gotta hurt. despite whatever's going on between you two, you know joel's heart is aching.

you're pretty sure you've just poured salt in the wound.

"i'm sorry, joel," you say, suddenly embarrassed, "i didn't mean to- i don't know. i didn't mean to make fun of it. i know you're dealing with... a lot."

joel shrugs and relaxes, "ah, it's alright sweetheart. just something i need to deal with. but you've done nothing wrong."

"okay," you say, and it's only then that you realise how close you've been leaning towards one another. at the sound of your mother's heels on the stairs, joel clears his throat and the two of you put more distance between yourselves.

your mother's voice carries down the hallway. "will you two be alright without me? i know you haven't had a chance to spend much time together."

"i'm sure we'll manage." you say, and joel smirks.

"she's a real good girl," he says, "'m lovin these opportunities to get to know her better."

"i'm glad to hear it," your mom says, and smiles between the two of you as you do your best not to choke.

"ya look great, baby," joel says, eyebrows raised as he looks your mom up and down. "cute dress. that makeup's gonna get ruined with your face masks, though, huh?"

she blushes and waves him off, "you know i like to get all get dolled up for my girls night," she says, "i can wipe the makeup off later."

"i'm sure you will," he says, and though you can hear the edge to it, you don't think your mom can. he presses a kiss to her cheek.

"i might be home late," she tells you both, "don't wait up!"

"no worries, baby," joel says, "in fact, if vera's having such a hard time, maybe you should make it a sleepover"

your mom grins and it's dazzling and heartbreaking. it's moments like this that you can see exactly why so many men have fallen in love with her. "that's a great idea, honey," she says, "i think i'll do just that! i'll see you both in the morning."

with a swish of her hair, your mom has left through the front door. joel groans, folding forward and resting his head in his hands, letting out a low "fucking jesus" before he sits back and composes himself. he lets out a deep sigh and then turns to look at you and shakes his head, closing his eyes, resigned.

you're not sure what's appropriate. you nearly reach out to deliver a comforting pat to his hand, but change your mind at the last moment, instead batting your hand out like a cat's paw and then recoiling.

joel's eyes weren't, apparently, closed. he sees your indecisive gesture, frowns, and gives you a look, before laughing. "you're okay, sweetheart," he says, his voice still tinged with the rumble of laughter, "it's all a lot to deal with. but i'm managing. and guess what?"

"what?" you ask.

"we've got a whole night to ourselves. just the two of us."

"oh yeah?" you ask, and you suddenly feel hot all over. joel's staring at you with such a darkness in his eyes that you're certain you're already wet.

"'f that's something you'd like, that is." joel smiles and it's almost unexpected the way he checks in with you, that he still has the capacity to focus on your needs. in his position, you might just be out to take what you could get, wholly and selfishly.

he's so... considerate. fuck he turns you on.

"i've got an idea," you say, and you take him by the hand and lead him upstairs.

you can feel his body stiffen when you stand in the doorway to your mother's bedroom. "you want me to fuck you in here?" he asks, and you can't parse his tone.

you're worried that you've gone too far, that despite the filthy way he fucked you only a few days ago, you've hit a barrier you should never have crossed, but you nod. before you can ask is it too much? he's growling "yes" and dragging you into the room.

he pulls you into a kiss, frenzied and feral, his teeth biting at you, nipping at your lips and cheeks, laving kisses down your throat. before you know it, you're both fully naked, clothes littered all over the floor of the room and joel's teeth are gently biting down on one of your nipples as he rocks his hips against yours.

"are you gonna let me take care of you? gonna let daddy take care of you?" he asks, "use your words."

"yes, daddy," you tell him.

"ya know," he tells you, running a hand down your sternum and resting between your breasts, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing, "there have been a few times i've gotten home late these past few days, and when i walked past your bedroom door i could swear i heard the sweetest little moans."

you blush and look away from him.

"uh-uh," he says, tipping your chin up, making you look at him, "were you thinkin' bout me?"

you nod. "yes daddy" it's the truth, after all.

"good girl," he smiles, "thank you for being honest with me. now i already know you're a dirty girl, what with all your naughty videos. and i know you're a fuckin' slut the way you spread your legs so easily for me."

"yes daddy," you echo.

"but what i don't know," he says, and his voice is velvet and dangerous, his pupils blown with hunger, "is just how many surfaces in this room i can bend you over and fuck you till you're so cock drunk you can't speak."

your eyebrows shoot up and your jaw drops.

"i ain't even started with you, honey," he smiles, and he drops to his knees.

it's a fucking marathon.

he eats you out at the foot of your mothers bed till you're panting, his lips glistening with your slick and he makes you feel so good you're certain you're gonna die.

then, your positions are reversed, joel trying his best to plant his feet into the carpet so he doesn't melt off the bed altogether, while you kneel before him. he fucks up into your throat, delighting in every vibration your moans and swallows provide.

soon, you're pressed up against the dresser, your fingers gripping onto the drawer handles as he fucks into your pussy from behind.

then against the bookshelf. the closet doors. there's a moment where joel gets closer than he'd like to coming and he has you grab onto the floor lamp as he eats your pussy again on bended knee, only this time you're standing up and trying your best not to crumple onto him when he makes you come a fourth and a fifth time.

you're starting to get overstimulated. no, you are overstimulated, but it's in the most oddly delicious way. joel has you folded over the foot of your mom's bed, your knees on an ottoman, the rest of you pressed against the mattress, fists groping at sheets, holding on for dear life.

it's a good angle, hell, it's the perfect angle. not only does it feel incredible, it helps prop your ass up to a height that allows joel's huge cock to fuck you deeper without too much more effort, gripping your hips as he pounds into you. the best part, though, is that you're both at the perfect angle to see yourselves in the full length mirror.

"jesus christ, baby," joel is saying, "you see how deep i am? feel how deep i am? pussy's so tight around this cock. can almost feel myself in here," he says, and presses two fingers against your tummy.

you moan, using every ounce of strength you have left to keep your ass in the air and take joel's cock so nicely.

"it feels so good, daddy," you sob, "it's so big, making me come so many times. fuck, i can feel it building- it feels so good, you make me feel so good-"

"yes, baby," he growls, "let go for me, let me feel you come stretched so pretty 'round daddy's dick."

"fuck, daddy," you whine, because you realise it's a different sensation that's been building and even though you know what it is, you've never quite reached an orgasm like this before. "i'm gonna come, daddy! i'm gonna fuckin come-"

"shit, baby," he says as he starts to feel hot wet spurts of liquid splashing out of you, "oh fuck, you gonna wet my cock with your cum?"

you're screaming now, so fucked out and overstimulated

"oh, shit honey, yes-" joel shouts, a man possessed, as he pulls his cock out from you and rubs furiously at your clit, moaning loudly as you gush all over his hand. "oh, i'm gonna need more of that," he groans, and you can't find words to argue. he fucks back into you, hitting that same spot, finding that same pressure.

"could fuckin drink this, baby," he says, "comin' all over my cock like the fuckin whore you are. look at us, baby, look in the mirror and don't you dare close your fucking eyes."

you obey. it's a struggle to get your eyes to even focus, but when you do, you're sent over the edge again and again and again.

the two of you look so fucking good, the jiggle of your ass, the angles of your bodies and the way you slot together, the tan of joel's arms, his muscles, his control, the silver of his hair.

his breathless mantra "good girl, good girl, fuckin' take it, such a good girl-," as you take everything he gives you and more.

he finds a rhythm for fucking every last drop out of you. he'll give you a few harsh, deep thrusts and then pull out and rub your pussy till you aren't gushing around him anymore. then he'll slap your pussy with the head of his cock, making you shudder before he stuffs it back in and builds you up again.

your thighs are drenched and the wetness down your legs is cooling. you've lost count of the number of times he's made you come like this, but finally, you're shaking so hard you can't bear it and his thrusts are getting staggered.

he's breathless when he manages to ask, "you want me to fill up this lil pussy? fill it full of daddy's cum?"

"yes, yes, yeesss-" you beg, and you watch your reflection as joel's hips stutter a final time and he lets out a strangled groan as he loses control and fucks his release into you.

the second after he comes, he collapses onto you but you're so weak and fuck-drunk you collapse, too. joel rolls off of you so you can breathe, but then both of you are laughing. you're disgusting, covered in sweat and spit and squirt and cum, but joel dips a finger into your pussy and then licks up the combination of juices.

seeing your awed expression, joel shrugs and then smiles, a little embarrassed. "just needed to taste ya like this," he says, and it's incredibly endearing.

after a few more minutes of laying around in messy, sticky comfort, joel gets up. and then- "shit".

"what's wrong?" you ask as you look up at him and he's- laughing?

you look down at what he's looking at -- the ottoman. you've drenched it entirely. it's at least three shades darker than it was to begin with, and reeks of sex.

"well," you say, "that's not ideal."

"guess i'll have to buy your momma a new one," he says, rubbing against his temples and barking out a short laugh. then he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, and one to your forehead.

"you go have a shower," he tells you, "i'll take care of this mess, and then let's get some snacks," he winks, and you smile.

he starts to back out of the room when you call to him, "so, mom's gonna be gone all night-" you start to say, tentative.

"you already askin' for round two?" he asks, incredulous.

"if we're calling all of that-" you gesture around the room, "round one? then yeah. i'm asking for round two."

"dirty girl," he laughs, "you're fuckin insatiable!"

"that's not a no-" you point out.

"no, it's not a no," he says. "let's refuel. rehydrate. and get right back to it."

[mapileonxputellas]

Beckham II: 1 New Beginning

Please find instagram aesthetic here.

Post here explains how I've wrote it, I think it's quite simple.

This is the first part of my new series and I hope you enjoy xx (3k words)

“Do you ever think about how crazy it is that you’re an icon in Barcelona and yet your dad played for Real Madrid?”

“I try not to think about that. I think that bothers him more than me.”

“Does he have any Barcelona shirts?”

“Of course he does.”

…..

“David, how does it feel watching your daughter play for Barcelona?”

“It’s the best feeling in the world. I’m guessing you were expecting some kind of rivalry but I’ll always support my daughter.”

…..

Barcelona, February 2023.

One down, nine to go.

It was like clockwork in your brain. Training would finish, everyone else would rush to get back into the training room and get back to their everyday life. Yet here you were, on your own, just how you like it. You and the ball. Free kick after free kick after free kick. Ten in total, all from different areas, all with different aims but each one just as equally important in your brain.

Barcelona was a dream. You were here with the best players in the world but you hated letting anyone down. Every little mistake was over-analysed, picked at all because of who you were. At the weekend it was a wonder save which stopped one nestling in the top corner but that didn’t matter. It hadn’t gone in and therefore didn’t meet your expectations.

The expectations you put on yourself, multiplied by that moment four years ago.

You loved your father but many people probably didn’t understand that there wasn’t a gene for taking good free kicks.

Unbeknownst to you, all of this was about to change. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“If it’s another journalist, tell them I’m not interested.”

You couldn’t be bothered with whatever reply the press officer would tell you. It was the same every day. Someone wanted to speak to you, you said no. They came back the next day.

You’d think they’d get bored after four years of consistent turn aways but that was never the case. You did the press conferences, the interviews after games but a sit-down full-length interview was not something you felt like you could ever handle.

So you carried on, resetting the ball in the correct spot. Back to just you and the ball.

For February it was a sunny afternoon in Barcelona, the sun was still shining for the mid-afternoon with minimal wind. Perfect conditions to practice and as your teammates had pointed out you hadn’t needed any more persuasion to get that training vest on, your tattoos on full show. Along with football they were your biggest passion, your phone was full of tattoo inspiration and little doodles you did when you were bored, they were a big part of you and maybe the image you wanted to create for yourself.

You took inspiration from everything, football, the environment, your father. Growing up many would say you were already a carbon copy of him but the tattoos were the icing on the cake. Your mother may not have been as happy about them but they promised to accept all your passions and that included turning up every few months with a new collection of tattoos to show off.

…..

“Maria, is she copying you?”

“You’ll have to ask her. No of course not, I would say we take great inspiration from each other. We’ve got a few matching ones, I’ve done a few on her and she’s done the same to me. That’s kind of what started our friendship.”

“You both have ‘looks can be deceiving’ on your necks, is that true for her?”

“Depends on what you think of her. Maybe some find her scary but you have to find out if that’s true yourself.”

…..

You could hear someone approaching you, watching as you took the next kick nestling it into the bottom corner underneath the imaginary wall.

“Y/N, have you got five minutes?” The unmistakable voice of Sarina. Many people would love Serena Weigman to turn up at their training session, not you. Not now.

Shit. You almost didn’t want to turn around. Maybe if you stayed facing the other way she would leave. Leave you be in the bubble you’d created for yourself, nothing good could come out of this conversation.

But of course the Dutch woman wasn’t going to leave that easily, edging closer to you. “I only want to talk.”

“I gave you my answer a year ago.”

“Lots can change in a year. Five minutes. If you still want me to leave after, I’ll leave.”

Maybe it was worth hearing what she had to say. Nothing could change your mind anyway, you’d hear whatever she had to say and then she could leave.

You knew what she was here for and it didn’t surprise you what came out of her mouth next. “I want you back, I name my squad next week and I want you ready to play for us at the World Cup.”

“And I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“The fans are not that accepting, the players don’t deserve to be drawn into that drama because of me.”

“There’s always drama in football.” Maybe she had a point but off the back of the Euro’s success the lionesses have had nothing but positivity from the media and public. “We’ve lost Beth, we’ve lost Fran and I think the players would welcome your experience in that position. It’s your decision but I know deep down you want to prove people wrong and I want to give you that opportunity.”

“Some would say I don’t deserve that.”

“It will be different this time.”

“How?”

“It’s been four years, everything’s changed. We protect you guys, you have support systems in place, we have support systems. It’s not individuals anymore, it’s a team.”

“I made that decision to protect myself.” Almost four years ago you’d sent that letter, asking not to be selected for international duty again. They had no choice but to accept it and when Serena came into the role she approached you but you told her a tournament on home soil was not something you could mentally cope with. Not yet. “Why would now be different?”

“I’ve watched every game you’ve played in the last 18 months. I know you may not see a difference in yourself but I do, the interview after you lost to Lyon showed your spirit, your drive. I need players like you, it won’t be easy but I don’t want something that happened four years ago to stop you showing the world how talented you are.”

You were conflicted. Of course you’d love nothing more than to prove all those who bashed you before wrong, to make a difference on the world stage after winning every trophy you could with Barcelona. On the other hand it was just opening a can of worms you’d hidden all those years ago. Although you were only in Spain it felt like a different world, you turned your comments off on social media and they never came back on. Interviews were a no-go and your former friends were now distant acquaintances.

