#well softer than what i planned to begin with

[r6eduss]

Girllll what if an imagine where S3! Daryl and y/n are a thing and when Daryl left with his brother, rick and the others were the one who told y/n that he just left and she was so devastated that when daryl eventually came back she treated him coldly then eventually breaking down in front of him because they think it's easy for daryl to leave them

Idk maybe angsty in the beginning then fluffy at the end?? This scenario is stuck in my head for D A Y S 😩

Anws thanks!!

Listen before I go.

•Summary: Daryl leaves with Merle without thinking how it would affect you. (Fem Reader)

•Warnings: 18+, Twd violence, angst, fluff

•Word count: 2.6k

•Setting: The Prison

•A/N: thank you for the request! I’m really sorry if this isn’t what you wanted and you aren’t happy with it 😭 I rewatched a couple episodes to try and make it as accurate as possible to the actual series. also I’m a very strong believer that Daryl would call his partner sweetheart 🤞🏼(I promise I’ve seen all the other requests I’ve gotten!)

Rick, Daryl, and Oscar had set out to rescue Glenn and Maggie, who were being held prisoner in Woodbury. Michonne had accompanied them, serving as their guide through the hostile territory. The operation, however, hadn't gone as smoothly as planned. They had lost Oscar in the chaos, and the Governor had captured Daryl, forcing him into a brutal situation—pitting him against his own brother, Merle.

As the dust settled and the group reconvened, Glenn and Michonne stayed behind to watch over the car while Rick and Maggie went back for Daryl, determined not to leave him behind. Against their better judgment, they returned with more than just Daryl—Merle had tagged along, at Daryl’s insistence. Now, back at the car, an intense discussion was brewing over whether Merle and Michonne should be brought back to the prison.

“The Governor is probably headin’ to the prison righ’ now. Merle knows how he thinks and we could use the muscle,” Daryl’s eyes locking on Rick, his tone resolute. One way or another, he was bringing his brother back.

Tension radiated from Glenn and Maggie. Glenn, still nursing wounds from Merle’s brutal interrogation, was barely containing his anger. Maggie stood close, her face tight with the memory of her own trauma at the hands of the Governor. “He had a gun to our heads! You really want him sleeping in the same cell block as Carol or Beth?” Glenn's voice shook, both with fury and concern for his family’s safety.

Daryl shot back quickly, defensive. “He ain’t a rapist.” But Glenn was faster. His words were sharp, cutting through Daryl’s protest like a knife. “Well his buddy is.”

Daryl’s face tightened. “They ain’t buddies no more. Not after last night,” he said, growing more frustrated. To him, this was simple—Merle was family. Family was non-negotiable. Why was this even up for debate?

Rick, observing the growing argument, finally stepped in, his voice measured but firm. “There’s no way Merle’s gonna live there without putting everyone at each other’s throats.”

Daryl’s patience was fraying. “So ya gon’ cut Merle loose and bring the last samurai home with us?” His irritation was clear. They were even considering taking Michonne—someone they barely knew—while debating his own brother?

The group paused as Maggie spoke up, her voice softer but filled with conviction while gesturing towards Michonne. “She’s in no state to be on her own,” The trauma they'd all just endured weighed heavily on her, and she couldn't understand why Daryl seemed blind to it.

Rick and Daryl exchanged a look. They had their doubts about Michonne, and Rick had voiced that, telling the group that she’s not going back with them. “That’s righ’, we don’t know who she is. But Merle? Merle’s blood.” Daryl threw the statement out like it should end the conversation, as if everyone would automatically agree.

But Glenn’s response was immediate and cold. “No, Merle is your blood. My family is right here. And they’re waiting for us back at the prison.” His words hung in the air, heavy with finality. Maggie nodded in agreement, she wasn’t about to let Merle, of all people, endanger what little they had left.

Rick stepped closer to Daryl, his voice steady, attempting to bridge the growing divide. “And you're part of that family, Daryl. Not him.”

The statement struck Daryl hard. He looked baffled, wounded even. If they considered him family, why wouldn’t they accept his brother? “Man, y’all don’t know.” He shook his head, anger and confusion swirling inside him.

The silence that followed was tense. Everyone stared at Daryl, unsure of what more they could say. In their eyes, the decision was obvious—but for Daryl, it was far from simple. Finally, Daryl exhaled sharply. “Fine. We’ll fend for ourselves.”

The words hung in the air like a threat, and instantly the group erupted in protests. There was panic now, a desperation to keep Daryl from making a stupid decision out of anger. “No him, no me,” Daryl snapped, his voice thick with frustration. He felt cornered, like there was no room for him to protect both his blood and his new family.

Maggie stepped forward, “Daryl, you don’t have to do this.” He looked at her, and for a moment, his hardened expression faltered. “It was always Merle and me before this,” he said quietly, the pain in his voice clear. He was torn, and it was written all over his face.

Glenn, still reeling from everything, asked a question that Daryl forgot to consider in the heat of the moment. “What do you want us to tell Y/N?” It was a simple question, but one that carried so much weight. They both knew it would devastate you.

Daryl hesitated, his gaze dropping. “She’ll understand.” But there was a crack in his voice, a hint of uncertainty, deep down he knew that you in fact wouldn’t understand. The group fell silent, letting the gravity of the moment sink in.

For a long moment, Daryl stood there, chewing on the inside of his lip, torn between his past and his present. Finally, he began moving, heading toward the car. “Say goodbye to your pop for me.” Directing his comment towards Maggie. Rick quickly followed, refusing to let this situation go. “Hey, hey. There’s got to be another way,” he pleaded, knowing how hard this would hit not just Carol but you too.

Daryl paused, his back still to Rick. “Don’t ask me to leave him,” he said, accent thick as ever. “I already did tha’ once.” Arriving at the trunk he begins stuffing supplies into his bag, while telling Rick and them to take care of themselves. He hoists it over his shoulder, glancing one last time at the group, and walking away with Merle.

You stood quietly, arranging your belongings. Your cell had become somewhat of a sanctuary for you, a space to shape, however fragile, into a semblance of back home. You carefully sat down on your bed, deciding that you were going to nap, until you heard a knock, and saw Rick standing just outside. His hands rested against the cracked walls, not wanting to intrude too much. “How are you doing?” he asked, his voice very careful.

You offered a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m okay.” It was silent for a moment, you could tell he had more to say. “Is everything okay?” Rick slowly brought his gaze from your face to the ground, wondering how he could bring the news to you. “Listen.. Daryl’s gone. Left with Merle.”

Your heart lurched violently in your chest, but outwardly, you kept still, trying to keep your breath steady while each inhale felt like swallowing glass. “Is he coming back?” He was coming back right? You two had something special did you not?

Rick’s expression was one of apology, his shoulders heavy with the weight of what he had broke to you. “I don’t know. He told me you’d understand.” Understand? Understand that Daryl had chosen to abandon the love you thought you both had? Without even saying goodbye?

“Okay.” You replied softly, your voice refusing to betray the devastation roaring inside you. You couldn’t fall apart, and especially not in front of Rick.

He lingered for a moment longer, “if you need anything..—“

“I’ll be fine, Rick. Thank you.”

He gave you a solemn nod before stepping back into the hallway, the silence in your cell feeling almost suffocating. You sat frozen for a very long moment, staring at ceiling. Then, like a dam breaking, the tears came, hot and unbidden, blurring your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You sank onto your bed, your body shaking with silent sobs and your heart aching in ways you hadn’t expected. You’ve always known that Daryl was complicated, guarded.. but why did he leave? Were you not important enough to him? Did you really mean that little? A hundred questions burned in your mind, and none of them had answers.

It felt like an eternity before the next day finally arrived. The night had been restless, your mind circling endlessly around one thing, and that one thing was Daryl. The way he had just stood up and left you behind, it left a pit in your stomach that only deepened with each passing hour. But today, you had bigger problems, problems that made personal heartache seem almost insignificant.

Glenn was gone, in attempts to clear his mind. With Daryl gone and Rick wandering crazy town, he was the next in charge, and right now he had a lot of pent up anger on what the governor did to Maggie. But of course, while he was gone, the Governor had made his move, and it was brutal. His forces stormed the prison with a cold, ruthless efficiency, and everything erupted before you had time to prepare. Axel was the first to fall, a sharp crack of gunfire cutting through the air as he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Carol, who had been standing just beside him, let out a sharp cry of shock. In a heartbeat she ducked behind Axel’s now motionless body, using him as a shield.

Bullets ripped through the air, the deafening sound of gunfire filling the space as you scrambled for cover. You crouched behind the crumbling remains of the prison walls that were near the gate, heart hammering in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins. You clutched your rifle tightly, hands shaking slightly as you peeked out from behind the wall, eyes scanning for targets.

There. One of the Governor's men was in your line of sight, crouched low, his rifle trained on the courtyard. Without hesitating, you aimed and pulled the trigger. The recoil jolted your body, but you didn't wait to see if you hit your mark. You ducked back behind the wall, the echo of gunfire ringing in your ears. Around you, The group fought just as hard, each of them locked in their own battles.

As you leaned out again, carefully scanning for your target who you hadn’t known already retreated, your eyes fell on Herschel, who was still exposed in the courtyard. Rick, positioned just outside the fences, was also in a precarious situation. At that moment, the Governor and his men launched an assault, sending a car to smash through the courtyard fence. Herschel, crouched in the field with his rifle, began to feel the weight on him as walkers started to flood in from every direction.

The fear was palpable among you, Rick, and especially Maggie as you all dreaded the possibility of losing Herschel. Just as the Governor began to leave, Glenn had returned, driving into the courtyard while Michonne followed the truck, cutting through the walkers that stood in her way. Their intervention was a lifesaver; they quickly rescued Herschel, escorting him into the truck and out of the courtyard, into the safety of the prison gates.

Outside, Rick was struggling to fend off the relentless walkers closing in on him. Just when things seemed dire, a bolt flew through the air, striking the head of the walker attacking Rick. Daryl and Merle had returned, joining forces with Rick to clear the remaining walkers. Daryl and the rest of your family were okay.. and that’s all you needed to know before bolting back toward your cell, trying your best to avoid the archer in the process.

A couple hours later you found yourself sat on your bed, running your fingers absentmindedly over the pages of an old journal you started keeping. Without looking up, you could heard the familiar sound of boots shuffling just outside your cell. Daryl stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hand brushing against the frame of the cell, his shoulders hunched slightly as though the weight of the world rested on them. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, the air between them thick with tension.

"Hey," he muttered finally, his voice gravelly and hesitant.

You looked up at him then, your expression unreadable. Daryl shifted his weight, uncomfortable under your gaze. Without a word, you stood and brushed past him, your shoulder grazing his as you walked out of the cell. Daryl flinched at the contact, his jaw tightening. The cold shoulder hit him harder than any words could have, and as he watched you walk away, he felt the guilt gnawing at his insides.

The distance between you two only grew more unbearable. As the days flew by, you continued to ignore him, feeling as if he didn’t deserve your attention, while Daryl found himself missing the soft touch of your hand, the warmth you brought into his life that no one else ever could. He couldn’t stay away any longer. He needed to fix this.

He found you sitting on the edge of your bed again, scribbling quietly in your journal like yesterday, not looking up when he entered, just blatantly ignoring him.

"Damn it, why’re ya avoidin’ me?" His frustration finally boiled over, his voice harsher than he meant it to be. You paused, setting the journal down slowly before looking up at him with steely eyes, the walls around you finally beginning to crack. "Why did you leave, Daryl?" Your was voice trembling but controlled, laced with anger. "Was it that easy?"

Daryl froze, his usual tough exterior faltering. He wasn’t used to being confronted like this, especially by you. He fidgeted, biting the inside of his lip. "It ain’t like that… Merle— he’s my blood."

"And what am I, Daryl?" You instantly snapped, voice rising higher as your emotions spilled over. "Why was it so easy for you to leave me? You didn’t even say goodbye. Did you not care?" Daryl’s gaze fell to the ground, avoiding yours at all costs. “I wasn’t thinkin’ straight”

Your eyes instantly widened in disbelief and hurt. “You left me here, alone, when I thought we had something! You weren’t even clear headed enough to think about how it would affect me!” Daryl flinched at edge of your voice. “I didn’t know what to do! I was tryin’ to do what I thought was right.”

You stood up abruptly, your anger radiating off you. “What was right?! You think abandoning me without a word is doing what’s right? Why’d you even come back if clearly all you needed was Merle.”

Your words cut deeper than any wound he’d ever taken. He stood there, staring at you, the silence stretching painfully between you both. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I came back 'cause I realized I love ya."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the anger in your eyes softening, though the hurt was still there. For a very long pause you just stared at him, scanning his eyes for any possible doubt for what he just admitted to you. “..Actually?” You really couldn’t believe it, you never thought he’d be the one to say those words first, but he did. All You wanted to do was stay mad, to push him away for making you feel like you didn’t matter, but the vulnerability in his voice stopped you. He again chewed the inside of his lips and nodded slowly to answer your question. "I’m sorry." he mumbled, looking down. He looked like he was about to cry, and in that very moment you just wanted to nurture him.

So without thinking, you closed the distance and wrapped your arms around him. Daryl tensed at first, his back stiffening at the unexpected embrace, but after a moment, he slowly relaxed, his arms wrapping around you in return and leaning down into your neck, feeling comfortable and safe.

"I love you too.. but don’t ever leave me again."

Daryl leaned back and pressed a gentle kiss onto your forehead, lingering just for a moment. “I won’t, sweetheart.”

And that was a promise he’d never break. Not for anybody.

@vampiresluv

[aka-efirg]

sooo i wrote the thing i was talking about in this post and wow did it take more time to write than i planned. honestly i blame enzo, he talks too much and has too many opinions

so context for the fic, damon has been having lots of flashbacks from the previous timeline and nightmares these days so he has more and more trouble to appear fine and sometimes everything is too much for him

it's also happening after season 3 with main differences:

-alaric didn't die and get turn into an enhanced original vampire because damon kept an eye on him and made sure he didn't die more than he already did before coming back so ester couldn't corrupt his mind

-elena still gets turned into a vampire but still no idea how it happened since there was no super evil alaric to kill

-mason didn't die as well (or maybe he did, haven't decided yet) (but if he doesn't die, he will totally bitch with damon about katherine and how she manipulated them and made them fall in love with her. it's how they bonded)

-no idea what happened with ester and how they got rid of her

and during season 4 where they are trying to find the cure (jeremy is one of the five)

also damon has marks that look like burn scars on his arms and his back (hellfire) and a symbol on his chest (emily's mark to send him to the past and to protect him because him being in the past could count as being a disruption to natural balance)

Seeing Damon, seated cross-legged on his bed with fingers tightly pressed against his temples, is sadly unsurprising but nonetheless worrying. He knew it was bound to happen with how Damon spent the whole day zoning out, eyes looking at things that weren’t there, brows slightly burrowed as if he was fighting a headache. Enzo knows he is the only one who noticed—or maybe not, if the occasional glances the witch kept sending the older vampire’s way were any indication, and Enzo absently wonders what she sees, because he knows she can’t perceive what he does—

(the hurt, the despair and the guilt, the blood, the death and the fire)

so he wasn’t surprised when he witnessed Damon leaving the living room, so silently the only reason he noticed was because he didn't take his eyes off the older vampire. It took almost twenty minutes for the others to notice the oldest Salvatore was no longer with them and for Stefan to worry about where he was. At their questioning glances, Enzo simply stated that Damon was in his room before leaving as well.

(Sometimes Enzo wants to shake the younger Salvatore so hard, wants to crack his head open while screaming at him to just look at his brother, to see how much he’s hurting, all the things he hides behind sarcasm and apathy and monstrosity. He wants to gouge his eyes out just so he would have a reason to not see. And other times he wants to tear him apart because he can’t help but reminisce about hope and faith slowly shriveling as days and months and years accumulated, as blood kept pouring and screams became better than silence—because if he screams it means he is still alive it means you haven’t lost the most important thing you have left in this instant)

After closing the door as silently as possible, Enzo takes in the heavy air in the room, feeling like ozone and something electric, magic but not before focusing on his friend, his tense form on the bed, his breathing deliberately slow, sharp contrast to his heartbeat, too fast for a vampire. Slowly, Enzo walks closer to the bed, making sure to make some noise. Even if he’s sure the other vampire heard him, he doesn’t want to risk having a cornered, distressed Damon near his throat. When he notices Damon isn’t reacting save from a little tightening of his shoulders, he sits down on the mattress and waits.

“I’m fine.”

Enzo takes the time to look at his friend’s face, thin lips, burrowed brows and tightly closed eyes. In sum, in pain.

In sum, perfectly, absolutely fine.

Not even bothering to answer—did Damon really think he would believe him—, he edges closer and only then is he able to see the light, barely perceptible tremors that run through Damon’s arms, more noticeable around his hands where they’re pressed hard against the skin.

“Damon.”

The other vampire doesn’t answer, just curls a bit on himself, bringing his knees higher and his elbows closer to his body. Removing his shoes (because Damon will absolutely chew him out if his mud-covered boots so much as touch the silk covers, well… he will when he doesn’t look like a particularly sad puppy, as blood-sucking as he is, one scream away from collapsing into itself and—great now he just wants to hug this metaphorical puppy), he makes himself comfortable on the bed face to face with the older vampire waiting for him to acknowledge him.

When Damon realizes that he is not leaving and that he will not win at the waiting game (Enzo has plenty of experience in waiting and Damon is not particularly known for his patience, quite the contrary), he finally opens his eyes to glance at the younger and Enzo nearly wishes the other stayed how he was. He knows the look Damon is sending him is supposed to be a glare, to convey his annoyance at his presence but all Enzo can see is the shine. Gleaming blue eyes looking at him and… fuck he didn’t think it was that bad.

Damon must read something on his face because his eyes harden, a sneer appearing on his lips.

“I’m fine. Go away.”

Enzo has to act quick if he doesn’t want Damon to completely close himself off.

Suddenly Enzo wants nothing more than take every single person who made Damon so cautious and insecure about his hurts and vulnerabilities the simple thought of having them feels like a weakness, of showing them a burden, and tear them to shreds, piece by piece so they can feel every hurt, every tear they forced Damon to keep for himself. He wants to watch them burn, helpless and begging for mercy. And okay, maybe this is a bit extreme, but he spent seventy years being tortured, cut open, reduced to nothing but a mass of bones and blood. He long lost faith in mercy, leaving him only with a rage so intense and unending he wants to put the world on fire, scorching it into nothingness, just to sit on its ashes (or maybe dance, Damon has always loved dancing) and revel in the resulting absolute and beautiful desolation.

(When Enzo is left with nothing but fierce everlasting rage, he needs to unleash it because he knows, otherwise, it will simply consume him and everything around him. But—

—his torturers are all dead. Enzo remembers the ravages Damon left when he came back and rescued him, the complete destruction of everything Augustine represents, in pieces, covered in red and burning so hot he could almost feel the flames licking at his body, but this time, a promise of freedom instead of a promise of pain and blood.

—no matter how much he cursed the man, hated him with a searing, blinding passion, Enzo has long accepted he could never harm Damon. No matter how much he tried—and tried he did—. So many times (too many times part of him cries) he found himself looking down at the other vampire, straddling him, a stake pressed on his chest, tip piercing the skin just above the heart. Just one pressure and the wood would slide right through the bone. Blue eyes looking up at him, blankly, calmly, just waiting to see what he would do. So accepting Enzo wanted to scream at him to defend himself, to stop making himself so vulnerable. To do something because he left him to die, he killed one of the most important people he had and he shouldn’t accept to die. He doesn’t have any right to let Enzo kill the last person he has left. He did scream a few times, eyes burning with tears, until his throat was so sore the only sounds that left his mouth were rasps of rage and despair, and all he could do was throw the stake so hard against the wall it exploded in thousand fragments before collapsing, curses on his lips and apologies and regrets on Damon’s.

So while he doesn’t care whether the world burns and crashes, he will be damned before he lets anything happen to Damon. If he can’t direct his rage to the ones who wronged him—all dead and ashes and unable to harm them anymore—, he has no issue focusing it on the people who hurt his person.)

Distractedly wondering if it would be possible to resurrect one Guiseppe Salvatore, just to have the pleasure of killing him atrociously, Enzo practically jumps on the other vampire, taking his wrists into his hands. The glare Damon sends him is ferocious, and Enzo is sure if he were anyone else, he would have lost a few fingers for his trouble. When he’s certain he actually won’t lose any part of his body, he slowly lets go of the other’s hands and moves until he finds himself behind Damon, against the head of the bed. Even though the older vampire is watching him, he still lets a soft noise of surprise when arms grip his waist to pull him against the other’s body. He fights the hold for a moment until the younger vampire tightens his arms and drops his head against shoulder.

For a moment, everything is still and silent except for their breathings, one calm and deliberate, the other rapid and jerky until it progressively slows down. The shaking doesn’t stop though and when Enzo notices the tight grip Damon has on his own arm, hard and grinding—he is surprised the bone hasn’t given way yet—, he places his own hand on the other’s to make him relax his grip.

He turns his head, his lips barely touching the other vampire’s skin, but he still feels Damon react, how he inhales abruptly and presses himself more against him.

“It’s okay.” And he drops a faint kiss where the shoulder and the neck meet and Damon simply… stops. Falls further into Enzo like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut. A whimper escapes his mouth, something like a sob. Enzo kisses him a second time, this time on the neck, right on the pulse point. “I’ve got you.”

The next kiss lasts longer and, after removing Damon’s hand from his arm, he starts rubbing his thumb on the already healing bruises, feeling the sharp and still-getting-used-to contrast between cold and warm.

(This is something new. Where now sit marks—burn scar-like—, Damon’s skin is an interesting and unnatural mix of cold and warm skin. Vampires and undead cold. Humans and living warm. The first time he noticed it, he wasn’t able to contain his curiosity. But, when he questioned it, Damon shut down. Frozen and staring into space, watching things only he could see. He stayed like that for almost one hour, not even realizing how long he was in this state nor remembering what the question was. It was enough for Enzo to know not to ask about it again.)

His arm still around Damon’s waist now sits under his T-shirt, gently stroking his ribs, enjoying the light shiver that follows his hand. His lips stretched slightly, and he knows Damon felt it because he hears the beginning of a growl that ends up in a strange and entertaining mix between a groan and a moan when he starts dragging his nails instead. Enzo lifts his head, laying his cheek on the other’s shoulder, when he feels Damon turning his head. Placed like this, their noses bump before they can look at each other. When their eyes meet, Enzo smiles at the glint of amusement in Damon’s eyes. Because he much prefers this to the empty stare the blue-eyed vampire has been displaying all day, he slightly moves his head, rubbing their noses together once again. He is rewarded with a small chuckle, barely a sound but here in the way Damon’s lips stretched up a little and his eyes lighted up for a second. Feeling a bit lighter than when he entered the room, he can’t resist pressing his lips against the other’s and revels in the soft moan of surprise he gets in response. Damon doesn’t reciprocate, but he feels him relaxing, heartbeat finally calming down to a vampire-normal one.

When they separate, and since they’re already all feeling and soft, he murmurs a faint “I love you” and—wow the look he gets is so precious, so fragile it is heartbreaking.

(Seriously, tomorrow the second-class scooby gang (Yes, Enzo thinks pettily, they don’t deserve Capital Letters.) better be on their best behavior, or heads will be rolling.)

“I love you.” He repeats, making sure to look the other in the eyes, and kisses him one last time before repositioning himself behind Damon, bringing him closer. The other vampire leans against him, grabbing the hand next to his arm and starts playing with it. With the way he seems too focused on their linked hands, Damon must be thinking about something. Used to him sometimes needing time to organize his thoughts before speaking, Enzo simply waits for him to be ready to speak. Absently he goes back to stroking the other’s ribs, head resting against the headboard and his eyes closed.

Somewhere between his thoughts about the probability of making Stefan disappear without Damon noticing (zero percent) and if cheese chips and chocolate ice cream would make a good combination (the idea has some merit), Damon stopped fiddling with his hand, dragging his forefinger the long of his fingers instead. Enzo gets distracted by the change and almost misses Damon speaking.

“I love you too.”

Well, speaking might be the wrong word. The words are said, barely a whisper. And without his super-hearing, he would have missed them. Before he can respond, he feels Damon tensing a bit before he moves, so that they are facing each other, more or less with Damon still seated between his legs and his own arm around the other’s chest.

His eyes meet blue eyes, intense, filled with determination.

(God, Enzo loves these eyes. Haunting unforgettable breathtaking eyes.)

“I love you too. I know I don’t say it often. But I do.”

(Be still, vampire-heart. No need to beat like a normal human one.)

“I know you do. You made it pretty clear from the moment you came back to rescue me.”

That seems to take Damon by surprise who can’t help but blurt a stunned “What?”, eyes wide open.

“I mean I didn’t let myself believe at the beginning because… well obvious reasons,” and Enzo is pleased to see the other is not looking away for once, despite the flicker of shame and guilt that still flashes in the blue eyes. “But trust me, thinking back about it now, it’s really evident. You came back. For me.” Enzo takes the way Damon opens his mouth, probably ready to refute what he is saying, and glares at him. What he wants to say is hard enough. After a few seconds of hesitation, he takes a breath. “We talked about it. Several times. You know what I think and you know I forgave you. The thing, Damon, is yes I was angry and hurt and I felt betrayed. But there were days I was… not happy but relieved you could say. Because you got out. Because, deep down, I knew if you hadn’t left me, you would have got captured again and it would have meant the year prior would have been for nothing. That whole year, starving like I never did, always feeling on the verge of desiccation, would have been in vain. Plus, who knows what they would have done to you after you killed every attendee at the party. They were vicious afterwards.”

(And they were. The year that followed the massacre at the New Year party was atrocious. The scientists who survived or who weren’t there felt vindictive—like they had any right—and they took it out on him. He was an easy target for their revenge. The experiments became harsher, unforgiving and downward crueler—something he didn’t think was possible after fifteen years in their clutches. And if the physical torture wasn’t enough, he was feeling hurt and betrayed in the worst way possible. And so angry. There were days he was so furious the pain of the experiments barely registered. He would spend these days on the operating table planning how to take revenge on Damon in the most brutal and devastating way possible.

He knew everything about him, it would have been so easy to ruin him irreparably. Because Damon, for all he appears callous and impervious, cares. So much it is ludicrously frighteningly simple to hurt him.)

“But this is not what I was getting at. I mean, we can talk about it again. If you want. But another day. When at least one of us is emotionally able to lead this kind of conversation. What I wanted to say originally is… you came back. And no matter how angry, hurt or relieved I was that you weren’t there with me anymore, I still hold that hope that you would. Come back I mean.” For some reason, Damon looks particularly stricken at that, something heavier than guilt shining brightly in his eyes and Enzo almost wants to ask about it. Doesn’t because he knows Damon will not answer. “Of course, the hope I had that you would rescue me flickered a lot. Some days I felt ridiculous thinking you’d save me because I saw you turn your humanity off and you probably thought I was dead. But some days I was thinking to myself that maybe today would be the day you wake up and realize I didn’t die that day and that you’d come.” Unable to look at Damon for his next words, Enzo lowers his head, staring at their linked hands instead. “These days were the worst.” At the sharp inhale from his ex-cellmate, he stares down more intensely. “Because at the end of the day, I was still in this cell and I felt so stupid. But as stupid as hoping was, it… helped me. In some kind of cruel way. Because, if I had hope, I had something to hold onto. I couldn’t keep relying on anger to survive. I would have gone crazy. Lost myself in ways everything they did to me would never have. But, these last years, it was getting harder and harder to hold on to something positive. The fatigue, the pain, it made it easy for all the negative emotions to break through. Even then, I was losing my grip on them. And all of a sudden, after fifty years, you are here. You are standing in front of my cell, covered in blood. Then, you open the door and I’m out of the cell. I’m walking through the lab and there is blood and bodies everywhere. Until you shoved that guard at me so that I could drink, I was still persuaded it was a hallucination. A very elaborated one my brain conjured to… torture me more I guess. Damn, I don’t even remember where I was getting, but the bottom line is you came back when I thought you wouldn’t.”

When he finally looks up, he swallows. Damon looks devastating, he can practically see his heart breaking in his eyes. Enzo hesitates. He didn’t mean to make Damon feel worse. Maybe he should have waited for him to be emotionally more stable. Releasing the other’s hand—and pretending not to hear the wounded sound at the action—, he puts his two hands on Damon’s cheeks, making sure he is looking at him.