“Can I think about?”

“Of course you can. Like I said, the squad goes out on Tuesday so I need an answer by Monday. Any questions, I’m coming to the match on Sunday, maybe I can speak to you after?”

“Thank you.” With a soft squeeze to your shoulder she was off, except now you couldn’t focus knowing you were about to make a decision which would change everything.

…..

“You seem distracted.”

In hindsight it probably wasn’t the best idea to accept the dinner invite from Maria and Ingrid but you knew your best friends wouldn’t take no for an answer. The three of you along with Frido were sat at their dinner table, tucking into the tapas you’d ordered from your favourite restaurant and it wasn’t lost on any of them how your mind was elsewhere. Casually picking through your food was a total opposite to the way you usually devoured this.

“Y/N?”

You’d been debating on the way whether to speak to someone about it.

Maybe your dad? He’d gone through something similar but he was in Miami and would only just be getting up.

Your mum? She was the most rational option but she would never understand that pride of pulling on your national shirt.

Your therapist seemed the best option but the earliest session she had for non-emergencies was tomorrow.

“Y/N!” In your own little world you’d even forgot to answer their questions. “Are you alright?”

It could help speaking to them, couldn’t it? “I had a visitor after training. Sarina Weigman.”

“Shit man, I thought you said no.” Maria Leon was your best friend from the moment you stepped foot in that training room, you bonded over everything from tattoos to food. You’d been her wingman in getting with Ingrid and had a mutual understanding of each other’s situations with your respective national teams even if the circumstances were very different.

“She wants me back but I don’t know, this feels different from last year.” If Bonnie, your 5-year-old beagle, adopted 3 years ago to signify a new chapter in your life, wasn’t by your feet they would definitely be anxiously tapping the floor right now.

“They probably feel your absence more because they’ve lost other players.” Frido added some context. “Not that you wouldn’t have always walked into that team but now you definitely would. You’d be their main player.”

“I can see you’re considering it.” Ingrid pointed out. “When she came last year I could see you were like, definitely no, now you haven’t turned it down immediately.”

“There’s no right or way wrong to feel,” Maria tried to comfort me. “Only you can decide if you want to go back there.”

“I miss it.”

“Of course you do.” Ingrid agreed. “You wouldn’t watch all their games if you didn’t.”

“It’s just the fact that I’m comfortable here, I have been for so long and now I’m going to throw myself back into four years ago.” Four years ago when you’d been forced to move away from your club at the time in Chelsea and accept the fact that one mistake had changed everything. “Plus the media attention, no-one wants that in the lead up to the world cup.”

“They were your friends, I’m sure they’d understand.” Frido tried to make you see that side of things. “Shit happens in football but what happened to you when completely over the top of that.”

“I isolated them.” Of course you had friends in the squad at the time, in fact best friends. But as soon as you made the move to America you slowly distanced yourself from them as they did to you. You hated letting them down and completely understood that being associated to you meant unnecessary exposure where perhaps they would not want it.

“So you’ll make friends again.”

You’d changed as well, grown into a completely different person in that time. Your appearance and attitude on the pitch were a distinct opposite to the crippling shyness you had yet to shake off. “Maybe.”

“You will,” Maria assured you. “Plus I think Bonnie told me she wanted a sleepover with me.”

“Oh did she?”

“I’m not swaying you either way but if that’s what you want, I’ll support you all the way.”

“We all will.” Frido added wrapping her arms around you to bring you into her side. “We love you.”

“Thank you, I love you all too.”

“Speak to your dad, maybe even your mum. I’m sure they’d want to help.”

One of the funniest moments in your life had to be watching your teammates introduce themselves to your parents when they came out to watch your first match in the Blaugrana. Watching their nerves dissipate when they realised how down to earth, especially your mother was, when it came to their children. Of course their name brought so much extra attention to you but you couldn’t have asked for a better upbringing.

Maybe it was their words that made you do it but subconsciously you knew the best thing to do was to ring them. So as you got into bed that night, once you got back, Bonnie at your feet watching, you rang the number you’d had memorised for years.

“Hi baby.” His voice almost brought tears to your eyes. Although you tried to be as independent as possible, wanting to be your own person, you sometimes wished you could just go back to spending every night in his arms.

“Hi dad.”

“What’s wrong?” You hated how easily he could read you, how those two words were enough for him to know something was wrong.

“It’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know dad.” Out with it. “Sarina Weigman came to visit me today, she wants me to go and join them in the next international break.”

“And what do you want?”

“I think I want to.”

“You think?”

“I just know that if I do I’m just going to be brought back to that moment.”

“Then you’ll go back to a moment where the referees made a terrible decision. Football fans are fickle you know that as much as I do but you’ve watched it back enough to know that nine times out of ten nothing happens. The commentator did you no favours, Phil didn’t stand by you as he should have and the media hung you out to dry.”

“I know.”

“But as awful as it was it made you the person you are today and your stronger now then you’ve ever been before. If you want to go back then you’ll make it work. I know you will.”

“Thanks dad, now how is…”

,,,,,

“How many times have you watched that tackle back?”

“Over a thousand times.”

“Do you think you should have been sent off?”

“Of course not.”

……

You loved Barcelona, from the moment you stepped through those doors 3 years ago you’d been welcomed in and never looked back. In 2019 you moved to America but your year out there was plagued with depression and homesickness resulting in a lack of game time, when Barcelona came calling it was a difficult decision with your family ties but they had a project, they had a good set up and you knew the onus wouldn’t just be on you. The first six months were still tough, working out Spanish football to both play with your teammates and counter the opposition but by the end of the season you felt at home for the first time in 2 years.

Your role this year had been heightened by the loss of one of your midfield partners in Alexia, but you were adaptable and that’s probably how you found yourself 4-0 up, having just scored a second goal in the second half.

“It’s almost like you’re trying to impress someone.” Mapi whispered giving you a half hug as you walked back into your own half.

“Shut up.”

“I bet she’s panicking that you might turn it down now.”

“She’s got other players Maria.”

“But none of them are you.”

The match stayed at 4-0, some of the youngsters coming on to see the game out.

You’d never been in a team like this, of course you had little arguments and there were small groups within the team, but everyone worked so hard for each other. And with that came the protectiveness, when you joined you were only 21, now 24 and the older ones took you under their wings. You’d been daunted a lot at the fact of playing fellow English players in the Champions League but they’d been your shield for those moments.

It blew your mind when the younger age groups joined you and they speak about that moment. Most of them staying up late to watch it making you feel old. But that meant they came to you for advice a lot of the time. Maybe this time though it was time to get advice from them.

“Hey little one.” Maria Perez was the first one you spotted in the changing room. “You played really well today.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling about being called up?” It was only yesterday that the Spanish squad had been leaked and she was once again in it.

“Excited, another opportunity to prove myself.”

“I like that you see it that way.”

“Everyone should, it’s no different to playing here, as long as you be yourself you can never be disappointed.”

…….

@jillsmithjournalist: Serena Weigman is present at the Barcelona match. No current England players are playing however star player Y/N Beckham scored twice. Beckham has not played for England since she withdrew from selection in August 2019 amid public backlash and a rumoured feud with England manager Phil Neville. Could a return be on the cards?

@newlionesses_x: Surely she can’t just pick and choose when to come back.

@wslfan: Fine without her last year

@england123: Liability for England

@barcelonafan: All you hating on Beckham are crazy, one of the best players in the world and you don’t want her back because of something that happened 4 years ago, grow up. Could tell she struggled when she joined us but this past year she’s been exceptional, people change, mistakes happen (even though she should never have been sent off in the first place)

…..

You’ve known your decision for a long time but you still delayed giving it as long as possible before you could wait no longer. You could see she was the only one left in the hospitality area as you entered, the table she had chose overlooking the pitch you’d just performed on.

This was what you wanted and now it felt only right to give yourself that opportunity again.

“I’ll do it.”

[wifeofwandamaximoff]

Heyy got some silly recs if you like, it's just angst where wanda forget r's birthday like r was really looking forward to it because wands promised reader they'd go camping on her birthday but wanda forgot, fluff at the end though, thank you so much. Love youu😚

Authors Note: I loved this request and I had so much fun writing this. Its a small one shot. Im so sorry that it came out later than expected. I just had a lot of things going on at the moment. But im hoping to at least release 1-3 fics on Thanksgiving since I have the week off from school.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Fluff at the end.

I woke up to see that the bed was empty. I then quickly smiled and remembered it was my 26th birthday. I got up and put on a sun dress. It was a white dress with blue flowers on it, it stopped at my mid thighs. I then brushed my hair and went downstairs too see Natasha in the kitchen.

"Little Spider! Happy Birthday! Oh god ur growing up so fast." She pouted at the last part. I rolled my eyes at her words.

"Thanks Natty but where's Wands?" I then asked since I haven't seen her all morning.

"I think she's on a mission but its only gone be a few more hours until she gets home." Natasha told me with a smile.

"Oh ok" , I said with a sad smile. I then quickly made myself some hot chocolate while Natasha was rambling to me about Maria.

"Hey is Yelena coming over today?" I suddenly then asked her. Natasha then stopped her rambling and thought for a moment.

"Well duh, its ur birthday and im sure she is gonna bring a shit ton of vodka." Natasha said while rolling her eyes. I chuckled. Yelena has been giving me vodka for every one of my birthdays for 9 years now.

"Mm well im gonna go out. Text me when Wanda's back!" I shouted before I left the compound.

Hours later im still roaming the streets of Manhattan. I then suddenly get a text from Wanda asking where I am. Its now 7pm and I have realized an hour ago that Wanda forgot my birthday.

I didn't reply back to her and I kept roaming the streets. I then saw a ice cream stand and I decided to treat myself one more time for the night since I bought quite a lot of clothing.

I then ordered a strawberry cheesecake ice cream and started to make my way back to the compound. I then felt a presence approaching me.

Wanda then landed right in front of me. I then stopped walking and stared at her while eating my ice cream.

"Why weren't u answering my texts?" She questioned me immediately when she landed in front of me. I just kept eating my ice cream while staring at her.

"And why are u dressed up?" She asked while looking at me in my sun dress with multiple bags on my wrists while holding an ice cream. I just kept eating my ice cream while looking at her.

"Look at the date." I said while still munching on my ice cream. She then pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked her calendar. Her eyes then widened when she saw what today was.

"Oh detka im so sorry!" She then hugged me. Once she pulled away she took the bags off my wrist and dragged me towards some shops. My almost finished ice cream then dropped onto the ground making me a bit sad.

"Sorry detka ill buy u another one later." She said before dragging me into a store. After she finished dragging me into about 13 different stores we then were on our way back home.

"Wands u bought too much." I said while I was on her back. She then shook her head.

"There is no such thing, plus this is my apology for forgetting ur birthday and going on a mission while I could've been spending time with u and celebrating ur birthday." She said with a sad smile.

We then arrived back at the compound where everyone was waiting for us and set up a movie night for my birthday.

"Im gonna go change ill be right back." I said before taking all the bags and carrying them upstairs. I then arrived at our shared room and set all the bags on the bed and changed into some sweats. I then tied my hair in a bun before going downstairs to join the rest of the team.

"Little Spider! I brought us some vodka!" Yelena shouted when she saw me coming down.

"Its 9pm Lena! She is not drinking!" Natty scolded her. She then grumbled before setting the 9 bottles of vodka on the counter. I then run up to Lena and hug her.

"Dont worry we'll drink some when they are all asleep." I said with a cheeky smile. I then let go of her before I settled in between Wanda and Natty. Lena on Nat's other side.

"Can we watch Harry Potter?" I asked the whole team which they quickly agreed too. The TV then switched onto the first movie. I then snuggled into Wanda.

"Natty yelled at u for forgetting my birthday didn't she?" I quietly asked Wanda. She then turned to me. Hugging me tightly.

"You know damn well she did detka." She said with a timid voice. She was so scared of Natty it made me laugh every time she got yelled at.

"Even though u forgot my birthday im still glad I got to spend some of it with u Wanda." I said with a soft smile.

She then softly kissed me on the lips before going back to watch Harry Potter.

Once she turned away I was smiling like a kid in a candy store. I then cuddled into her before going back to watch Harry Potter. Best 26th birthday ever.

[jacevelaryonswife]

As a good wife should

It all started with an innocent hand just above the knee.

∴pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

∴warnings and a note: male receiving, also, english is not my first language

jacaerys velaryon masterlist

It all started with an innocent hand just above the knee. It was your first time being together with your husband's family in full, you were nervous but not as nervous as he was. The Targaryen drama was very dull and unfortunately your husband was involved in the dispute between the queen and princess's retinues, after all he was the next in line of succession after his mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen, and for someone as dedicated and obstinate as Jace, every minute should be well spent. And for him, by his nature, the duty to prove himself a worthy heir to the crown was even more challenging. Because of these factors, it was to be expected that returning to King's Landing would have left him on edge, even though he had fond memories of the place.

However, it was not like you to leave your good husband in such conditions.

Soon, the once comforting touch that reassured him became bold as your hand gradually moved up his leg, making him tense and a little red in the cheeks.

"Why are you nervous? There's no reason for that,” you asked quietly, keeping your touch discreet. "Just stay calm." Your breathy voice coupled with the grip very close to his intimate area made him breathe harder.

You knew exactly what and with whom you were doing it. Jace was a polite and perfectly well-mannered man, overly polite at times, which always led him to behave properly. But you were you after all, and he could scold you all he wanted, in the end, he loved your average recklessness in contrast to his rigidity.

“Not here, my love,” he chided, as low as your tone.

Again, you are you, so, discreetly lowering your hand, you quietly whispered:

"It's curious the way Prince Aemond looks obsessively at you, it's as if he wants to be in my place."

“Or stick a sword in me,” he replied sourly.

“Looks like we came to an agreement.”

He rolled his eyes, refusing to laugh at the double feeling raised by you. He always loved your cheeky sense of humor.

“Or maybe he's just jealous that no lady will ever touch him the way I touch you, the way I kiss you, the way I love you.” Your hand stopped mid-thigh and squeezed sensually.

And then he noticed the look you were directing him. That look. He knew perfectly well what it meant.

“We mustn't discuss such matters at the table, my pretty wife,” he teased, a smile daring to appear as he relaxed again — although your hand was still in an unsuitable region for the moment.

“Don't worry, we have plenty of time after dinner.”