“You came back and got me out when you could have left me there,” Enzo can’t help but feel a bit relieved when he sees the other frown, protective anger in the lines of his face. “And then you didn’t leave me alone, you stayed, and you took care of me.” Dark eyes stare straight into wide blue ones. “At first, I thought it was out of guilt, and maybe it was, partially. But I know you. Guilt alone wouldn’t make you stay or help. Or keep still while someone is pointing a stake at your heart.” The last part is said with a bit of reproach despite Enzo knowing it is useless. Damon has something akin to a martyr complex but instead of the whole thing about sacrificing himself for people’s sake, he is willing to die if he feels he deserves it. In a fucked-up way, despite how it angered him at the time—still does to be honest—, Damon not trying to defend himself and looking ready to accept whatever punishment Enzo had for him, even death, was what convinced him Damon was earnest, made him realize how important he was to him.

(He swears, people who say Damon is unable to feel any sort of remorse have never seen him actually deal with guilt. Probably because it presents itself as recklessness and stupid impulsive decisions. Ordinary Damon things. But the thing with guilt is that Damon takes all of his worst traits and makes them worse.)

Because Damon has a thing about deals and debts. He particularly noticed it these last months, seeing him interact with people who are not himself nor doctors and their assistants. How he would carefully formulate his sentences, always letting himself some ground to defend himself if something goes wrong. How he would retaliate if he thought someone wronged him, or someone he cares about, one way or another. And okay maybe what he considers as wrongdoings is very subjective, but meet them and you find yourself confronted with a particularly violent and vindictive vampire. Enzo would have thought the others would have noticed it at this point, particularly the wording thing. But since he has arrived, they were still as careless as ever with their words and as clueless about Damon’s.

He is pretty sure the only person who caught on is Elijah, but it is probably because the Original vampire is as careful as Damon with his phrasing. Hell, the two practically made a game out of it, see who will be able to outword the other first without anyone noticing it—except Enzo who usually watches the two going at it with amusement. And keeps score. At the moment, they’re tied. Damon won the last point after the questioning and suspicious look Klaus sent his brother. (The victorious subtle but not really smirk Damon sent to Elijah made Klaus glance pointedly at the younger vampire. All it did was make Damon smirk more obnoxiously, this time mockingly at the hybrid. Enzo was already planning how to steal Klaus’s blood to cure the idiot from werewolf venom.)

“You don’t make a habit of showing your caring unless you actually do care, and even then you have to know what to look for. And you haven’t stopped since then. You think I haven’t noticed how you always seem to have blood bags close at hand. How you always make sure to be between me and the biggest threat in the room—which, I see how you keep flicking your eyes between me and Stefan, as if you don’t know whom to stay close to. Sometimes you look like you’re one blink away from kidnapping us out of the situation. Or one of us so that you can completely focus on the other. It’s cute in a way. Pretty sure Stefan thinks it’s unsettling the way you stare at him, but at least I get to laugh at his growing paranoia.”

A small laugh escapes Damon’s mouth. This little feud between Enzo and Stefan never stops amusing him.

“I love you. And I know you do too.” Right, this is what it was about originally. “You show it to me every day. I don’t need you to say it all the time.”

Damon simply stares at him in response, a small frown appearing between his brows. “It doesn’t mean I couldn’t say it more often.”

“And it is nice hearing it. But it doesn't mean I need to hear it, you already show it to me every time, every day.” When he sees Damon's brows furrow deeper, lips thinning in displeasure, he adds. “Stop being a stubborn dolt and just accept it.”

Now at the risk of incurring Damon’s wrath, Enzo's lips turn up in a small smile at the face the other vampire is making—which is not a pout because big bad vampires do not pout. (And it's not big bad wolfy who will disagree. His expression when he was told by his brother that his idea of turning Mystic Falls inhabitants into vampires so the littlest Gilbert could complete the map better stayed an idea was not a pout. Enzo sometimes looks at Damon and Klaus and can't help but laugh because no wonder these two can't get along, they're just too similar in the worst possible way.)

“I’m not saying all this to make you feel better. I am telling you. I have never doubted it. Believe me, when you’re being all you,” at the confused tilt of head he gets, he simply smiles, “it’s not hard to tell. I mean, even your brother knows you love him and you are a lot meaner with him. And… and I have no idea what we were talking about but I love you, you love me, we love each other, it’s nice.”

Damon raises an eyebrow, all judgment and wow, Enzo can see the resemblance between both Salvatore with this expression. “It’s nice? Really?”

“Shut it! I didn’t really plan on being all emotional today.”

The light amusement on Damon’s face straight away dies out and Enzo kind of wants to hit himself for it.

“Sorry. Today just felt… too much.”

Enzo smiles sadly and cups Damon’s face with his left hand, making sure to look him in the eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

The answer is obvious on Damon’s face, but after sighing, he still answers. “I thought I was doing okay, but they started talking about the most efficient way to kill as many supernatural creatures as possible. And it was too much because they are basically talking about mass murder and, I mean, I don't particularly care but… I don’t know, today I didn’t feel like listening anymore.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, there was no progress on this front after you left. Doubt there has been any since I left.”

“Give them a few hours, they’ll come up with something. They can be particularly ruthless when it comes to their interests.” With a slight frown, he adds. “I better find a good place to hide the stake.” At Enzo’s questioning glance, he says. “I don’t trust them with something like that.”

Something in the way Damon said this sounds strange to Enzo. But aware the raven-haired vampire will not answer him, he doesn’t push. “What about your human buddy? Can’t he dissuade them from doing anything stupid?”

“You really think they’ll listen to Ric? I mean, Jeremy might but that’s all. And even then, the others can easily talk him into whatever shitty plan they think up. Believe me, it’s easier than it seems to convince little siblings to do what you want.”

Seeing how just thinking about what the Scooby Gang could come up with seems to suck out all of Damon’s energy, Enzo brings his other hand to the other’s face before kissing him. Damon instantly relaxes at the contact and leans forward to deepen the kiss. Thanks to their dampened need to breathe, the kiss lasts a few minutes during which Enzo lets himself think of nothing. Simply Damon seated between his legs, solid and real. His hands holding the dead-cold skin. One of Damon’s hands resting on his hip and the other gripping his knee. Enzo lets a moan escape when he feels Damon’s hand slides under his T-shirt, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. Feeling the other’s lips stretching into a smile, Enzo retaliates by biting them, fangs out, savoring the taste of blood on his tongue and the grunt accompanying it.

Finally breaking the kiss, Enzo’s attention zeroes in on the already healing bite and resists the urge to reopen it. A temptation starting to be too strong when Damon almost makes a show of licking his lips to get rid of the blood. So instead, Enzo focuses on the blue eyes already looking right at him. He lets himself a few seconds to lose himself in being Damon’s sole focus, gently stroking his cheeks, watching how the raven is leaning in at the movement, not breaking eye contact. He smiles, a tiny little thing, when Damon turns his head, taking his thumb in his mouth to nibble at it, not even piercing the skin. Sometimes Damon has the cutest little habits.

“Feel like doing anything?”

Damon lets his thumb go and stops to think, observing the younger vampire closely—probably (certainly) to determine what Enzo wants—so Enzo makes sure to keep his expression open, letting him know that the choice is entirely his, that he is okay with whatever he decides. After several seconds of scrutinizing, Damon seems to come to a decision. Still fixated on the other vampire, he slowly shakes his head.

“Not really. Not today. Can we just…” He seems to hesitate—shy as Damon Salvatore should never be—before gesticulating his hand between them and the bed.

Enzo doesn’t wait to agree, having immediately understood what Damon meant.

(Someone needs to remind Damon that it is alright to simply want to cuddle without sex involved. That if he wants someone to hold him, he just has to ask.)

(Realizing that the love of your life you spent a century and half trying to save from a fate worse than death lied to you and only used you for sex had certainly led to some serious self-love issues. Enzo would really like to have more words with Katherine Pierce. In retrospect, maybe he should have burned her the first time he met her. Because she damaged Damon so deeply Enzo has a visceral need to hurt her. And Enzo could appreciate the irony)

“Yeah, we can.” Letting the other go, Enzo takes his place back against the headboard and puts his arms around Damon’s waist when the older vampire pushes himself against him. Damon immediately grabs one of his hands in his before he starts playing with it. When Enzo doesn’t feel the other vampire relax after a few minutes, he puts his free hand on Damon’s tight, stroking the covered skin. At the light tensing of the man in his arms, Enzo begins to delicately put kisses on the exposed skin in front of him. He keeps doing so, butterfly kisses on the neck, nothing more, and his hand rubbing lazy circles on the other’s tight, not moving higher or lower, until he feels Damon slowly relaxing in his embrace once he is certain Enzo has no intention of going further.

The air around them feels lighter and lighter every second Damon unwinds a bit more until Enzo doesn’t feel like he’s about to be struck by lightning anymore. Instead, all he feels is warm contentment, and he lets himself be lulled into a soft feeling of security he doesn’t think he has ever been able to feel until Damon. Because there is something about the older vampire that makes him feel safe, that tells him he can let his guard down because he knows the other won’t let anything happen to him.

“How about we stop existing for a few hours?” Damon simply hums in response. “No original vampires, no magical map, no cure, and more importantly, no teenager drama. Just you and I between four walls, against the outside world.”

“At least there is no cement wall between us.”

“At least there is nothing to prevent us from cuddling.” He lets a short laugh escape at Damon’s groan.

“Please don’t call it that.”

“I’m calling it how I see it.” To emphasize his point, he tightens his hold and shoves his face in the junction between Damon’s neck and his shoulder. “I’m cuddling you.”

“You’re strangling me. You planning on letting me breathe at some point?” His only answer is the tightening of the grip around him, efficiently constricting his lungs. “Very funny.”

The dry tone only causes Enzo to drop a kiss on his neck followed by a nip right on his pulse point. “You don’t need to breathe.”

Damon huffs before slapping one of Enzo’s legs. “I do. And I’ll need to, eventually.”

“Admit we’re cuddling and maybe I’ll let you.”

“Maybe?” The clutch Damon’s in tightens a bit more.

“I’m very comfortable in this position.”

“You’re trying to crush my rib cage.”

“Cuddling.”

“Cuddling does not involve broken bones. Nor asphyxia.”

“That’s what you think. You just haven’t cuddled anyone in a long time.”

“We— You’re the one who spent decades as a rat lab, what do you know?” He simply gets a hum in response. “Plus, I’m the one who was stuck with a clingy angel-faced little sibling.”

“It was like two centuries ago. Doesn’t count.”

“It was never-happened ago for you. I win.”

“Okay little spoon, whatever you say.”

“How do you even know about that?”

“I’m catching up on modern slang.”

“Please, never say that word again. It sounds wrong coming from you.” Enzo decides to not answer and instead bites the skin on Damon’s neck before sucking. The other vampire inhales sharply. “If you’re hungry, there is blood downstairs.”

Enzo lifts his head to place it on Damon’s shoulder. “And risk bumping into the gaggle of murderous babies. No, thank you.” He sweeps the room with his eyes. “You should have blood in your room. Why don’t you have blood in your room?”

Damon doesn’t answer, preferring instead to settle more cozily against the younger vampire with a faint sigh of content. Enzo adjusts his grip until they’re both comfortable. Damon takes his hand once again, fiddling with his fingers and his ring. With Damon’s fixation with his hands, Enzo is half worried Damon is going to steal them. Or his ring. Damon looks like the kind of person to steal jewelry because he likes it.

After a few minutes of silence, Enzo leans his head toward Damon, chin hooked on the other's shoulder, a small smirk on his lips. He can feel Damon shift at his movement. “So,” from the way Damon freezes, he probably already knows he won't like what he'll hear. It simply makes his smile widen. “What about snuggling?”

Without missing a beat, Damon answers. “I'm disowning you. Starting now and ending never.” But, despite his words, he doesn't move. On the contrary, he leans further backwards and Enzo can't resist. 

“Looks like to me you do want more snuggles.”

With a grunt of disgust, Damon makes a move to extract himself from the other's embrace cuddle but Enzo tightens his grip. “Okay, okay, no cuddling and no snuggling. Just you and I against the outside world.” Despite his words, he makes sure to snuggle the other vampire as close as he can. “So, what do you say? We pretend the outside world doesn’t exist and we stay here where nothing can reach us?”

“I like the idea.”

Enzo smiles and starts stroking Damon’s arms with the tips of his fingers until the other is completely relaxed and nearly asleep. He drops a small kiss on Damon’s lower jaw and shifts a bit so they are both comfortably settled. He waits until he’s sure Damon is asleep before picking his phone to write a quick message to Alaric to tell him to not bother them until at least midday the day after. Message sent and not waiting for the confirmation the hunter saw it, he puts the phone down, adjusts his grip and lets his head fall against the headboard, listening to Damon’s breathing gradually lull him into sleep.

They have tons of problems to deal with, but for now, he’s content enough to ignore them. They’ll have all the time to worry about them tomorrow. And the day after. And every day that follows. His last thought before succumbing to sleep is wondering if he'd be able to convince Damon to ditch Mystic Falls and its seemingly never-ending troubles.

END

so this ends up being longer than i planned, sorry for that but i hope you liked it i had fun writing it

i'll probably edit and post it on ao3 at some point, there are stuff i haven't been able to fit here so we'll see

also damon might seem a bit out of character but you should remember that the guy came back from a future where he saw everyone he loved die and he was having a bad week

[pucksandpower]

For the Best

Logan Sargeant x Wolff!Reader

Summary: Logan thinks that losing his Williams seat marks the beginning of the end … little does he know that it’s really just the start of the rest of his life

Logan steps into the cool, air-conditioned room, his race suit clinging to his skin after a grueling drive. The contrast between the bustling paddock and the quiet meeting room is jarring, and he can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.

His team principal sits at the head of the table, his usually cheerful demeanor replaced by a somber expression. Beside him, to Logan’s surprise, is the imposing figure of Mercedes’ team principal.

“Logan, thanks for coming,” James begins, his voice careful and measured. “Please, have a seat.”

Logan slides into a chair, his heart rate picking up. “What’s this about?” He asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

James and Toto exchange a glance before James clears his throat. “Logan, you’ve been a valuable part of our team, and we’ve appreciated your dedication and hard work.”

The use of past tense doesn’t escape Logan’s notice. His stomach drops.

“But?” Logan prompts, bracing himself.

James sighs. “But we’ve decided to go in a different direction for next season. We’ll be announcing tomorrow that we’re signing Carlos Sainz.”

The words hit Logan like a physical blow. He knew his seat wasn’t secure, but hearing it confirmed ... it’s devastating.

“I-I see,” Logan manages, his voice barely above a whisper.

Toto leans forward, his piercing gaze fixed on Logan. “This is where I come in, Logan. We’ve been watching your progress closely, and while Williams may not have a race seat for you next year, we see potential in you.”

Logan’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Mercedes and Williams would like to offer you a position as a reserve driver for next season,” Toto explains. “It would give you the opportunity to stay involved in F1, continue your development, and potentially step in if needed.”

Logan’s mind races. It’s not a race seat, but it’s something. A lifeline in a sport that can be ruthlessly unforgiving.

“I ... I don’t know what to say,” Logan admits, his voice shaky.

James leans in, his expression softening. “Logan, I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear. But this could be a great opportunity for you. You’d be working with one of the top teams in the sport.”

Logan nods slowly, trying to process everything. “Can I ask ... why? Why make this decision now?”

James shifts uncomfortably. “It’s a combination of factors. Carlos became available, and with his experience ...”

“You think he can bring more to the team,” Logan finishes, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice.

“Logan,” Toto interjects, his tone firm but not unkind. “This sport is brutal, we all know that. But it’s also about timing and opportunities. This reserve role could set you up for future success.”

Logan takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “And if I say no? If I want to pursue other options?”

James and Toto exchange another glance. “That’s your prerogative,” James says carefully. “But I would strongly advise you to consider this offer. It’s not often a driver gets this kind of opportunity with a team like Mercedes.”

Logan nods, his mind whirling. “How long do I have to decide?”

“We’d need an answer by the end of the week,” Toto replies. “We understand this is a big decision, but we also need to move forward with our plans.”

Logan stands up, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the small room. “I ... I need some time to think about this. Is that okay?”

James nods, standing as well. “Of course, Logan. Take the time you need. But please, keep this conversation confidential until the announcement on Monday.”

Logan nods numbly, turning towards the door. As he reaches for the handle, Toto’s voice stops him.

“Logan,” the Mercedes boss says, his tone softer than before. “I know this feels like a setback. But sometimes, a step back can lead to two steps forward. Don’t lose faith in yourself.”

Logan meets Toto’s gaze, seeing a mix of sympathy and determination in the older man’s eyes. He manages a weak smile. “Thank you, Mr. Wolff. I’ll ... I’ll be in touch.”

As Logan steps out of the room, the hectic sounds of the paddock wash over him. And not for the first time in his F1 career, he feels completely lost in the familiar chaos.

***

Logan sits alone at a table in the Mercedes cafeteria, pushing his food around his plate. It’s his first day as a reserve driver, and the reality of his situation is sinking in. The familiar faces he’d grown accustomed to at Williams are replaced by a sea of strangers, all wearing the unmistakable Mercedes black and silver.

He takes a halfhearted bite of his chicken, lost in thought. The clink of a tray beside him startles him out of his reverie.

“Mind if I join you?” A cheerful voice asks.

Logan looks up to see a young woman with a bright smile sliding into the seat across from him. Her eyes sparkle with warmth and curiosity.

“Uh, sure,” Logan manages, caught off guard by the unexpected company.

You beam at him, extending a hand. “I’m Y/N. You must be Logan, right? The new reserve driver?”

Logan nods, shaking your hand. “That’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“So, how’s your first day going?” You ask, digging into your own lunch with enthusiasm.

Logan shrugs, trying to muster up some positivity. “It’s ... different. Still trying to find my bearings, I guess.”

You nod sympathetically. “I can imagine. It must be a big change from Williams. But hey, everyone here is pretty friendly once you get to know them. Give it time.”

Logan finds himself relaxing a bit in the face of your easy-going demeanor. “Thanks. I appreciate that. So, uh, what do you do here?”

You laugh, a melodious sound that draws a few glances from nearby tables. “Oh, a bit of everything, really. I like to keep busy. But tell me more about you! How are you finding Brackley compared to Grove?”

Logan blinks, surprised by your genuine interest. “It’s ... bigger, for sure. More advanced facilities. It’s a bit overwhelming, to be honest.”

You lean in, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Want to know a secret? It can be overwhelming for all of us sometimes. But that’s what makes it exciting, right?”

A small smile tugs at Logan’s lips. “I guess you’re right. It’s just ... I keep thinking about what could have been, you know? If I’d kept my race seat ...”

Your expression softens. “I get it. It’s tough to feel like you’re taking a step back. But sometimes, that step back gives you the perspective you need to leap forward.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “You sound like To- I mean, Mr. Wolff.”

You grin mischievously. “Well, great minds think alike, I suppose. But seriously, Logan, try to see this as an opportunity. You’re working with one of the best teams in F1. There’s so much you can learn here.”

Logan nods slowly, your enthusiasm starting to rub off on him. “You’re right. I should be grateful for this chance. It’s just hard not to feel a bit ... lost, I guess.”

“That’s totally normal,” you assure him. “But you know what? I have a feeling you’re going to fit in just fine here. You’ve got that spark, Logan. I can see it.”

Logan feels a warmth spreading through his chest at your words. “Thanks, Y/N. That ... that means a lot.”

You wave off his gratitude with a smile. “Hey, newbies have to stick together, right?”

Logan tilts his head, confused. “Newbies? How long have you been here?”

You laugh again, and Logan finds himself thinking it’s a sound he could get used to. “Oh, I’ve been around forever. But I still feel new sometimes. This place is always evolving, always pushing forward. It keeps you on your toes.”

Logan nods, understanding dawning. “I can see that. It’s a bit intimidating, actually. Everyone here seems so ... focused. Driven.”

“That’s the Mercedes way,” you agree. “But don’t let it psych you out. We’re all human here. Well, except for the cars, of course.”

Logan chuckles, surprising himself. It’s the first time he’s laughed since ... well, since that meeting with James and Toto.

“So,” you continue, leaning forward with interest, “tell me about your journey. How did you end up in F1?”

Logan hesitates for a moment, then finds himself opening up. He tells you about his early days in karting, the move to Europe, the struggles and triumphs in the junior categories. You listen intently, asking thoughtful questions and offering encouragement.

“... and then Williams gave me my shot,” Logan concludes. “It was a dream come true, you know? But now ...”

You reach across the table, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “Hey, your F1 journey isn’t over. It’s just taking a different path. And who knows? This could lead to even better things.”

Logan feels a flutter in his chest at your touch, quickly pushing the feeling aside. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you say with conviction. “You’ve got talent. Anyone can see that. And now you’ve got the backing of Mercedes. That’s a powerful combination.”

Logan finds himself smiling, your optimism infectious. “Thanks, Y/N. I ... I really needed to hear that today.”

You wink at him. “Anytime. That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Friends?” Logan echoes, surprised but pleased.

“Of course!” you exclaim. “Unless you’d rather keep eating lunch alone?”

Logan shakes his head quickly. “No, no. Friends sounds good. Great, actually.”

You beam at him. “Excellent. Now, let me give you the inside scoop on the best coffee spots around here. Trust me, you’re going to need it.”

As you launch into a detailed description of the various cafes and their specialties, Logan finds himself relaxing fully for the first time since arriving at Mercedes. Your easy banter and genuine interest make him feel welcome, like he might actually belong here after all.

“... and whatever you do, avoid the vending machine on the third floor,” you’re saying. “It ate my money twice last week, and-”

“Y/N,” a familiar voice interrupts.

Logan looks up to see Toto Wolff standing beside their table, his imposing figure casting a shadow. Logan immediately straightens, suddenly very aware of his posture.

“Oh, hi Vati!” You say brightly.

Logan’s brain short-circuits. Vati? His eyes dart between you and Toto, noticing for the first time the similarities in your features.

Toto smiles warmly at you, then drops a kiss on top of your head. “I see you’re making our new reserve driver feel welcome.”

You grin up at your father. “Of course! Someone has to show him the ropes around here.”

Toto nods approvingly, then turns to Logan. “I hope my daughter isn’t talking your ear off. She can be quite enthusiastic.”

Logan, still reeling from the revelation, manages to stammer out, “N-no, sir. She’s been very helpful.”

“Good,” Toto says. “Y/N, don’t forget about the meeting at three. Logan, keep up the good work. I look forward to seeing what you can do in the simulator next week.”

With that, Toto strides away, leaving Logan staring at you in shock.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You okay there, Logan? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Logan tries to speak, fails, then tries again. “You ... you’re Toto Wolff’s daughter?”

You nod, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Yep. Did I forget to mention that?”

Logan feels his face heating up. “I-I had no idea. I thought you were in PR or something.”

You burst out laughing. “PR? Oh, that’s a good one. No, I’m more of a behind-the-scenes type. Strategy, data analysis, that sort of thing.”

Logan’s mind is reeling. He’s been sitting here, pouring his heart out to his boss’s daughter. The boss’s daughter who is smart, funny, and undeniably attractive. The boss’s daughter who he might have been developing a tiny crush on.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says, mortified. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have-”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “Logan, relax. I’m still the same person I was five minutes ago. The only thing that’s changed is that now you know I have an overprotective dad who happens to run the team.”

Logan swallows hard. “Right. No pressure or anything.”

You lean in, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “Hey, look on the bright side. Now you’ve got an inside track to the big boss. Just don’t ask me to put in a good word for you. I have a strict no nepotism policy.”

Despite his embarrassment, Logan finds himself chuckling. “Noted. I’ll just have to impress him on my own merits, then.”

“That’s the spirit,” you say, raising your water bottle in a mock toast. “To new beginnings and unexpected friendships.”

Logan clinks his own bottle against yours, a smile spreading across his face despite his lingering shock. “To new beginnings,” he echoes.

As you launch back into conversation, Logan can’t help but think that his time at Mercedes might be more interesting than he’d anticipated. And maybe, just maybe, this step back might lead to something amazing after all.

***

Logan leans against the table, his eyes fixed on the monitors displaying George Russell’s lap times. The Australian sun beats down on the Albert Park circuit, but inside the Mercedes garage, the atmosphere is tense with concentration as pre-season testing commences.

“Looking good, George,” Marcus Dudley, his race engineer, says into the radio. “Let’s push for one more flying lap before we bring you in.”

Logan nods to himself, impressed by George’s consistency. He’s about to turn to grab a water bottle when a collective gasp from the crew draws his attention back to the screens.

George’s car is spinning, kicking up dust and gravel as it careens towards the barrier. The sickening crunch of carbon fiber meeting concrete echoes through the speakers.

“George, are you okay?” Marcus calls urgently. “George, do you copy?”

Silence.

Logan’s heart races as he watches the still car, willing George to respond. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you rushing past, your face pale with worry.

“Carmen,” you call out, spotting George’s girlfriend near the back of the garage. You reach her just as her knees seem to give out, catching her before she falls.

Logan wants to help, but he knows his place. He turns back to the screens, straining to hear any news.

Marcus tries again, his voice tight with concern. “George, if you can hear me, give us any sign. Tap the radio, move your hand, anything.”

Still nothing.

The garage erupts into controlled chaos. Toto strides in, his face a mask of worry. “What happened?” He demands.

“Lost the rear in turn 11,” one of the engineers reports. “Looks like a suspension failure, but we won’t know for sure until we get the car back.”

Toto nods grimly. “And George?”

Marcus shakes his head. “No response on the radio.”

Logan watches as the medical car speeds towards the crash site. He catches snippets of radio chatter from the marshals.

���Driver non-responsive ... possible head trauma ... prepare for extraction ...”

The words send a chill down Logan’s spine. This is the dark side of the sport they all love, the ever-present danger that lurks behind every high-speed corner.

You appear at Logan’s side, your face etched with worry. “Any news?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan shakes his head. “Nothing yet. They’re working on getting him out now.”

You nod, biting your lower lip. “Carmen ... she’s not doing well. I’ve got Aleix with her now.”

Logan glances over to where Carmen sits, hunched over, the arm of George’s performance coach around her shoulders. The sight makes his chest tighten.

“This is my fault,” you murmur.

Logan turns to you, surprised. “What? How could this possibly be your fault?”

You run a hand through your hair, frustration evident in every movement. “I was the one who pushed for the new suspension design. If I had just stuck with the old one ...”

“Hey,” Logan says firmly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You can’t think like that. We all know the risks. George knows the risks. This isn’t on you.”

You give him a weak smile, gratitude flashing in your eyes. “Thanks, Logan. I just ... I can’t help but feel responsible.”

Before Logan can respond, a flurry of activity on the screens catches their attention. The medical team has successfully extracted George from the car.

“He’s out,” Marcus announces, his relief palpable. “Still unconscious, but he’s breathing on his own.”

A collective sigh of relief ripples through the garage. Carmen lets out a sob, burying her face in Aleix’s shoulder.

Toto approaches you and Logan, his face grim but composed. “They’re airlifting him to the hospital for full scans. Y/N, I need you to go with Carmen. Logan, I want you suited up and ready. If George can’t drive ...”

The implication hangs in the air. Logan nods, his throat suddenly dry. “Yes, sir. I’ll be ready.”

As Toto moves away to handle the press, you turn to Logan. “Are you okay?” You ask, concern evident in your voice.

Logan takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I think so. It’s just ... this isn’t how I wanted my chance to come.”

You squeeze his arm gently. “I know. But George would want you to do your best. That’s all any of us can do right now.”

Logan nods, trying to steel himself for what might come next. “You’re right. Go take care of Carmen. I’ll ... I’ll be here if you need me.”

You give him a grateful smile before hurrying off to Carmen’s side. Logan watches as you gently lead her out of the garage, whispering words of comfort.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. Logan finds himself going through the motions of preparation, all while keeping an ear out for any news about George. The garage is unnaturally quiet, the usual banter and joking replaced by tense whispers and worried glances.

Finally, Marcus approaches Logan, his face drawn with fatigue. “They’re loading George into the chopper now. Toto wants you on standby, but we won’t make any decisions until we hear from the medical team.”

Logan nods, his stomach churning with a mix of concern for George and nervous anticipation. “Understood. How ... how does he look?”

Marcus sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Still unconscious, but stable. They’re optimistic, but they won’t know more until they run some tests at the hospital.”

As if on cue, the distant thrum of helicopter blades fills the air. Logan steps out of the garage, shielding his eyes against the sun as he watches the medical helicopter rise into the sky, carrying George away.

You appear beside him, your eyes red-rimmed but dry. “Carmen’s gone with him,” you say softly. “Vati arranged for a car to take her to the hospital.”

Logan nods, not taking his eyes off the retreating helicopter. “This is the part of the job we try not to think about, isn’t it?”

You lean against him slightly, seeking comfort. “Yeah. It’s easy to forget sometimes, when everything’s going well. But days like today ... they remind us of the reality.”

Logan wraps an arm around your shoulders, offering what support he can. “George is tough. He’ll pull through this.”

You nod against his shoulder. “I hope so. God, I hope so.”

As the helicopter disappears from view, Logan feels the weight of the moment settle over him. The exhilaration of potentially getting his chance to drive is tempered by the circumstances that might make it possible.

“Come on,” he says gently, guiding you back towards the garage. “Let’s get back inside. There’s work to be done, and George would kick our butts if he knew we were standing around moping.”

You manage a weak chuckle. “You’re right. He’d probably tell us to get back to optimizing the aero package or something.”

As they walk back into the garage, Logan can’t help but feel the shift in the atmosphere. The team moves with renewed purpose, channeling their worry into productivity.

Toto approaches them, his face set in determined lines. “Logan, I need you in the simulator within the hour. If George can’t drive, we need you ready to step in at a moment’s notice.”

Logan straightens, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. “Yes, sir. I won’t let the team down.”

Toto nods approvingly. “I know you won’t. Y/N, I need you to liaise with the medical team. Keep me updated on George’s condition.”

You nod, already pulling out your phone. “On it, Vati.”

As Toto moves away, Logan turns to you. “Hey,” he says softly, “we’ve got this, okay? Whatever happens, we’ll handle it.”

You give him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Logan. I ... I’m glad you’re here.”

Logan feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. “Me too,” he says. “Now, let’s show everyone what Mercedes is made of.”

***

Logan’s heart pounds as he approaches Toto’s office. The events of the past twenty-four hours have left him in a state of emotional whiplash, torn between concern for George and the possibility of his own opportunity.

He knocks on the door, hearing Toto’s muffled “Come in.” Taking a deep breath, Logan enters.

Toto looks up from his desk, his face etched with fatigue. “Logan, thank you for coming. Please, sit down.”

Logan sinks into the chair across from Toto, his mouth suddenly dry. “How ... how’s George?” He manages to ask.

Toto sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. “Not good, I’m afraid. The doctors have completed their initial assessments. George has suffered multiple injuries — a concussion, fractured ribs, and a broken collarbone. The most concerning is a compound fracture in his left leg.”

Logan winces, imagining the pain George must be in. “That sounds serious.”

“It is,” Toto confirms. “The medical team estimates his recovery will take around nine months. Which brings me to why I’ve called you here.”

Logan’s pulse quickens, a mix of anticipation and guilt churning in his stomach.

Toto leans forward, his gaze intense. “We need you to step up, Logan. The team needs you to drive full-time for the entire season.”

Despite having suspected this might be coming, hearing the words out loud leaves Logan momentarily speechless.

“I ... of course, sir,” he finally manages. “I’ll do whatever the team needs.”

Toto nods, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “I know this isn’t how you wanted your chance to come. But I believe you’re ready for this. George believes it too.”

Logan’s head snaps up. “You’ve spoken to George?”

“Briefly,” Toto confirms. “He’s still groggy from the pain medication, but he was clear on one thing — he wants you in that car.”

A lump forms in Logan’s throat. “I ... I don’t know what to say.”

Toto stands, coming around the desk to place a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “You don’t need to say anything. Just drive, Logan. Show us what you’re capable of.”

Logan nods, standing as well. “I won’t let you down, sir. Or George.”

As he turns to leave, Toto’s voice stops him. “Logan? Remember, this is your chance. Don’t waste it feeling guilty. George wouldn’t want that.”

Logan manages a weak smile. “I’ll try to remember that. Thank you, Toto.”

Stepping out of Toto’s office, Logan feels as though he’s in a daze. This is what he’s been working towards his entire career — a full-time drive with a top team. So why does it feel so complicated?

Instead of heading to the cafeteria or his driver’s room, Logan finds himself walking towards the simulator. He nods at the technician on duty, who looks surprised to see him.

“Logan? We weren’t expecting you today ...”

“I know,” Logan says, already reaching for his racing gloves. “But I need to be in there. Can you set up a long run in Melbourne?”

The technician hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Of course. Just ... don’t overdo it, okay?”

Logan manages a tight smile. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

As he settles into the simulator, Logan feels a sense of calm wash over him. Here, in this imitation of a race car, things make sense. There’s no guilt, no complicated emotions — just him, the track, and the pursuit of speed.

Hours pass in a blur of virtual laps and telemetry data. Logan pushes himself harder with each run, shaving off tenths of a second here and there. He’s so focused that he doesn’t hear the door open behind him.

“You know, I’m pretty sure there are labor laws against working this hard,” your voice cuts through his concentration.

Logan startles, nearly losing control of the virtual car. He quickly ends the simulation and turns to face you, sheepishly running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

“Y/N, I didn’t hear you come in.”

You raise an eyebrow, holding up a small box. “Clearly. I’ve been standing here for five minutes, watching you try to bend the laws of physics.”

Logan manages a weak chuckle. “Just trying to get up to speed. What’s in the box?”

You grin, opening it to reveal a single cupcake with rainbow sprinkles. “A little celebration. Vati told me about your promotion.”

The sight of the cupcake makes Logan’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “I ... I don’t really feel like celebrating.”

Your smile fades, replaced by a look of understanding. “I get it. But Logan, running yourself ragged in here won’t help anyone. Least of all George.”

Logan sighs, slumping in the simulator seat. “I know. It’s just ... this isn’t how I wanted it to happen. George is hurt and I’m benefiting from it. It feels wrong.”

You set the cupcake down and perch on the edge of the simulator, your eyes soft with sympathy. “Logan, listen to me. What happened to George is terrible, but it’s not your fault. And taking this opportunity doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” Logan asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I should be devastated that my teammate is hurt, not ... not excited about getting my chance.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm. “Who says you can’t be both? You can be worried about George and excited about your opportunity. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Logan looks up at you, seeing the sincerity in your eyes. “I just ... I don’t want people to think I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

You shake your head firmly. “Anyone who knows you would never think that. And you know what? George wouldn’t want you feeling this way. He’d want you to grab this chance with both hands and show everyone what you can do.”

Logan manages a small smile. “You sound pretty sure about that.”

“That’s because I am,” you say, squeezing his arm gently. “I talked to George earlier. You know what he said? He said, and I quote, ‘Tell that American idiot to stop moping and start driving. I didn’t crash just for him to waste this chance.’”

A surprised laugh escapes Logan. “He really said that?”

You grin. “Well, maybe I paraphrased a bit. The pain meds make him a little ... colorful. But the sentiment is there.”

Logan shakes his head, feeling some of the weight lift from his shoulders. “George Russell, giving pep talks from his hospital bed. Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you know him,” you say simply. “And you know he’s right. Logan, this is your moment. Don’t let guilt or fear hold you back.”

Logan takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. “You’re right. Both of you. I just ... I needed to hear it, I guess.”

You smile, reaching for the cupcake. “That’s what friends are for. Now, are you going to help me eat this or do I have to force-feed you?”

Logan chuckles, accepting the cupcake. “I wouldn’t dream of making you eat alone.”

As the two of you share the small treat, Logan feels something shift inside him. The guilt doesn’t disappear entirely, but it’s tempered now by determination. George is counting on him, the team is counting on him, and he’s not going to let them down.

“So,” you say, licking frosting off your finger, “what’s next on the agenda, hotshot? More simulator laps?”

Logan shakes his head, a newfound energy coursing through him. “No, I think I’ve done enough of that for today. I was thinking maybe we could go over some of the race strategies? If you’re not too busy, that is.”

Your eyes light up. “Are you kidding? Strategy talk is my favorite kind of talk. But first, you’re going to take a shower and eat a proper meal. Can’t have our driver passing out from exhaustion, can we?”

Logan grins, feeling truly relaxed for the first time since George’s accident. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say.”

As you leave the simulator together, Logan feels a surge of gratitude. For George’s support, for the team’s faith in him, and for your friendship. Whatever challenges lie ahead, he knows he won’t face them alone.

“Hey, Y/N?” He says as you walk down the corridor.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks. For everything.”

You bump your shoulder against his, a warm smile on your face. “Anytime, Sargeant. Now, let’s go plot your path to Formula 1 glory. I hear the catering team made lasagna today.”

Logan laughs, matching your stride. The road ahead won’t be easy, but with friends like you by his side, he’s ready to face whatever comes his way.

***

The Australian sun beats down on the Albert Park circuit as Logan sits in his Mercedes, heart pounding in his chest. The familiar pre-race butterflies are amplified tenfold — this isn’t just any race, it’s his debut for Mercedes.

“Okay Logan, how are we feeling?” Marcus Dudley’s voice crackles through the radio.

Logan takes a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do this.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Remember, clean start, manage those tires, and we’ll see where we end up. You’ve got this, kid.”

As the formation lap begins, Logan can’t help but think of George, watching from his hospital bed. This one’s for you, he thinks.

“And we’re off for the formation lap here in Melbourne. All eyes are on Logan Sargeant today, the young American making his Mercedes debut in rather unexpected circumstances.”

“That’s right, Crofty. It’s a big ask, stepping into George Russell’s shoes after that nasty crash in testing. But Toto Wolff clearly sees something in Sargeant, and this is his chance to prove the Mercedes boss right.”

The cars line up on the grid. Logan’s eyes are fixed on the lights. Red ... red ... red ...

“Lights out and away we go!”

Logan reacts instantly, getting a clean start off the line. He holds his position into the first corner, fending off a challenge from behind.

“And it’s a good start for Sargeant, maintaining his fifth place into Turn 1. His rookie teammate Kimi Antonelli has also held position in seventh.”

The first few laps are a blur of intense focus. Logan settles into a rhythm, hitting his marks and managing the gap to the cars ahead and behind.

“Great job, Logan,” Marcus says. “You’re keeping pace with the leaders. Let’s see if we can put some pressure on Norris ahead.”

Logan grits his teeth, pushing harder. He closes the gap to Lando’s McLaren, looking for any opportunity to make a move.

“Sargeant is really impressing here in his Mercedes debut. He’s matching the pace of the frontrunners and is now right on the gearbox of Lando Norris.”

On lap 15, Logan sees his chance. Norris locks up slightly into Turn 3, and Logan pounces, sweeping around the outside to take fourth place.

“Yes!” Logan exclaims, unable to contain his excitement.

“Brilliant move, Logan!” Marcus cheers. “P4 now, let’s keep this up!”

“What a pass from Sargeant! He’s showing no signs of first-race nerves here, making a bold move on the more experienced McLaren driver. The Mercedes pit wall will no doubt be delighted with this performance so far.”

The race continues, with Logan holding his position firmly. He’s in a rhythm now, hitting every apex, managing his tires expertly.

Around the halfway point, things get more challenging. “Logan, we’ve got Verstappen closing in behind. He’s on fresher tires, so don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Marcus warns.

Logan nods to himself, adjusting his focus. He defends hard but fair, making his car as wide as possible on the straights.

“Verstappen is all over the back of Sargeant now. This is a real test for the young American — can he hold off the reigning world champion?”

For several laps, Logan and Max engage in a thrilling battle. Logan uses every trick in his arsenal, positioning his car perfectly to deny Max any opportunity.

“This is exceptional defensive driving from Sargeant. He’s not putting a wheel wrong under immense pressure from Verstappen.”

Finally, on lap 42, Max makes his move, slipping past Logan into Turn 1.

“Verstappen’s through,” Logan reports, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“No worries, Logan,” Marcus reassures him. “You did brilliantly to hold him off for so long. We’re still on for a great result here. Keep pushing!”

The final laps of the race are a test of endurance. Logan’s arms ache, his neck strains against the g-forces, but he pushes through the fatigue.

“As we enter the final lap here in Melbourne, Logan Sargeant is holding steady in fifth place. What a debut this has been for the American in the Mercedes!”

Logan crosses the finish line, a mix of exhaustion and elation washing over him. He’s done it — he’s finished his first race for Mercedes.

“And that’s the chequered flag, Logan!” Marcus’ voice comes through, filled with excitement. “P4! Fantastic job, mate!”

Logan blinks in confusion. “P4? But Verstappen passed me ...”

“Leclerc had a late puncture,” Marcus explains. “You moved back up to fourth. I’m completely serious, Logan. You’ve just finished P4 in your first race for us. You should be incredibly proud.”

The reality of his achievement starts to sink in. “I ... wow. Thank you, Marcus. Thank you to everyone on the team. This is ... it’s incredible.”

As Logan does his cool-down lap, waving to the cheering crowds, he feels a surge of emotion. This is what he’s worked for his entire life, and he’s proved he belongs here.

“What a drive from Logan Sargeant! Fourth place in his Mercedes debut. Toto Wolff must be feeling very good about his decision right now.”

“Absolutely, Martin. Sargeant has shown real maturity and pace today. This could be the start of something special for the young American.”

Logan pulls into parc fermé, parking behind the top three cars. As he climbs out, he’s immediately engulfed in a group hug by the Mercedes team.

Toto appears, a broad smile on his face. “Excellent job, Logan. You’ve made us all very proud today.”

“Thank you, sir,” Logan says, still slightly dazed. “I couldn’t have done it without the team’s support.”

As Logan makes his way through the paddock, he’s stopped by various team members and even rival drivers offering congratulations. It’s surreal, but Logan soaks in every moment.

Suddenly, he spots a familiar face pushing through the crowd. You’re beaming, your eyes shining with pride and unshed tears.

“Logan!” You exclaim, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “That was amazing! I knew you could do it!”

Logan hugs you back, laughing. “I can hardly believe it myself. P4 ... it’s like a dream.”

You pull back, your hands on his shoulders. “Well, believe it. You earned this, Logan. Every single bit of it.”

As you chat excitedly about the race, Logan’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out to see a message from George.

Not bad for a newbie. Next time aim for the podium 😉 Seriously though, great job. Proud of you.

Logan grins, showing you the message. “Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me next race.”

You laugh, linking your arm through his. “Oh, I have no doubt you’re up for the challenge. But first, I think this calls for a celebration. Vati is organizing a team dinner. You up for it?”

Logan nods, feeling a warmth spread through his chest that has nothing to do with the Australian heat. “Absolutely. Lead the way!”

As you walk towards the Mercedes hospitality area, Logan can’t help but reflect on the whirlwind of the past few weeks. From reserve driver to P4 in his debut race with the team — it’s more than he could have ever imagined.

“Hey,” you say softly, nudging him. “What are you thinking about?”

Logan smiles, squeezing your arm gently. “Just ... grateful. For this opportunity, for the team’s faith in me, for your support. I couldn’t have done this without you, Y/N.”

You blush slightly, looking pleased. “That’s what friends are for, right? Now come on, American boy. Time to bask in your well-deserved glory.”

As you join the celebrating team, Logan feels a sense of belonging wash over him. This is where he’s meant to be, and he’s ready for whatever challenges and triumphs lie ahead.

***

The Miami sun beats down on the podium as Logan stands there, still in disbelief. The weight of the P2 trophy in his hands feels surreal, a reminder of what he’s just achieved. The roar of the crowd, the spray of champagne, the elation of his first podium finish — it’s almost too much to process.

As he steps down from the podium, sticky with champagne and grinning from ear to ear, Logan is immediately engulfed by the Mercedes team. Hands pat his back, voices offer congratulations, but it all becomes a blur as he spots a familiar figure pushing through the crowd.

You burst through, your eyes shining with pride and excitement. Without hesitation, you throw your arms around him, not caring about the champagne that’s now soaking into your team shirt.

“Logan! Oh my god, you did it!” You exclaim, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I’m so, so proud of you!”

Logan laughs, wrapping his free arm around you and spinning you both around in a moment of pure joy. “I can hardly believe it myself,” he admits as he sets you down. “It’s like a dream.”

You pull back, your hands on his shoulders, beaming up at him. “Well, believe it, hotshot. P2 in your home race — you’ve earned this!”

Logan feels a warmth spread through his chest that has nothing to do with the Miami heat. “Thanks, Y/N. I couldn’t have done it without the team’s support. Without your support.”

You shake your head, still grinning. “Oh no, this was all you out there on the track. But speaking of support ...” Your eyes sparkle mischievously. “We absolutely have to celebrate properly tonight. Miami style!”

Logan raises an eyebrow, amused. “Miami style? Should I be worried?”

You laugh, the sound making Logan’s heart skip a beat. “Only if you’re afraid of having too much fun. Come on, it’s your first podium, in your home race no less! We have to mark the occasion.”

Before Logan can respond, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. The brief contact sends a jolt through him, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“Promise me you’ll come out with the team tonight,” you say, your eyes locked on his. “No excuses about needing to analyze data or whatever. Tonight, we celebrate!”

Logan nods, still a bit dazed from the kiss. “I ... yeah, of course. I promise.”

You beam at him. “Perfect! I’ll text you the details later. Now, go bask in your well-deserved glory. I think there are about a hundred journalists waiting to talk to Miami’s new hero.”

With a wink, you disappear back into the crowd, leaving Logan standing there, trophy in hand and mind reeling.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of interviews, photographs, and congratulations. Logan goes through the motions, answering questions on autopilot while his mind keeps drifting back to that moment with you.

It didn’t mean anything, he tells himself. You’re European, after all. Cheek kisses are just a normal thing, right? It was just excitement over the podium, nothing more.

But try as he might, Logan can’t shake the memory of your lips on his cheek, the way his heart raced at your touch.

“Earth to Logan,” Marcus’ voice cuts through his thoughts. “You still with us, mate?”

Logan blinks, focusing on his race engineer. “Sorry, what was that?”

Marcus grins knowingly. “I said, great job out there today. You should be proud. But maybe save the daydreaming for after the debrief, yeah?”

Logan feels his cheeks heat up. “Right, sorry. Just ... still processing everything, I guess.”

“I bet,” Marcus chuckles. “First podium’s always special. Even more so on home turf. Now, let’s go over those last few laps ...”

As they dive into the race analysis, Logan tries to focus. But his mind keeps wandering. To the podium. To the celebration to come. To you.

It’s just excitement over the race result, he rationalizes. You’re his boss’s daughter, for crying out loud. And more importantly, you’re his friend. One of his best friends, if he’s honest with himself. He can’t risk messing that up by reading too much into a friendly gesture.

The debrief finally ends, and Logan heads back to his driver’s room to change. As he’s pulling on a fresh team shirt, his phone buzzes with a text from you.

E11EVEN at 10 PM. Wear something nice 😘 Can’t wait to celebrate with you!

Logan stares at the message, his heart doing that annoying skip thing again. It’s just a normal text, he tells himself. Friends celebrate together all the time. The kiss doesn’t mean anything.

Right?

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. This is ridiculous. He just achieved his first podium in Formula 1, at his home race no less. He should be on top of the world, not overthinking a simple friendly interaction.

As he leaves the track, Logan is stopped by a group of fans clamoring for autographs and selfies. He obliges with a smile, the excitement of the crowd helping to lift his mood.

“Logan! Logan!” A young boy calls out. “You were amazing today! I want to be just like you when I grow up!”

Logan kneels down to the boy’s level, touched by his enthusiasm. “Thanks, buddy. Just remember, it takes a lot of hard work and dedication. But if you believe in yourself and never give up, you can achieve anything.”

The boy nods solemnly, clutching his newly signed cap to his chest. “I will! I’m going to practice every day!”

As Logan stands, he catches sight of you talking to some team members nearby. You glance over, catching his eye, and give him a warm smile and a thumbs up. Logan feels that now-familiar flutter in his chest and quickly turns back to the fans.

It’s going to be a long night, he thinks to himself.

Back at the hotel, Logan takes his time getting ready for the celebration. He stands in front of the mirror, fussing with his hair and second-guessing his outfit choice. Why is he so nervous? It’s just a team celebration, like dozens he’s been to before.

But it’s not just any celebration, a voice in his head reminds him. It’s his first podium celebration. And you’ll be there.

Logan groans, running a hand through his hair and messing it up again. “Get it together, Sargeant,” he mutters to his reflection. “It’s just a night out with the team. With your friend. Your boss’s daughter. Who you definitely don’t have any non-platonic feelings for.”

Even he doesn’t believe himself.

A knock at the door startles him out of his internal monologue. “Logan? You ready?” Kimi’s voice calls out.

Logan takes a deep breath, giving himself one last look in the mirror. “Yeah, coming!” He calls back.

As he joins Kimi in the hallway, his teammate gives him an appraising look. “Not bad, Sargeant. Trying to impress someone?”

Logan feels his cheeks heat up. “What? No, I just ... wanted to look nice for the celebration.”

Kimi raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Uh-huh. Sure. Come on, lover boy. Your adoring public awaits.”

As they make their way to the club, Logan tries to calm his nerves. It’s just a normal team celebration, he tells himself. Nothing to be nervous about. You’re just friends. Really good friends who sometimes share cheek kisses and make his heart race with a simple smile.

Oh, who is he kidding? He’s in trouble and he knows it.

The bass from the club is audible from down the street, and as they approach, Logan sees a line stretching around the block. But Kimi leads him straight to the VIP entrance, where they’re immediately ushered inside.

The club is a sensory overload — pulsing music, flashing lights, and the press of bodies on the dance floor. Logan blinks, trying to adjust to the atmosphere. Suddenly, he feels a hand on his arm and turns to see you beaming up at him.

“You made it!” You shout over the music, your eyes sparkling in the club lights. “Come on, everyone’s waiting to toast the man of the hour!”

As you lead him through the crowd, your hand still on his arm, Logan tries to ignore the electricity he feels at your touch. Friends touch all the time, he reminds himself. It doesn’t mean anything.

You reach a VIP section where the rest of the team is gathered. A cheer goes up as they spot Logan, and suddenly he’s being passed around for hugs and backslaps and congratulations.

Toto appears, handing Logan a glass of champagne. “To Logan,” he says, raising his own glass. “For a brilliant drive and Mercedes’ first podium of the season. May it be the first of many!”

The team echoes the toast and Logan takes a sip of the bubbly, feeling a surge of pride and belonging. This is what he’s worked for his entire life and he’s finally made it.

As the celebration continues, Logan finds himself relaxing, caught up in the excitement and camaraderie of the team. He chats with mechanics, engineers, and fellow drivers, reliving the best moments of the race.

But his eyes keep drifting back to you. You’re in your element, moving from group to group, laughing and chatting animatedly. Every now and then, you glance his way, flashing him a smile that makes his heart race.

It’s just the atmosphere, Logan tells himself. The adrenaline from the race, the excitement of the celebration. That’s all it is.

But as the night wears on and the champagne flows freely, Logan finds it harder and harder to maintain that rationalization. Especially when you grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor, your body moving in perfect rhythm to the pulsing beat.

“Come on!” You shout over the music, grinning up at him. “Show me some of those dance moves!”

Logan laughs, letting himself get caught up in the moment. He may not be the world’s best dancer, but with you smiling at him like that, he feels like he could take on anything.

As you dance, Logan can’t help but notice how perfectly you fit against him, how natural it feels to have his hands on your waist as you move together. It’s just dancing, he reminds himself. Friends dance together all the time.

But when the DJ switches to a slower song and you step closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, Logan knows he’s fighting a losing battle. There’s no denying the way his heart races, the way his skin tingles where you touch him.

As you sway together, Logan finally allows himself to admit the truth he’s been trying to ignore for months. He’s falling for you, hard and fast, and he has no idea what to do about it.

You look up at him, your eyes soft in the dim light of the club. “I’m really proud of you,” you say, your voice barely audible over the music. “You belong here, you know. On the podium, in F1, with m-” you cut yourself off, biting your lip.

Logan’s heart leaps. Were you about to say “with me”? He wants to ask, wants to pull you closer and find out if you feel this connection too.

But before he can say anything, the song ends and the moment is broken. You step back, a slightly flustered look on your face.

“I, uh ... I need a drink,” you say quickly. “Want anything?”

Logan shakes his head, still trying to process what just happened. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

As you disappear into the crowd, Logan makes his way back to the VIP section, his mind reeling. What was that? Did he imagine the moment between you? And more importantly, what is he going to do about these feelings he can no longer deny?

As he sinks into a plush couch, Logan realizes that his first podium might not be the most significant event of the night after all. Whatever happens next, he knows one thing for certain — his relationship with you will never be the same.

***

The Union Jack flutters in the cool Silverstone breeze as Logan crosses the finish line, his heart pounding in his ears. The chequered flag waves, and suddenly, the reality hits him like a tidal wave.

“Logan, you’ve done it!” Marcus’ voice crackles through the radio, filled with unbridled joy. “P1! Your first Formula 1 win!”

Logan lets out a whoop of excitement, pounding his fist on the steering wheel. “Yes! Oh my god, yes! We did it, guys! Thank you, thank you so much!”

As he starts his cooldown lap, waving to the cheering crowds, Logan can’t help but chuckle at the irony. An American winning the British Grand Prix. He can almost hear the collective groan of disappointment from the British fans who were hoping for a home victory.

“Sorry, folks,” he murmurs to himself, grinning. “The colonists strike again.”

The sea of orange in the grandstands catches his eye — Dutch fans who always come to support Max Verstappen no matter the location. Logan remembers the intense battle he had with the reigning world champion in the closing laps. The memory sends another surge of pride through him. He didn’t just win, he beat the best of the best.

As he rounds the final corner, heading towards parc fermé, Logan’s mind drifts to you. He wonders if you’re watching, if you’re as excited as he is. Ever since that kiss on the cheek in Miami, he’s been unable to get you out of his head. Every smile, every touch, every late-night strategy session has taken on new meaning.

But fear has held him back. Fear of ruining your friendship, fear of making things awkward with the team, fear of misreading the signals. So he’s kept his feelings bottled up, content (or so he tells himself) with your close friendship.

Logan pulls into his spot in parc fermé, bringing the car to a stop. He takes a deep breath, savoring this moment. His first win. It almost doesn’t feel real.

He unclips his harness and stands up in the cockpit, raising his arms in triumph. The roar of the crowd washes over him and he spots his team gathered at the barriers, jumping and cheering.

Without hesitation, Logan clambers out of the car and runs towards them. He leaps over the barrier, immediately engulfed in a sea of jubilant Mercedes personnel. Hands pat his back, voices offer congratulations, but Logan is searching for one face in particular.

Suddenly, the crowd parts, and there you are. Your eyes are shining with pride and something else, something that makes Logan’s heart race even faster than it already is.

Before he can say anything, you stride forward purposefully. Your hands grasp the collar of his race suit, and in one swift motion, you pull him towards you and press your lips firmly against his.

For a split second, Logan is too shocked to react. But then his brain catches up, and he’s kissing you back with every ounce of pent-up emotion he’s been holding back for months.

The world around you fades away — the cheering crowd, the flashing cameras, the excited chatter of the team. All Logan can focus on is the softness of your lips, the warmth of your body pressed against his, the rightness of this moment.

When you finally break apart, both slightly breathless, Logan can’t help but grin. “Wow,” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours. “That was ...”

“Long overdue,” you finish for him, a matching grin on your face.

Logan chuckles, his arms still wrapped around your waist. “I couldn’t agree more. But, uh ... your dad isn’t going to fire me for this, is he?”

You laugh, the sound music to Logan’s ears. “Please. He’s been trying to set us up for months. I think he’ll be relieved we finally figured it out on our own.”

Before Logan can respond, a throat clears behind them. They turn to see Toto standing there, an amused smirk on his face.

“While I’m thrilled you two have finally sorted yourselves out,” he says dryly, “perhaps we could save the more ... intimate celebrations for after the podium ceremony?”

Logan feels his face heat up, but you just laugh, linking your arm through his. “Sorry, Vati. Got caught up in the moment. Come on, Logan. Time to get you on that top step where you belong.”

As you make your way through the paddock, Logan can’t wipe the grin off his face. Crew members, other drivers, and media personnel offer their congratulations, but it all feels secondary to the warmth of you pressed against his side.

“So,” Logan says as they near the cooldown room, “does this mean you’ll be my date to the celebration tonight?”

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t know. I might have other plans. I hear there’s this hot new F1 winner in town ...”

Logan laughs, pulling you closer. “Oh yeah? Well, I happen to know him pretty well. I could put in a good word for you.”

You smile up at him, your eyes sparkling with mischief and affection. “I’d appreciate that. But you should know, I’m not really interested in a fling. I’m more of a long-term kind of girl.”

Logan’s heart skips a beat at the implication. “Good,” he says softly. “Because I’m in this for the long haul.”

Your smile softens, and you lean up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Glad we’re on the same page. Now go, your adoring public awaits. We’ll continue this discussion later.”

As Logan steps onto the podium not long after, the cheers of the crowd washing over him, he can’t help but think that this — the trophy, the champagne, the adulation — is only the second-best thing to happen to him today.

The ceremony passes in a blur of anthems, champagne sprays, and beaming smiles. Logan clutches his trophy, still hardly believing it’s real. As he steps down from the podium, he’s immediately swarmed by journalists, all clamoring for a quote from F1’s newest race winner.

“Logan! How does it feel to win your first Grand Prix?”

Logan grins, his eyes finding you in the crowd. “It’s incredible. A dream come true. But you know what? I have a feeling this is just the beginning.”

“What do you mean by that?” Another reporter asks.

Logan’s grin widens. “Let’s just say I’m feeling pretty unbeatable right now, both on and off the track.”