You loved your husband's sweetness and politeness, especially in private. While ever firm, Jace had no problem giving up his seat for you to take over, which was genuinely great. Then, walking down the hall with your hand on his arm, you placed a sweet kiss on his temple and played with the soft dark strands, smiling passionately. A genuinely caring act, but once you entered your chambers the dynamic changed considerably. You grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling him into a demanding, sensual kiss that was returned immediately, one heavy hand holding your waist and the other encircling your back. He was tense, frustrated, as if he carried the weight of a thousand swords on his shoulders and the only way to lighten that burden was to be in your arms, and particularly, you were more than happy to help. So when Jace pulled away from your lips to kiss your soft neck, you let out a long sigh, stopping yourself from enjoying yourself too much by saying:

“Today is about you, my love, not about me.”

“What do you mean?" He asked confused, eyes confused and lips red and swollen.

A sly smile was his response as you guided him until the back of his back legs hit the bed. What you did next utterly shocked him, eyes almost wide as he saw his wife on her knees with her hands resting on both thighs.

“That's what I mean,” your hand massaged his groin and made him groan, opening his pants to expose your husband's manhood.

“My love, are you sure?” He sighed heavily.

You had never done this before, but you asked one of your maids who had a considerable background on the silk street for directions. The thought of pleasing Jacaerys like that was too delicious not to try, so you looked at him with mock innocence as you said:

“Absolute. Let me satisfy you, husband, as a good wife should.”

And so, you took the warm member in your hand and began to move it up and down, seeing and feeling it stiffen as your touch continued. It was experimental, but the positive sounds from him were encouraging for what came next. When the length of him was erect and proud, you licked your lips and leaned in to take the bulbous, swollen part in your mouth, making him moan loudly and cup the sides of your head involuntarily. All of his noises, from the loudest to the most guttural, made your flower tingle with heat. When you sucked and ran your tongue over the tiny opening he was sure he went to the seven heavens and back, letting an even louder sound escape.

A rare curse was said by him, closing his eyes to lose himself in the wonder you provided him. Your mouth grew bolder and you reached for more of him with every rise and fall, removing the hand that was masturbating him and gripping his thighs for support. It looked profane, a real sin that should horrify him, but how could it be wrong if it felt so good? So hot and wet, like your delicate womanhood. The sight alone brought him closer to the edge, with all the praise of her mouth warming and enveloping him and the look in her eyes shamelessly confronting him.

You sucked and licked him calmly, still reluctant to hurt him with your teeth, keeping a steady pace to satisfy and relax your beautiful Jacaerys.

He held and massaged your hair, making every effort to stay upright as you made him feel so good, so fucking good. But whatever composure he held was broken when your hand groped and teased with his jewelry, bringing him to the climax so unexpectedly fast that his breath hitched and he almost fell forward, letting out the hottest moan he'd ever had before. The whole situation was exciting enough, but watching you take his seed on your tongue was surreal and left him in pure bliss, all tension and previous resentment pushed aside to emerge in the hot pleasure you had provided.

Smiling at your good work, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rose to face him, "do you like it, husband?"

"Where did you learn this?" Was all he said before grabbing your waist and flipping you over on the bed, laying on top of you, still panting and sweaty through your clothes.

"With a friend."

May the seven bless her, he thought.

“I guess now it's my turn to give back to my beautiful wife.”

jacelist: @howyouloveyourdragon @damatheirin @valeskafics (kyle’s pride!)

[klwrites]

Young Love (Damian Wayne x reader) 2/3

Requests!!

Part one ->

Unable to believe his son would run away with a girl, he is hunting you down for the kidnapping of Damian Wayne.

You and Damian decided to head to the only untouched part of the city to find some food. Damian instructed you to put on his sweatshirt to cover up wit the hood, and gave you his sunglasses to further seal your identity. Damian was looking at the foods while your attention was to the left of the room by the back door. Somehow you could feel something coming, you turned to Damian, unsure what to say. You put a hand on his shoulder about to attempt to speak. You words were interrupted quickly by high pitched quick beeps, followed by a boom, and you fell to the ground.

When you got a chance to look up, you were being held at the collar by the Batman, before getting served multiple punches in the face. Then it happened, flames erupted in the grocery store.

“Damian, go!” Batman shouted.

That must be his name.

Batman threw you into the shelves so you would pass out before starting more flames. He cuffed you and turned around to face Damian, who was mid air to lounge at his father.

“Stop! Damian!” Bruce struggled between punches. “I’m here to take you away from her! I know she wanted you to get to me!”

“No, asshole! Not everything’s about you!” Damian kept swinging at him. “She’s not kidnapping me!”

“What?” Bruce shoved Damian into the ground, and stood up.

Damian slowly backed away from Bruce and towards you.

“That’s right, this isn’t about you, Batman. Great job destroying the only safe grocery store and untouched part of the city. We actually almost had it under control.”

He picked you up.

“Damian, put her down. She is dangerous.”

Damian raised his weapon at Batman, quickly blasting him in the leg so he wouldn’t follow you guys. He turned around and quickly ran out of the Grocery store.

Damian ran. He ran like it was him who was the enemy of Gotham right now. Eventually, he wasn’t in Gotham anymore. When he felt it was safe, he set you down, sat down beside you and kept his eyes on you. Trying to catch his breath, his heavy breaths turned into anxiety. It was mostly physical anxiety but all he could think was, Gotham is burning, and I’m here, with the enemy.

He shot the hero gotham needs right now, and he ran, like a coward. Your peaked open your eyes to see Damian distressed. Weak, you did what you could and lifted your cold hand up to his cheek, resting it there to show some form of solidarity with this near stranger you’ve spent most your week with.

It surprised him your hands weren’t firey hot, but freezing fucking cold. It was calming though, the blood rushed to his face was easing away. Physically his body calmed down. He looked into your eyes, almost curiously, and hesitated to put his hand on top of yours. Damian’s hearing focused on his slowing breath, he didn’t even notice yours. When he finally let his hand go, yours fell to to ground.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

“Hey!” He cursed himself for not asking for your name. “Wake up!”

“It’s time to wake up!” He repeated, more panicked.

He started poking you, poking turned to nudging, nudging turned to light hitting.

“Wake up! You bastard! I came all this way, wake up!”

When his angry voice’s echo ended, a flame erupted in the bathroom. All Damian’s wanted to do is help you, find a way to help ease all of this. He thought about your comfort to him,

That probably helped me more then I’ve helped her.

It was like your cold hand reset him. Cleared his mind. Then he realized, the brain releases norepinephrine during cold stress, which is shown to reduce depression and anxiety, and you’re fires started during moments for stress or anxiety.

Maybe he just needs to cool you down?

Damian needed a space to help you. He searched for the closest hotel and carried you into the bathtub, and turned the cold water on. He gently placed you in the cold water with a pile of towels next to him at hand, as he watched closely.

The water had hardly touched you as a weak flame grew next to Damian, he only took a second to observe it before bringing his attention back to you. A loud banging on the doors brought his attention back away.

“Damian! It’s Dick. Open the door.”

Fuck he cursed under his breath.

“Do I smell smoke? Damian what’s going on?”

Dick banged on the door again, more flames emerged each knock.

Damian quickly ran out of the bathroom, and dragged the bags of ice he bought on the way to the hotel with him to the bathroom.

“Damian! I know your in there with that girl. Open the door so no one gets hurt. I know you don’t want to hurt her.”

I don’t have time for this

Damian ripped open the ice bag one after another and poured them into the tub.

Come on, come on, come on.

Dick busted the door down, and ran inside toward the smoke. Damian grabbed a bag of ice and hid behind the door the sneakily strike his brother. Dick made his entrance and Damian swung him with the ice, and Dick fell unconscious. Damian then poured that last bag of ice in the tub. He watched carefully, but nothing happened.

She must be getting used to to temperature. It needs to shock her in order to make her body freeze what it’s doing.

He lifted your body out of the tub, and held you for a minute. Damian observed you closer then ever before. You were unconscious but not even your face wasn’t rested and he decided it was up to him to fix it. He dropped you back into the ice, you instantly sprung up and took many deep breaths in.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, you made it.”

Damian’s eyes watered as he quickly took you out of the water and held you in his arms as you were still weak. The hotel bathrooms flames were gone, he prayed the rest would be out too.

No one had ever cared like that before. How could a total stranger care more then anyone else has?

“What’s you’re name?” He asked, not wasting a second.

“(Your name).” You breathed out

“Hi (your name), I’m Damian.” He was panting as well. Both of you were exhausted and relieved.

“That’s Dick, my brother. He’ll wake up later.”

You looked into his gorgeous dark eyes, and he looked into yours.

The rest of the fires.

You quickly got up and looked outside, Damian followed.

“I think it looks alright out there.”

[skyloftian-nutcase]

"Okay," Zelda said, smacking her fist into her palm. "This one is going to be it."

Silently, her companion added a scratch mark to some parchment he'd been carrying.

Zelda glanced at him, eyes narrowing. "Are you keeping tabs?"

"Only when you say this one is going to be it or some variation of it," Link replied smoothly.

Zelda huffed, ready to argue, when out of curiosity she asked, "Where are we at?"

"Eight."

"Ha! I expected more! This is good, then."

Link sighed. "What's the story with this one?"

"Hear me out," Zelda started excitedly, spreading her hands like she was opening a large book. "A thousand years ago our land was encased in shadow."

Link stopped his horse, staring at her. "Is this another one of Beedle's stories? The last one nearly got us killed."

"No, no, no!" Zelda grumbled, rolling her eyes. "This one is from my family. History may have turned to hearsay and legend for the common folk of Hyrule, but it's sacred to my family. This one actually happened!"

Link raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but urged his steed to start moving nonetheless.

"So," Zelda continued. "A thousand years ago, shadows came to our land and cursed our people. My ancestor joined up with royalty from a distant land and together, they summoned the Hero of Light, who destroyed the shadows. That very Hero lived in the village we're going to!"

Link had to admit... he was still dubious, but he was a little curious. "An actual Hero? There's relics of one of the acutal Heroes? What royalty from a distant land? The only neighboring land I know of fell to ruin a hundred years ago."

"I don't know where it was, honestly," Zelda answered sincerely. "They were always really vague about it and I don't know why. But apparently the person died, so they honored her sacrifice."

Link hummed, tossing his braid back over his shoulder. After going through multiple villages, towns, and even a city, the fact that they were going somewhere that might have housed an actual Hero at some point in history was almost promising. Perhaps Zelda would find who she was looking for and Link could return to his quiet home and avoid all this mess.

It seemed too good to be true, though. Heroes were relegated to myths. The only reason he knew those myths were real was because of his parents. But still... they were ancient.

Surely no such catastrophe could strike the land now. The princess was just naive, right?

"Ah! We're here!" Zelda announced happily, bringing her horse's steady stroll to an end. Link watched her climb off before following suit.

"Where is here?" he asked as they passed a spring.

"Ordon Village," the princess replied, popping her hands on her hips and smiling with pride.

Link stood there beside her, staring a moment and sniffing tentatively. "It smells like manure."

Zelda scrunched her nose. "It does not! What if that smell is something else entirely?"

"It's definitely manure, Highness."

"Well your town smelled like it too!"

"My town is a trading hub!"

"I can't even smell any--" Zelda stopped in mid-sentence as the wind changed directions, scrunching her nose. "Oh."

Link turned to her, now completely affronted. "What did you smell before that made you think of my town?"

Zelda waived a dismissive hand. "Doesn't matter - we have to find the Hero!"

Link sighed, following the princess into the village. "Your Highness, your story is from a thousand years ago. That Hero is long gone."

"Of course he is," Zelda replied with a roll of her eyes. "But there's word of someone named Link who lives here!"

One royal pronouncement and excited welcome later, the pair found themselves standin gover a crib.

"Well," Link quipped. "I suppose he could cry the enemy to death."

Zelda's sour look was response enough.

"Is there a Rattle that Seals the Darkness?"

"Just shut up."

The princess could only be upset for so long before she started cooing at the baby and laughing as the little bundle giggled in reply. Even Link had to smile fondly at it. The two congratulated the happy couple and gave them their well wishes before dining with the village and setting out once more.

"I think your story was a bit off," Link remarked as they walked their horses to the edge of the village.

"Just because the lead was false doesn't mean that a Hero didn't once live here," the princess said a little stiffly. "My family's history speaks of it."

He didn't argue. His own father spoke often of the royal family's role in helping Hyrule remember its history. He just... well, he had to admit he was a little disappointed. While he wasn't nearly as excited by history as his father, the promise of seeing traces of the Hero had been simultaneously intriguing and unnerving.

Either way, it was back to the road for them.

The masseur paused as the princess continued, glancing over at the spring as something sparkly caught his eye. Was that... was that a fairy? He hadn't seen one of those since he was a child, and that had only been once! Distracted, he hovered back a hair as Zelda plodded ahead, but the princess noticed his stillness.

"What is it?" she asked, coming back to him, before she saw it too. With an excited gasp, she rushed ahead, and Link tripped over himself to follow her.

The fairy flitted away quickly, but the pair stopped nonetheless.

They were back at the spring, but behind the waterfalls that fed into it, they could make out a small engraving. The two slinked around the edge of the spring (Link nearly face planted on the smooth, slick stone) until they managed to get behind the roaring water. Link shivered as they both got soaked in the misty spray, but the princess seemed completely unbothered.

Zelda's hand snaked around his upper arm, eyes fixed on a point, and she whispered, "It's him."

Link was about to question what she meant, wondering how a stone could mean anything, when he squinted at engraved words that were below a half worn symbol of the Triforce.

-ink

-elove- --ther and husba--

H-ro of L--t & Sh-d-w

"There's no grave here," Link noted softly.

"A monument to him, then," Zelda noted, though a little confusedly. "Why wouldn't they bury him here, or somewhere with honor?"

Link stared at the stone, eyes trailing down to see fresh flowers placed there. The villagers know and didn't tell the princess. A soft smile pulled at his lips. "He comes from a pretty humble place. I think... I think he wanted to keep it that way."

The princess hummed, still perplexed but trying to understand. Eventually, though, she knelt, folding her hands in prayer. Link sank to his knees, sitting on his legs rather than kneeling, eyes looking beyond the words half lost to time. He thought of the history behind his name, and behind his people, and he wished for a moment that he could claim to be part of such a heroic lineage. If the Heroes of Hyrule were truly like this...

He sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head in honor.

[deebris]

Guilty

Satoru Gojo x wife reader

Synopsis: Your husband never put a drop of alcohol in his mouth, and that was one of the things that made you give him a chance in the past due to family traumas that you carried because of it. But after years of relationship, one day he just surprises you by coming home late at night and out of his mind.

Warnings: anxiety; guilt issues; trauma with alcohol; harassment; some swearing; violence; anguish; Gojo's behavior is disgusting; Nanami is a friend.