You roll your eyes at him from behind the journalists, but your smile gives away your amusement.

As the interviews wind down, Logan finally manages to break away from the press. He makes his way back to you, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“So,” he says, sliding an arm around your waist, “about the team celebration ...”

You lean into him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Oh, I think we might need to have our own private celebration first. You know, to properly commemorate your first win.”

Logan feels a thrill run through him at your words. “I like the way you think. But, uh ... what about your dad?”

You laugh, linking your fingers with his. “Logan, my dad’s the one who’s been pushing us together for months. Trust me, he’ll be thrilled. Although maybe don’t kiss me like that in front of him again. There are some things a father doesn’t need to see.”

Logan chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Noted. So, what now?”

“Now,” you say, tugging him towards the Mercedes motorhome, “we go change. Then we make a brief appearance at the team celebration. And after that ...” you trail off, your eyes twinkling with promise.

“After that?” Logan prompts, his heart racing with anticipation.

You grin up at him. “After that, we start our own celebration. I think we have a lot of lost time to make up for, don’t you?”

Logan nods, unable to keep the smile off his face. “Absolutely. And hey, I’m a quick learner. I bet I can make up for that lost time in record speed.”

You laugh, the sound making Logan’s heart soar. “Always the racer. But you know what? I think this is one race where taking it slow might be the winning strategy.”

As you make their way through the paddock, hand-in-hand, Logan can’t help but marvel at how much his life has changed in just a few short months. From reserve driver to race winner, from pining in silence to ... whatever this wonderful new thing with you is.

One thing’s for sure — this win will always be special. Not just because it’s his first, but because it’s the day everything finally fell into place. The day he not only conquered the track but also found the courage (with a little help) to follow his heart.

As the two of you reach the Mercedes motorhome, Logan pulls you close for one more quick kiss. “Hey,” he says softly, “just in case I forget to say it later ... thank you. For believing in me, for supporting me, for ... well, for everything.”

You smile up at him, your eyes soft with affection. “Always, Logan. Now come on, race winner. We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”

***

The bright lights of the Tonight Show studio beat down on Logan as he sits across from Jimmy Fallon, trying to keep his nerves in check. It’s his first major American talk show appearance, and he wants to make a good impression.

Jimmy leans forward, a warm smile on his face. “So, Logan, it’s been quite a year for you, hasn’t it? From losing your seat at Williams to winning races with Mercedes. How has your life changed?”

Logan chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Oh man, Jimmy, where do I even start? It’s been an absolute whirlwind. You know, when I lost that Williams seat, I thought my F1 dream was over. I was devastated.”

Jimmy nods sympathetically. “I can imagine. That must have been tough.”

“It was,” Logan agrees. “But you know what? Looking back now, I can honestly say it was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

Jimmy raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? How so?”

Logan grins, leaning forward in his chair. “Well, first of all, it led to this incredible opportunity with Mercedes. I mean, going from potentially being out of F1 to driving for one of the top teams? It’s like something out of a movie.”

The audience cheers, and Logan feels a surge of pride. He’s come a long way from that dejected kid in Toto’s office last year.

“But that’s not all,” Logan continues, his smile softening. “Losing that seat also led me to the love of my life.”

A collective “aww” rises from the audience, and Jimmy leans in, clearly sensing a good story. “Tell us more!”

Logan feels his cheeks heat up slightly, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. “Her name is Y/N. She works for Mercedes, and she’s ... she’s amazing. Smart, funny, beautiful. She was the one who really helped me believe in myself when I joined the team.”

Jimmy grins. “Sounds like quite a woman. How did you two get together?”

Logan laughs, remembering that day at Silverstone. “Well, I’d been pining after her for months, too scared to make a move. Then I won my first race at the British Grand Prix, and she just ... grabbed me and kissed me right there in parc fermé. In front of the whole team, the cameras, everyone.”

The audience cheers and whistles, and Jimmy laughs. “Wow! Talk about a victory celebration! So, she made the first move, huh?”

Logan nods, grinning. “Yep. Thank god one of us had the courage. Although I have to say, her dad being my boss made things a little awkward at first.”

Jimmy’s eyes widen. “Wait, what? Her dad is your boss? You mean ...”

“Yep,” Logan confirms, enjoying the host’s reaction. “I’m dating the boss’s daughter. Toto Wolff’s daughter, to be exact.”

The audience gasps and murmurs, and Jimmy leans back in his chair, looking impressed. “Wow. That’s ... that’s quite a story. So, how does Toto feel about all this?”

Logan chuckles. “You know, he’s been surprisingly cool about it. Turns out he’d been trying to set us up for months. I think he was just relieved we finally figured it out on our own.”

Jimmy laughs. “Well, that’s good to hear. No awkward ‘stay away from my daughter’ talks then?”

“Oh, there were talks,” Logan says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “But they were more along the lines of ‘if you hurt her, I’ll demote you to test driver faster than you can say DRS.’”

The audience laughs, and Jimmy shakes his head in amusement. “Sounds like you’ve got quite the incentive to be on your best behavior!”

Logan nods, his expression softening. “Absolutely. But you know, even without that ... Y/N is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d never do anything to mess that up.”

Another “aww” rises from the audience, and Jimmy smiles warmly. “That’s beautiful, Logan. It sounds like things are really falling into place for you.”

“They really are,” Logan agrees. Then, leaning in conspiratorially, he adds, “And you know what? I’ve actually got a little scoop for you, Jimmy. The team’s given me permission to reveal something pretty big.”

Jimmy’s eyes light up and he leans in as well. “Oh? Do tell!”

Logan grins, then stage whispers, loud enough for the audience to hear, “I’ve just signed a contract extension with Mercedes. I’ll be with the team until 2028.”

The audience erupts in cheers, and Jimmy’s jaw drops. “What? Logan, that’s incredible! Congratulations!”

Logan beams, feeling a surge of pride and excitement. “Thanks, Jimmy. I still can’t quite believe it myself. Three more years with one of the top teams in F1 ... it’s a dream come true.”

Jimmy shakes his head in amazement. “Wow. From losing your Williams seat to a long-term contract with Mercedes. That’s quite the turnaround.”

“It really is,” Logan agrees. “And you know what? I owe a lot of it to Y/N. She’s been my biggest supporter, my rock through all of this. I don’t think I could have done it without her.”

Jimmy smiles warmly. “It sounds like you two make quite the team. Is she here tonight?”

Logan nods, glancing towards the audience. “She is, actually. She’s sitting right over there.”

The camera pans to where you’re sitting, and you give a shy wave as the audience applauds. Logan feels his heart swell with affection at the sight of you.

Jimmy turns back to Logan, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, Logan, now that you’ve got this long-term contract sorted out ... any other long-term plans in the works? Maybe involving a certain boss’s daughter?”

Logan feels his cheeks heat up, but he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. “Well, Jimmy, let’s just say that when you find the right person, you want to hold onto them for as long as possible. But for now, we’re just enjoying the ride.”

Jimmy nods approvingly. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got a lot to celebrate. Speaking of which, I hear you’ve brought something special to share with us tonight?”

Logan grins, reaching behind his chair to pull out a bottle of champagne. “That’s right. This is the same type of champagne we used for my first win at Silverstone. I thought we could recreate a little podium celebration right here on the show.”

Jimmy’s eyes light up with excitement. “Oh, this is going to be fun! But wait, don’t you usually spray this stuff around?”

Logan laughs, standing up. “We sure do. Hope you don’t mind getting a little wet!”

As Logan shakes the bottle and pops the cork, spraying champagne all over a laughing Jimmy and the cheering audience, he can’t help but marvel at how far he’s come. From the depths of disappointment to the heights of success, both on and off the track.

After the champagne settles and they’re both wiping their faces, Jimmy turns to Logan with a grin. “Alright, Logan, before we let you go, I’ve got one more question for you. What’s next? You’ve got the dream job, the dream girl ... what more could Logan Sargeant possibly want?”

Logan pauses for a moment, considering. “You know, a year ago I would have said winning the World Championship was the ultimate goal. And don’t get me wrong, that’s still very much on my radar. But now ... now I think my goal is just to keep living this dream for as long as I can. To keep pushing myself on the track, to keep growing and learning, and to keep building a life with Y/N.”

He glances over at you in the audience, his eyes softening. “Because at the end of the day, all the trophies and champagne in the world don’t mean much if you don’t have someone to share them with.”

The audience “awws” once more, and Jimmy nods approvingly. “Well said, Logan. I think that’s a perfect note to end on. Ladies and gentlemen, Logan Sargeant!”

As the audience applauds and the show cuts to commercial, Logan makes his way off the stage, his heart full. He finds you waiting for him in the wings, a proud smile on your face.

“You were amazing out there,” you say, wrapping your arms around him.

Logan hugs you back, breathing in the familiar scent of your perfume. “Thanks. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much with all that mushy stuff.”

You laugh, pulling back to look at him. “Are you kidding? I loved every second of it. Although I have to say, that champagne spray was a bit much. You do realize you’re not actually on a podium, right?”

Logan grins sheepishly. “Sorry, force of habit. But hey, at least I didn’t kiss you in front of millions of viewers. That’s progress, right?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “My hero. Come on, liebling. Let’s go celebrate your big reveal properly.”

As you walk hand-in-hand towards the exit, Logan feels a sense of contentment wash over him. It’s been one hell of a journey, but with you by his side and a bright future ahead, he knows the best is yet to come.

And as you step out into the New York night, Logan can’t help but think that this — the glamor, the success, the adoration — is nothing compared to the simple joy of having you by his side.

Because in the end, it’s not about the trophies or the champagne. It’s about the journey and the people you share it with.

For Logan Sargeant, former underdog turned rising star, the real victory isn’t just on the track. It’s in the love he’s found, the dreams he’s achieving, and the future he’s building — one lap at a time.

[orikiys]

✿ ✿ 〞dating seventeen

✰ pairings: ot13!seventeen x fem!reader

✰ genre: tooth rotting fluff

✰ warnings: mentions of reader having a bad day in some, mentions of food. lemme know if you feel like there’s any more.

✰ word count: 2k + words

౨₊ৎ seungcheol

acts clingy. it’s usually him that initiates skinship and you wouldn’t find a single photo of the two of you without him hugging, leaning on you or simple just holding you. but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it when you initiate it. in fact he enjoys it so much but does not act like that sometimes because he feels too shy. after knowing him for quite a long time, you know it’s him when he keeps a hand over your back. or he simple has an arm wrapped around your waist or shoulders when he sits beside you. the most common is him laying on top of you when he returns home after a busy schedule.

“hey sweetheart,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and plops down beside you. his arm eventually finding it’s way to you and pulling you in his embrace. “it was so tiring today, y’know?” he begins his rambles all the while keeping his hand firmly wrapped around your back.

౨₊ৎ jeonghan

he’s gentle and patient with you. to the outside world he may look short tempered, but with you it’s like he becomes a different personality. he’s so much more softer and often encourages you to talk resulting in him being the listener. his attentiveness, soft murmurs of appreciation and kisses on your jaw as he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck— all of it leads to the way he never loses his calm around you, as well as his effort to not to.

“had a long day, angel?” he whispers, cupping your face and pressing his lips to your forehead for a few seconds before pulling away. he doesn’t let you reply, judging the way your eyes are already dropping and without a word he helps you do your night routine and tucks you in the bed, “sleep well, okay?” he mumbles trying to keep his voice no louder than what he could hear so he doesn’t end up waking you.

౨₊ৎ joshua

he tends to be observant. call it his nature, but. you’ll never find joshua bringing home a wrong order of your coffee or the flavour of ice cream you don’t like. he likes to take note of things you love and the ones you hate. he’s been doing this ever since the two of you started dating and it’s no wonder that he has now made nearly a foot long list. another habit of his is to call you when he’s dilemma. he thinks that whatever you say is right. he feel’s it your ‘woman instinct’ because when you do say something seriously, he will NEVER ignore it.

“i brought you your favourite sandwiches with some waffles! thought you’d need those,” his enthusiastic tone never fails to brighten the days and his eyes— that trail over your face and the way he knows exactly how you’re feeling just by the lowering of your eyebrows; is all too familiar. and he'd also know when you're not feeling so good. he’ll tend to caress your hair and press you close to his chest while he asks you what's wrong.

౨₊ৎ jun

he may not seem like it, but he loves to pester you in the public or around friends while calling you cheesy nicknames, he does cringe at himself later on. he’ll be doing nothing and will still manage to think about things he’ll plan to say to you when he meets you. he loves cracking jokes even though they’re lame just to get a reaction out of you and he feels prideful when he manages to make you laugh. he thinks it’s one of the best unmatched feelings in the world.

“hey sugar,” he whistles and takes a seat beside you, a scoff escaping your lips which later turns into laughter when he tickles you hard. he stares at you in the eye for a minute or so before looking away because he still can’t hold the eye contact as you still manage to make him nervous.

౨₊ৎ hoshi

is your number one hype boy. he never, i repeat, never fails to give you random aggressive compliments throughout the day. and on days when you feel self-conscious he’ll use his pretty little brain to form words that do nothing but only encourage you. call him even at 3am, he’ll pick up the calls because it’s you ( it’s giving priorities ). loves gifting you things randomly at alternate days or whenever he finds something that reminds you of him and when you ask him why, he always replies with a ‘there’s never a bad day for gifts.’

“baby how come you look so beautiful?” he says those words so casually that it makes you speechless. he says those while staring at you through the mirror. one hand on the chair you sit while the other is on your shoulder. he looks at you with so much love, he treats you with so much love that you don’t think you could love anyone else like you love him.

౨₊ৎ wonwoo

when i say he’s protective, i mean the kind of protective that always holds on to your hand in crowded places, where he makes sure to blow on the food twice before feeding it to you or one where he simply just ties your hair when your hands are full. but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know his limits. he’s the kind of boyfriend that gives you space when you need and supports your decisions. he always has your back, so there’s no need to worry. regardless of what happened, he’ll always be there for you and listen to you when you want him to.

“did you eat?” he shakes his head in disappointment at your answer before pulling out a pan. “try it,” he suggest a few minutes later and blows on the spoon before feeding it to, his finger immediately wiping the spill off the corner of your lips and he gives you that chuckle when you stare at him for too long. “you shouldn’t skip meals next time, okay?” he mutters as he watches you dig into the food.

౨₊ৎ woozi

this man right here might be the busiest, but he always ensures that he has enough time for you especially when you need him. he would just be working on a track with you sitting on the couch behind him and talking to him, telling him about things that were troubling you and he will not hesitate to pause and turn around before listening intently.

“come here,” he says while pulling you to his office chair and making you sit on his lap the koala style. he rocks your back while peppering your face with kisses just to cheer you up. maintains his patience around you and encourages you talk more freely with him.

౨₊ৎ dokyeom

the type of boyfriend to intentionally match with you while going on a date and later pretending to hate it. loves buying matching jewellery for the two of you and he feels so happy when he sees you wear something he gifted you. it makes him feel that there’s a part of him that’s always with you. another thing he’ll do is randomly grab your hand and kiss it whenever he feels like it.

“morning my love,” he mumbles and pulls you closer to his embrace even though he is still half-asleep. he would then caress your face with a soft smile and would insist on staying in rather than going out on the weekends. he says it’s his favourite place.

౨₊ৎ mingyu

feeds you with his love and handmade food, these are his two main love languages. he’d cook you breakfast in bed no matter how your day is going but in hopes that it gets happier and better because of him. mingyu is a man who loves skinship and won’t hesitate to do so in public as well. always remembers what you like or don’t, and gives you all his attention when you’re talking, no matter how boring the topic is, you’ll never find his eyes away from your face while you talk.

“really?” he hums questionably while brushing your hair as you rant to him about all the incidents that happened. his touch is soft like a feather yet knowing it’s him it's enough to make you feel at ease.

౨₊ৎ minghao

i feel like with hao the two of you have intimate moments quite often. be it randomly taking walks at night or sharing a tub of ice cream, the two of you never fail to stay on your own anr often end up inviting the other one over. your favourite dates are watching movies with him all night long in your bed and just having a good laugh or cry depending on the genre. hao is a person who would trust his partner wholeheartedly. so he isn’t afraid to show you his vulnerable side and that he does like being babied.

“i like this ice cream,” he hums in delight while sending you a grin, making you grin back just as enthusiastically. there’s a mischievous glint on his face as he tackles you to the couch before tickling you till your lungs burst out of immense joy.

౨₊ৎ seungkwan

while seungkwan does like to joke around pretty often and imitate you frequently ( almost every other hour ) he is a supportive partner. he won’t hesitate to listen carefully and give his opinions and provide suggestions. when in doubt, seungkwan is always there for you. at times it might be hard to talk to him because the topic might be sensitive to you, but seungkwan knows you well. he’ll give you time or just give you a hug and stay like that as you talk. it’s nothing in this world that he’d want other than you being comfortable with talking out your problems with him

“i’m sorry, did you have a bad day?” he mutters as he watches you stomp your way to the couch. wordlessly, he follows you before sitting beside you and just takes your hand in his. “do you want to talk about it?”

౨₊ৎ vernon

vernon is a guy of few words. or so you thought. once you get to know him well you can’t help but laugh at even the lamest jokes that he says. he’s like a mood setter. always improving your mood everyday. although there are times where you fail to understand each other, bur vernon makes sure to sit down and discuss everything calmly.

“what does a house wear?” he begins making you groan and before he could finish the joke he starts laughing, “address! this one’s funny,” he wipes away that tear and it’s hard to hold in your laugh when you make eye contact. it’s like an immediate response and you can’t help but smack his knee for it.

౨₊ৎ dino

being the youngest he always did feel like he had some kind of responsibility and it’s been the exact same in your relationship. when you’re with him, dino is extremely careful. he’ll make sure to wear a jacket so he can give it to you when you’re cold. he shows his affection by giving you handmade gifts like letters, paper flowers, chocolate boxes and on days like valentines’ be prepared for a whole bunch of boxes all for you.

“i told you to not to wear heels,” he pouts a bit as he applies bandages to your bruised up heels. when he’s done he pretends to be angry and huffs loudly but fails to do so and ends up ruffling your hair more affectionately than you expected.

[rae-writes]

⊹ Candles [reversed] ⊹

since it's my birthday, I wanted to do a little special self-indulgence, so here's this! || 2.k || written with poly!Mc in mind + our son Luke

4 am 

Early in the morning, before the faux light has even spread across the Devildom, Mammon is in your bed. He’s pushed his way through your door, half asleep himself, stumbled over and climbed underneath your covers (that he swears are softer than his), and has pulled you into his arms. 

Every year, he insists on being the first person to wish you a Happy Birthday, and if not that, then the first who gets to tell you in person— so he's found that coming to your room before the day even begins gets him his title of ‘first’ and gives him alone time with you.

It’s much too early to be awake right now, so he’s content with falling back to sleep with you. His body is in complete contact with yours and he sleepily swears not to let go because he loves you too much. 

5 am 

An hour later, or maybe even less than, Asmo comes to sneak you from his brother’s grasp, gently hauling your barely conscious frame to his room. He wants you to keep getting as much beauty sleep as you can, but he still wants to start getting you ready for your big day! 

Of course, Azzy’s been planning this for weeks, so he has everything prepared and laid out. His alone time with you consists of him lowering you into the steaming bath and massaging you well, scrubbing your hair and body until you’re squeaky clean and practically shining, before toweling you off and dressing you in the clothes he’d set aside. 

Your skin care is done and your hair is fixed flawlessly, nails cut, filed, and painted; everything is all done up by the man himself and he tops it all off with excited kisses and pictures now that you’re [mostly] awake. 

6 am 

After you’re ready for the day, Lucifer takes over and hides you away in his study, selfishly holding you on his lap as you both drink coffee to get properly started. The drink is as bitter as ever, lips glossy with the remnants of it as you both chat quietly. 

He’s your soft start to the day, the calm before the lovable chaos, and the first born makes sure to whisper sweet words alongside the comforting crackle of the fireplace. His hour of alone time is lazy and physical, because he can’t go more than a few seconds without running his gloved hands over you. 

If anything, he’s unwilling to let you go, but Lucifer knows it would throw a wrench into the day’s layout and cause more fuss than necessary— plus, he has some things to do before tonight, so he’ll let you go with a slow kiss.

7 am

You’re handed over into Beelzebub’s capable hands, ensured to be served with a filling breakfast. He’s more than excited to show you what he, personally, cooked for you (even if there are just a few bites out of some of it). His cheeks are stuffed and a cute little smile is spread across his cheeks as he points to all the things on your plate. 

When  your plate is spotless, and your tummy is full but not too full, Beel guides you on a small little walk around the house corridors to make sure you digest properly. He’s still eating, of course, but his pleased hums are filling the air comfortably, making for a nice atmosphere. 

Your little walk ends at the entrance hall, where he bids you goodbye with a cozy little hug, and a promise that you’ll love every second of your special day.

8 am

With a hand at the small of your back, Satan leads you out of the house and straight to a bookstore, wanting to keep a slow start to the long day. With it having just opened, only the two of you and a few others are inside, giving plenty of room to stroll and browse (and goof around). 

He points out things you’ve had your eye on, new editions that weren’t there the previous visit, or special copies that were for limited time. The fourth born wants at least two books in your hand and a little collectible maybe- or a bookmark. Can’t have too many.

Once he’s spoiled you a little, and after you’ve both pet the local cats outside, he’s reluctantly handing you over with a lingering kiss to your hand, and a promise to read one of your books together soon.

9 am

Levi took his place, fingers lacing with yours, as he raved about a nearby anime store, gushing over the items he saw online that reminded him of you. By the time you get there, you know every section that’s going to be inside, yet it’s still exciting as you get pulled in. 

You both get lost in the cool merch, having to wave your hands over the stands or jump in place to find each other occasionally, but end up staying side by side for the most part, whisper-shouting with big smiles. 

Leaving the store, there is a pretty good sized bag on your and his arm, but he couldn’t be more thrilled about the lightness of his wallet since he got to spend money on you. He takes your bag, and your previous bag, in a promise to tuck them safely in your room, before giving you a location.

10 am 

Waiting for you outside of a small little amusement park is Diavolo, who is positively beaming in anticipation. He’s already got two colorful wristbands in hand, which he latches around your wrist, and lets you do the same to him, before heading inside. 

There are rides of all kinds and he lets you choose each one of them, pointing out ones he thinks you’ll like as you pass. You play a few booth games, getting a pretty flame salamander plushie as a prize, or totally failing and having a good laugh. 

His only request is the photo booth, which you both do two different times, to get a silly border and a normal border. He pouts a little as he walks you out, assuring you’d see him later, before leading you a few blocks back into the townsquare. 

11 am

For lunch, Simeon takes you off the paths and to a somewhat secluded gazebo, where a sweet little picnic was spread out; celestial realm dishes were rationed onto baby blue plates, two shiny cups on either side, with polished silverware. 

The breeze is just right as the two of you eat, chatting and sitting closer than usual. Butterflies go by, and your eyes follow, as you both take turns pointing out different kinds you see and what flowers they seem to like better. 

You take your time neatly packing everything up, fingers brushing and shoulders bumping, before he parts with a, dare you say it, angelic kiss to your forehead.

12 pm

Luke, naturally, is in charge of dessert, promising a light, yet satisfying, treat as he leads you down the sidewalk and into a cute looking bakery. He wants you to save room for the many things that were cooked and baked for your party, so he gets a little pile of oreo balls and other small things like that. 

He holds nothing back as he tells you how happy he is to be spending your birthday with you, how he’s so very glad he met you, and anything else along those lines. He has to get them all out now, just in case he doesn’t get the chance to later! 

The sweet angel is nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he leads you to your next location, waving excitedly as he promises to help make your party one of a kind.

1 pm

You’re actually given to Raphael next, who’s standing outside of a library with that barely perceptible smile on his face. He explains that he wanted somewhere quiet and cozy to wind down with you, suggesting that you shouldn’t do too much before the big celebration. 

The very back corner of the library becomes yours for now, complete with a pretty view of swaying trees. The archangel almost shyly asks if you’d sit closer, loosely holding your hand as he begins reading to you. 

He stalls a bit at the end, toying with your fingers, before telling you that he’ll see you later…but he’d like to do this again, sometime, okay?

2 pm

Hocus Pocus becomes your next destination, Solomon wasting no time in wrapping an arm around you as you browse the store. It’s slow and unhurried and drawn out as he talks about certain items, explaining a few origins, and listens to how your day’s been so far. 

He dabbles a bit in glittery, washable, body paint, joyously painting random shapes onto your skin (even rolling his sleeves up so you could return the  favor). The sorcerer makes it a point to paint his name along your wrist, taking a picture of it, before helping you wash it all off. 

With a quick spell, he takes away any aching your feet might have, or any sort of headache, teasingly kissing at your jaw, before wagging his fingers as he teleports you somewhere new. 

3 pm

A familiar shade of gold greets you as you're sent sprawling out onto the Castle’s floors. Barbatos chuckles and chides Solomon’s delivery as he helps you up, dusting you off gently. He makes sure you’re alright, boldly carrying you anyway, regardless of your answer.

A soothing, palate cleansing, tea spread is set out on the table as he settles you into the chair, pouring it as delicately as ever, before joining you. Instead of adjacent, he sits beside you, eagerly listening to anything you have to say. 

He may or may not cheat time, prolonging his alone time with you just a little, unwilling to let you go now that you both finally have a minute together. He does have much to get done still, however, and with a [deep] kiss, he politely escorts you through one of his portals. 

4 pm

In the heart of the forest, amongst a wave of flowers, lies Belphie. He’s not asleep, but it’s clear he’s just woken up, as he gestures for you to come lay down, offering a peaceful break. 

Instead of star gazing like usual, he settles for cloud gazing, lazily pointing up and whispering descriptions here and there. It’s serene and quiet and, in his opinion, the perfect way to kill time. 

While he doesn’t want to get up, he does at least hug you and nuzzle close in a send off, watching you go, before flopping back down.

5 pm

Mephisto is more than ready, and honored, to be the one escorting you to your big birthday bash. He takes you on the long path through the forest, deciding that if the others got time alone, surely he could have his own slot, too. 

He keeps close, talking about daily matters, continuing to take small detours as you both make your way through the Devildom. His eyes don’t leave your face much at all as he basks in the moment.��

With a grand, flourishing gesture, he officially announces your arrival, and presents you to your birthday party!

6 pm

Confetti, balloons, changing led lights, and glitter are everywhere. There’s a long table with many presents littering the surface, and another one next to it with small party snacks and desserts. Music plays faint in the background, not really needed over the fun and chaos that comes from the party games picked out, or from the karaoke. 

When the time comes, a cake as astonishing as the previous ones is brought out and magically lit up prettily. Voices harmonize as they all sing you happy birthday , none being able to fight the smile on their faces, but…you couldn’t either. 

And as you circled around the cake, blowing out each of your candles, you wished for what you did every year since coming here: to always be able to stay with your boys. 

With cake and presents over, it delves into more chaos as they all argue over a) who you’re going home with tonight (and that it would be no fair if Mephisto took you, since he’d have you alone), and b) if you went home with a group, who’s room you would be staying in (Solomon taunted Mammon so much, you swore he’d blow a gasket). 

Oh, yeah. You loved them to death.

[mrsnancywheeler]

andante, andante // finnick odair x f. reader

masterlist

3.3k words

request: could you write a oneshot where finnick and reader have always had a flirty relationship. the reader got taken and tortured by snow during the quarter quell, and she was brought to thirteen and when finnick sees her lots of fluff (and maybe smut?) ensues. i love your work, happy 700 followers!

warnings: smut, lots of it, there's some angst in the beginning Captiol related, confessions of feelings, hurt/comfort in the beginning, pnv, some degredation, teasing, use of good girl, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, unedited

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

There was no energy left, not a single part of your body had any form of passion left. Long ago you'd grown immune to the effects that Peeta and Johanna's screams had once had on you, probably once the starvation and dehydration had kicked in. Not to mention when you were trying to fight off the rats you could swear where in your pitch black cell, sometimes you'd swear you saw other creatures as well, but you tried to tell yourself it was hallucinations.

So when the team from District 13 came to rescue you all, you desperately willed the energy to return. You couldn't see him like this, Finnick. Technically you were just friends, but your relationship hinged on the flirtatious, playful banter which you didn't know if you had anymore. You hadn't spoken in a while, maybe you wouldn't even recognize your voice, it's not like the Capitol had much information they could get out of you. No one had thought to inform you of the rebel plan, for a while part of you was terrified that Snow would just have you killed for not knowing anything, but you were kept alive.

You'd had endless time to spend, when you weren't hearing or seeing things in your hazy state, to think about Finnick. How you weren't sure if he felt the same way about you that you'd felt about him for years, but should've said something before all this. Wishing that before you surely died in the Capitol he would know you had always cared for him, loved him from afar. You'd rather die with your love unrequited, but known. Yet now you'd see him again and you hoped if there was a chance he had feelings for you that you were half the woman you once were.

Of course, once all the fluids the medics were pumping you full of had taken effect you'd probably feel some of the spirit you'd had return. The universe seemed to look down on you because the first feeling you did feel in full force was anxiety about Finnick. You'd heard whispers of his names from guards so you knew he wasn't dead, but hadn't a clue how he actually was. Maybe you'd made up the voices of the guards and he actually was dead, what a cruel fate that would be, but with the way your life seemed to pan out it wouldn't have shocked you. Although if he was alive it condemned you to living the rest of your life in silent adoration, but he was the only person you would ever do that for.

When you entered the District 13 base on that medical bed the next full force feeling hit, overstimulation. The only noise you had been used to in weeks were the cries of Peeta and Johanna which you'd learned to tune out regardless of how loud, and the occasional order from a guard or a whisper. The flurry of doctors ready to fully assess injuries, people standing around full of questions, all the chatter and noise had your hands flying up to cover your ears. It was too bright, too loud, the bed was rickety in the floors little bumps, and you actually longed to be back in the familiarity of the cell.

“Hey, you're okay, honey." A much softer voice, much closer, warms ringer delicately brushing the hands covering your ears. Finnick. Your eyes snapped open as you slowly observed him.

“Finnick?" Your voice was much quieter, scratchier than you'd remembered it, but he seemed to hear you just fine. His kind smile blessing you as he slowly nodded, the next emotion was relief. You hadn't cried in a while, no water to allow yourself, but the fluids must have been working miracles because you felt like there was a flood about to break through your tear ducts. “You're real right?"

His hand landed more firmly on yours, assuring you with his very real body heat. “I'm real, I'm right here with you." Slowly you moved your hands from your ears, forcing yourself to take deep breaths to handle the noise. He looked like he was going to cry, “God, I'm so glad you're okay!" Finnick's warm embrace surrounded you and it made you want to melt into him forever. “They kept sedating me because I was so worried about you."

It confused you, to hear him talking about worrying about you with so much passion, of course he'd consumed your every thought, but you'd doubted you would've been on his. “Oh, come on, you would've found someone else to banter with, Finn." The first laugh you'd had in so long forced itself out.

“Good thing that the only person I want to banter with is you, and here you are, pretty face and all."

There was a pause before your voice came out again, delicate like a flower petal floating on the waters. "I missed you.” It came out sounding more vulnerable then you'd intended, maybe even too fond and he'd pulled his arms away. Before you could retreat though you were shocked when his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, and spoke a thousand words you could only ever wish to translate.

When he pulled away you could only stare at him stunned, he'd felt the same way you'd felt all along. “I'm sorry, I-" Before he could finish you pulled his face back in, kissing him, it was addictive, you could drown in his lips. “You know, it's rude to interrupt." He muttered out before kissing you again.

“Sorry." You weren't, there was no time to be when it was like you living in a dream. Maybe this was a dream, maybe you were back in the Capitol and had officially lost it, but the heat of his touch was too real for you to believe that.

“I've loved you for so long." Finnick's hand cupped your face which must have been burning up.

“Me too, I didn't think you'd ever even noticed me that way."

“How could I not have noticed my pretty, sweet girl that way?" His smile was so perfect it made you feel like you were floating. The doctors insisted on doing an official check up on you which Finnick stuck by you diligently for. Fluids and food was all you really needed besides further psychological evaluation, but there wasn't much time for that when apparently Peeta was turning out to be the biggest problem imaginable.

Finnick had sat by your hospital bed, slowly feeding you a soup that felt like the best thing you'd ever eaten with all the time you'd gone without a scrap. He filled you in on life in District 13, how much protocol there was, but it would be worth it to end all of this so you could be together. Apparently he'd been assigned his own compartment which he rarely used when the breakdowns hit, so he'd spent nearly every night sedated in the hospital wing.

Eventually the doctors agreed to let you take a shower, you'd still be sequestered to the hospital wing, but you were grateful for the chance to finally be clean. You could sense that Finnick hated that you would be out of his sight again, like the moment you walked away he would realize this was all a dream he was having that had slipped away under the cover of night. “Do you wanna come with?" You whispered to him as the medic on the other side took the IV out of your arm, “Somebody's gonna have to show me the way there."

“Can I?" He whispered back and hurt you to know that he'd been this hurt over you, that you'd both gone so long without a confession to the other.

You nodded slowly as you pressed a quick kiss on his lips and he smiled, maybe this wasn't a dream after all. Finnick guided you through the drab underground of District 13. It was stuffy, but you were overtaken by giddiness. The Finnick Odair was holding your hand, the Finnick Odair had meant every flirty comment he'd made, Finnick Odair loved you back, Finnick Odair wasn't just a dream you could never have, Finnick was here, Finnick was yours. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not. And the final petal had determined he loved you.

He turned the water on for you and Finnick respectfully turned around so you could undress and get inside of it. Your heart swelled to think he missed you so much he would be content to just sit outside, to feel your presence in the room. The feeling of the water hitting your skin was a relief, to feel the grime being washed away. It was lonely though, to think of him patiently waiting for you, how long he's waited to know you were safe, how long he'd waited for you to confess. “Are you gonna make me be alone in here?” You cringed at the way no matter how quiet your voice was it seemed to echo.

You'd hid behind the curtain, so you didn't have to confront the question. Maybe he didn't want to, but you'd also thought he just wanted to flirt as friends. The curtain swept to the side as he peeked his handsome face in, eyes glued to your face. "Not if you need my help, honey.” You would've sworn the way he said those endearments always made butterflies flutter in your stomach, even if it was something you'd felt guilty about when he initially began using it.

The hot water should have relaxed your muscles, but staring at his perfect, handsome face was making you feel a similar sensation that you despised. Whether he knew it or not, the sound of his voice, the things he'd say, and that smile of his all did unimaginable things to you. Things you'd felt guilty for when the fantasies flashed in your mind. He'd been your friend, so it must've been wrong to imagine him with his hands between your legs. Now though, he wasn't just your friend, and the feeling was back. “Maybe I do." It was embarrassing, but just being by his body would help you or maybe it would make the feeling worse, but you didn't care.

He grinned at you and disappeared for a few seconds before he'd opened the curtain again, slipping into the shower. “What do you need my help with, sweet girl?" Now you'd have to come up with something, you tried not to let your eyes trail over his body, he wasn't looking anywhere but your face. But it was hard when it felt like some tingling part of your body was now controlling your actions.

“Can you help me clean myself off?"

"Of course, honey.” He went to grab the shampoo bottle, eyes never ducking down. Part of you wanted him too though, so that this felt less like a dirty fantasy.

"You can look at me, you know? I won't bite, unless asked, promise.” You tried to sound like it was playful, soft and he laughed.

"Yeah, sorry, I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable either." You reassured, “I'm not making you uncomfortable though, am I? If I am-" One of his hands grabbed yours making you pause.

“You're not making me uncomfortable either, you're okay." His sweet smile made you feel more than just like melting, you hoped the wetness pooling between your thighs wouldn't be noticeable in the water. Finnick softly turned you around to wash your hair, he was so particular, taking his time and the feeling of his breath on your neck, clever fingers in your hair. It was so calming, “This okay, honey?" You could only hum in approval as his hands moved so delicately across your scalp. Your brain so easily fell into an easy blissful state as you let his hands move your head with ease. He finished with your hair soon enough and was moving onto washing your body. You shuddered when he carefully pushed your hair off the back of your neck, “You sure you're okay?”

"Yeah.” It comes out more strained than you'd meant it to and you pray he's not put off by it, which he doesn't seem to be as his hands keep trailing downwards. He's soaped and rinsed you off, moving you with so much care that you wish you could absorb each second of it, but you're trying to leave the moment. If you let yourself think about it you're sure you'll give yourself away with the way you'd be responding to his touch. Then it's nearly impossible when he's washing your face, his hands seem like they were perfectly meant to hold your face and suddenly so do his lips when he's kissing you again. Instantly you're pulling him in closer, basically inhaling whatever he gives you. Then you're pausing when his hands start slipping down the small of your back.

Much to your chagrin he pulls away, pausing his hands descent, as he looks at you, “Are you okay with this?" He asks, his eyes speak depths on how much he cares. You nod trying to lean in again, but he leans back, “Need to hear you say it, sweet girl."

"Yes, Finn.” It's barely audible, but he rewards you by kissing you again. Fingers continuing their trail down your back, grazing over nerves that make you shiver. His hands finally land on your hips and you can barely breathe, but you won't let yourself pull away from his lips. They're too addictive and you're too scared you'll wake up to realize you never left the Capitol. And then his hands are slipping lower, your thighs pressing together.

His hands are slowly spreading your legs apart and you let them. Whimpering into his lips when his fingers start tracing over your pussy. His lips pull away and you whine more, even if it gives you a chance to gasp for air. “You're dripping, sweet girl, I haven't even done anything. I bet…” Finnick trails off and you gasp when the tips of two of his fingers are lightly pushing into you. You're instantly clenching around them and he's smirking. “Were you gonna tell me I was making you this dizzy?" You hum out something incoherent when his other fingers start rubbing you. “Seems like someone doesn't know how to use her words, sweet girl, I just have to look at her and understand how needy she is…” He kisses your neck, "Doesn't tell me she feels the same way about me, I have to do it.” Another kiss to another sensitive spot and you gave up on any idea of suppressing the wanton sounds you're making now. He was rubbing you faster now, “Someone's gonna have to teach you to use your words, like a good girl. Not today though."

"Finn-” You moaned out, head tilting back. "Need you, need you so bad. Need you inside me.” You clenched around the tips of his stationary fingers and he thrusted them upwards, the sound you let out was guttural with shock.

“You sure you can take me, sweet girl? Want me to split you open instead of helping you open?" He sounded condescending as he kept moving his fingers inside of you as you whined, before letting out another moan as he slipped a third finger in you.

“Don't care, Finn, don't care if it hurts, need you cock in me. Please, please, please.”

He slipped his fingers out and your eyebrows scrunched together as you whined, he was opening your mouth with his fingers soaked in your juices. “You're my pretty little cock slut aren't you? Gonna let me break you on my cock?" You sucked his fingers in confirmation, licking off your own juices and he smirked. “Did you fantasize about me? Were you not able to tell me how you felt because you were too busy making yourself dumb thinking about my cock?" You nodded, moaning as his other hands began making even more aggressive circles. His hand titled your head up, “If you want my cock, then you're gonna tell me what you thought about when you were fucking yourself stupid."

It was hard to form words when you wanted to do nothing but whine at the pleasure rushing through your body, "You, I thought about how much I wanted you-” Your head fell back when his circles got rougher and then was forcing your head back up, "Wanted you inside of me, touched myself thinking about, oh my god, Finn, please I can't it's too much, wanna cum when you're inside me.”

He was quiet for a second before sighing, “When you beg like that how am I supposed to refuse you anything? Just because my sweet girl just got back to me and must be being so brave, using her words like that. But you're not getting out of it next time, honey." Finnick removed his hand and you let out an involuntary whine.

"Thank you, Finn.” You said breathily as he finally lined himself up with your entrance. “Already so close."

“So needy." He clicked his tongue as he started pushing into you, you clawed into his back. “Jump." You obeyed and he hoisted you up, legs wrapping around his waist. Trying not to hit at his back when caused more of him to push in, but you couldn't stop yourself from the scream you let out when he carefully pushed your back against the shower wall and he bottomed out in you. “So tight, this pussy was made for me, feels so good." He groaned, “Can I move?"

“Please, you're so deep in me, feels so good. Wanna be yours, Finn, want you to do what you want with me." His face planted itself in between your neck and shoulder and you could feel him smiling into your skin.

“You're so sweet, honey." Then he was moving again and you were instantly crying out, “Everyone's gonna find us if you keep this up, know you're mine now." At your insistence he let himself be fast, pound in and out of you as you tightened around him.

Finnick moved a hand up to protect your head as he thrusted recklessly into you. It felt like an eternity of his perfect noises and seeing stars with each movement, you were so grateful that it was your cunt making him groan like that, that he wanted to be inside of you. “Oh my god, Finn, I'm gonna come."

“Good girl, come undone on my cock, sweet girl. Wanna look at your pretty face when you let go for me.” You could've sworn that you'd left the planet when he brought you past the edge. He must have felt it too because your ecstasy doubled when you felt him releasing inside of you, how full you were of him.

You don't know how long you stayed like that, listening to each other's breathing, but nothing had ever felt so perfect. “They're gonna wonder what happened to us." You eventually let out a breathy laugh and he nodded into your shoulder. He tapped your leg and you unhooked them from around his waist. Feet falling onto the cold tiles below.

“Good, I've got to make up for lost time." He kissed your forehead before finally pulling out of you and you hated how empty you felt without him. Finnick pressed his forehead against yours and you watched the steam from the water gather around him, “I should've told you sooner, if you hadn't been okay and here with me again, I don't know if I could've lived with myself knowing you never knew I loved you." And the way he kissed you sealed your fate, you would forever be making up for the times that neither of you confessed to how hopelessly you adored each other and you would relish every moment of it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you for reading! I'm going to try and get chapter two of the river out before I do the next request, working on scheduling these each out! if you enjoyed it feedback is always appreciated, comments, likes, reblogs, and my asks/requests are open! thank you again and love you all 💋

taglist: @wowzabowza69

[averageallogene]

Lyney ♡⊹˚ His lucky charm [NSFW]

✧˖°. Summary: Before his most recent shows, Lyney seems to have some nervousness regarding his abilities as a magician. Thankfully, his lovely girlfriend is always there to ease his mind beforehand, providing him with the luck her magician boyfriend needs.

fem. reader (3rd person) ; this is basically smut with little more than an intro to it, so beware. Also SPOILERS for ACT I of the first Fontaine Archon Quest. 

5k words.

notes. Hi yes hello I am back, I have played the two Archon Quests, and after working a little for my thesis I decided to write something by my own volition <3. I’m not sure if Lyney here might be portrayed accurately but nonetheless I really wanted to write a smaller piece for him before doing it for other characters! He’s adorable :( ♡ Enjoy ✧˖°

By clicking on the “expand”, you are hereby agreeing to view NSFW content. PLEASE if you are under 18, DO NOT INTERACT. 

PLEASE do not report, as this is my warning to those who do not wish to view NSFW. I, like most writers, work hard on each piece we choose to publish, and reporting it will decrease the number of readers it reaches... Thank you for understanding ✧˖°

Magicians have no need for something many folk cling onto - luck. After all, every trick they perform is something they study, polish, rearrange, rehearse. Everything is staged to the finest of details, leaving no room for unpredictable variables to enter the equation. Every performance is acted out accordingly, a mental checklist going on inside the performer's mind as each prop is placed and moved about, each line is repeated from the rehearsals, each movement in one’s body is carefully played out. Everything is a carefully crafted performance, and what need do they have for luck? None.

To Lyney, such is the truth. Well, at least this philosophy held itself rock solid, up until the incident that nearly landed him a guilty verdict. Despite his confidence in his abilities to wow the crowds, even before there would always be a small but ever present pitter patter to his heart, a quiet reminder of his own nervousness before the show would begin. He would usually handle himself most well, though through the eyes of those closest to them, the normal feeling of “performance jitters” wasn’t all that well hidden. Well, and if that were the case, more so after things went back to normal.

His breathing would be a little more unstable, his fingers would fidget with one of his cards as his eyes darted about his changing room. He would fiddle with his exquisite hat, rebraid his hair while trying to ease himself. Things had gone back to normal, their scheduled shows were once more popular and always fully booked. Yet still, there always was this sense of anxiety deep in his stomach, never truly going away as he quietly wondered if the show would go as planned. 

Well, thankfully he had someone to help ease his mind each time. And as if right on que as he brooded over the upcoming performance, a knock to his dressing room was heard, the door opening to reveal the loveliest of sights. At the door stood [F/N], his lovely girlfriend who would always visit him before he went on stage. 

“Hi Lyney! Hope I’m not intruding?” She asked sweetly, smiling his way which only helped to ease his worries.

“You never are, my love. Come in!” He breathes out, the eagerness to have her close not quite passing unnoticed to her. He extends his arms before fully taking her in his embrace, sighing deeply as he inhales the familiar perfume she would always wear. His favorite. 

“How are you feeling?” [F/N]’s voice grows softer, her arms resting around his lower back as she smiles his way. The silence that follows is enough of an answer, her magician simply distracting himself with playing with the tips of her hair. “...Nervous?”

“...Hah, why it seems nothing really blinks past you. I may have taught you… Too well…” He jests, the smile on his face betraying him before it drops slightly. It reveals some of his vulnerability for her, his violet eyes locking with her own before he speaks up again. “I suppose it’s just some performance jitters again, nothing new...”

“It’s okay Lyney. You’ll do great, I know so.” Her smile shone brighter than the very sun, beaming with warmth that was only cast to him. It comforted his very being, filling his conflicted heart with sugary sweetness that only soothed him in a way no one else could. And if that wasn’t enough, the next few sentences were the ones that would always, always seal the deal for him. “Everything will go well, and everyone will be wowed by your hard work. I’m proud of you.”

It was as though his heart was struck, pierced with cupid’s arrow as he couldn’t keep up the calm and confident act. Lyney’s body visibly relaxed, a content snicker escaping his lips as his arms brought her closer. His lips were quicker than his words, filling her face with brief yet lovely kisses, watching with glee as she giggled as a response. Amidst each kiss he whispered words of gratitude for her support, his hands roaming throughout her lower back as he yearned to feel her closer and closer. 

“Lyney… You didn’t even let me finish!” She laughed, her words being cut off with a deeper kiss as his lips found her own. She could feel his smile against her lips, the magician quite literally stealing her breath away before finally pulling away. 

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. I just can’t contain myself, you’re just too adorable for me to!” He sighed, the flamboyant hum in which he spoke glittering the otherwise full truth she very well knew. “To think a professional magician would be wowed in such a way, you’ll be the death of me…”

“You almost make it sound like I’m such a bad thing.” [F/N] rolled her eyes playfully, her fingers carefully adjusting his hair before inspecting to see if his braid was well done. 

It was in small moments like so that Lyney would cease to speak, allowing his beloved to do as she pleased. His eyes would focus solely on her, watching how her expression would shift, her eyes roaming about to ensure he looked his absolute best. He could feel his heart beating hard against his ribcage, no longer solely because of the nervousness he would feel before each one of his shows. The mere sight of his girlfriend was enough to blow away the growing blaze of anxiety, leaving it only in embers that with time would cease. Her mere care, her mere nature, her beauty inside out… 

It was enough to leave Lyney riddled into little more than a lovesick puppy, the loopy smile upon his pretty face being reserved only for her. 

“Lyney?” [F/N] called for him once more, watching as he finally seemed to come back to. His hands were roaming around her hips, carefully circling around her figure as he finally let out a soft hum for her to continue. “You’re a little too quiet… Everything okay?”

“I’m so lucky to have you, [F/N]...”

It was her turn to be left speechless, her face morphing to surprise as their gazes locked. He watched as the loveliest shade of red adorned her cheeks, the flusteredness he’d often cause on her never failing to amuse him. Still, despite so, he hoped she knew just how sincere he was with his words. 

“Oh Archons… What’s gotten into you?” Her voice whined a little lower, her eyes turning away to avoid him for a mere instance in which her flusteredness was still far too raw. She could feel how his lips chased after her skin, peppering her with light and soft kisses by the corner of her mouth. 

“Nothing.” He responded, his usual flair dropping to soft whispers as he carefully turned her around, helping her have a seat on his vanity. Between fleeting kisses, Lyney took the opportunity to bring himself between her legs, his hands never letting her stray far from himself. “I just wish to remind you more often, because it’s the truth.”

“Well I think it’s the other way around, you know… I’m the one that’s lucky here.” [F/N] smiled softly, her hands finding rest on his shoulders before gently massaging his tense muscles. Her boyfriend leaned back, his eyes gleaming with a twinkle that seemed familiar, one of challenge and mischievousness that would often leave her questioning before finally realizing what he’d plotted. 

“My my, is that so?” He hummed, head tilting to the side while his grip on her tightened ever so slightly. “If that’s the case, how come each time you visit me beforehand, every show I perform runs far better than what I expect?”

“Oh, you’re really running with that?” She giggled, music to his ears. “Only because I kissed you that one time, telling you it would bring you good luck?”

“And did that show not go beyond amazing? In fact, I do believe that was the peak in my career thus far.” He reasoned with a nod to his head, kissing her deeply before resting his forehead against her own. “Therefore, I’m the lucky one here, and you my dear [F/N], are my lucky charm.”

“Oh Lyney…” She sighed softly, stroking her hand through his blond locks slowly. “I didn’t know that tonight my magician was planning to turn me into putty in his hands.”

It was his turn to laugh, quietly, yet full of warmth and endearment. “It’s what you get for stealing this magician’s heart long ago.”

“Ah! I’m gone. Goodbye Fontaine, I am melting from my boyfriend’s words!” [F/N] leaned back dramatically, Lyney catching her before she would fall too far and hit her head against the large mirror of his vanity. The pair laughed in unison, fingers interlacing as he brought her close to himself once more.

“You’ve definitely gotten that dramatic flair from me.” He pointed out, his free hand now resting firmly on her thigh. He watched with hearts in his eyes as she giggled at his comment, shrugging her shoulders before bringing him closer with her legs. 

“I love you.” [F/N] whispered, leaning forward before it being her turn to steal a few kisses for herself. 

It never stopped after that though, one going after the other, kisses lingering longer before them turning into a longer makeout session. The way her lips were always so soft, so warm, the faint taste of her favorite chapstick melting against his own, it never failed to leave Lyney yearning for more, his whole being focusing solely on his lover whilst everything else blurred around them. His tongue carefully peeked through his own lips before swiping across her own, the grin being felt against her mouth as he felt her jolt slightly from the antic. Giving him permission to continue, Lyney carefully led the dance, his tongue meeting her own as they both ignored the need of air, muffled breaths fanning one another as their hands held the other closer, tighter. Before he knew it he was leaning himself forward and her backwards, a little more, his body pressing against her own before they were practically bent with her head touching the mirror behind them. Her legs were pressed against his sides, never letting him stray too far, her hands stroking through his back and hair, sending shivers down his spine as sparks ignited deep within him. 

“L…Lyn-ney…” She murmured between breaths, him finally tilting his head so the two of them could breathe. The way her tongue stuck out of her mouth as she breathed heavily seemed to only entice something further deep within him. “W…What about your show?”

“Worried about that?” He inquired, the clear endearment for her concern being evident in his tone of voice. He leaned closer, voice whispering as he slowly licked the strand of saliva that had dropped down her chin. “We still have time, if that’s what’s troubling you dear.”

“H-Hah…” The words seemed to get stuck on her throat as his hands maneuvered around her frame, carefully parting her legs a little more to give him better access. His fingers quickly grabbed a hold of the hem of her dress, lifting it up slightly before resting his palm on her warm thigh, his lips still remaining close to her own as his very being craved more of her.

“Do you want me to stop?” Lyney softly asked, leaning back as his own breath grew uneven. His face too displayed a lovely shade of pink, his lips redder after the relentless kisses she’d given him. His eyes were glittering with excitement, half-lidded with pure love as he waited for her response. His thumb was caressing her skin softly, the circular motion he did easing her more than arousing her as he searched for her honest answer.

It was embarrassing to admit, but [F/N] absolutely did not want to stop. Her body felt far too hot for her to go back on it now. “I… N-No.”

“Are you certain, dear?” He leaned closer, eyes squinting softly as his breath fanned her face. His hands slithered a little more upwards, giving her goosebumps as they traveled up to her hips. “I don’t want to put you in any situation that might be even a little uncomfortable… I will understand if this is-”

“N-No Lyney, I’m okay.” She nodded her head to reassure him, her hands gripping his clothing tighter as if not wanting him to move an inch away. “I admit, it’s… A bit nerve wracking, given the place but… I still don’t want you to stop.”

He bit his lip, smiling with both excitement and apology. “I’m sorry love, I always seem to get carried away when it’s about you.”

It definitely was the truth, especially given with the way his hands moved around her body. There was always a certain kind of care in each movement, his grip upon her skin tight and loving, as if reassuring himself she was there, with him. Lyney was both selfish and giving when it came to his beloved [F/N], always wanting more for himself, yet always wanting to reassure her she felt properly adored.  

“We’ll have to be-” He kissed her again, followed by another, her lips trying to keep up with his own as he gave her fleeting kisses. “Very quiet- Okay?”

“M-Mhm.” She nodded her head, her face blushing a deeper shade of red as his fingers finally lifted her skirt up. Her own hands helped him hold it up for him, watching him as it finally dawned on her, his figure getting nice and cozy in between her legs before he kneeled down. “L-Lyney?”

The grin he gave her was enough to make her lower region throb. 

“I’m craving a taste of you, baby. Could you please indulge me?” He whispered, his hands parting her legs before resting securely against them. His head turned to her left thigh, leaving a trail of small bites and kisses as he came closer, delighting himself in every reaction she offered him, every gasp and jump, every attempt at caging his head in between her legs. 

“J-Just- Don’t tease me, please.” [F/N] outright pleaded, earning herself an honest nod of his head as his eyes sparkled in anticipation. 

Carefully, her eyes jumped back at the closed door before going back to him, her breath trembling as she breathed out from her parted lips. Whilst one hand held her dress up, the other slowly lowered, helping him to remove the lacey underwear that hid his most wanted prize away. And with a lift of her hips, they were off easily, hanging by her ankle as Lyney’s gaze focused solely on the erotic view before him. His [F/N], holding her dress up for him, sat on his vanity as her chest rose and lowered irregularly, her pussy in full display for him alone. It was enough to get him aroused, the fabric of his own clothes becoming far too constricting as he felt his boner raging to be freed.

His experienced hands crept closer, thumbs slowly hovering her juicy lips before deliciously parting them. He could feel his mouth go dry in an instance, the view of her leaking pussy outright hypnotizing him as she let out a quiet moan. He couldn’t help himself but play around with her pussy lips a little, after all, how could he not? The way her pretty hole would throb in want, leaking out her nectar only for him, dripping down her skin and onto his table, the squelching sounds being nearly enough for him to lose all sense of control. He couldn’t help himself but stare, watch in lust before her soft moans and whines became a little too loud, all the while still arousing him even further.

“Lyney!” She pleaded in a whisper, the pout she offered him sending his heart racing. 

“Yes, you’re right baby… I’m sorry.” He hummed, leaning forth before finally giving her heat a long, slow and deep lick. The vibrations from his hum resonated with her pussy, sending pleasant shockwaves throughout her body as she shut her lips right before moaning. “We’re gonna have to be quieter, love. Can you do that for me?” 

It was difficult to hear him when he was practically squishing his face against her pussy, yet from the mere fact he’d stopped, [F/N] had been able to deduct what he wanted from her quickly enough. She nodded her head eagerly, blushing even deeper as she bit her lip.

“Mhm… ‘M sorry…”

It truly divided Lyney’s heart in two, for he absolutely adored hearing every sound [F/N] would bless him with. Her voice already was pure melody for his ears, all the more when she would be moaning due to his administrations. However, the pure excitement of their ordeal, having a chance of being caught, it was enough to keep him going, to entice him to lick more, to lap around her clit again, to suckle on it whilst plunging one of his fingers deep inside. The way his beloved would instead jolt more often, writhe above him, attempt to suffocate him as her legs tried to close around him, all to not be as vocal, it all had him entranced. 

"You taste so good…" He groaned against her folds, his tongue practically spelling out his love for her as he ate her out with such passion. The groans and sighs that would escape him would only please her further, sending [F/N] closer and closer to her own release as she practically bit down her tongue to quiet out her own moans. Lyney simply couldn't have enough of her taste, lapping every last drop to his greedy tongue as he yearned for more, fingering and licking it out of her as he could feel her gummy walls throb against his fingers. "You're so wet, too… So dirty, my angel."

"L-Lyney…" She mumbled, her erotic whine finally pulling him out of his trance to look her way. By that point she'd already held her fingers around his hair, him not even noticing up until that very moment. 

His light eyes glanced up, for a moment the magician forgetting how to even breathe. It felt as though the wind was knocked out of him, staring up to see his beloved gazing down at him with such a needy look. Her cheeks were flushed, the thin layer of sweat visible on her forehead as her grip on his hair tightened softly. Her teeth were by that point gritting tightly against the hem of her dress, it being her faint attempt at keeping her noises down to a minimum as he ate her out to his heart's content. The view was dirty, marvelous. The dress was lifted to such a way he could now see part of her tummy as well, her body lined with sweat as it reacted to every little touch he gave her. 

It drove Lyney over the edge. He couldn't wait any longer. The breath finally left his mouth in a shaky notion, her thighs shaking like jello as it hit her bare pussy before he got up. 