Word count: 4.2k

I have to say that I really like angsty scenarios with couples. Don't judge me.

The clock on the living room shelf showed that it was already midnight. You stared at the slowly moving hands of the clock for a few seconds, and this only fueled your anguish. You asked yourself where the hell your husband was, so you pulled the thin blanket you brought to wrap yourself even tighter while you waited for him on the couch.

The plate with dinner food that you kept for him on the table was already cold and the feeling of loneliness made you uncomfortable. It had been a little over an hour since you had sent some messages to Satoru's cell phone, but they were not even received. Intrusive thoughts began to surface, contemplating the scenarios that could have happened to him, and they were all the result of the intense worry you felt.

He never stayed out this late without warning, and as you got up to look out the front window in hopes of seeing him arriving, your cell phone screen lit up and the typical sound of notifications vibrated on the table next to the armchair.

"Good night. Sorry for the inconvenience. We sent Gojo home in a taxi, he was in no condition to return on his own. Please let me know when he arrives so we know everything is okay."

- Kento

The message was a little confusing for you. Nanami spoke in the plural in a part of the message and did not clarify what exactly had happened. It was as if he assumed you knew something beforehand, but obviously you were lost trying to understand between the lines.

Besides, you would never expect to receive a text from him at this time of night, even after years of being friends. You wanted to extend that chat and clear up all your doubts, but you remembered that Satoru was coming home and could do that, so you just thanked him politely.

As you made a mental reminder to text Nanami when Satoru was home, coincidentally, a car's headlights illuminated the windows of your house. Most of the lights in the rooms were off, as you didn’t want to attract the attention of the neighborhood so late with the lights on.

"He's home. Thanks again, dear."

You informed him as requested and left the device back in its previous place to wait for the man near the front door. You heard the car tires go away and someone take heavy steps on the wooden planks of the porch.

Totally against the Gojo clan, you and your husband have moved to a mid-sized property in one of the regions of Tokyo. Honestly, you don't know if you could bear spending your days next to the old men and the numerous servants controlling your routine.

The door opens and you notice him struggling to find the light switch in the room, so you walk over and turn on the light. When he finally managed to see what was around him, Satoru opened his eyes that were half closed a little and looked at you.

"Hey, my beautiful wife." His voice was heavy, as if he needed a lot of effort to speak properly. He looked tired, and didn't have his usual playful demeanor. You were irritated and noticed that he hadn't closed the door yet, so you had to move a little closer to where he was to reach the door and lock it, but Gojo took advantage to put his face in your neck.

It was at that moment that you smelled the alcohol coming from his mouth. And it wasn't just any smell, it was very intense. Disgusted by the drink you immediately pulled away.

Gojo didn't drink, and after finding out years ago why you hated it so much, he promised he would never touch a single drop of alcohol. He could never do that to you. So why did he smell so bad now? You didn't want to believe that your sweet, handsome husband had come home drunk. Immediately the dark memories of your childhood and adolescence emerged and you froze in place.

"Satoru, what is this?" You asked alteredly, no longer knowing if you felt anger, fear or worry. Or maybe you should feel a mix of everything.

"What do you mean?" He was beside himself, he didn't even seem to know where each room was. Did he even know he was home?

"You drank?!" It wasn't necessary to ask, but you still did. You decided to do something else to not stress yourself out even more and walked away from him. You were warming up the plate on the table, as you normally would on days when he gets home a little late because of work. Then a light bulb went off in your head. Did you spend hours worrying while he was partying, drinking and having fun  until late at night? He didn't even warn you or give any kind of satisfaction, and you just didn't feel worse because you knew Nanami was with him.

"Where were you?!" you turned around, this time making your angry tone clear so he could notice your mood.

"In a bar." His response was direct and smooth. You would never dream that he would come home like this, and even more so that he would admit what he did so easily. Had he forgotten his promise or did he simply not care anymore?

"Why?" Your question seemed to have made Satoru reflect for a while, or maybe he just couldn't think straight when he was so drunk. He wasn't completely conscious, but he could understand some parts of things.

Why had he been drinking? He had already heard from many people that alcohol helped them forget their problems, that distorted senses would make people happier. Gojo just wanted to get rid of the Jujutsu world for a bit, he just wanted to pretend for a moment that he was an ordinary citizen, one of those people who never dreamed of what a curse was. But he wasn't able to formulate that answer for you right now.

"Ah, come on, my love. There's no need to worry so much." he tried to distract you, or perhaps distract himself from the regret. He didn't know exactly how he felt, because the anguish he had in his chest before stepping into that bar was still there, but accompanied by drunkenness. "It was just a few shots." he said as he left the living room and walked over to you in the integrated dining room. He analyzed your silhouette with blurred vision and his heartbeat quickened a little more, he just didn't understand why exactly. He still had the desire to forget something; he wanted to forget everything and the drink didn't help him at all. The only thing it managed to do was confuse him.

Gojo wanted to numb his mind, and he was trying to do that through his body. Forcing himself to feel different things through lust.

You were his safe haven, but why didn't he look for you this time like he normally did? He didn't want to throw the burden of his sorcerer life onto his wife, he tried to follow an alternative path, but it didn't work. He needed you, needed to deceive himself in your embrace. He wanted to imagine that his world revolved only around you and that there was no one else on the Earth. He needed your touch as a last resort to expel the mental torture in his mind caused by his work.

He tried to get close to your neck again and you rejected him like before. He was confused, why were you acting like that? You never refused his touch, why this reaction now?

"You should take a shower. Seriously, Toru." You called him by his nickname, trying to convince him to jump into the freezing water. Was he dirty? He wondered. Was that why? Satoru knew well your requirement to keep the house clean and street clothes away from the furniture, as well as the shoes that should remain at the entrance. But that was the least of his worries now. He just wanted you, he needed to have you.

"I just need a hug from you." He insisted again and wrapped his arms around your form. He wanted to beg you, if necessary he would kneel, but luckily for him, this time you didn't move away. Still drunk and with his head spinning, he put his nose in your hair and sucked in air. That wonderful smell of the new shampoo you bought brought comfort, making him travel through sweet memories when he realized it smelled like honey.

But after a while, he seemed to want something different. His touch no longer seemed innocent and Satoru began trailing kisses from your temple to your shoulders. He moved his arms from your back and began sliding them around your waist, feeling the curves of your ribs and hips.

"Stop, Satoru." You groaned at the disgusting smell coming from him. He was going to make you smelly and rub his saliva all over your body. You hated that smell, and he knew it. He knew that.

"Why are you being so mean?" He whimpered, and you weren't offended by his accusation, understanding he was stunned. And when you felt like that was enough, trying to free yourself from his grip, he's hands around you became firmer, trying to keep you closer to him.

"I told you to go take a shower, Satoru. Stop." He completely ignored you and started trying to lower the straps of your nightgown while he continuing to kiss the area of ​​your neck and shoulders. The nightgown was light and would slide out easily, so you had to fight against his hands to stop him, but his grip was too strong. While you resisted his movements on the top of your clothing, one of his hands tried to lift the bottom up and expose your panties. Your body shivered with fear at the feel of his member, as your husband forced his hips into yours.

He couldn't think straight, wanting only to satisfy the intense desire to have you "Stop it!" it was too much for you. Bad memories were already flooding your mind since you found out he had been drinking, and now your husband was behaving like a maniac. "I told you to stop it, Gojo!" You screamed as you reached your limit, and unable to bear the touch any longer, you abruptly pulled away from him, ripping one of the straps of your clothes in the process as he wouldn't let go at all. You picked up the plate of cold food from the table and threw it at his head in a desperate attempt to stop him.

The object hit Satoru's head intact and only broke as soon as it fell to the ground, shattering into shards and scattering pieces of rice and vegetables everywhere. You hadn't even noticed the tears running down your face before, your legs were wobbly from nervousness and you didn't pay much attention to Gojo curled up on the floor trying to contain the pain of the blow. You desperately ran to get your cell phone and stared at Nanami's profile in the list of recent conversations, deciding to call him in fear that Satoru would try something again.

Climbing the stairs in terror, you locked the door to your shared room, waiting hopefully for him to answer. It was only after 5 beeps that you heard Kento's voice.

"Hello?" He called your name and tensed as he heard some of your sobs over the line. You didn't say anything for a while, embarrassed and thinking about what you would say. "Everything is fine?"

You shook your head no, but then remembered that he couldn't see you. "N-no." Your voice cracked and you tried to wipe away the tears to compose yourself. You didn't want to admit that you were scared of your husband, but you also didn't want to face him alone right now.

Patiently your friend waited while you remained silent. He was worried, but he couldn't help unless you spoke. Meanwhile, your intrusive thoughts had returned. The anxiety inside your chest began to work intensely, and you couldn't stop asking: wasn't your attitude exaggerated? Weren't you making a storm in a teacup? Was it really necessary to have called Nanami?

"Do you want me to go there?" After a long time he spoke again waking you up. He felt that something was very wrong.

"Please." You cried out, he felt it in your tone. So without wasting any more time, he ended the call to come to you.

After minutes of driving, he arrived at the residence and knocked on the front door. After a long time, he realized that no one would come to answer, so he tested the handle and the door was open. He noticed the tense atmosphere and as he entered the house a little further and then he saw his white-haired friend sitting on the floor.

Gojo looked distressed, his hands angrily gripping clumps of hair as his back rested against the counter doors. Observing a little more, he noticed the dirty floor with shards of broken glass scattered around. The pieces reached distant places, indicating that the fall had a great impact.

"Were you the one who did this?" He asked bluntly, wishing in his heart that the two of you were okay, that everything was just an accident. It wasn't necessary to be very smart to notice that you had been arguing.

Gojo directed a pointed look at the blonde next to him, looking much more sober than the last time they had seen each other. "No." Gojo stated and then thought some more about what had happened. He replayed in his head you throwing the plate to defend yourself, from him. "Yes..."

"Where is she?" Gojo didn't like his friend's tone. It made him feel a thousand times worse, like a monster. Had you called him here? Were you really that scared of him? "I believe upstairs." He responded bitterly, the words clumping in his throat. Gojo didn't even have the courage to look for you to apologize, still not believing in his own behavior. The slam of the plate seemed to have broken some kind of spell, and he was more rational now.

Nanami ignored her friend and went upstairs and called out to you in the hallway. He didn't get a response, but decided to head to the most obvious option, your room. He knew a good part of your house, having been insistently invited by Gojo many times in the past. Hearing a muffled cries, he knocked on the wood.

"It's me. Kento." he heard your hurried footsteps and a key turning in the door, then you appeared. He noticed your disheveled state. You were a mess, with red eyes and trembling lips. He didn't want to pay any more attention to you than necessary, briefly noticing your nightdress being a little too intimate. He ignored that part and focused on your face, genuinely concerned.

"Thank you for coming." You hugged him and he didn't quite know how to return the gesture, but you didn't mind, because you knew it was just his way. You left the door open and invited him in for a bit.

As you went to sit on the bed again, Nanami saw a wool coat resting on a chair and gently picked up the piece. He walked over to your bed and positioned himself in front of you. He bent down to the same height as you and respectfully slid the slightly too big coat off your shoulders. He allowed you to grab the piece to cover the larger neckline created by the dropped strap, adjusting it in the best possible way. Then you noticed that the fabric wasn't big enough to cover your thighs and with one hand you stretched the hem of the nightgown to hide as much of that area as possible, feeling stupid when you finally became aware of how indecent you were.

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice." You whispered embarrassed.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" He ignored your apology, bringing the focus of the conversation to what really matters. You thought for a while, still not knowing how to handle the question.

"Did you see him down there?" You were suddenly curious to know how your husband had reacted after you left. Nanami nodded after your question. "And how was he?"

"Shaken up." His response made you think. You had done this to him, maybe it was just your imagination. Satoru was a caring husband, he was just trying to be affectionate with you, wasn't he? Some thicker tears began to leak from your eyes again and you immediately wiped them away with your hands.

"I-I don't really know-" you started to speak to answer the question he had asked, but stopped yourself, pondering whether you should really tell him "I don't really know what happened. I could have imagined things, I haven't certainty."

To say Nanami was confused was an understatement. Imagined things?

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I understand that this is your private life." His words were captivating. You really felt like telling him, but the inner fear that you were accusing your husband of something he might not have done, that you might have just misinterpreted, gnawed at your mind.

"He arrived drunk. I don't know why he arrived like that, he never drinks. You know that." You stared at the open door next to you, remembering that Satoru was still around at home. Understanding what was bothering you, the man asked if he could close the door and you consented.

"What else?" He encouraged you to continue.

"I hate alcohol, Kento. He knows that." You threw a strand of hair that insisted on falling behind your ear on your face and tried to steady your voice to continue "So he got a little clingy... then he came at me a-and Satoru started to touch me, then I asked him to stop, but he didn't seemed to be himself-"

Nanami tensed at your words. Had the broken man below really dared to do this? He would never be able to imagine his longtime friend acting like that, so it took him a while to digest what you said. But when he remembered the state of your nightgown, some things started to turn in his head. Suddenly the Nanami's aura became dark and you opened your eyes wide, fearing that you had said something really stupid.

"I know Satoru isn't that kind of man, Kento..." you desperately tried to explain yourself "Like I said, I may have imagined things."

"I believe in you." he tried to stop your rapid thoughts and stared at you in silence, still trying to process what Gojo had done. You were obviously distraught and creating scenarios in your head to mitigate the facts. He finally understood why you were so scared, why you had locked yourself in the room, and that reaction from Gojo... it would be hard not to believe what you said after realizing all that.

"Did he hurt you?" The question made you blink your eyes frantically, truthfully denying such a question.

"No! He would never do that!" You said with a hint of hesitation, wondering what would have happened if you hadn't been able to hit Satoru moments ago "He would never do that..." you repeated the last sentence in a whisper, trying to convince yourself more than the man in your front.

Kento remembered the plate thrown on the floor and Gojo's response when he had asked if the white-haired man had thrown it on the floor. No and yes. He assumed you threw the plate to defend yourself and finally he understood the meaning of the Gojo's ambiguous answer.

"But he is in perfect physical condition." Nanami eased your worries, figuring you would be worried about this.

The two of you spent long seconds in silence, and while Nanami thought of a way to help you, your thoughts were solely focused on the anxiety growing in the chest, trying to drown out the bad feeling and negative thinking.

"Do you want me to take him with me?" Nanami suggested and you understood what he meant. He was going to keep Gojo away from you tonight, take him with him somewhere, maybe his own home. You considered whether this would be the best option, but you doubt that you would be able to stay close to your husband for now.

"Do you think this is the best idea?" You questioned him shyly.