"Gods, you're so gorgeous [F/N]." He outright moaned, his fingers carefully taking the fabric out of her mouth. He watched how she heaved deeply, her lips tempting him to latch onto them. And who was he to refuse, but a poor magician whose heart had been stolen by the woman before him?

He leaned in quickly, capturing her lips against his own as they both moaned against one another. Their hands couldn't let go of the other, fiddling with their clothes as they attempted to find the best position to finally get what they both wanted. [F/N] leaned herself to the edge of the table, her legs still apart for him as her fingers now fiddled with his belt, unbuckling it before finally freeing him of his leather shorts. Lyney could feel his cock throbbing already, eager to finally plunge inside of her spongy walls and ease the yearning he so deeply felt. He groaned against her lips as she finally freed his hard length, pumping it for him slowly as it was now her turn to suck on his tongue with her own lips. 

"I need you, Lyney…" [F/N] moaned, helping him to part her legs further as he kept his face closer to her own. 

"I know, baby, I know. It's only fair I indulge you after you've treated me so well, right?" He hummed with a smile, all the while his face indicating just how excited he was. 

He grunted quietly as he carefully rubbed his cock against her leaking folds, the two of them attempting to quiet their moans down to the best of their abilities. [F/N] could feel how the particularly protruding vein on the side of his cock rubbed against her pussy, sending tears to the corners of her eyes as she felt herself closer and closer to her release after being so well tended to by her lover. Lyney in turn kissed her tears away, his lips never leaving her face as he practically gulped down her moans to himself. After coating both her pussy with his pre and his cock with her bountiful juices he stopped, lining himself with her entrance before, with a glance shared, he carefully thrusted himself inside.

His hands gripped onto her knees, his lips shutting themselves tightly so as to not moan out as he often would. The way his eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to not voice much of the obvious pleasure he was feeling was a delightful view, [F/N]'s face blushing madly as she brought him closer. Her arms wrapped around him tightly as she hid her face against his neck, her lips pressing against his skin as she quietly whimpered in pleasure. 

"Ah, Lyney!" She moaned quietly, her nails digging into his shoulders as his own sighs of pleasure hit her ear. 

"You're so tight, baby-" He in turn hissed gently, feeling how her spongy walls swallowed him whole as he finally bottomed out. His own hands were gripping harshly against her skin, the two of them sharing moans between one another even as his tip hit her deepest part. "Fuck, you're so wet. It feels so good."

"Please Lyney, give me more…" [F/N] pleaded to him, her eyes wide and glistening with pleasure as she leaned back for an instance. At that point she was once more leaning back against the rest of his vanity, granting him access to pound as deeply as his heart desired. The mere sight of her in such a way was enough for him to derail. 

"Archons, anything for you [F/N]." The magician grunted, his hands leaving her knees as his lips latched onto her own. 

By her own she was able to open her legs as widely as possible, the hem of her dress covering everything from the mid-thigh up as her hands were far too busy around his body. They wrapped around him tightly, effectively caging Lyney in between her much to his contentment. His own hands were busy holding her as close as possible, resting on her hips securely as to not knock her or anything else out, the items on his furniture tumbling slightly with every thrust he pounded into her needy core. With each time he bottomed out Lyney reached deeper, the tip of his cock effectively kissing her cervix as he molded her walls to his shape. He drank her every moan as if he worshiped all sounds she offered, his lips sucking on her tongue in such a lewd manner that he couldn't help but grin over how she squeezed him harder over it. 

"Hyaahhhh, Hinhey…" [F/N] attempted to moan his name out, her puffy lips parted as his own toyed with her tongue to his pleasure. 

He could feel the way she was milking him dry, her juices thoroughly coating his cock generously as her pussy practically praised and outright worshiped him. Her walls throbbed deliriously, sending him closer and closer to his edge as he fucked her through what he very well knew was her approaching orgasm. 

"Is my baby- Close?" He leaned back to speak, humming quietly while licking his own lips eagerly. He watched as she nodded her head quickly, her fingers combing through his hair slowly, deeply. Just how he loved it. "Here, cum for me will you? You can take me like this as you do, right baby?"

[F/N] bit her lip, nodding her head again. She watched how one of his hands left her hips, holding it up for her to take it. His girlfriend took it without thinking twice, their fingers lacing together before Lyney held them against his mirror, his pace quickening up. Once more he glued his lips to hers, never quite truly satisfied with her kisses just as much as he never quite got enough of her pussy. Her breath against him grew ragged, her moans growing ever louder, all while trying to suppress them in what he could only find the cutest whines. He bent her more, held her tighter, he pounded deeper into her. He could feel her moans vibrate against his mouth before she finally gasped, a high pitched sob being all she could muster before her inner walls violently spasmed around him, creaming his cock bountifully as she rode her high. Even still, just as he'd asked her to, Lyney continued to thrust, still as deeply albeit slower, letting her savor her release just as he quickly followed with his closing one. 

"Gyah, L-Lyney-!" [F/N] moaned against him, he in turn shushed her in understanding. "Mmm, t-to much!"

"I'm so close baby, so close…" He whispered, his thrusts a little less rhythmic as he tried to focus. His eyes opened to gaze deeply into hers, the sight of her red cheeks and unfocused eyes only edging him further deep into the abyss of pleasure. "Can you please take it just a little more? Just like this…”

“Mhm…” She eagerly nodded her head, the tears of overstimulation streaming down her face sending a long shiver down his spine. His free hand came to rest upon the side of her face, thumb clearing the tears away as his grip on her other hand tightened. “I-Inside, please.”

He bit his tongue gently as he smiled, nodding his head before pulling her head closer for a deep kiss. “Anything for my lovely lady.”

Against him she moaned, him in unison as he felt the knot deep inside himself finally snap. Lyney felt his eyes shut, a deep low grunt leaving his throat before he finally felt his release wash over him. He thrusted deeper still, his pace finally slowing down as thick ropes of seed flooded over [F/N]’s inner walls. Her womb was eager to receive the abundant load, being painted white from inside out as it overflowed whilst he still remained sheathed inside. Whilst their fingers were still locked she brought him closer, holding him tightly as her body shivered with the overstimulation. Lyney could feel his breath finally begin to slow down, a few final slow thrusts of his hips following as he moaned quietly, ensuring he was milked for all he was worth. He held his [F/N] close, as close as possible, their bodies finally relaxing as they rested atop his vanity, her body welcoming him closer as his seed leaked down and dropped onto the ground.

Even as she still regulated her breath, lips puffy and red and mascara slightly smudged from the sweat and tears, Lyney lunged forward, capturing her lips for the millionth time. Never satiated, like the greedy man he was at heart, he smiled against her as he enveloped her closer, relishing a moment longer. The silence that followed felt comforting, the two of them sighing in bliss as he felt her arms around his figure. 

“Sorry… It must’ve been uncomfortable to sit like that, on such a surface.” He stated, eyebrows furrowing softly as his thumbs cleared her smudged makeup as much as he could. Lyney dared not move, still not even wanting to pull out. It wasn’t as though he could anyway, for the way [F/N]’s legs captured him definitely sent a message for him to stay a little longer.

“Mhm, it’s fine… I enjoyed it all the same.” She smiled sheepishly, relishing in his soft touches as she in turn rearranged his side swept bangs. 

“I’m glad.” He sighed in relief, the pair too engrossed into one another to even notice how some bottles had tumbled over amidst their frolicking. “Still, next time I’ll be sure to make up for it, for all of it.”

“Lyney, truly it’s fine!” [F/N] laughed softly, finally opening her legs for him to move more freely. She watched in amusement how her boyfriend coughed softly upon noticing how heavy she leaked, rummaging through the room to find a towel he could dampen to help clean up. “Sorry… We might’ve taken too long, no?”

“Hey, if anything it’s my fault… It’s what I get for being so greedy.” He reassured her with a sincere smile, carefully helping her to clean up before dressing her back up. [F/N] watched as he fanned his face with his hand, the blush on his face still evident as she helped him dress up as well, a snicker escaping her pretty lips at the sight. 

“Well… I still… Very much enjoyed it.” [F/N] reiterated, her voice low as she helped him button up his undershirt. His smile was difficult to ignore, especially so as she helped him retrace the tear he would always paint on his right cheek. 

“...I did, too.” He pulled her closer by the waist, smiling in a devilish, albeit inoffensive manner. He pulled her closer, stealing a deeper kiss as he relished on the taste of her lips, hoping to steal some of her chapstick for himself so he could taste it all throughout his performance. As he pulled away, he whispered quietly to her, fingers playing with the end of her hair. “...Maybe next time we do this, I can have you turned to my mirror. The faces you make are simply delicious, my dear.”

The way [F/N]’s face turned to utter surprise was enough of a reaction, the magician following with a sneaky laugh as he pinched her behind as the cherry on top. In turn, his girlfriend gently slapped his arm, huffing as her cheeks turned bright red, his laughter becoming louder as a result.

“Lyney!” She groaned, nearly turning around from him in embarrassment.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry baby! Mostly.” He chuckled, embracing her before kissing her cheek with the usual level of endearment that was solely reserved for her. 

“Hmph…” She pouted, though both knew it wasn’t something to last long. “...Good luck on your show, honey.”

“After this? It’ll be the best show yet…” He in turn whispered, his forehead resting against her head as they quieted down. “I’ll see you after?”

“I’ll be waiting here.” [F/N] smiled softly, them embracing one another before finally deciding to part.

Well, Lyney had always been energetic in his performances, yet there seemed to be an improvement on that particular one. True to his word, that performance definitely did do amazingly well, becoming the talk of the following weeks.

All thanks to his lucky charm.

[eilaafterhours]

Me Plus You Equals Two [Sylus]

Content: Smut, Biting, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Established Relationship, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None (AFAB)

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

Remember: I’ll block you if I catch your ageless or under age (not 18+) ass in my activity! 1800 blocked and counting :)

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

Just because you were no longer sick, didn’t mean that you were ready for such a…physical activity. You really couldn’t complain when you did invite him in. 

Your hands had found purchase in his hair, as he attached himself to your neck, slowly working his way down. 

“You know…you’ve got a bad oral fixation—fu-ah…” 

He hummed, kissing the spot he had just marked. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

You rolled your eyes, playing into his game. “You bite my hand every chance you get.” 

“I don’t think that accounts for anything…” He finally had made his way down to your breast. “But I suppose I’ll make your assumptions a reality.” 

He wasn’t as nice as he was, your neck to your breast. He attacked it, marked one up nice as well, while giving the other one a good message before its reckoning. All you could do is writhe in his embrace, letting him indulge himself. 

Honestly, having your chest fondled didn’t usually do it for you. Nor did having someone leave trails of their saliva across your skin, but for some reason with Sylus, you’d never fault more aroused. 

And he obviously had noticed because as you were beginning to reach your peak, he pulled away. 

You pouted, huffing at him. “Really?”

“Were you really going to come without me? Sweetie, I’m hurt.” But then he smirked, “But I supposed we’ll just have to work more on your stamina later. For now, I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

You thought foreplay would either be skipped or basically nonexistent, but once you caught sight of that monster that stood at attention between his legs, you knew that you’d need to come at least once before letting him.

But, as per usual, Sylus had other plans. Plans that of course indulged in his oral fixation. He tasted you again, and again, and again, but never once let you come. Once again, letting him all of his fill. As much as you wanted to get back at him right now, you knew that you weren’t up to it just yet. You’d be better lying in wait and striking when his guard is down. 

Oh, you were getting excited just thinking about what you’d do to him.

Sylus grabbed you by your chin, thumb brushing against your lips. “Eyes on me, sweetie. This is going to be a bit…intense.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. You were ready for him, but what you weren’t ready for was the two of your Evols to suddenly tether and amplifying everything. 

Your head flew back into the pillows, as a sharp moan was torn from your throat. Sylus was right there, whispering in your ear, messaging your thighs. However, the moment he bottom out, you yanked him away from your neck, meeting his heated gaze with your own. 

“Don’t toy with me.” 

You knew that Sylus wanted to play with you a bit more, make your orgasm as intense as possible, but that was before your Evols got involved. What was supposed to be slow, methodical pumps became rapid strokes that chase the release the both of you were desperate for. The room echoed with the sound of slapping skin and labored breath, which reached its crescendo when he hit that special spongy spot. Stars blinded you as your entire body tensed up. 

Sylus, despite being in the midst of his own release, was still balanced enough to dote on you. “There you go, sweetie. Just let go…” He leaned down, pulling you into a kiss that was softer than what you were expecting.

Once you both had caught your breath, you had resigned to asking him for a wash cloth before just flopping over, but you, once again, forgot who you were dealing with. No, instead of that, Sylus had picked you up, brought you to the bathroom, and was now running a bath.

You hummed with a smile. “You spoil me.” 

“Spoil? This is the bare minimum.” He deposited you into the tub, “I haven’t shown you true spoiling just yet.”

Once he had settled in behind you, you kissed the underside of his chin. “Oh, really? I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me.”

“Everything and more, sweetie.” 

SFW Prequel

LISTEN, HEAR ME OUT

I LISTENED TO MIDNIGHT WARMTH (at night) AND THIS MFKER PUT ME AT FUCKING ATTENTION

Anyway~

LET'S TALK ABOUT HIS ORAL FIXATION

Masterlist

[multifandom-worlds]

Party Like a Rockstar....Fuck Like a Pornstar

Genre: Almost smut? Like, smut adjacent.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: Alcohol, fairly descriptive talk of sex, mild derogatory language

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x reader x Theodore Nott

Authors Note: This is my first fic for this fandom. Probably pretty out of character for them. Please let me know if there is anything I missed, anything I should do differently next time, etc. Thanks for reading!

“I don’t understand why they prefer to spend time with her rather than with us?”

You listened to a group of random Slytherin 5th years as they fawned over Theodore and Matthew, watching them at their Quidditch game against Gryffindor. You were used to other students wanting your boys, even though the three of you did not keep your relationship with each other a secret. It just came with the territory—you had two of the hottest Slytherin boys wrapped around your finger, doing whatever you asked of them as the obedient little dogs they really were. 

“Look at her, seriously? Look at all the hickeys on her neck. She’s so trashy!”You chuckle to yourself, stretching out in the bleachers and enjoying the sun on your face. If only they knew how you got those hickeys, how fuck drunk you were on their cocks just the night before as they ruined you, leaving you a dripping, overstimulated mess on Theo’s bed. If only they knew how you had Theo whimpering,  begging to be touched while you rode Mattheo’s face. 

You watch, along with the other fangirls, as they fly around overhead, watching their muscles contract. You press your thighs together, feeling heat start to grow between them—they were losing, and you knew whenever they lost, especially to Gryffindor, they would be angry and take all that pent-up emotion out of you. Not that you mind, you had no issues being their little fuck toy, mainly because they would shower you with praise once they felt better. 

While you were daydreaming, Slytherin had caught the snitch and won the game. The entire Slytherin bleachers erupted into hoots and hollers as they descended on the field. “Party in the Slytherin common room!” Blaise shouted above the din. 

You watch as that gaggle of 5th years swarm Mattheo and Theodore, pressing themselves all up over them, batting their eyelashes and flirting relentlessly. 

“You played so well!”

“You looked so hot up there!”

“Come back to my dorm, and I can help…relieve those sore muscles of yours. I’m really good with my hands.”

Theo dramatically gags, hearing what they have said, causing the rest of the team to laugh. He turns his attention to the 5th year directly in front of him. “And what’s your name?”

“Lacey, Lacey Goldrun. You’re Theodore Nott! My friends are Tara, Serena, Elena and Sophia. We have been yours and Mattheos' biggest fans ever! We come to all your games and know your whole schedule, even where your dorm is!” One of them responds, her face lighting up at the fact that Theodore Nott was talking to her.

Mattheo looks at them suspiciously. “That’s stalkerish.” 

“Well, Lacey Goldrun,” Theo began, looking down at her, eyes boring a hole into her. “You must be new here because everyone knows Matt and I are spoken for, so if you dare touch me again, I will…” 

You stick your finger and thumb in your mouth, letting out a high-pitched whistle, attracting the attention of every person on the Quidditch field. Theo draws his eyes away from Lacey before he and Mattheo begin to push their way through the crowd to you. 

“Walk 'em like a dog, sis!” Lorenzo shouts as you begin to walk back to the castle.

“Walk am like a dog!” Draco echos, erupting into a fit of laughter.

Both of them roll their eyes and flip the group the bird before diligently following you back to their dorm for their after-game ritual. Most would assume they planned on bedding you, but the reality was much softer. They took turns taking a shower to clean off all the sweat before the player who scored the most points in that game got to steal you for a nap.

Theo came out of the bathroom, a towel draped around his hips, seeing you and Mattheo fast asleep on his bed. The faintest smile pulled on his lips before he kissed both your cheeks and went to get changed and go for a smoke. “He scored one more point than I did, cara mia; how is this fair?” He chuckled to himself before leaving the dorm.

You moan into his kiss as he presses his body into yours from the front. You could feel just how hard both of them were, and it was all because of you. With Mattheo’s lips on your neck, your free hand slides down between your bodies to palm Theo through his jeans. 

Hours later, the Slytherin common room was packed - drunks were flowing, music was blaring, and the party was in full swing. You were grinding against Mattheo, your arms around his neck while his hands were on your hips, holding you tight against him. “You’re so fucking perfect, mon petit coeur. This dress..” He trails off, his hands sliding down your legs, playing with the hem of your admittedly concise dress. You continue to gride on him, making eye contact with Theo, sitting a few feet away.

“Fuck, cara mia, you look so fucking good griding on him like that.” Theo groans, walking over to you and Mattheo. He grabs your cheeks in one hand, forcing you to look up at him before he claims your mouth, his hand falling from your cheeks to your throat, squeezing gently. 

“Merlin, I wish that was me,” A very drunk Lacey whines. She was trying to make it look like she was talking to her friends, but she was staring straight at the 3 of you. You pull yourself away from your boys, strolling over to her before leaning in close to whisper in her ear.

“You want to be this trashy, do you little one? You want to be so cock drunk that you don’t even know your name, and you can’t sit on your ass for weeks because of how many times their hands came down on your ass?” You give her a quick once over, clicking your tongue in disgust. “You couldn’t handle this being you; you’d break before they even got started.” 

Lacey looks at you, eyes glassy in her drunken state. You squeeze the bridge of your nose. She didn’t understand a single thing you just said to her—which is probably a good thing. You didn’t necessarily want to traumatize the poor girl. You turn to her friends, “Take her back to her dorm; make sure she stays there. I don’t want to see any of you until morning. Do you understand me?” 

The other girls nod quickly, fear prevalent on their faces as they quickly pull Lacey away, disappearing into the crowd. You walk back to Mattheo and Theo. “That was one of the hottest things I have seen you do in a long time,” Mattheo says, grabbing your ass and pulling you close, stealing the words right off your tongue. 

You hardly had a moment to breathe before Theo's nicotine-stained lips made contact with yours. Mattheo lets go of your ass, disappearing into the hordes of people. You were so lost in Theo’s kiss that it barely even registered that he was gone. 

He bites your bottom lip, pulling away every so slightly before letting it go. “If you weren’t so drunk right now..” He began, hands on your ass, “I would drag you update and fuck that mouth of yours. Matt was right; that was one of the sexiest things you have done in a while, telling people what kind of perfect slut you are for us.” 

You go to say something, but you are interrupted by a shot glass getting shoved between your tits. You know who that hand belongs to - you look up at Mattheo, fire whiskey in his hands. “Celebratory shots, Theo?” He questions, pouring the alcohol into the shot glass.

“After you,” Theo says, taking the bottle from the other boy's hand. Mattheo smirks, shoving his face between your tits, wrapping his lips around the shot glass before lifting his head up and back, downing the liquid in one swallow. He takes the glass out of his mouth before handing it to Theo.

“My turn, Cara Mia, be a good girl now, and I might reward you when you sober up,” Theo says, placing the shot glass back between your tits. He poured some fire whiskey until it was overflowing. “Whoops,” he smirks before he, too, shoves his face between your tits and takes the glass between his lip.

[ilyrafe]

𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 ✧ 𝒅. 𝒔.

pairing: drew starkey x f!reader

warnings: fluffy fluff :) this is so sweet and soft y'all might get diabetes, you've been warned!!!!

word count: 0.8k (she smol)

some would say he is whipped, but drew likes to believe he’s just infatuated.

when he wakes up and you’re not next to him, his mood is slightly ruined, just because he’s been living for morning cuddles ever since you’ve started sleeping together. having your body so deliciously warm against his is such a treat.

you’re thirty years old, grow the fuck up!, he tells himself every single time he begins to act like a schoolgirl. the simple thought of you makes him giggle.

giggle!

sleeping on your bed is much better than sleeping on his, your sheets and pillows are softer and they smell nicer, like rosemary. you have such a pretty home, everything has its place. your furniture is carefully curated as is the art spread throughout the walls. the antique furniture combines well with the modern ones, it’s like being in a little fun paradise. or drew is just in love, one of the two. every time he comes back to his boring apartment, he gets annoyed.

the curtains are closed, but he can hear the soothing sound of the rain hitting the glass windows. he never wants to leave your bed, if he’s being honest.

the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee sneaks under the tiny space between the door and the floor, letting him know what you’re up to.

drew looks at the clock on your bedside table and it marks 7:36 in the morning. it’s so early! he is not a morning person, and it seems that you are, which makes him inclined to change that about himself, as he doesn’t want to spend a minute longer away from you.

you’re so stupid, get it together!, he scolds himself.

he puts on his underwear and pants and leaves your bedroom, only to find you at the small island that separates the kitchen from the living room, eating avocado on toast and drinking coffee in the tiny silk nightgown he took off from your body last night.

a soft jazz is playing through the speakers, making it all just feel perfect. the rain, the music, the smell of fresh coffee, you.

you’re truly a sight for sore eyes.

“there you are.”

“oh, hi! good morning!” you greet him with a smile.

it’s funny how physically attached he is to you — it’s almost like your body is a magnet. his arms are immediately around your figure and he’s buried in your skin, wanting to make up for lost time.

“good morning.”

“how was your sleep?”

“it was great until you left me.”

you can’t see his face, but can certainly feel his pout.

“it’s a good thing you’re an actor. put all this drama to good use, y’know.”

he laughs, and you melt. he’s so cute and hot. he sits next to you and you silently offer a bite of your toast, holding it in front of him, and he accepts it, bringing it to his mouth.

“i made coffee, but i also have tea if you want.”

“coffee’s good.” he says as he pours himself some in the empty cup you’ve separated for him.

it’s so nice to have a quiet, slow breakfast to the sound of rain and jazz. drew likes how comfortable he feels in your space, and how comfortable you feel with him. this is still new, but it also feels like it’s been forever.

“so, what are your plans for today?” he asks before taking a sip of coffee.

“does nothing count as a plan?”

he laughs as he nods, “it absolutely does.”

he sees that you’re done with your meal and promptly takes your plate and cups to the sink. you smile, observing him from your spot — even his back is stunning. he said he’s been going to the gym and you can tell he is. with every movement of his arms, his back muscles are doing things you don’t know, but you greatly admire.

you get up from your chair and stand behind him, putting your arms around his broad figure, resting your cheek against his skin. you love the teeny tiny little freckles he has in his shoulders, even though they’re from the lack of solar protection. you’ve gone to the beach with him a couple of times and this man will not put on sunscreen to save his life.

somehow drew makes skin damage look adorably hot.

“d’you wanna watch some movies today?” you ask, hoping he says yes, because you really don’t want him to leave.

he looks behind his shoulder with a grin, “only if we don’t watch any of my work.”

“listen, it’s your fault you’re in movies i might be interested in.” you playfully argue. “but fine, we can watch something else.”

you take him to the couch and once you’re both settled in, you let him pick what you’ll watch, but in truth, you don’t really care about it, you just want to spend some more time with him before he needs to leave and spend weeks away from you.

truly, you had no idea that dating an actor would be so difficult, you didn’t anticipate that you really would be falling for him this fast and that missing him feels unbearable at times, but he makes it sweeter.

he makes it worth it.

[nochukoo97]

boyfriend drabbles (pt.29)

pairing: jungkook x oc

summary: the one where you react to jungkook’s new music video

word count: 1.6k+

a/n: ALSOO there is a little scene before oc actually reacts to his music video 🥹 sorry i just wanted to add a little scene in hehehe

boyfriend drabbles masterlist!

After a long day, you and Jungkook had ditched your initial plans to go out, both of you instead craving for a peaceful and calm ending to your long and hectic day.

The atmosphere was calming, jazz music sounding filling the silence of your apartment, Jungkook engrossed in his phone, his occasional soft hums harmonizing effortlessly with the music. He has your legs propped up on his lap, his calloused and warm hands brushing over your legs from time to time. You’re deeply concentrated on your newly found book that you had gotten at the bookstore with Jungkook recently, the illustration of a dog on the cover catching your eye.

As you continued to read, what had initially appeared as an endearing story depicting the life of a dog began to unravel before your eyes, gradually transforming into a saddening and heart-wrenching tale that struck at the very core of your emotions.

With another turn of a page, your heart begins to shatter in your chest, tears prick at your eyes, blurring your vision slightly. There was no way the dog’s ending could be this tragic. Soft sniffles escape your now trembling lips, your whole body becoming an emotional wreck to a made up story of a dog.

Jungkook immediately catches the sniffle that sounds through your apartment. Though it had been much softer than the music playing, along with the videos sounding on his phone, he immediately whips his head up, his previously calm expression now etched with concern.

His warm hand reaches out to brush away an incoming tear that threatens to roll down your cheek, Jungkook’s eyes searching your face frantically to read your emotions.

“What’s wrong?” His voice laced with concern, taking the book now scattered with your fallen tears and placing it face down on the coffee table so you won’t lose your page.

All you can muster up is a soft yet exasperated huff, lips turning into a pout as you think about the heart-wrenching plot of the book that left you momentarily speechless. You quickly raise your hands to your face, using the sleeve of your hoodie to wipe away the tears in your eyes.

“This book is so sad, Kook,” you murmur, your voice quivering with a mix of emotions. Your lips tremble slightly as you feel a sob welling up within, threatening to escape. Your gaze remains fixated on the cover of the book, where the cute illustration of the dog seems to mock your current state of distress, its joyful expression almost taunting you.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. His response is soft, giving you an understanding smile.

“Does it have a sad ending?” He asks, his fingers gently stroking your cheek.

With a sigh, you nod in confirmation, your heart still heavy. “Yeah, and I had no idea it would be so sad. If I had known, I wouldn't have started reading it,” you confess, your fingers seeking solace in the comforting feel of the hem of his shirt, seeking reassurance in this moment.

“It made me think of Bam,” You tell Jungkook, as the brown doberman whips his head up, ears perking at the mention of his name. You couldn’t help but giggle slightly at his reaction.

Jungkook fondly watches the heart-warming interaction between you and his dog, calling Bam over.

“Well, he’ll be here for a long time, and I’m pretty sure with the amount of things you spoil him with, he’ll have more than just a happy ending,” He reassures you with a playful grin, shoulder nudging you gently to coax a reaction out of you.

You weren’t going to lie, Jungkook’s efforts in making you feel better did work. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you pet Bam’s head, the dog’s tail smacking against the sofa as he happily receives all the attention and love.

-

A few hours later, you’re already feeling much better, the previous events slowly escaping from your mind. As you stand next to Jungkook, peering as he gently places the uncooked noodles into the boiling water in the pot, it provides you a sense of warmth.

It’s these domestic yet comforting moments you shared with him that made your relationship so significant to you. For such normal and almost boring tasks to suddenly be a moment of happiness and warmth for you, simply because Jungkook was there.

The familiar smell of ramyeon fills the kitchen, coaxing an involuntary groan from your lips as your mouth waters at the thought of the good food you were about to eat. Jungkook turns to smile amusingly at you, watching as you begin to fiddle with the packets to add, reading the packaging and trying to decipher the words on there.

“Does this say cheese?” You question, pointing to the korean words illustrated on the packet. Jungkook immediately lights up, eyes widening in surprise as he quickly affirms to you, “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“You told me some of the Korean alphabet the other day, remember? I couldn’t remember everything so I just took a wild guess with some of the letters,” You laugh, placing the packet down as you peer up at him.

Jungkook nods, proudly smiling as he continues to stir the noodles that were now cooked. He lets you add the seasoning packets, occasionally stirring with his chopsticks to mix the powder with the noodles.

You shuffle around the apartment to set up the coffee table, placing down two placemats and an extra pair of chopsticks for yourself, as you wait patiently for your boyfriend to bring over the pot of ramyeon.

The evening slowly unfolds as you and Jungkook begin to eat the ramyeon, but an idea strikes your mind. “Can I watch your music video? I haven’t had the chance to see it yet,”

His face lights up with a mixture of excitement and pride, eagerly nodding in agreement as he quickly grabs the remote to turn the TV on. The wide screen flicks to life, illuminating the room as it casts a soft glow.