"I can spend the night here too. I can sleep downstairs with Gojo." Kento honestly didn't know what the correct way to react to this was. The situation took him completely by surprise and his mind was restless.

You thought for a moment and tried to imagine yourself with Satoru sleeping downstairs. You found the idea uncomfortable and the realization made you want to burst into tears even more. Your lips trembled once more and then you began to feel a sudden anger.

It's always the damn drink. It's always its fault! If it didn't exist, this would never have happened. You hated alcohol and everything related to it with all your being. You wanted to break every bottle of that unfortunate liquid.

You loved your husband too much to hate him even now. You would be angry at him at times, but you would never be able to blame him openly, denying it to yourself. So you deflect the blame onto a phantom enemy. The alcohol.

Your train of thought was interrupted when you heard Kento calling yout name once again. "I'm sorry, I thought too much."

"I think I'd better take him away tonight." He suggested seeing your inability to make a decision now. "Will you be okay alone? Do you want me to ask someone to stay with you?"

You didn't want to include anyone else in your problems and so you looked at the bedside clock noticing that it was already close to 1 am. "Yes. I'll be fine." Your voice was low and distant.

"Are you sure? You don't want me to call Megumi or someone else?" Kento knew your relationship with the boy well, having heard him call you mother in secret many times, but the idea seemed scary to you. Megumi never managed to find out what happened tonight, he would hate Gojo.

"Please, leave this story just between us" you asked swallowing hard

"If you need anything, just call me again." Your friend decided not to go against your decision and got up from his crouched position to go get Gojo. Before disappearing down the hall, he looked at you one last time. Your gaze was fixed on a random spot in the room and he let out a disappointed sigh. Against his will, Nanami walked again and went down the stairs.

"Let's go." he announced rudely as he met the eyes of the sorcerer already in the room. Gojo hasn't taken his eyes off the blonde's figure since his feet appeared in his field of vision at the top of the stairs. He was still sitting by the counter, replaying over and over the memories of you fighting him and torturing yourself for being an asshole.

"Was she the one who told me to leave?" Satoru's voice had a defeated tone.

"Not exactly." once again, Gojo hated the way Nanami spoke to him. Depraved, that's how the man sitting on the floor felt.

Still under the influence of alcohol, he needed help to get up. His head hurt like never before and everything started spinning. It took a lot of strength to lift him, as his body insisted on remaining on the ground, but Nanami tried his best to get him into the passenger seat of the car.

The entire way Gojo remained silent, looking out the window and both refusing to look at each other. Gojo seemed to have traveled in time when he noticed that he was suddenly under a shower. He didn't remember how he got out of the car, and somehow, he now finds himself in a bathroom with his clothes soaked. Nanami had no mercy and threw him under the freezing water as soon as they arrived, already fed up with the weakened state of the person next to him.

And then, Kento heard sobbing. Unlike those of the woman he spoke to a short time ago, these were more discreet and seemed to refuse to make too much noise. This was the cry of a man who didn't want to cry.

He just watched from a little distance as Gojo's shoulders swayed up and down. In an outburst of anger, he knocked over all the hygiene products hanging inside the shower and kicked the glass door hard. By a miracle, it didn't break, but made a powerful sound echo around the place. Nanami knew that there was a lot going on in his head right now, what should have been a work problem had consequences for your marriage, and very serious consequences.

"She's going to hate me, Nanami." Here it was. The most powerful sorcerer in the world crying like a child. He expelled the words in a distressing manner and the blonde finally felt a little sorry for him since they had left the house.

"No, she won't." Kento knew you, and witnessed the beginning of your relationship. Maybe it would be good to get away for a bit while your husband had so many problems with the life of a sorcerer. Maybe you two need to spend time alone, like some couples do, until things in the jujutsu world calm down and Gojo's temper returns to normal.

After a long pause, he was supposed to say something else. His friend was already quite upset, but Nanami was still outraged by Satoru's actions. Looking at his own reflection in the tile, he uttered the words, "But if you're not sorry for this, Gojo, or if you dare touch her like that again, I won't forgive you."

[hey-august]

Working on the big top for years, working with buggy for so long you trust each other more than anyone, being each other’s confidant and best friend but NEVER crossing the line to anything else because! That’s still your boss! And your friend!

You could neverrrrrr imagine anything happening between the two of you especially not late at night, cleaning up after a show after the crew has gone to bed, sitting down to take a break and putting ur head in his lap, looking up at the stars and catching buggy staring at you? Oh my god that’s crazy nooooo you absolutely would neverrrrrr reach up and pull him down to kiss you omg

Ugh. ugh. ugh. ugh. I LOVE this anon. I love this and things got out of hand. It deviates sliiiightly from what you wrote because I kept forgetting about the stars. I hope it's still enjoyable!!

WC: 908 Warnings: SFW, buggy x GN!reader, lil bit of longing, mention of drinking, barely proofread

It’s purely platonic. A friendly connection. Captain and crewmate. Drinking buddies. Shoulders to cry on. Secret keepers. Partners in crime. Friends, and nothing more.

Becoming close happened so naturally that no one questioned it. Life carried on, as it does, and eventually you and Buggy were joined at the hip. While you worked on the crew and he was the captain, the dynamic didn’t carry into the friendship. 

No one worried that you were an informant for their boss. You knew when to keep your mouth shut, when to pass along “rumors,” and you still joined in on the shit talk. It was all part of the bonding and you were thankful that your connection to the captain didn’t ruin it. If anything, it boosted morale. Your closeness with the captain made them feel closer to him as well. If you could survive slapping him on the back with laughter, so could they. 

The other tokens of friendly affection, however, they left to you. Grabbing Buggy by the arm and dragging him to see something. Teasing him whenever he got irrationally ticked off. Shoving him playfully after a prank. Pushing the hair from his face when his hands are busy. Offering calming words and a quiet walk when his emotions were too extreme.

Buggy reciprocated in kind. Only letting you polish off his personal flask. Fixing your clothes when you misaligned the buttons or left a tag out. Swapping plates and drinks mid-meal. Calling you out on your shit when you were being rude or pissy. Offering you his room as a quiet place to calm down when you needed a minute.

You two were buds. Peas in a pod. Birds of a feather. And nothing more. That’s just how it was. How it was supposed to stay. It was luck that the friendship worked out well and didn’t jeopardize the crew. You couldn’t risk throwing that off-balance.

No matter how much your heart ached when you shared drinks that touched both of your lips. No matter how much you liked when he squeezed you with one arm while laughing raucously at a shitty joke you told. No matter how long you wanted to stay in his room, hoping that he would come in to join you. No matter how many times you held his hand in the dark, while you both walked the deck among the stars.

You were friends.

You used to be friends until that one night. Another successful raid, another successful show, another successful party. The crew worked hard and they were exhausted. Knowing you could convince the captain to finish cleaning in the morning if you two were alone, you helped the rest of the crew sneak away slowly.

“Looks like it’s just us again, Bugs.” The captain hadn’t noticed the dwindling numbers and needed you to point it out.

“What? What?! Where did those freaks go?” Buggy spun around, as if he expected you to be lying. Maybe his crew was hiding among the seats, waiting to pop out.

“It’s been a long day, captain. We’ve done a lot…why don’t we sit down for a moment.” 

That was the first step. Get Buggy to relax. Once his guard was down, it would be easier to convince him to call it a night.

Instead of listening, the pirate continued to grumble. Slipped in between complaints about abandonment were short praises and compliments about how well his crew performed and what a great captain they had to bring them such glory. Rather than interrupting his monologue, you sat on the wood ground to listen and wait for him to follow your lead.

Buggy’s mouth ran on as he joined you on the floor cross-legged and patted his lap. You reclined and rested your head on his leg, settling in to be a good friend.

It was no secret that Buggy talked a lot. You were a good listener. You had to be, as his best friend. Sometimes he just wanted to talk. He didn’t need to be heard, but you always paid attention. The pirate’s voice was soothing. Whether it was shrill when he was shrieking, grating because he was shouting, low because he was angry, or bubbly with excitement, you wanted to drift away in the sound. Closing your eyes, you let yourself fall deeper.

As he carried through topic after topic, his voice grew softer. Calmer. You could easily imagine Buggy’s expressive yet content face. While it was imprinted in memory, the real vision was one that always took your breath away. Opening your eyes to get your fill, you were faced with the gentle expression aimed towards you. 

With air stuck in your chest, your mouth was empty. Lonely.

Reaching up, you put a hand on the back of Buggy’s head and pulled your friend closer. And closer. And closer. Until your lips touched. Until you could breathe again, filling yourself with him. His mouth was soft. Warm. Inviting. Your tongue accepted the invitation and joined his for a dance that started cautiously before turning into something fervent and confident. 

You held him close until your breath stopped again, stilled by emotions that grew too big and too fast to keep contained. Loosening your hold on his head, Buggy took the cue. He pulled away, also out of breath.

You two stared at each other in silence.

“It was about time,” he finally said before leaning in to kiss you again.

[gretavanlace]

Blurred Lines

Jake kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, very light impact play, explicit language, overstimulation, etc.

Just a little something quick I whipped up because my life is now an absolute dumpster fire thanks to Jake and his eyeliner. Fairly lazy editing, my apologies in advance ❤️

Sexy? Yes, you had expected that. A feral crowd calling forth that smirk of his that proves he knows exactly what he’s doing. The wicked gleam in his eye that says ‘they want me and I love it’, you had expected that too.

What you didn’t expect, was the wild, white-hot flame that would be stoked way down deep inside you. The moment he appeared, a rock and roll angel…wings hidden beneath his jacket, you wanted to fall to your knees with a warm, wet, open mouth offering a home for his cock.

Eye liner. A sweep of charcoal along his lash line, expertly applied, rendering his gaze even more beautiful than usual. No man has any business being that pretty. Gorgeous, really. Feminine in the most delicious way. In the way that serves as a testament to the unwavering confidence and security in his own skin he possesses.

You had wanted him then, badly. Wanted to climb into his lap and kiss his lovely face, to suck on his bubble gum pink tongue, to rock your hips against him until he was so hard neither of you could bear it any longer.

Yes, you’d been down astronomically bad then, but now? Watching him destroy his guitar, fingers flying along the frets so rapidly they’re no more than a blur. Sweat glistening and rolling down his chest like diamonds as he flirts with the audience, stealing heart after heart, liner now smudged and messy from exertion…now your need is nearly painful.

If he were to curl a finger at you, you’d make your way over from side-stage and bow to his every whim…audience be damned.

You have to have him, and you don’t want him on the bus where you’re both forced to be gentle and quiet lest the others hear (although you’re fairly certain they still do from time to time). No, you want to fuck, with him behind you, looking like a whore of a pirate who stepped foot on dry land and somehow ended up here.

Never before have you ducked out before the end of their set, but there’s a first time for everything. If he swaggers off stage like usual - an arm will be wrapped around your waist in greeting as he bullshits with his brothers about the show…what went wrong, what went right, what might go wrong and right next time, it will carry on and on.

Normally you don’t mind. In fact, you enjoy it. But if you’re forced to stand around aching and fiending for the fix only he can bestow, you very well might begin tearing into him right in front of the others.

If he leaves the stage and his gaze doesn’t land on you immediately, he’ll forgo the post show back and forth in favor of hunting you down.

And it is to that end, that you find yourself waiting, not so patiently, in his dressing room.

It feels like an eternity, and exasperation is beginning to creep in when the door swings open.

“Where’d you go, baby?” He smiles through heavy pants of breath. “Were we that awful tonight?”

“Lock the door.”

“Why?” He looks confused.

Your patience is wearing incredibly thin. You want him just like this - covered in sweat, post show adrenaline coursing through his veins like the sweetest drug, screams of adoration still rattling about in his head “Just lock the fucking door, Jake.”

He reaches back and pushes the tiny button on the handle, eyes on you all the while, a quiet groan of lust escaping him when you lean over the vanity and hike your dress up over your hips. Panties are next to go, shoved down mid-thigh, blush pink lace as soaked and warm as your cunt.

“Look at you, my poor, pretty little thing. Does baby need some attention?” His voice is slightly hoarse. Always a tell as to how turned on he is. The man has no poker face when it comes to being buried inside you.

His reflection grows nearer in the mirror and your desire kicks into overdrive, shaking through your system until you’re practically vibrating with it.

“Fuck me.” It ribbons off your tongue with a tremble clutching at your throat. Twisting and squeezing in perfect time with the thunderous pounding of your heart.

His hands wrap around the curve of your waist, Chelsea boot kicking your legs further apart.

Your eyes burn into one another’s for a moment, the air in the room so thick with sexual tension that if you closed your eyes you might believe you were wandering through early morning fog.

He jerks your hips back against him, just to torture you with the heat of his hard cock, and that sets in motion what seems like a thousand movements.

Leaning forward, he sinks his teeth into your bare shoulder until you whine out in blissful pain, and then there is his finger, sneaking under the strap of your bra resting beside the mark of his teeth.

“Let me see them.” He snaps the elastic and then slides his hand between your thighs, growling low in his chest when he finds you dripping and clenching around nothing.

You chase his fingers as he teases them around, giving you just enough to pull whimper after needy whimper out of you.

“I said let me see them.” He sounds harsh and demanding, but you can see love behind the darkness in his eyes.

Yanking down on the neck of your dress, you take the cups of your bra along for the ride, leaving you nothing more than a half-dressed disheveled whore for him.

And that’s fine by you. You’d rather be a whore for him than a lady for someone else.

His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip as, at last, he finally slips two fingers inside you. “Look how fucking beautiful you are, baby. Play with them for me, and make it hurt. I know you like it.”

He feels you clench viciously around his touch the moment you take hold of your taught nipples, wrenching and tugging at them.

“You’re sucking me right in,” his breath is catching and hitching in his lungs. “I fucking love your cunt. So tight and hot. Velvet soft. Pink and greedy. What’s got her so worked up? Tell me.”

You try your hardest to collect your thoughts, but with his fingers circling into the spot only he has ever found, it’s nearly impossible.

In the end, it doesn’t matter, he figures it out for himself when you glance up and catch sight of the smoky eye his ruined liner has created…your eyes roll back in your head and he knows.

“There it is.” He sounds like sex drenched detective who has just cracked a case. “You like that? You like it when I look pretty for my sweet little whore of a fuck toy?”

“Yes…” the word drags out of you as you push back to meet his hand frantically. “Fuck me, Jake. Please, I need it. I need it so fucking bad.”

The teeth of his zipper hum open and suddenly you’re stuffed full in one smooth roll of his hips.