Jungkook seizes the opportunity to tease you a little, flashing a mischievous grin as he finds the music video. “Get ready,” He turns to you for a split second to watch your reaction, “because I’m reallyyyy sexy in this one,”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his sudden playfulness, shaking your head as he laughs at your reaction.

“1, 2, 3D,” You hear his whispered voice from the video, an immediate grin showing up on your face as your heart swells with pride.

As you continue to watch, Jungkook’s unwavering gaze remains locked on your face, his eyes flickering with anticipation as he scans your reactions. Your heart swells with pride as you watch, knowing that he had put in a ton of effort into the release of his second single.

As the lyrics flow, you nod your head softly to the beat. The phrase, “Champagne confetti~” catches your attention as you hear your boyfriend sing on screen. Your eyebrows raise at the words, a surprised smile on your face as you turn to him. “Do you even know what that means?” You tease him with affectionate banter, awaiting his reaction.

Jungkook appears caught off guard by your sudden question, a mischievous grin appears as he chuckles and retorts, “Of course I know,” His response broods with confidence as he playfully puffs out his chest, leaving you gleaming with amusement at his act.

As the music video progresses, the verse plays out Jungkook’s rhythmic tone, “Body to body to body to body,” The female back-up dancers pushing him onto a couch, you watch as your heart tingles a little.

You definitely weren’t the jealous type, but the sudden dance move caught you off guard, a surprised sound emitting from your mouth as you watched wide-eyed on the unfolding choreography.

Jungkook notices your reaction, and he can’t help but laugh at your response. His laughter fades in with the song playing watching you continue to admire your boyfriend dancing on screen. His eyes sparkle at your small yet endearing reactions, a fond smile displayed clearly on his face.

As the music video ends, the screen finally goes dark, as you turn to your boyfriend, a smile tugging at your lips as he awaits your response.

With a sigh of contentment, you grab his hand, “That was seriously amazing Kook, seriously, I’m so so proud of you,” Your words filled with admiration and affection tingles Jungkook’s heart, as he smiles fondly at you, leaning in to peck your lips.

Jungkook responds to your praise with a contented hum, his arms pulling you closer to wrap around your figure, allowing your head to rest on his chest.

With a playful glint in his eyes, he taunts you further, “But you know what baby?” He chuckles, laughter reverberating through his chest, “You haven’t seen the Tiktok I filmed during dance practice yet, that’s even crazier,”

You peer up at him, expression mixed with curiousity and amusement as you respond, “Oh really?” a teasing smile playing on your lips.

It’s safe to say you almost went feral after seeing his little act at the end of the Tiktok video.

taglist!: @imlyfie @jksgirlhere @laylasbunbunny @borahaexoxo @jklvrs-world

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.4

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy this part, here's part 3 if you've missed it.

You hesitate for a moment, fingers hovering over your phone screen before finally typing out the message to Charles.

Hey Charles, it’s Y/N. I know this might sound a bit silly, but I was invited to a party tonight for the first day of school. Since they saw me getting a ride from Arthur, they figured out I know you, and they asked me to invite you. No pressure at all, I totally understand if you have other plans or don’t want to go.

You hit send, not really expecting much. Charles is busy—always has been, always will be. Arthur, on the other hand, had already agreed to come without hesitation. He'd said he didn’t want you to go alone, insisting with a protectiveness that made you feel a bit more at ease about the evening.

You sigh, standing in front of your closet, trying to figure out what to wear. The party probably wasn’t anything too fancy, but knowing Monaco, you didn’t want to underdress either. You sift through your clothes, settling on something casual yet stylish—a dress that’s just the right balance between effortless and chic.

As you start to get ready, you catch a glimpse of your phone lighting up on the bed. You reach for it, surprised to see Charles’s name pop up on the screen.

Hey, Y/N. I’m not sure if I can make it, but I’ll try to swing by if I can.

You smile at the message, a small flutter of excitement in your chest. The fact that he even responded, let alone might come, was unexpected.

You type a quick reply: No worries at all, I totally get it. But if you can come, that’d be great!

You finish getting ready, slipping into the dress you picked out. It hugs your figure just right, and with a final glance in the mirror, you add the finishing touches—some light makeup and your favourite earrings. Just as you’re adjusting your hair, a knock sounds at your door.

When you open it, Arthur is leaning against the doorframe, dressed casually but effortlessly cool, as usual. For a moment, his breath catches as he takes you in. His eyes sweep over you, lingering a little longer than usual, and a wave of possessiveness surges inside him.

"God, she looks stunning," he thinks, jaw tightening slightly. He can't help the feeling that bubbles up every time he’s near you—the desire to keep you close, to have you all to himself. It’s more than just friendship, and he knows it. But it’s easier this way, staying in the space between, rather than risking it all by making a move.

“You look…” he starts, clearing his throat, his voice softer than usual. “You look gorgeous.”

You smile, brushing off the compliment as you grab your bag. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Arthur flashes a grin, but inside, all he can think about is how tonight, he’ll have you by his side. At least for a little while.

As you pull up to the party, you’re expecting something laid-back, a small gathering of students at someone’s house. But when you arrive, your eyes widen in surprise. The “house” in question is a massive mansion, lights twinkling, and music pulsing from inside. Cars are lined up out front, expensive ones, and you can already hear the hum of a crowd, loud and lively.

“This… is not what I was expecting,” you mutter, glancing over at Arthur, who smirks, not surprised in the least. “I should’ve known it’d be something over the top.”

Arthur chuckles, keeping his hand casually on the steering wheel, but his focus is still on you. “Welcome to Monaco parties, chérie. "

As you step out of the car, Arthur stays close, his hand gently guiding you by the small of your back. You don’t think much of it—it’s just Arthur being Arthur, always looking out for you. But as you walk through the entrance, heads turn, and you can feel people watching, murmuring as you and Arthur make your way through the crowded space.

Girls start to notice Arthur, their eyes lighting up as they recognize him. A few begin to make their way over, smiling, calling his name. You watch, amused, thinking it’s funny how much attention he gets in a place like this. But Arthur seems less entertained. His hand at your back shifts, his touch firmer, guiding you more directly through the crowd.

You don’t notice the way his jaw clenches, or the way his grip on you tightens slightly as if he’s making sure you don’t slip away. To you, it’s just Arthur being protective, the way he always is.

“You’re really popular tonight,” you say with a light laugh, not noticing the flicker of tension in his eyes as more girls try to catch his attention.

He smiles down at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s find somewhere quieter,” he says, his voice low, almost like a suggestion, but there’s a firmness to it that you don’t pick up on.

You nod, completely unaware of the possessiveness behind his actions, assuming it’s just his usual concern for your comfort. As you walk together through the party, Arthur keeps you close, his protectiveness wrapping around you like a shield.

You feel safe, never suspecting that to him, this isn’t just about keeping you safe—it’s about keeping you his.

The evening progresses, and despite the overwhelming size of the party, you find yourself having a good time. Arthur stays close by your side, making you laugh, sharing stories, and keeping you entertained. Every now and then, more people approach him, eager to talk or catch his attention, but Arthur barely engages, always redirecting the conversation back to you. It feels comfortable, easy—just like old times.

After a while, though, you feel the need for a break. “I’m going to grab a drink,” you tell Arthur over the music, gesturing toward the bar. “Be right back.”

He hesitates for a moment, as if he wants to go with you, but then nods, giving you space. “Don’t be too long, okay?” he says with a grin, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you as you walk away.

You weave through the crowd, making your way toward the bar, and when you finally reach it, you order something simple, grateful for the moment to catch your breath. As you take a sip, you turn to head back to Arthur, but suddenly, a guy steps into your path.

“Hey there,” he says, his voice slurred slightly. He’s too close, his eyes roaming over you in a way that makes you instantly uncomfortable.

You try to move around him, but he steps in front of you again, blocking your way. “Why don’t you stay and chat for a bit?” he suggests, a smirk playing on his lips.

“No, thanks,” you say firmly, trying to keep your tone polite but strong. “I’m with someone. I need to get back.”

But he doesn’t back off. Instead, he leans closer, his breath smelling of alcohol. “Come on, don’t be like that. Just a quick drink, huh?”

You take a step back, your heart starting to race as you glance around, but the crowd is thick, and no one seems to notice what’s happening. “Please, let me through,” you say, your voice more insistent now.

The guy chuckles, clearly not getting the hint. “You’re too pretty to leave alone. Come on, sweetheart, stay a little longer.”

Before you can respond, a sharp voice cuts through the noise behind you. “She said she’s not interested. Move along.”

You freeze for a moment, recognizing the voice immediately. Slowly, you turn around, and there, standing just behind you, is Charles. His expression is calm, but there’s a dangerous edge to his tone, one that leaves no room for argument.

The guy glances at Charles, clearly recognizing him, and for a second, it looks like he’s going to say something snide. But Charles steps forward, his presence commanding. “Leave,” he repeats, his eyes narrowing slightly.

The guy mumbles something under his breath before stumbling away, finally leaving you alone. You exhale, the tension in your body slowly releasing as Charles turns to you.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, his concerned eyes meeting yours.

You nod, still a little shaken but grateful. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks… I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Charles smiles slightly, but there’s a seriousness in his gaze. “I told you I’d try to come. Seems like I showed up just in time.”

Tag list: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22, @victoriaholland, @abq654, @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @anaferreira-4, @larastark3107, @itgirlofthecenturysposts, @boherahpsody, @iamkaku, @jz12

Here's part 5

[embrosegraves]

𝔹𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℕ𝕖𝕨

(request) Mark Webber x Fem!Reader The very beginning of a brand new relationship

Warnings: None :D it's really short tho

For as long as you remember, you’ve always been a cuddly person. When you were younger people would say it was just separation anxiety because you were never very far away from your parents. But as you grew older more people seemed to understand that it was just your way to show the people around you that you loved them. However just because you were cuddle-prone didn’t mean that everyone you loved was as well. So you had scoured through books, magazines and the internet to find ways to show your love for people. 

When you first met Mark, you could tell almost instantly that he was really a hugger. Which did bum you at first, but you quickly began to love getting a fist bump or a high five when you saw him around the paddock. You thought they were extra special whenever Mark would do really well during a race. It was like your own little celebration, even if he did the same thing with his mechanics and engineers. You didn’t care, truly, because you still felt special enough to be included and that’s what mattered to you. 

You almost lost your mind when you had gone to shake his hand one morning. Instead of grabbing and shaking your hand like you had expected him to, Mark had grabbed your forearm and had begun speaking to you about making plans after the race weekend. Almost instantly you had also grasped his forearm, your hand comically smaller than his arm, and agreed to whatever plans he had just made for the two of you. He gave you a smile, patted your shoulder with his free hand and continued on walking.

You had spent the rest of your day thinking about the interaction. It wasn’t until you had gotten back to the hotel your team was in that you realised he had organised for the two of you to go for dinner. You felt a little silly that it had taken you so long to register what he had actually said to you, especially considering it had been the only thing you thought of all day. Sitting on the bed of your hotel room, you thought really hard about the actual words he had said to you. 

“I know this is probably a long shot, but I’d really like to take you to dinner Monday night.” 

He was confident, trying to hide how nervous he was. Looking back, you noticed that his usually cocky smile had looked much softer. Almost timid.

“I’d love to.” 

Thinking of how you had responded, you grew embarrassed. You had probably looked so dazed. You wouldn’t be surprised if your eyes had been glazed over. He had asked you to dinner on Monday, which gave you an entire race weekend to prepare yourself. 

It was both fortunate and unfortunate that the weekend seemed to go by so quickly. It was soon time for the race, which meant that your date was the next day. You had decided early on that you would continue as normal. Greeting everyone, including Mark, as you usually would. Fist bumps, high fives and hugs made their way around the garage as everyone prepared for the Australian Grand Prix. 

The drivers had gotten into the cars and were waiting to be rolled out to the grid. You made sure to go to Mark in his car and give a fist bump and good luck before the car got rolled away. His visor was still up, so you had gotten to see his face scrunch in a smile when you wished him luck. Everyone was excited for Mark this race, being on his home turf and all. 

Once the race began, it didn’t take long for the happy and hopeful mood in the garage to basically disappear. The race had been going relatively well for Mark, a few mistakes here and there but nothing that would drastically change his race outcome. Until of course, Lewis Hamilton’s Mercedes clipped Mark’s rear tyre causing him to spin out and retire onto the gravel. The safety car came out, the stewards ruled it a racing incident, and Mark was brought back to the pit lane in the marshall’s car. 

When Mark got back to the garage, he was brought straight to a debrief before finally leaving to his driver’s room. You had followed him to his room and quietly entered behind him. He hadn’t even acknowledged that you were in the room until he had sat on the small sofa and you had walked over to him. You knew  that he normally wasn’t a hugger, but you felt like the circumstances called for one so you gently wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, slightly bewildered. 

“I’m giving you affection. You need it.” If you were honest, a small part of you expected him to remove himself from your embrace. 

“Disgusting-” He paused, it seemed like he was contemplating the hug, before finally, “Do it more.” 

This made you laugh a bit, but you complied nonetheless. You squeezed him again and this time you also placed a kiss on the top of his head. When you felt his arms reach up and wrap around you, you spoke. 

“You better get used to me giving you affection if we’re going to dinner tomorrow.” 

“I think I can do that.” He laughed. 

You laughed as well. “Good. Because you won’t be able to escape it.”

I like this one a lot and I feel kinda bad that it was sitting in my drafts for so long

So here it is!

likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen**

Ezra part two

Ezra’s chapter finished second in the poll about who should return to the bakery, and it made me so happy. I'd never written Ezra before and he was a challenge! But the story came together well with the help of his language and personality. But it was also sadder than I planned it to be, and I really wanted to revisit him and continue the story. So please enjoy part two!

(I'm editing and posting this in slightly more unconventional circumstances, so please excuse any errors!)

With a sigh you lock the front door of the bakery and flip the ‘Closed’ sign to face outwards. It had been a long weekend, lots of customers, and not all of them very polite. And to make matters worse, your shop assistant, the high schooler who’d worked extra on weekends, had been accepted at the last minute into their first college of choice and this was your first weekend without them. You’re exhausted and looking forward to your day off tomorrow.

The knock on the back door makes you jump just as you turn off the lights in the shop. Cautiously you walk to the back room and stop by the door.

“Hello?”

“It-it’s me, Ezra,” comes a muffled voice in a stutter from the outside, “P-please…I..”

You don’t need to hear more, you rush to the door and unlock it, throwing it open and the man on the other side almost loses his balance, propped up against the door frame. His appearance makes you gasp, reaching out to steady him as he wobbles. The stark blonde patch in his hair is plastered against his forehead, stained with blood from the cut just above his eyebrow, another cut marks his cheekbone, a bruise already blooming around it. From the way he’s curled his arm around his torso, you can tell something’s hurting his chest.

“Ezra, what happened?” you wince, helping him to step through the door, his face twisting in pain as he puts weight on his left foot.

He only grunts in response to your question, inhaling sharply as you carefully try to take his weight.

“Lean on me, let’s get you to the chair, I’ll call an ambulance, it’ll be ok,” you say, making him lean on you as much as you can as he hobbles into the kitchen and sinks down on the chair with a groan.

“No, no ambulance, I am not that badly off,” he says, shaking his head as you pull over the stool on wheels and make him put his injured leg up onto it.

“What happened, Ezra?” you ask again, sinking down to get a better look at him. He’s pale under his golden complexion, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

“It’s nothing, no matter, I just need to-,” he says, but even as he says it, he closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose, his hand tightening over his chest.

“Ezra,” you implore again, putting your hand on his uninjured leg, “you’ve turned up, injured and bloody, weeks after you disappeared, and you try to tell me it’s nothing? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

With that he peels his eyes open and looks down at you, and the pain in his eyes almost makes your heart stop.

“Ezra…” you implore again, softer this time, “be honest with me, I want to help, you know that.”

“I’m…I’m ashamed…” he whispers, his eyes falling to your hand on his leg, “you know what I am. I know I left you without explanation last time, after you were so kind to me. And here I am, needing your help again, because I have no one else to turn to.”

“Just tell me what happened, please, Ezra,” you say, “let me help.”

“I…I’ve…some men…” he begins, his eyes still on your hand on his leg, “I’d fallen asleep on the bus stop bench, and some men seemed to take offense,” he looks up at you, and you’re suddenly reminded of the mask Ezra is so skilled at pulling up over his true face, it’s firmly in place now, his hesitancy gone as he picks his words.

“They decided to make me leave by shoving me off the bench, and I twisted my ankle as I fell. When I couldn’t get up they roughed me up, threw me in a dumpster when they were done. I hurt my side trying to get out of it, fell badly when my foot gave up,” he gives you a humorless laugh, “Turns out climbing out of a dumpster with only one good arm and leg is rather tricky.”

“Ezra…that’s terrible, we need to get you to the ER, they need to check your chest, you may have broken ribs,” you make to stand up but his hand comes out and grabs yours before it leaves his leg.

“No, please, no, it’s not necessary,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I just need to clean the cuts and, if you have one, a bandage for my ankle so that I can at least stand on it while I make my way home.”

“You need to get your ribs checked, Ezra,” you reply, not taking a no from him, “and you might need stitches on the cut over your eye, it looks deep. Please,” you add as you see him shake his head again.

“Sweet girl, I can’t, please just let me get cleaned up and I’ll leave, I won’t impose on you again.”

“Ezra, you’re not imposing, except with your stubbornness, I’m taking you to the ER and that’s it. I’m not letting you leave without getting looked at by a professional.” You pull your hand from his and reach for your coat and he gives a forced little chuckle, smiling without mirth, his hand coming up as if to make a dismissive gesture in the air, but you stop him. .

“And don’t try that act with me, Ezra, I spent enough time with you last time to know when you’re lying, either to protect yourself or me.”

His hand falls back down, his shoulders slumping, “Your eagerness to help does you credit, but you don’t understand,” he says as you shrug into your coat.

He’s shaking his head, staring down at his solitary hand, picking at a fleck of blood on his stained pants, and you wait for him to press out the words. His words failing him in a way that is so far from his usual unstoppable stream that it makes you stop and look down at him with even more concern as he continues to pick at the blood.

“I…I simply don’t…I don’t have the…means, I just…can’t pay it,” he stutters, clenching his fist tight, his voice defeated, “I have no insurance…I don’t even have a valid driver’s license, they will not even let me in…” He doesn’t meet your eyes as you move closer to him, but he shakes his head again, his shoulders lifting up to his ears as the tension builds in his body, “No address.”

You sink down in front of the chair, taking his hand, stilling it against his leg, unraveling his fist as he sighs again.

“I’m as homeless as an alley cat, you see, sweet girl. I’m ashamed to say I have nothing, nothing to my name.” His voice is low, eyes downcast, and he doesn’t take your hand even though you wrap your fingers around it.

“I guessed,” you say, your voice low, trying to make him meet your eyes, “But you still need help, and I can take you to the clinic down by the church. They can check you out and get you more help, free if you need it,” you give his hand a squeeze, “Please, Ezra,” you implore, “let me help.”

You sit quietly next to the chair for a few seconds while Ezra seems to fight something inside him, his jaw ticking with the tension. With a small grunt, he finally gives you a short nod, his shoulders sinking down again, “You’re too good for this world, sweet girl,” he mutters, taking your hand properly and letting you help him to his feet.

“Not at all,” you reply, getting him to put his arm over your shoulder as you help him limp to the back door again, “but you’re my friend, and you need help whether you want to accept it or not. And I can be a lot more pigheaded than you.” The last you say with a smile in your voice as you help him down the back stairs. And it gets a small chuckle out of him before he winces at the pain.

You get him to sit in the back seat, his injured leg elevated as he grumbles about getting dirt in your car. Rolling your eyes in response, you strap yourself in and reverse out. Ezra shifts in the back, trying to get comfortable, in the rear view mirror you see him gently touch the cut over his eye that’s still bleeding.

“Would you recognise the men who did it?” you ask, looking back at the road.

“Maybe, but I’m not talking to the police,” Ezra replies, guessing what you’re thinking, “They don’t care about someone like me, I’m more likely to get into trouble for bringing their attention to my lack of address.”

“I was just thinking, maybe they make a habit of it, attacking sleeping people, they should be stopped.”

“Not by me, sweet girl, I don’t have enough fight left in me for that.”

You glance back at Ezra again, he never sounded so defeated the last time you saw him, and now he’s leaning his head against the window, staring into nothing, looking utterly forlorn.

Letting the subject rest, you drive in silence the rest of the short way to the clinic.

A nurse comes over as she spots you and Ezra coming through the door and soon he’s been told to lie back on a stretcher while you hover awkwardly nearby.

“Do you want me to wait outside?” you ask him as the nurse leaves to find the doctor on call for the evening.

“Only if you wish to,” he says, dropping his head back on the pillow and staring at the ceiling, “thank you for escorting me, but it’s not necessary to wait, I can manage on my own now. You should go home.”

“Ezra,” you hiss, keeping your voice low in the open room, only curtains separating his bed from his neighbors, “quit being such a pigheaded martyr, you’re such an idiot.”

His eyes snap to yours when he hears your anger, and you continue, “If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t have opened the door in the first place, and I certainly wouldn’t have cried for a week after you disappeared the last time.”

His eyes widen at this and he opens his mouth to say something but you don’t let him.

“I’m staying. And you’re coming home with me when we’re done here. No arguments, so you can just hold that clever tongue of yours.”

Ezra closes his mouth and opens it again, meeting your glare with astonished eyes as he fumbles for a reply. But before he has time to compose himself, the curtain around the bed is pulled to the side and the doctor appears, followed by the nurse.

Ezra doesn’t protest any more as the doctor treats him. With a small bag of over the counter painkillers in your hand, and a crutch under his one arm, he slowly follows you back to the car without a word. Luckily no fractured rib, but a sprained ankle and a few strips of surgical tape over his two cuts is the tally of the beating, and you’re grateful it’s not worse. You’re even more grateful Ezra found his way back to you for help. You’ll be damned if you’ll let him go back to the streets, even if you have to shackle him to a radiator in your house. Ezra seems to realize this, and doesn’t say anything as you stop at a supermarket on the way home, and return to the car with a toothbrush and various other supplies he might need for his stay with you.

He doesn’t speak until you’ve closed the door behind the both of you and he’s hobbled into your living room. You put the painkillers on the coffee table and turn to help him sink down on the couch.

“Thank you. Truly,” he says, as you put a cushion under his leg, propping it up on the low table.

“Don’t fight it so much next time,” you tell him, “people are nice sometimes.” Straightening up you change the subject as your stomach rumbles, the time for talking is later, “Are you hungry?”

He nods, “Very.”

“I’ve got some leftover pasta sauce and bread, I’ll heat it up for us,” you say, leaving him on the couch. But it doesn’t take long before you hear him hobble after you into the kitchen, sitting down on one of the stools by the island.

“I apologize,” he says, “I was ashamed of showing you how pitiful my life is, both when we met last time, and today. I…I find it hard to accept help, I don’t want to burden anyone with my plight, it was my own foolishness who brought me to this low point. I should carry the consequences of my actions and not burden you with them.”

“Ezra…” you say softly, trying to keep any trace of pity out of your voice, “we all make bad choices, or just have a run of bad luck. Maybe next time I’m the one who needs help, and I hope someone is willing to give it then.”

He nods, but he still looks forlorn and you ache to put your arms around him, but you think he might see it as pity, so you give him a smile, and turn back to the stove.

“You should go back to the couch, Ezra,” you say, “put your leg up again, like the doctor said. I’ll bring you your food.”

“Will you join me on the couch for dinner?” he asks and it’s your turn to nod.

“Of course, I’m starving. Get comfortable, pick something to watch and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

When you return to the living room with two plates, Ezra has propped his leg up again and readily accepts a plate from you. Some nature documentary is playing on the tv and you gratefully sink down on your end of the couch and dig in. Ezra balances his plate on his lap and from the corner of your eye you can see him struggling with twisting the spaghetti onto his fork with his left hand. His eyebrows are pulled together in frustration and the fork clinks angrily against the plate.

You set down your own fork and leave for the kitchen, returning with a tray on legs, for having breakfast in bed.

“Here,” you say, putting it down and placing his plate on it, “Ask for help, Ezra.”

He gives you an indecipherable look, but you just return to your own plate, your attention on the rainforest birds on the tv.

“Thank you,” he says after a minute, looking over at you.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, giving him a quick smile that he returns, the first smile you’ve seen from him since he arrived back at the bakery.

The rest of the evening passes in companionable silence for the most part. You want to ask Ezra about where he’s been since you last saw him, how he’s been. You know why he didn’t return to the bakery, the other shop owners on the street certainly made it known that they didn’t trust him, and didn’t want him near. And you see now, even more clearly, how little value even Ezra places on himself.

I have nothing to give to anyone.

That’s what he’d written in his note to you, the day after his first visit. And it echoes in the back of your mind as you go over the events of the evening, stealing looks at Ezra sitting in the other corner of your couch.

He came back to the bakery when he was injured, but it seems even that had been a hard task for him, to ask for help, and then very reluctantly accepting it. He’d told you he lost his arm in a mining accident, but you don’t know if that was the true story or not. But whatever the truth is, you’re starting to understand the strange dark haired man with the odd blonde patch, a little bit better. He must’ve been fiercely independent before he lost his arm, capable, his skill matching his sharp intellect. And strong, if the shape of his wide shoulders and broad back is anything to go by. You can still remember how his muscles flexed and bunched under your exploring hands when he’d kissed you in the kitchen, a strength that hadn’t diminished when he lost his arm.

To lose that independence, and then his home, to be reduced to relying on others for help, even with the simplest things, it could turn any person bitter. And yet, the Ezra you met in the bakery, as wary as you’d been of him at first, had been warm and passionate, tender and gentle even. The mask he’d let slip while you baked together, had revealed a man you could fall in love with, even with the circumstances of his life twisting the person he showed the world.

You give him another look, his strong profile lit by the tv, his chocolate hair and beard longer and scruffier than before, more streaks of gray and the bags under his eyes heavy. But underneath the layers of grime, the stress of his life, he’s still a handsome man, albeit a little bit dirty right now. But that’s a problem for tomorrow you decide.

With a yawn you stretch and get to your feet, picking up the plates.

“I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket,” you say, “I left a new toothbrush in the bathroom, and a clean towel.”

“I can’t stay,” he says, predictably, and you ignore him, going back to the kitchen to put the plates in the dishwasher, turning it on before you return to the living room. Ezra is standing by the couch, the crutch under his arm.

“You’re staying, Ezra,” you interrupt him before he can protest, “You’re injured, and quite frankly, you’re dirty. Sleep here tonight, wash up in the morning, and then we’ll see.”

“Sweet girl…I can’t let you…” he begins but you shake your head.

“Do you think so little of me? That you think I’d let anyone, let alone an injured friend, sleep rough on the streets?”

Ezra looks back at your raised eyebrows and challenging look.

“Well?” you ask, “Do you think I’m that kind of friend?”

“No,” he says eventually, a small, exasperated smile, softening his face, “I know you’re not that kind of friend.”

“Good. Toothbrush and towel in the bathroom, go clean up, I’ll make your bed,” you point your finger in the direction of the bathroom and give him a stern look, softened by a crooked smile that Ezra returns.

“Yes, boss,” he says, and hobbles away.

Ezra beds down on the couch and you make sure his leg is propped up by a couple of extra cushions before you retreat to your own bed. You can hear him shifting on the couch, the old thing creaking under his weight, before you drift into sleep.

A loud crash startles you from your dreams hours later, early morning light coming through your curtains, and you shoot up in bed.

“Ezra?” you call out, scrambling out of bed, wrapping your gown around you as you hurry out of your bedroom. You find him by the open front door, cursing silently as he struggles to pick up the crutch from the floor.

“You’re sneaking out,” you state, stopping as you see him straightening up, the crutch still on the floor, his hand on the wall for balance.

“I’m afraid I have to depart, a pressing matter requires my swift attention this morning,” he replies, and oh, the mask is so clearly in place, the polite, apologetic smile, hiding the real man.

“What kind of pressing matter?” you ask, “Let me get dressed and I’ll drive you,” you challenge, crossing your arms and challenging him to just fucking dare to lie to you again.

“No, I can’t let you do that,” he smiles, wider now, even more apologetic, “I must converge with a most disagreeable drifter, a small matter of business I have with him that needs to be settled, I truly do not wish you to meet him. Such a rough, uncouth-”

“Ezra…” you say, your voice a warning, as you bend to pick up the crutch, holding out of his reach. It’s a dirty trick but he won’t get far without it.