“Yeah,” a cocky smirk ghosts over his lips. “You’re soaked, baby. You love it, don’t you? You wanna paint my lips cherry red so I can kiss it all over this gorgeous pussy?”

You smack your palm harshly against the polished wood you’re bent over, biting down on your lip feverishly in an effort to keep quiet.

He reaches around and tugs it free…he wants every sound. Every moan and sigh, every call of his name. “Tell me I’m pretty.”

A flash of heat explodes in your chest, spider cracking all the way down to your toes.

Hand slipping downward, he wraps his grip around your neck, squeezing as if he’s trying to coax praise off your tongue with his touch. “Say it.”

“You’re so pretty, Jake…” each word is followed by a tiny gasp for air as he fucks into you harder and faster “A fucking princess with a cock. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.

He groans out an animalistic noise that springs goosebumps to life on your skin. His head falls back and you’re reminded of stage Jake, practically fucking his guitar, losing himself in the haunting notes his talented fingers call forth.

Once again, he finds your eyes in the mirror. “Come on, baby, cum for me. I’m so fucking close.” A shiver ripples through him as his cock jerks wildly deep inside you.

“Go ahead, Jakey…” you can’t tear your eyes away from him. “Give it to me.”

He shakes his head, sending his layers whipping around. “You first. I need to feel it. Fuck…be a good girl and do as you’re told…cum on my cock.”

A wail of a whine tumbles out of you, as you tighten around him like a silken fist.

“It's pretty, too.”

You’ve hardly made a sound, but he catches it.

“Is it?” The question drifts out with a hint of a slur - he’s completely drunk on you. “A pretty cock for a beautiful cunt.” He cracks a sharp smack against the outside of your thigh. “Now give it the fuck up, baby girl. I want it.”

Your muscles jerk and tense up tight as a drum listening to his teeth click together with a clenched jaw as he fights his own need. “C’mon sweetheart, please…”

The effort was valiant, but he loses the battle, and with a hushed call of your name, the sinful heat of his release warms you from the inside out and you wish you could keep it there forever. A bit of him secreted away safe and sound within you.

“Don’t stop..” you beg as his cursing cries morph into tiny whines of overstimulation. “Don’t fucking stop.”

He can’t deny you anything, so he carries on, fighting through it in order to get you there while you babble and moan incoherently, words peppered through. Harder. Right there. Keep going. Obscenities you’d be ashamed for anyone else to hear.

With the most endearing fucked out noise you’ve ever heard him utter, he sends you sailing over the edge, nails raking into the vanity, body shaking and squirming so intensely he is forced to wrap an arm around your waist to hold you somewhat still around his cock as it throbs and aches for mercy.

His forehead falls against your shoulder, tired, spent, satiated in the way he’s only ever felt with you.

Right here, you have all you’ll ever need…but soon, the spell is broken when you register the lowered hum of noise on the other side of the door. The place is slowly clearing out, the others are likely already on the bus wondering what the hell has become of you two.

There’s no time to shower, but you do your best at looking at least halfway presentable, futile as it is. They’ll see through you both right away, but it isn’t the first time your indiscretions have provided them with valuable material for their entertainment, and it certainly won’t be the last.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @paleshadow-ofadragon @weightofdreams-gvf @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @dvrkblooms @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordierama @calumspretty

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (10/22)

Chapter summary: Wanda talks to her therapist about her recent relapse; You discover something about your new girlfriend that puts a damper in your new relationship

Chapter word count: 7k | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: I hope this will dispel the rumors that Yelena is gonna cheat on R with Kate :/

Next chapter: Eleven

AO3 | Masterlist 

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife

-

Ten

“I relapsed.” Wanda declares as soon as she’s finished filling out a mood questionnaire. She proceeds to recount how a seemingly innocent can of beer quickly escalated into a tequila shot, and before she knew it, she found herself buying a whole bottle for herself.

The floor of Wanda’s therapist’s clinic is covered in a plush carpet, its gentle fibers creating a muted sound as Wanda keeps grazing the heel of her shoes on it. 

“I wouldn’t label it as such just yet. I believe a more suitable term would be 'setback'. It's merely what it is - a setback. It doesn't undo all the progress you’ve made, Wanda. Just because you had one drink–"

“It wasn’t just one drink–” Wanda tries to argue. 

“One, two, ten drinks in one night, doesn’t make you an alcoholic.”

The air in the room carries a subtle hint of lavender, emanating from scented candles strategically placed on a nearby shelf. The calming scent enhances the ambiance, helping Wanda relax. 

Originally planned for the following day, Wanda insisted on meeting today, burdened by guilt over the events of last night. Unlike before, when Wanda would postpone their meeting in the hope of resolving her problems independently, she learned the difficult lesson that trying to handle everything alone can sometimes make matters worse. However, the most challenging lesson she had to learn was simply to ask for help when she needed it.

“So,” Wanda says, scratching her wrist anxiously. “Do we start from the beginning again?”

"Not necessarily," Dr. Williams, or Calliope as she prefers Wanda to call her, adjusts her reading glasses and chuckles. At the age of mid-fifties, Dr. Williams exudes a calming aura that instantly puts Wanda at ease.

"But you haven't told me what prompted you to reach for the bottle last night. Are you comfortable sharing that detail?" Calliope inquires.

Wanda nods, clearing her throat as she reaches for a pillow from the couch. Placing it on her lap, she begins to pinch it at random areas, using it as a makeshift stress ball.

She chooses her words carefully as she begins, "I saw Y/N yesterday." Discussing you in these sessions has never been easy for her, but she pushes through. "But just before that, I actually met her girlfriend."

Wanda pauses, expecting a response from Calliope, but instead, she receives an encouraging smile, urging her to continue. Taking a deep breath, Wanda opens up further.

“Her name is Yelena. She’s the sister of Y/N’s best friend, Natasha. She’s… beautiful. She seems kinda perfect for her.”

Calliope maintains her composure and asks evenly, "How does that make you feel?"

Wanda hesitates for a moment, processing the question. "About my ex-wife moving on with someone new…?" 

Calliope nods patiently.

The question hangs in the air for a minute before Wanda can gather what she truly feels about you and Yelena.

"She... Y/N deserves to be happy more than anyone else. If Yelena brings her that happiness, then..." Wanda's voice trails off as her gaze drifts away, lost in her own thoughts. She realizes that Yelena is not just a passing fling or a random person in your life. You've known her since you were kids, and she probably holds a special place in your heart. Wanda understands that you wouldn't enter into a relationship with her if it were just a rebound. Especially considering she’s your best friend's sister.

It’s a real relationship–one where you could see a future and think long term.

And despite Wanda's months of anticipation and worry about being replaced, nothing could prepare her for the intense pain of it actually happening. Tears start welling up in the corners of her eyes, which ironically surprises Wanda considering how thoroughly dehydrated she was from last night.

“I’m asking you how you feel about it, not what you think about it.” Calliope says.

Wanly, she flashes a smile that’s devoid of joy. “What do you think?”

Calliope doesn’t indulge her rhetorical question. "You don't have to rush into feeling a certain way," she assures her, her voice gentle yet resolute. "Allow yourself the time and space to navigate these emotions.”

Wanda falls silent at that, avoiding direct eye contact with her therapist.

"Wanda?" Calliope's voice gently prods her.

After a few moments, Wanda finally looks up, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Calliope has seen enough of Wanda under different types of emotions to take a good guess of what would happen in the next few minutes. A box of tissue sits somewhere in her office, but she doesn’t retrieve them just yet, creating a space where Wanda can freely express herself without any external expectations or assumptions.

“It ripped me apart,” Wanda confesses, her voice trembling. "Seeing her up close, wearing Y/N's clothes, I couldn't help but think, 'that used to be me'. I had my own memories with that exact same shirt." she says, bursting into a teary laugh by the end of her sentence.

Calliope drops her gaze, giving her patient a little room to express herself without feeling scrutinized.

Wanda swallows dryly, taking a moment to compose herself before continuing. "I wasn't exactly surprised," she admits with a hint of resignation. "Deep down, I knew there could be someone special in Y/N's life, but–I guess you could say I was in denial. I fooled myself into believing that if I never met her, I could pretend that I still had a place in Y/N’s heart, and that–that I had a chance of winning it back."

Wanda pauses, grateful that she’s able to hold back her tears so far. “It felt like… like I was being splashed with a bucket of ice water. I was forced to come to terms–again–that she’s no longer my wife, and the possibility that she could be someone else’s…literally stood in front of me.” she says.

Wanda appreciates that Calliope isn't the type of therapist who takes notes during their sessions. The thought of someone immediately jotting down what she says would send her anxiety skyrocketing. It would consume her with thoughts of what could have been written about her. Instead, Calliope simply nods her head, but she’s made it clear from the beginning that this gesture is not necessarily an agreement with what Wanda is saying, but rather a way to show that she is being fully and attentively heard.

"I can only imagine how painful and challenging it must have been for you," Calliope empathizes, clasping her hands together on her lap. "To be confronted with the harsh reality, without any inkling or preparation, it can be incredibly jarring and overwhelming. But you've taken an important step by acknowledging and sharing your feelings."

Wanda weakly nods, appreciating the sentiment.

“With that said, you had a normal reaction to it. But we must work on how you deal with that reaction–and by that I mean the drinking,” Calliope lightly reprimands with a smile, making Wanda let out a brief, self-deprecating laugh. “Another thing for you to reflect on is what it means for you. It’s not very productive to think about what moving on to a new relationship means for Y/N. You can’t keep guessing if it means she’s already moved on from your previous marriage or that she no longer has any lingering feelings for you. Those questions are meant for herself, not you. So, have you had some time to think about it?”

Wanda shakes her head no.

“That’s okay. Now that you’ve experienced your initial reaction on the matter, you can re-evaluate it some time later this week–if it’s what you actually feel,” she advises. “Time can be our ally in gaining clarity and rationality. Often, our judgment is clouded when the fog of emotions hasn't dissipated. So, make use of time wisely to make better decisions in the future."

“I wish I could just have you around all the time to remind me of that.” Wanda jokes lightly, feeling some of the burden on her chest lift.

"You don't need me, or anyone else for that matter, to monitor your every thought and decision, Wanda," Calliope says. “Have faith in yourself. You are more than capable of making the right choices. Always remember that.”

“I’ll try,” Wanda says.

Calliope nods, and then moves on to other topics for the rest of the session.

Your past action doesn’t determine who you are for the rest of your life, Wanda repeats Calliope’s words to her during her first visit weeks ago.

She wonders how much longer it will take for her to truly believe it.

***

Around the same time that Wanda is seeing her therapist, you arrive at her cafe. You’re quite nervous to face Wanda this time, as both of you would be sober, and you've come to realize that your interactions can sometimes be easier when one of you isn't.

The air is filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, intermingled with the subtle scent of freshly baked pastries.  The sound of acoustic Indie music–no doubt one of Wanda’s playlists–fills the cozy space, creating a soothing backdrop for conversations and quiet reflection. There are two customers dining in, too enthralled with each other to notice you or anyone in the room. 

In the past few weeks, you haven't set foot inside a coffee shop. Yelena has been responsible for preparing your morning coffee each day, while you handle breakfast duties, having discovered early on that she struggles to operate any sort of small kitchen appliance, even something as simple as a toaster. Furthermore, your work obligations have kept you firmly stationed at your desk, requiring your undivided focus. 

You’re equally relieved and disappointed to see Agatha Harkness behind the open kitchen, eyeing you with a unique interest. A new face catches your attention at the register, a friendly-looking high school kid. Curiosity piques within you, wondering about his identity and his relationship with Wanda.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Agatha says with an indiscernible grin, emerging from the staff-only section to greet you. "We didn't get to catch up last time." 

You can't help but recall the timing of your last visit and the unspeakable things you did with Wanda then. The memory flushes your cheeks with embarrassment.

“Is Wanda around?” you ask, taking a bar stool seat near the window. 

“She had to be somewhere important, but she’ll be back soon.” Agatha replies, and moves to sit next to you, to your mild astonishment. And then, turning to the kid, Agatha yells, “I’ll take five, Peter. Will you be okay there?”

“I got this Ms. Harkness!”

“Charming boy,” Agatha remarks, sensing your curiosity. “He’s just what this cafe needs.”

“He looks too young to be employed.” you comment offhandedly.

"Don't worry, dear, it's just part-time. And in case you're wondering," Agatha says, relishing the conflicted expression on your face. "He and your ex-wife, it's strictly professional."

"I wasn't wondering about that," you reply sharply, squaring your shoulders.

"Oh, sorry, I must have misread the way you're biting your lip so hard as you shoot daggers at the poor boy."

You weren’t. Not exactly. But you admit that you were intrigued because he doesn’t look too far off Vision’s age. Despite harboring these suspicions, you make a conscious effort to keep them to yourself, fully aware of how unfair they may seem to Wanda. Agatha’s efforts to expose them, however, is putting you on the edge more than usual.

"Whatever Wanda chooses to do with her life is her choice." you say.

"Are you sure? If only you knew..." Agatha trails off, a mischievous smile on her lips. Wanda would be furious if she knew Agatha was hinting at her past hospitalization to you, but Agatha couldn't resist testing your claim of indifference towards Wanda's life and choices.

"Knew what?"

"Hm," Agatha muses, teasingly. "I really shouldn't say."

You roll your eyes, growing frustrated with the cryptic nature of the conversation. It's not a guessing game you're interested in playing.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect as the boy–Peter–approaches your table to take your order.

“Can I get your order, Ms. Y/L/N?” he asks with a politeness that you think is rare for kids to possess these days.

“You know me?” you ask, striving to maintain a gentle tone in your voice.

Peter's eyes widen as he realizes his slip-up. Wanda had mentioned your name in passing during conversations with Agatha, and he had been curious to know more about you but too shy to ask Wanda directly. It was Agatha who showed him a picture of you and shortly introduced you as Wanda's ex-wife.

“Uh, no, I don’t?” 

You laugh, endeared by his innocence. You decide to let it slide. “I’ll have a medium-sized Spanish Latte. Hot, please.”

“How about a bite to eat? We have new food items on the menu. I recommend the Reuben.” Peter suggests.

You nod with a friendly smile. “Sure, I’ll give it a try.”

He looks pleased as he taps his pen on his notepad and says, “Coming right up!”

“I like him,” you comment lightly to Agatha, watching him hum a song as he prepares your order. “He seems to be genuinely concerned about selling and pleasing the customers.”

“Originally, it was his girlfriend that Wanda hired, but she had to quit due to some personal stuff. She and Peter came to love it here, so he volunteered to take her place.” Agatha explains. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to talk about Wanda’s new staff.”

"No, I didn't," you confirm, maintaining a nonchalant expression, not willing to provide any additional information. 

“Have you been dating?” Agatha blurts out all of a sudden. 

“That’s really none of your business.” you say as non-offensively as you could.

“Since I started helping out here, Wanda and I have become close,” Agatha says. “I wasn't only being curious with my question. I believe that Wanda respecting your privacy may not be beneficial for her progress. So, if you think I’m nosy for wanting to know whether your presence in her life will be harmful, then so be it."

You consider this for a moment, feeling a small appreciation for Agatha’s loyalty to Wanda. Recognizing that Wanda has few friends in her life, having someone like Agatha who is willing to stand by her side and offer support is truly invaluable.

“Yes, I am.” you confirm, keeping a neutral expression. You're not actively attempting to hide it; it’s just not like you to announce your new relationship to everyone you’re acquainted with.

"Thank you for being honest," Agatha’s gratitude comes across with a smidge of condescension. "However, if you truly cared about Wanda, I believe it would be best for you to distance yourself from her."

The insinuation that you never cared infuriates you, as you feel the situation has been twisted just because you’ve been trying to move on with someone else.

“I’m just here to ask about Sparky,” you say, hating that you feel the need to explain.

"Your eyes tell a different story," Agatha retorts, her words dripping with misplaced superiority. Few things are more aggravating than someone who presumes to know you completely. It's one of the many reasons why you never warmed up to her.

With a dismissive scoff, you pivot in your chair, fully turning to face Agatha. 

“Even if they do, it’s still none of your business.” you remind her.

Agatha's smile carries a subtle implication, suggesting that she knows something you don’t; that if you do, you’d have a different opinion altogether.

“I don’t like these games, Agatha,” you say. “If there’s something you want to say to me–”

“Sorry, Y/N. As much as I want to see the look on your face when you find out what you did, it’s not my story to tell.” 

You recall leaving the back room and discovering Agatha only a few feet away, observing your actions the last time you were here. It's clear that she had an inkling of what you and Wanda were doing in that tiny room. If they were indeed friends, then as Wanda’s friend, you could understand why she’s being so catty with you at this moment.

Your lips part, deliberating over what to say, until you finally manage to voice what you believe Agatha most likely wants to hear.

"There’s no excuse for how I treated Wanda that week,” you speak slowly, meaning every word. “I’m not here to gain your trust or anything, but I’m not here to hurt Wanda. We’ve both been hurt enough, as you know.”

For a prolonged moment, Agatha looks at you with an unreadable expression, before shaking her head sadly as if she had hoped to hear a different response or perhaps something more substantial.

"No, dear, that's not it," she responds a while later. Her gaze is briefly drawn to someone in the street, prompting her to retreat to the kitchen. However, before leaving, she hints at a game of Hot and Cold and then cryptically utters, "But you're getting warmer."

You follow where her eyes had been and spot the familiar sight of Wanda, making her way towards the cafe. She’s wearing a chunky knit sweater in warm earth tones paired with slim-fitting jeans in a deep indigo hue, presenting a casual yet put-together appearance. Her face appears refreshed and free from the visible traces of the previous night's arduous struggles. 

It’s around this time that your heart decides to resume its loud thumping in your chest. In contrast to the previous day, both of you now stand on equal ground, and you keenly feel the burden of how you both left things, looming over your head.

As soon as she steps into the café, your name hesitantly escapes from her lips. She looks unsure and somewhat guarded in your presence, and while it doesn’t–shouldn’t–personally upset you, you can’t help but feel guilty if you’re causing her discomfort.

“Wanda,” you give her a little wave, flashing her a small smile that nonetheless reaches your eyes. Her eyes seem to light up in response, and she mirrors your smile with one of her own that’s equal parts civil and nostalgic.

"What brings you here?" she asks, settling into the seat that Agatha previously occupied. "When you mentioned that we would talk, I didn't expect it to happen so soon. I mean, not that I... the last time you said 'we'll talk,' it never..." Her voice trails off, and she winces, realizing she's unintentionally delving into the past. It's something she's been actively avoiding, as unearthing those details has only intensified the resentment she discovered she also held towards you. 

Calliope worked with her on the turbulent feelings of abandonment she went through when you walked out of her apartment–and her life for that matter–that night, despite giving you repeatedly what she thought you wanted. In the end, she managed to reevaluate things and adopt a new perspective, for which she felt immense gratitude towards you for having the courage to walk away when she couldn't. If the tumultuous situation had gone longer, she couldn't help but wonder if her overdose would have been even more severe, and if she’d still be living and breathing and having this normal conversation with you today.

“I’m usually very busy on weekdays. This is the only spare time I have. Not to mention house chores and, well, catching up with life in general.” you reason. “And the matter concerning Sparky seemed urgent and alarming.”

Wanda nods and looks at her watch which she always wears on her right wrist. “I’ve got thirty minutes.” she says.

"Great," you reply, concealing your amusement at the fact that Wanda has you on a tight schedule. She appears to have transformed into an entirely different person compared to the Wanda you encountered last night and more than two months ago.

Just then, Peter arrives with your order, and Wanda gives you some space to eat first. You try not to rush into getting a bite of your Reuben, but you suppose the clock is ticking. It’s good–just how you remember it when Wanda makes it in your own kitchen. 

"Is Sparky going to be alright? Where did you take him?" you inquire, licking the sauce residue off your lips, missing a spot. You miss the way Wanda unwittingly follows the movement of your tongue before refocusing her attention on another part of your face. 

"I brought him to a clinic near my place. It's just a short walk away, so it's convenient for me to check on him," Wanda explains, pushing a box of napkins towards you and pointing out a spot on your chin. Uttering a shy thank you, you gently wipe the area with a napkin. “His doctor called me this morning. She thinks Sparky could go home today.”

“That’s a relief,” you mutter, taking a sip of your latte. “Should I accompany you later when they discharge him?”

Wanda is taken aback by the offer, her heart leaping with excitement, despite her efforts to maintain control and composure when it comes to you.

"Uh, sure. I think Sparky would benefit from seeing you. The doctor said that seeing their owner does help make them feel better." Wanda replies.

“Oh, I thought he’s recovered since he’s going home?”

“His medications will continue at home. They actually already sent me a long list of it.” she says.

“I can buy them. You've probably already spent a lot on his hospitalization.”

"I really appreciate your willingness to help," Wanda says, her fingers fidgeting with her necklace. She used to habitually fiddle with the wedding band on her left finger, and now she finds herself instinctively touching the necklace, even though the ring has been relocated to her chest. It has become a symbol of comfort for Wanda when she feels the need to quell her anxiety; and right now, she's anxious about not wanting to come across as dismissive of your efforts. She doesn't want to burden you with a responsibility that you may not want to share.

“But?” you prod gently, sensing her hesitation.

"I only wanted to inform you about his condition, just in case it took a turn for the worse," Wanda clarifies. “I didn’t mean for you to feel obliged to share the responsibility. I just thought… If our roles were reversed, I would want to know if a dog, who’s been a part of my family, is not doing so well.”

You contemplate this for a moment, and then let out a sad chuckle. "I've been such an asshole to him, haven't I?"

“Y/N, that’s not what I was implying–”

“It’s okay,” you tell her softly, staring at your half-eaten sandwich. Honestly, you’ve lost your appetite a while ago. “You’re right… I abandoned him. You don’t do that to your family.”

Wanda sighs and carefully says, “Sparky might not understand human language, but I'd like to believe he senses it somehow–that if circumstances were different and it didn't jeopardize your own well-being, you wouldn't just abandon him.”

A strong desire wells up within her to reach out and hold your hand, but she restrains herself, recognizing that it may be too soon. Given the shared history between the two of you when it comes to physical touch, especially now that you're in a relationship with Yelena, she considers that it might be best to refrain from such altogether.

"Thank you," you whisper softly. "I still think I’m an asshole, but thank you for saying that and taking good care of him.”

Wanda’s smile is soft, feeling the sincerity behind your words. “You’re welcome,” she says.

Checking the clock hanging on the wall behind the counter, you still have Wanda for a couple of minutes.

“Listen, about what happened last night–” you start, but Wanda hastily cuts you off with a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, about that... I can't apologize enough for causing you trouble. It was also bad luck that he was there, and I didn’t know what he was doing until you arrived. He shouldn’t have called you,” Wanda says, drumming her fingers on the surface of the table, eager to escape this topic. 

“… And I shouldn’t have been drinking so much either.” Wanda finishes sheepishly.

“Why were you though?” You remember Wanda saying something happened last night. Very briefly, your eyes shift to Agatha, who looks back at you expectantly. 

Wanda lowers her head in response; her feelings for you aren't up for discussion.

“I ran into some friends from the gallery and things just got out of hand.” Wanda says, praying that you don’t follow up with more questions knowing how easily you’ll be able to find loopholes in her faux story.

“And they just left you there?”

Wanda curses inwardly, her mind racing to address the detail you brought up. "They had to leave early, but I actually enjoyed having some time to myself," she responds, attempting to downplay any significance behind being alone.

“I see,” you say, and Wanda can clearly tell you’re not buying it. But to her relief, you let it go. 

“Wanda, did something happen?” you couldn’t help but ask, not with Agatha lurking in your peripheral vision.

Wanda blinks at you and says, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Wanda, we–” you begin, attempting to broach the subject of the week where you lost sight of who you were. However, as your mind brushes against the memory of Wanda, vulnerable and pleading with you to stay while naked on the floor, the words get stuck in your throat, causing a nauseating sensation to rise from the pit of your stomach. “I treated you very horribly all those weeks ago–”

“I don’t hold it against you,” Wanda whispers, feeling the remnants of shame from being an active participant in that due to her own selfishness. "And you did the right thing by walking away." Wanda’s words are laced with an unspoken sentiment. 

Though she hesitates to verbalize the thought of you leaving her, it lingers in the air between you both, a painful reminder of the consequences of her decisions. Every stupid, little thing she did has led to this, and being in therapy helped. For Wanda, her regrets are slowly being replaced with opportunities to rebuild herself on. 

“So, when I left that night, nothing happened? Agatha mentioned that something–”

“She said what?” Wanda narrows her eyes. She hopes it isn’t about that night when she had to get her stomach pumped at a public hospital, as a result of her despair for not being able to keep you from leaving.  She made Agatha swear never to reveal that information to you.

“She didn’t exactly divulge anything to me,” you say. “But she said I should hear it from you.”

Wanda makes a mental note to discuss it with Agatha later, but for now, her focus is on steering you away from any knowledge of what happened that night.

But before Wanda can come up with something to convince you that nothing significant happened, the familiar sound of your ringtone erupts from your pocket, disrupting the moment.

“Excuse me,” you mumble and Wanda nods, checking the time again on her wrist. “I have to arrange some stocks anyway.” she tells you, taking the chance to excuse herself too. 

“I’m on my way home,” you say as soon as you pick up after stepping outside the cafe.

“Would a hello kill you?” you hear Yelena’s teasing tone, making you smile on cue. 

“Hello,” you greet her the best way you can. 

“Hi,” she says right back with a giggle.

“Hellooo,” you playfully repeat.

“As much as I want to keep this going,” Yelena interjects with a huff. “I kinda have to remind you that you’re not supposed to be on your way home.”

“What? Why?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“The gala is tonight,” Yelena says, and you can tell that she’s refraining from sounding a little annoyed that you apparently forgot.

“Oh, right. I did put that in my calendar. Sorry,” you say. “But I did schedule to pick up my dress today. So, I should get going.”

“Nice save, baby.” Yelena says.

The use of the nickname catches you off guard. It’s the first time Yelena’s called you that, and you fail to respond right away, recalling the last time you affectionately used the term 'baby' with someone as your gaze involuntarily follows Wanda's movements inside the cafe.

Yelena's nervous voice breaks through your thoughts, calling your attention back to the present. "Y/N?" she calls out tentatively.

You take a moment to collect yourself before responding, assuring her, "I'm still here. Uh, I'll pick you up at five? Let's have dinner early. Food at events like these never gets served on time."

Yelena agrees to the plan, and you end the call. Returning inside, you approach Wanda to deliver the news that you won't be able to accompany her to the clinic for Sparky's discharge.

"It's not a problem," Wanda assures you. "You can see him anytime you want, just let me know beforehand–that is, if you're amenable to unblocking my number on your phone. But if you’re not–”

"Actually, I unblocked your number a while ago," you say, trying to brush off the implication that you’ve thought about her enough to take that action. Wanda, on the other hand, does her best not to dwell on it and keeps a straight face.

"Okay, well," Wanda continues, shifting gears and offering you a paper box containing three large cookies. "Thank you for coming. You can take these cookies with you."

“You didn’t have to.” you say, accepting the gift anyway. You were married to Wanda long enough to know how offended she’d be when someone refuses her gift of food. 

“You’re welcome,” Wanda says, and then turning on her heel, she goes back to the counter without another word. 

After you leave the cafe, Wanda approaches Agatha, whose expression immediately turns guilty as she notices the exasperated look on Wanda's face.

"I told you. Not a word," Wanda says sternly.

"Technically, I didn't say anything," Agatha raises her hands in defense.

Wanda narrows her eyes. "You were dropping hints, though, weren't you?"

Agatha sighs. "Wanda, don't you think this is a bad idea? You’ve been doing so well in the recent months. I just don’t want you to go through that again."

"That was an accident," Wanda responds, rubbing her temple, still feeling the effects of her heavy drinking from the previous night. "I'm not... I won't let it happen again."

"Sorry to break it to you, honey," Agatha says gently, handing Wanda a glass of water along with an ibuprofen. "But with Y/N, you're treading on thin ice."

Wanda takes the water and ibuprofen, looking at Agatha with a mix of gratitude and frustration. She knows deep down that Agatha is right, but when it comes to you, her brain rarely catches up to her heart. 

***

Held in one of New York’s most celebrated skyscrapers, the grand formal gala unfolds in an opulent venue that exudes elegance and sophistication. It’s certainly far from what you were expecting, especially since Yelena described it to you as a “little company-wide gathering”. 

"Are you ready?" you hear Yelena whisper, her voice filled with exhilaration as she takes a deep breath. You nod in reply and feel the back of your neck start to sweat.

Stepping out of the rented limousine that Yelena was so pleased to surprise you with, you're immediately greeted by a frenzy of flashing lights and clicking cameras, tempting you to seek refuge back in the vehicle. The paparazzi clamors for the perfect angle, their lenses eagerly focused on the red carpet.

The room is a visual spectacle, filled with a sea of elegant fashion and dazzling jewelry. And although this is the most grand you’ve felt in your whole life, you feel a little underdressed for the occasion. The sounds of soft classical music resonate throughout the hall, played by a live orchestra positioned on a raised stage. Clinking glasses and murmurs of conversation intermingle with the melodies, adding a delightful liveliness of an otherwise intimidating ambiance.

That’s when you feel Yelena’s warm hand slot into yours. 

“Are you okay?” she inquires quietly, and you can feel her hot breath fanning over the ridges of your ear. She’s wearing a red, backless Valentino gown that’s partly what’s making you nervous. 

You interlace your fingers together, automatically putting a smile on Yelena’s face, as you swallow dryly and reply with, “As long as you’re by my side.”

“I’m not gonna leave you”, she promises softly. “Except when they have to call me onstage.”

Your eyebrows furrow in question.

"I'm being honored," Yelena exclaims, her grin spreading across her face as she looks up at you with excitement. "Kate nominated me for the Sydney Award. It's nothing huge, they give it out every month. But, still..." Her words trail off as she notices the intensity of your gaze, and a blush creeps onto her cheeks.

"Baby, you won an award?" you blurt out, unintentionally letting the nickname she used on you earlier slip. But in this moment, your pride for Yelena fills you to the brim, and your affection for her spills over.

Yelena, rendered speechless by the endearment, could only manage a nod in response. Overwhelmed with her desire to be close to you, she takes hold of your face and presses her lips against yours, right in the midst of the crowded room. The atmosphere fades away as her focus narrows down to the connection between the two of you, surrounded by a sea of strangers donned in elegant tuxedos and exquisite gowns, their vibrant colors paling in comparison to the intensity of her feelings for you. The glitz and glamor of the event mean nothing to her in this instance. All that matters is that you're by her side, sharing in one of the proudest and most significant moments of her life.

You’re in a daze when she finally pulls away. “What was that for?” you breathe out, your lips still tingling from the kiss.

“That was me claiming my reward early.” Yelena husks out, pecking you once more for good measure. Desire coils in your belly; it takes every ounce of self-control to resist acting on the raw desire that courses through your body, knowing that the time and place aren't quite right.

Your girl still needs to get that damn award she truly deserves. 

“I’m gonna go get us some champagne.” she says. You’re not really a fan of champagne but it does seem to fit the occasion.

"Sure, I'll head over there," you gesture with your thumb towards the dessert section adorned with an assortment of cakes and pastries. “I suddenly want something sweet, and I can’t have you yet, so–”

Yelena's cheeks flush a bright shade of red, and you can't help but hope it's not just from embarrassment. Tonight, there's a possibility that you could finally take your relationship to the next level–something you’ve been preparing yourself mentally and emotionally for. You knew that Yelena was patiently waiting for you to be ready, and you understood that there's only so long you can keep her waiting before she starts doubting your feelings for her. The last thing you want is to inadvertently hurt her by not taking the next step; moreso with the recent knowledge that her love language is primarily physical touch.

“If you don’t behave I might have to pass up on that award.” Yelena teases back, biting her lip as she eyes you like one of those cakes that’s been tempting you since you spotted them.

“I wouldn’t want you to miss your moment,” you say, kissing her forehead. “Now, about that champagne?”

Yelena lets out a playful laugh and reluctantly pulls herself away from your embrace though she clearly doesn't want to. You take pleasure in watching her walk away, appreciating the elegant curve of her spine and the gentle sway of her back muscles with each graceful step she takes. 

A few minutes later, lost in your thoughts of your girlfriend as you pick out the cakes on display, you hear a voice behind you, interrupting your reverie.

“Glad to see you chose to do the right thing.” 

You look over your shoulder to find Kate Bishop, radiant in a purple trumpet gown that accentuates her curves in all the right places. She doesn't appear as vexed with you as she did during your initial meeting.

In the short time you’ve been with Yelena, you've made casual attempts to bring up Kate in conversations, but it has always remained focused on work-related topics, even after she moved in with you. You tried to ask how Kate felt about her moving out, but Yelena dismissed it, asking you a similar question when you moved out of Natasha’s. 

You're uncertain about what to feel with the fact that Yelena is aware of Kate's feelings for her. 

Scratch that. You’re not sure how you feel about Yelena not telling you that she knows.

"Kate," you say, hesitantly extending your hand towards her. "Nice to see you here."

“Y/N,” Kate accepts your hand, her grip firm yet amicable, as the two of you exchange a brief handshake. “You look good.” 

“Thanks, you too,” you say, looking down at your own dress. “Never knew I could pull off something this fancy.”

"Get used to it, this is probably not the only black-tie party you'll attend as long as you're dating her," Kate remarks, scanning the room in search of the woman she's referring to.

“She went to get drinks,” you tell her when you awkwardly find yourself just standing there while her eyes dart everywhere for a considerable moment. 

“I haven’t missed her awarding, have I?” she asks, her worry evident. And it’s uncomfortable for you to witness this person be so hopelessly in love with your girlfriend.

You shake her head, giving her a tight smile.

“I was the one who sent in her nomination, you know?” Kate says, and you can hear how proud she is of that. A part of you wishes Kate had never revealed her feelings for Yelena to you, seeing that it seems like a trivial matter to Yelena–an unrequited crush that she didn’t feel the need to disclose. You can sense that Kate isn't intentionally gushing over Yelena; she simply can't help it. It's hard to hold back when you feel so strongly for someone; it’s a feeling that’s rather familiar to you.

“Yeah, Yelena told me. Thank you for that. I’ve never seen her so happy.” you say, stuffing yourself with chocolate cake, hoping to avoid any inadvertent questioning about Kate's future plans to move on from Yelena.

"She deserves it. Especially since she's been quite tense at work," Kate continues, and it seems the topic of Yelena isn’t going to be replaced anytime soon. "I try to lighten the mood but my dad jokes aren't as effective as before."

“Dad jokes?”

Kate shrugs and then says, "Yelena's humor is either that or sarcasm." As she speaks, a twinge of insecurity starts to creep into your thoughts. You can't help but wonder if Kate, with her close connection to Yelena, knows her on a deeper level than you do.

“Well, why haven’t you done something about it yet?” Kate asks lightly with a chuckle.

"What do you mean?" you ask, wanting clarification before jumping to conclusions.

Kate lets out a snort, as if she finds it amusing that you're oblivious to what she's insinuating.

"Yelena's always like that when she hasn't, um... taken care of certain needs," Kate explains, her voice momentarily faltering before she dismisses it with a laugh. "You know, gotten some."

Your mind suddenly freezes at the implications of Kate's words, and you feel a jolt of realization.

“And how would you know that?” you say, your voice suddenly rising. “Unless you were previously helping her take care of these ‘certain needs’.”

Kate's eyes widen in surprise, and you observe her gulp nervously.

“Wow, Y/N, aren’t you quite the detective–” Kate attempts to placate you with a joke.

“Answer me,” you say. “Please. I need to know if what you two had was completely one-sided.”

“It was,” Kate insists, giving up on using humor to thread her way out of this confrontation. "I was the one who developed feelings. Yelena didn't feel the same way." She averts her gaze, wearing a pained expression.

You wanted a clearer confirmation of your suspicions. “So you were sleeping together.” you say.

“I think this is a conversation you need to have with her, not me,” Kate says. “But don’t take this out on her, please. If she didn’t tell you she probably has good reason–”

"You're right, I should talk to Yelena not you," you scoff, feeling a sense of unease creeping in. "I'll see you around, Kate."

Yelena finds you in the lounge area near the entrance of the ballroom. 

"I've been searching all over for you," she exclaims, her worry palpable in her voice.

Without lifting your gaze, you softly reply, "I'm not feeling well."

Immediately, Yelena springs into action, eager to assist you. “Oh, did something happen? Was it something you ate? I think I can ask Martin, our staff nurse, if he has something for you to–”

You interrupt her with a gentle but firm statement, "I just want to go home."

“Go home?” Yelena repeats your words, slightly taken aback. "But I haven't had the chance to go up on stage yet–"

“I’m sorry,” you say, rising from the couch. The sight of Yelena in that moment, coupled with the new information you've learned from Kate, is literally causing a wave of dizziness. 

Yelena gapes at you helplessly; she can't understand the sudden shift in your demeanor. She swears you were ready to jump on each other’s bones half an hour ago.

"Y/N!" she calls out, stopping you in your tracks. "Did I do something wrong?"

Yes, your instinct wants you to tell her, but you don't want to spoil her special night, dampen her excitement, or distract her from accepting the recognition she deserves.

"I'll see you at home," you say, mustering a smile that you hope will convince her to give you some space for now.

With that, you slip off your pumps and make your way barefoot towards the elevator in the lobby, leaving behind a puzzled Yelena.

[devilfic]

part seven (and the last) to this series. feels good, doesn't it?

miguel comes to in the dark of his bedroom, but he does not remember how he got here.

he remembers the nightlife of nueva york, chasing something through the streets, something... something happening and then nothing. attempting to sit up does him no good. his whole body aches but it's his side that's screaming, burning beneath bandages that dress the whole left side of his rib cage. his head throbs too. his next attempt is reaching for the light sensor on his bedside table, but he's not expecting something to be in his way. he hears the thump of his knuckles colliding against it, then it shatters against the floor.

his senses hurt, but he can hear something else too: footsteps.

he's under-dressed (only a pair of pajama pants from what he can tell), and he's too disoriented to activate his suit. he can barely sit up enough to see the door across from the bed but he curls his talons and bares his fangs, waiting for whatever might come to finish him off here. he wouldn't go down without a- oh. you're here.

you look like you've just woken up from a nap, and he's surprised to find you just as casually under-dressed, staring at his rather pathetically poised figure (still half-covered in sheets) and the broken mug of water now spilled all over the floor. after a moment or two, he feels a little stupid keeping his talons pointed at you. his arms flop to his sides, just barely panting out, "what... the hell happened to me?"

your feet are light as they tip-toe over to the foot of the bed, and then you gracefully perch yourself on the mattress beside him, watching him with an unnerving level of concern, "how are you feeling?"

he's even more unnerved when you press a hand to his forehead, but he doesn't flinch away like he would've before, "like I got hit by a truck."

at that, you snort, "a rhino, actually. you were out cold on the scene."

it comes back to him in splintered pieces. he wasn't chasing the rhino, but he remembers the split second of his horn aimed right for him mid-swing. miguel throws an arm over his eyes and groans, "how long have I been out?"

"a day. when I got you to the infirmary-"

"you were there too?"

you pause, "lyla sent me your location when you didn't respond."

he would've loved to see that. you carrying him over your shoulder, barreling through the streets on foot or shoving him into the back of a taxi cab. why lyla hadn't asked for jessica or peter to come boggled his mind. or maybe that was the concussion. he focuses a little harder, trying to remember who he had been chasing, "and the... the uh..." he moves his arm to see you watching him expectantly, "the anomaly..."

"got away."

miguel's eyes widen. he tries to sit up again and manages it, but not without shooting pain down his body. he feels your hands wrap around his bicep to keep him steady, fixing him against the headboard, "we've got to stop him."

"easy, tiger. one of the other spiders is tracking him down as we speak. you're on house arrest with me until you heal up."

"and whose bright idea was that?"

"mine, smartass. that's what I'm here for."

what you were here for got muddier every day. what started out as a simple assistant job turned into a sparring partnership which turned into ??? which turned into something almost approaching the realm of friendship. not that he would ever admit that to you. not that he could, given the lascivious way you occupied his fantasies these days.

in reality, you had been such a constant in his life since you'd arrived in it that he couldn't really picture anyone else who should be here. who'd want to be here. who he'd want here. even as he relaxes into the pillows, your hands only slip further down his arm and wrap around his wrist instead, "lyla was scared, you know."

your voice is just a murmur, so quiet he almost doesn't hear you at first. miguel had never known lyla to be scared. had he given her that ability? he supposed if he hadn't, she'd have found a way to get it, "yeah?"

"yeah. she thought... I don't know. you broke a few ribs. they were pressing into your lungs," perhaps you hadn't carried him over your shoulder, "they had to cut into you. fix you up."

the pain was bad, but that bad? it was good to know the medicine in the spider-society was as effective as he paid for. "that sounds... scary."

"it was." you aren't looking him in the eyes, "rhino was going to finish the job had I not gotten there in time. I thought- she thought you might die."

one of your hands loosens around his wrist and drifts lower to his clenched (now open) palm. miguel closes his fingers around it, holding it there. you glance at him, finally, and he feels his heart break like the mug he'd knocked over.

your eyes were sparkling—not just from tears unshed but tears you had shed. you were no doubt glued to his side from the moment you arrived on the scene, found him laying in the street thinking that he was going to die because lyla said he was struggling to breathe and he'd never been hurt like that around you before.

miguel is stunned. he realizes that he could have died. and what then? what would that have been like? would his mind be at peace? would gabriella be there?

his heart pangs, so much so that he has to press his fist against his chest to push the feeling away. you notice the movement for different reasons, though.

you scoot even closer to him, cupping his cheek in your hands to turn his face to yours, "are you okay? can you breathe? do you need me to call lyla-"

"no," miguel stutters, daring not to move while you touch him like this, "it's just..."

"it's just what?"

miguel gets the distinct feeling that if he told you he hurt, you'd move heaven and earth to make it better. perhaps things could've gone differently, but there had to be a reason you were here. there had to be a reason why, above all, you came when he needed you most. beneath all that banter and bold, you cared about him. beneath the teasing, he had your heart in his hands as much as you had his.

how had you bewitched him like this? so easily, so completely? it was as perplexing as the rest of you. "I knew you had a soft spot for me."

his smile widens as your expression falls. then you raise your hand to slap his arm, pause, and smack the bed instead, "shut the fuck up."

"not so fun when I do it to you?"

"o'hara, really. shut up."

he laughs. he goes to say something else— on a rather uncharacteristically funny roll for once—when you take his cheek in your hand again and kiss him. it's shocking. he hasn't kissed anyone in... he really can't remember. it's been so long. the burn in his side is replaced with butterfly kisses, a warm and airy tingling filling his head. or maybe that was also the concussion.

your lips definitely feel this good. he's certain of it. when you pull away the absence of that good feeling is instantaneous, "please, get some rest."

"you've got me wide awake, now."

"once I give you your next dose of pain meds, you'll be out like a light." you go to slip off the bed, probably to retrieve said pain meds, but miguel tightens his grip on the hand still holding his, giving you something cautiously skirting outside the lines of puppy dog eyes. not that he would ever admit that either.

if miguel had some more sense (not concussed, not high on extremely powerful pain medication), he'd have been appalled at his heart so unabashedly bared on his sleeve. thankfully, he had very little sense at the moment, "don't... take too long. please."

"don't worry, big guy. you're stuck with me now."