“I assure you, sweet girl, I really need to depart, it would not be fortunate for you, or your excellent business, to be seen around town with myself, or this disagreeable man. I can’t bring this misfortune down on you after you’ve treated me with such kindness,” Ezra tilts his head, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes, the ringmaster at work, using his words to bend the audience to follow his ques, to believe his illusion.

You shake your head, and lean the crutch in a corner, away from him.

“You forget, Ezra, that you’ve bared more than you maybe intended to me, and I see what you’re trying to do,” you say, moving around him and closing the front door. “Your smooth lies don’t work on me anymore, I can see that mask you pull up whenever you try to bend me to your will.”

You stop in front of him, and he wavers, the smile, almost a leer, slips from his face. Carefully, as if he’s an animal you don’t want to spook, you bring your hand to his cheek, your thumb brushing across his scruffy beard.

“Ezra…you don’t need to fight so hard. Not with me.”

The mask is gone again, his determination to oppose your will melting away faster this time, and Ezra’s eyes fill with regret as he leans his face into your hand. You seek out his, hanging limp by his side and lace your fingers together, squeezing it lightly as you let him hold on to you for balance.

“I left you a note,” he whispers, “I’m truly grateful, I didn’t want to leave again without explanation.”

“What does it say?”

He sighs, closing his eyes briefly, “Same as I said last night, I don’t want to bring you more trouble, I have nothing to give, I don’t want to be a burden. And I know what you’ll say,” he looks up at you as he hears you inhale to berate him, “You don’t think I’m a burden, that I won’t bring you trouble. But I have not lived life honestly, and the people in this community know me as a trickster who cons them. It can only bring you trouble if they see you with me.”

“Have you stolen from them?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not from them, no. But I have stolen in the past, and not only what I needed of food and clothes. And I conned them, used their good hearts against them, they will not pardon me and see me as favorably as you do, sweet girl.”

You caress his cheek again, “Maybe it wasn’t honest, but it’s not like you forced them to give you things, just like you didn’t force me to make you a soufflé. Even though I realize I was probably just a con to you too.”

Ezra drops his eyes from yours at that, looking away as he gives you a small nod.

“It was a con, at first, I have to admit it. I was hoping for a loaf or two of bread, maybe something sweet, but…the soufflé, it wasn’t a con, I promise.” He looks up at you again, your hand has slipped from his cheek, down to his shoulder, he’s so close you can smell the toothpaste and his unwashed clothes, the antiseptic from the bandage on his cheek and forehead. You remain silent to let him continue, to see if his mask comes up again, or if he tells the truth this time.

“I told you that you captivated me, and that’s the truth, I was watching you the first day I came into the shop, you were decorating a cake, your concentration palpable, you were clearly very skilled. And knew if I conned you, I couldn’t come back, so I bought a croissant…and I left.” Ezra gives you a small smile at the memory, “You wouldn’t even know, but that croissant…it bound me to you, it was that perfect. I couldn’t help but keep going back, to watch you work, to taste more of what you’d made. And then you noticed me, and I should’ve left, but it was too late, I had already made a plan to trick you, another kind of trick.”

“What kind of trick, Ezra?” you ask and he gives you the smallest of chuckles.

“The kind that let me spend more time with you, to let me be seen as something else than the sad, homeless drifter my life has turned me into.”

He sighs, letting go of your hand to drag his rough palm over his face, rubbing at his eyes, “I’ve thought since that perhaps it was the worst of ideas, that I tricked myself more than you. I let myself step into a bubble of what could’ve been, if I had been a very different man, build a fantasy in my head where you…never mind,” he cuts himself off, leaning on the wall for balance as you seek out his hand again, “I never conned you, and I wish things were very different.”

“Ezra, I missed you when you left, and I was hurt and confused by your note and what other people said about you,” you say, taking his hand in both of yours, “but I trust you, even if you don’t believe me, I trust you. And I want you to stay, at least until you’re better, please stay this time.”

“But your neighbors, your shop…” he begins and you step forward, pressing your lips to his, silencing him. He holds himself rigid for a beat, before you feel his lips part with a soft hum.

“Fuck ‘em,” you whisper against him, “Please, Ezra, just be selfish with me.”

You don’t let him answer, but you feel his arm move, circle around your waist and you take it as a capitulation as he pulls you a little bit closer.

The kiss doesn’t last long, just a mark to pick up where you left off the last time in the bakery. Instead you pull back from him after a little while, retrieve the crutch and lead him back to the living room. The note, Ezra’s lopsided, left handed scribble on it, sits on the coffee table next to his makeshift bed.

“Do I need to read it?” you ask and he shakes his head, taking the paper and crumpling it.

“No, I’ll stay, at least until you bid me to leave.”

“Not while you limp, you’re stuck with me for a while, con man.” The last part you say with a wink, teasing him, and you’re rewarded by the dimple appearing on his cheek as he smiles, his face transforming.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be stuck, sweet girl,” he winks back.

The morning passes easily, now that he’s decided not to leave as soon as you give him a chance. You make breakfast, stacking the bacon high on his plate, an extra fried egg with the bread and mushrooms, three sausages on the side and a large glass of orange juice.

“Sweet girl, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you stopped me from leaving just to give me a heart attack instead,” Ezra says, eyes bulging as you set the plates down on the coffee table in front of him.

“No offense, but you look like you haven’t been eating that well. Let me spoil you while I can,” you reply, sitting down in front of your own, smaller, serving.

"You’re not mistaken, and no offense taken, it has been a few arduous months,” he says while cutting into the food, humming in satisfaction as the yolk smears the bread. It’s the last you hear from him for a while, the food takes all his attention as he works his way the whole plate, even the extra mushrooms and bacon you slide over. Eventually he leans back, balancing a fresh mug of coffee on his belly, letting out a deep sigh.

“I fear I may burst if I eat another bite,” he huffs, his little tummy expanding as he takes a deep breath, “As usual, you’re too good to me, cream puff.”

“I told you, enough with the baking related pet names,” you laugh, leaning back with your own coffee. “I think we agreed on ‘honey’ last time, but I like ‘sweet girl’ too.”

“Sweet as honey,” Ezra smiles, “such a delectable name for the most captivating of women, for someone with such compassion for the most miserable, unfortunate man. Although…” he tilts his head so that he can look over at where you’re curled up on the couch, “perhaps I’m not so unfortunate, I count myself the luckiest man to have wandered into your particular bakery and then even to be allowed to call you ‘friend’.” His smile is soft, “How did a wretch like me stumble into such fortune?”

“There is that charmer that stole my heart,” you smile back at him, “I’ve missed you, Ezra.”

“I did not want to leave you last time, but you understand now why I told you the illusion had to break?” He puts his mug on the table and takes your hand across the couch as you scooch closer to him.

“I understand, but I hope you know now, that you don’t have to leave, and I don’t want you too… however…” you trail off, as the smell of his unwashed clothes reaches your nose again, “you need to shower, and change…”

Ezra looks down at his clothes and frowns, “I have nothing to change into, but I do agree that these old breeches are somewhat on the smelly side. The rogues that roughed me up made off with my bag and the clothes within.”

“Ezra, you should’ve said, we could’ve bought you something yesterday,” you say, pushing off the couch and going to the hallway closet that holds your winter jackets, “I’ve got an old oversized sweatshirt, a relic from an ex, if you don’t mind?” You hold up the sweater and Ezra shrugs.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, if it fits, I will gladly wear it.”

“I’ll put your clothes in the wash,” you dig deeper in the closet, “these will probably fit, my brother’s old shorts, they’ve got paint stains from when we painted the bedroom, but they’re clean, I promise.”

Ezra accepts the clothes and retreats to the bathroom as you clear up the breakfast. You hear him run a bath, and even the satisfied groan as he sinks into it, making you smile as you load the dishwasher. But the disgruntled growl doesn’t sound good a few minutes later so you gently tap on the closed door.

“You ok, Ezra?” you ask and a grumble floats through the door as something clatters to the floor.

“I find that washing my hair, which it is in dire need of, is impossible with the way this bruise seems determined to burn a hole in my side. I can’t lift my arm high enough. And I only have one of those, as you know.”

“Can I help? Are you decent?”

“Sweet girl, I have no concerns about being decent in front of you,” he huffs, “You’ve already been privy to my very lowest state. Besides, your bubble bath really is very efficient.”

The last thing he says with a chuckle and you open the door. You’re met with Ezra laying back, no, Ezra laying back in resplendence, in your bathtub, all but covered by bubbles and a satisfied grin on his face.

“This bathtub really is a most colossal feature, I feel like I could go for a swim,” he smiles up at you as you bend to pick up the shampoo bottle from the floor.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, it’s half the reason I bought the house,” you say, sinking down behind him, “Can’t believe you got me washing your hair too, Ezra,” you mutter, but there’s no venom and Ezra hears the smile in your voice.

“I’ll repay the favor tenfold once I’m all healed up again, honey,” he says and scoots forward, giving you free access to his dark curls.

He’s like a cat, all but purring as you scrub his hair, letting your nails drag across scalp, rinsing it out once and giving it another wash. As you massage his head he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, you’re certain he’ll start snoring any second, and you gently tap his shoulder for him to sit up for a second rinse.

“Conditioner, sir?” you ask him with a teasing tone, as he moans.

Ezra opens one eye and looks up at you, “Are you mocking me, baker girl?”

“Only your obvious attraction to the skill of my hands, your moans are loud enough for the neighbors to hear.”

“Oh, I’ve always been attracted to the skill of your hands, in more ways than one, and I’m sure I can think of other uses for them too,” he winks and closes his eye again, leaving you with burning cheeks as his double entendre makes heat rise in your body.

As you rinse the conditioner from his hair you brush it back from his forehead, running your fingers through the blonde patch, stark white now that it’s properly clean. On impulse you bend down and place a kiss to it as you move to get up.

“All done, sir, enjoy the rest of your bath now.”

His hand comes up and grabs your wrist, surprisingly fast for someone right handed using their left, and he pulls you back down.

“Thank you,” he says in a low voice, bringing you close enough for him to reach up and return your kiss, warm lips pressed against yours for a moment.

“Anytime, Ezra,” you reply when he pulls back a little, your voice barely a whisper. You lock eyes for a few seconds, Ezra’s chocolate brown darkening as he rubs his thumb over the thin skin of your wrist.

“Anytime, sweet girl,” he whispers back and lets you go.

You feel unsteady as you leave the bathroom, slowly letting out a long exhale as you go back to the living room, aimlessly tidying, moving three books from one end of the room and back again twice before you realize what you’re doing and give up. Slumping down on the couch you turn back to the nature documentary from last night and try to zone out, but it’s no use. As you hear Ezra come out of the bathroom you shoot up from the couch and head to the kitchen, doing what you always do to calm your mind; bake.

The rest of the day passes without any more heated moments between the two of you. Ezra rests his ankle and you feed him, he complains that he can’t help you in any way, but you shush him and prop an extra cushion under his leg. From the corner of your eye, you see the soft smile he gives you as you turn back to the kitchen.

When it’s time for dinner you join him on the couch for the Great British Bake Off, a show Ezra is well familiar with but he’s missed most of the past seasons so the evening ends with you going back through the seasons and starting over. Before you know it, you’re lying down, your toes tucked in under Ezra’s warm leg while he absentmindedly strokes small circles on your calf. The whole scene is so domestic, he looks calm, more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. His whole face transforms as he laughs at the tv, looking over at you to see if you’re laughing too. And you are, but mostly because it feels good to see Ezra so comfortable and content.

When it’s time for bed, you scoot over and kiss his scruffy cheek, smelling your shampoo on him.

“Sleep tight, Ezra,” you mumble, relishing the soft touch of his beard against your lips.

“Sweet dreams, sweet girl,” he mumbles back, giving your leg an extra squeeze, “Do you want me to leave in the morning?”

“Not even a little bit, stay.”

“Then I won’t attempt to slip out unnoticed again,” he says, a crooked little smile at you as you straighten up.

“Please don’t, waking up when something goes bang in the night is not my favorite way of waking up,” you say, “Night, Ezra.”

He does stay, the next day and the next and the one after that. You go back to the bakery on the second day, leaving Ezra sleeping on the couch and come back to find him making dinner, wobbling one foot, chopping a stubborn onion with his left hand. The next day he’s done all the dishes and made your kitchen spotless. You berate him for not resting his ankle but he just shrugs and smiles, his soft southern lilt becoming more pronounced as he tries to charm you into believing that his foot is all better now. When you scold him, he gives you the most insincere puppy eyes, mischief lurking just under the surface until you crack and smack his arm and laugh at him. You almost kiss him, his infectious chuckle, the way his dimple appears as his eyes crinkle. The evenings end like the ones before, tucked in on the couch with The Great British Bake Off, but on the third evening you yawn widely and he pulls you in, his strength no match for yours.

“Rest your weary head on my leg, sweet girl,” he says, putting a cushion propped up against his thigh, “don’t stay so far away.”

You do as he says, and he pulls the quilt down over you and rests his hand on your arm. His slow movements, calloused fingers softly gliding up and down over the quilt, lulls you to sleep and it’s not until Ezra gently shakes you, that you blink awake to the end of the episode, and you stumble to bed after kissing his cheek.

The next day you come home to find Ezra packed up, what little he has, in a plastic bag by the door.

“I reckon I’ve imposed on you long enough, sweet girl,” he says as you question him, “I still limp, but I can walk now.”

“You’re not imposing, Ez, you know that,” you reply, putting down your shopping and stopping in front of him on the couch as he gets to his feet, “I want you to stay for as long as you want.”

He is moving a lot better, you can’t deny that, but the cuts and the bruises are still visible on his cheek and forehead. The bigger bruise on his torso has faded into yellows and greens and doesn’t seem to pain him anymore.

“And besides, where would you go?” you ask. You don’t want to be unkind, but pointing out the obvious flaw in his plan of just leaving seems logical. “Stay here at least until you have a place of your own, you know I won’t let you leave just to sleep in a shelter or in a car.”

“Sweet girl, how long would that endeavor not take me? I have no employment, no money to my name, and without it, I have no choice but to find improvised shelter. And finding a job without an address is not easy, finding a job for a one-armed man? Impossible.” He shakes his head and moves around you, “No, I’d rather leave now, and leave you missing my company than stay and have you tire of my disagreeable old face.”

As he limps towards the front door you feel the slow gears of your brain working until it clicks into place.

“Ezra! I have a job for you!”

He turns and looks back at you, a pitiful smile as he shakes his head.

“Do not make up a job for me. Your kind heart does you credit but I won’t accept any more charity from you, sweet girl.”

“It’s not a made up job, Ezra, I need help at the bakery,” you say, “The high school student who worked extra left for college last week, this weekend was my first without them and I hardly got any baking done. I can’t manage the bakery and the shop at the same time, especially not since I'm going into peak season with weddings and graduations. I need someone to work in the shop and you could do that, even one handed I’m sure.”

“I fear it would not do your business any good to have me at the front of your shop, or do you forget how I conned my way around the last time?” Ezra shakes his head again, turning towards the door to pick up his sad bag of belongings.

“And if there’s anyone who can charm his way back into their good books, it’s you!” you protest, yanking the bag out of his hand. “I need someone who can start tomorrow, someone who understands baking and the things I make, and who is as passionate about it as I am. You’re the perfect fit, Ezra!”

You take a step closer to him, putting your hand on his cheek. You haven’t touched since the kiss in the bathroom, it’s just been a comfortable closeness on the couch. He seems to have been holding back, not wanting to impose another layer of complications to the situation of a homeless man sleeping on your couch. You, on your hand, have been squashing your feelings and urges to touch him, not sure what he feels, if he even wants you close, he seemed so intent on leaving as soon as he could. But now you touch him, stepping over the thin line you’d both drawn, needing him to understand how much you want him to stay, not just for the bakery or out of pity for him.

And Ezra leans his head into your hand as you gently caress his cheek, the scruffy beard soft under your fingers, as he looks down at you, something shifting in him too as you come so close to him he can smell the cinnamon from the bakery in your hair.

“I want you to stay, Ezra. I missed you when you were gone, and I need you, not just in the bakery, but I need you in my life too, if you could let yourself believe that.”

“I’m a selfish man,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rest on your waist, “I’ve been telling myself to not complicate your life, but if you offer it to me, I’ll take it.”

“Please, take it then, Ezra, I’m tired of trying to convince you that you’re worth something more, just take it, you-”

He cuts you off, his hand coming up to your cheek as his lips find yours, pushing you back against the wall with his body as your brain catches up, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers finding purchase in his hair and kissing him back.

You sigh into his mouth when he makes you part your lips, claiming your tongue the same way you remember from the bakery, the feeling you’ve been dreaming about since he left. He groans softly, his hand slipping down from your neck and curling behind your back to hold you even closer.

“Tell me again, I want to hear you say it again, that you want me to stay,” he whispers, pulling back just a little and looking at you with his dark brown eyes, filled with need, darkening with lust as you press your mouth to his lips.

“Pigheaded fool,” you smile, “How many times do I have to say it? I want you to stay.”

His responding groan, his mouth opening to let you taste him, sends a sharp jolt of desire through your body. Turning off all rational parts of your mind, you reach behind you and take his hand, pulling him with you through the house. When lead him into your bedroom he falters, an uncharacteristic shyness, or maybe uncertainty, flashing across his face.

“Sweet girl…” he whispers as you pull him onto the bed, making him tumble over you as he loses his balance, “it’s…been so long.”

“Do you want to, Ezra?” you ask, as he holds himself over you on his one arm.

“Yes, very much, I have dreamed so many nights of taking you to bed,” he breathes, his voice low, laced with both trepidation and lust, “I just never surmised you would ever want me like this, and I’m not sure these old broken bones could ever give you the pleasure you deserve.”

“How about we try out your old broken bones and let me judge how much pleasure they give?” you tease him, running your hands down his back, still as broad and muscular as you remember. He chuckles at that, some of the tension slipping from his face as you continue to stroke his soft shirt, tangling your fingers in the curls at the back of his neck, and then back down to his waist again. He puts his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and you can feel his warm breath over your lips, a slow exhale as he relaxes under your palms.

When you slip your hands under the edge of his shirt and pull it off he hesitates, the stump of his arm has always been hidden by his clothes or the bubbles in the bathtub that one time, now you sense his unease again.

“Do you want to keep your shirt on?” you ask, letting go of the hem and resuming your path up and down his back.

“No, no I want to feel your skin against mine,” he mutters, “I’m just afraid…you might find it…repulsive.”

With gentle hands you take hold of his shirt again and push it up his torso, making him roll over onto his back as you pull it over his head, freeing both his arm and the scarred stump. Ezra watches you with dark eyes, apprehensive in a way you’ve never seen him before, watching your reaction as you lean down and place a soft kiss on the scar tissue that covers the end of his arm.

“I’m sorry you lost it, Ez, but I’m glad you’re still here,” you whisper, placing another kiss on the rough texture before his large, remaining, hand cups the back of your head and guides you up to his mouth, his hot tongue seeking yours.

Now it’s his turn to tug at your shirt and you slip it off, tossing it over the side of the bed, letting your bra go the same way. As you sit up, straddling his narrow hips, the apex of your thighs rubs over the growing hardness in his pants, he growls and grabs your hip, rolling his own up into you. You gasp and Ezra pulls himself upright, his eyes now fully dark, lust blown and all trace of hesitancy gone as he pulls your core down over his cock.

“Sweet girl, I’m determined to make you cry my name until your voice is hoarse,” he says, his voice rough and low with a layer of intensity you’ve never heard from him before, “I really have craved you so many nights, dreamt of having you unfold underneath me, make you moan so prettily in my ear again, like you did when I kissed you before.”

He cups your sex with his hand, bringing the heel down over your sensitive nerves, making you ride it through the denim of your jeans, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His mouth leaves heated, wet marks on your skin when he sucks bruises into your collar bone. Hand moving over the buttons, he peels down the zipper and you feel him slide down inside your pants, fingers meeting flesh as he ignores your underwear.

“What if I can make you cry ‘Ezra’ in that delicious moan, make you pant for me, with just my fingers buried in your cunt?” he growls, hot breath on your skin, “Will that prove me worthy of your devotion?”

“You-you…already a-are…” you gasp, his fingers slipping further down, thumb finding your swollen bundle of nerves, two of his thick fingers sliding deep inside and curling back. You feel him chuckle against your throat when you buck your hips, demanding more.

“Fuck, Ezra…” you moan, head tipping back, his beard scraping over your throat as he sucks another mark into the thin skin of your neck.

“Let me feel you fall, sweet girl,” he mutters, pulling back, his dark eyes finding yours half closed, blissed out, “So beautiful, captivating, my sweet girl.” He looks hungry, greedy, and he surges forward, seeking out your skin again. You feel his teeth nipping on the curve of your jaw as he curves his fingers deep inside you, finding a spot that sends stars through your veins. Your fingers dig into his broad shoulders, leaving fresh marks on his flesh as he brings you closer to the peak.

“My sweet girl,” he purrs, close to your ear, his thumb rubbing tight circles, “come for me, honey, I’ve got you.”

It topples you over, his dark voice tickling your mind into submission, your back arching, pushing down on his fingers as he brings you through it. You cry out his name, pant it into the dim room, and he licks his tongue over your sweat salt skin.

“Ezra…” you croak, dropping your head onto his shoulder as he slowly caresses your slick folds and pulls out, his sticky hand curving around your waist and landing on your back. It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breath, Ezra mumbles into your ear, his words wrapping around your brain, trapping them in the haze of your orgasm. When you turn your head and scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his neck, your tongue licking the edge of his ear, his breath hitches, interrupting his torrent of sweet nothings. Against your core you can feel his cock twitch, ignored and aching.

“Take your pants off,” he says, the command soft in his voice, “And take mine off too.”

It doesn’t take long for you to rid the both of you of the rest of your clothes. Ezra hisses as you pull his cock free, letting your hand stroke it, catching the weeping head with the pad of your thumb before you stand up.

“How do you want me, Ezra?” you ask, returning from the bathroom with a condom in your hand. He’s flat on his back, his hand slowly moving up and down his cock as he watches you walk naked across the room.

“On my lap, my symmetry is sorely lacking in balance, I fear I might give you a bloody nose if I was on top,” he smirks, moving himself to sit against the headboard, giving his thighs an invitational pat.

“Just admit it, you’re lazy,” you wink at him, “just want me to do all the work.”

He grabs your hip and pulls you down, his hard length pushed up against the soft swell of your belly, “Oh, sweet girl, if I had both my hands I’d trap you beneath me and not let you leave until you were a quivering mess, begging me to let you come,” he smirks, kissing you hard when you bend your head down to him.

He rolls his hips, giving friction to his cock pressed between you, and you feel him hiss into your mouth, groaning deep in his chest.

You push back and unwrap the condom, slipping it on while he watches your hands with dark eyes. When you rise up on your knees, his fingers dig into your hip, his teeth capturing his bottom lip, biting down hard with a groan as you position yourself. With one hand wrapped around his twitching length, the other on his shoulder for balance, you stroke the head through your slick folds, watching Ezra let go of his lip, an almost animal snarl escaping him.

“My sweet girl, honey…” he pants, opening his mouth to continue, but you sink down over him, squeezing his length, and he groans, a low rumbling pressed up through gritted teeth, head tipped back, eyes closed. You feel him buck his hips, his hand guiding your hip, as he tries to fuck up into you and you hold on to his shoulders with both hands, stroking down over his arms, caressing both his good side and the edge of what remains on the other.

Ezra curls his arm around your waist and pulls you down, bucking up again with another groan. He sits deep inside you, making sparks run through your veins, the feel of him giving you as much pleasure as his graveled groans and panting breath. .

“I’m not going to last,” he mumbles, biting his lip again, “I’m…you feel…f-feel so good.”

You roll your hips over him, your clit rubbing against the dark curls at the base, moaning as he bucks up, rubbing over something electric deep inside. The sight of his face tilted back, eyes half closed in bliss, as his arm sits like a vice around your waist, it brings you to the edge of your own climax much faster than anticipated. Your thighs are protesting, sweat drips down your back, and Ezra claims your mouth again, while you work yourself up and down over his slick cock.

He’s rambling, mumbling into your mouth between licks of his tongue, he’s getting messy, kissing the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, burying his face into the crook of your neck while he grinds against you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he cries out, his body going rigid underneath you, a hoarse shout against your skin and your own climax explodes. You know you’re leaving marks on his skin, but you can’t let go, Ezra is rolling his hips up, pumping himself into you as best he can, pulling you down onto him.

As your muscles relax you feel him loosen his grip on you too, and you drop your head down on his shoulder, caressing his back, his arms, pressing slow kisses into his sweat damp skin.

“My sweet girl,” he mutters, kissing the mark he left on your shoulder, “my sweet, sweet girl,” heavy breaths still making his chest rise and fall as he pants.

You rake your fingers through his damp curls and lift yourself off him, helping him handle the condom and toss it. Ezra stretches out and you curl into his side, sighing deeply and closing your eyes.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch anymore,” you mumble into his chest, and you hear the chuckle rumble under you between deep breaths, still recovering.

“I’m sure we’ll figure out other usages for the couch if you intend to keep this up with my broken old bones,” he says, smiling, his eyes closed as he begins to caress what he can reach of your back.

You both lie in peaceful silence for a little while, your breathing returning to normal, and your bodies cooling down. When the air raises goosebumps on your skin, you pull the covers over you both, and Ezra makes you curl closer to him.

“You really don’t find it repulsive?” he asks after a while, and tilt your head to look up at him, you know what he’s referencing. His dark eyes are turned to you with a questioning look, the smallest hint of worry clouding his forehead.

“No, I really don’t,” you say, moving your hand so that you can caress the scars at the end of his severed arm, “It’s just skin, or proof that you’ve survived something very difficult, why would I find it repulsive? I’m very happy you survived it.

Ezra places his lips on your forehead, kissing you softly while his one good arm pulls you in tighter.

“Thank you.”

“There you go, Mrs Levinson, all set for the weekend, I envy your guests, you sure do spoil your grandchildren! But I know you would spoil me just as well if turned up on your doorstep like a stray dog.”

Ezra gives the elderly lady his warmest smile and a wink, mischief twinkling in his eye as she returns the wink.

“Ezra, you scoundrel,” she giggles, “you know you’re both always very welcome for dinner any day, and I’ll make sure to spoil you rotten.”

“Never would I be so uncouth as to impose such inconvenience on you, Mrs Levinson,” he replies, a hand on his chest in mock shock, “You should come to our house, I’ll cook my famous one armed bandit stew,” he grins and Mrs Levinson giggles again.

“Oh Ezra, you really do brighten my day, you’re such a treasure to have around,” she titters, collecting her shopping bags, “And I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer.”

“You’re too kind, Mrs Levinson, enjoy the rest of your day now, you hear!” he smiles as she gives him a wave and steps out through the front door.

Ezra turns and heads back into the kitchen, where you’re preparing the final batch of millionaire’s shortbread, sprinkling chopped peanuts over the melted chocolate.

“I may have invited Mrs Levinson for dinner,” he says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist, “Said I’d make my stew.”

“I heard,” you reply, “your famous ‘one armed bandit stew’? You’re too much, Ez,” you laugh as Ezra chuckles.

“I did always have a flair for marketing,” he smirks, "maybe we should rename the bakery too, make it official.”

“Make it official that the scandalous baker and her ‘one armed bandit’ are in it for the long haul?” you ask, turning around so that you’re facing him and can see his warm smile as he looks down at you.

“Are we in it for the long haul, my sweet girl?” he replies, bending down to brush the strong curve of his nose across your check, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Well, it’s been two years, and you haven’t tried leaving again, so I think I finally made you realize I want you around,” you mumble as he nudges your head to the side to make better rooms for his kisses.

“You’re stuck with me now, sweet girl,” he mutters, “do you regret it?”

“Not even a little,” you sigh, tangling your fingers into his soft curls and he chuckles.

The bell over the door jingles and Ezra straightens up.

“Go on, Ez, go charm another customer into buying more than they need.”

“Yes, boss,” he smirks, pressing a final quick kiss to your lips before he hurries back into the shop.

“Good afternoon, ma’am, how may I help you on this most beautiful day?”

Part Fifteen

Specifically tagging my Ezra mentor @morallyinept !

 @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

so I just read Doodles (and adored it!!) and now I can't stop thinking abt Miguel trying to sketch the reader, but having no artistic abilities and therefore failling miserably. a sequel perhaps??

((not sure if you're still taking requests tho. love ur work anyway!!)

hii!! AW that’s so kind, thank you! I absolutely loved writing this, thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

doodles (part 2)

Miguel O’hara x f reader

wc || 881

warnings || none just fluff

part 1 -> doodles

masterlist + rules

Miguel has many talents, but drawing is not one of them. He has an indispensable need for perfectionism, so anything he was automatically good at frustrated him massively. 

Since you've shared your knack for drawing with him, things have somewhat progressed between you both. Your relationship wasn't definite as of yet, but it was like the wedge between you two dissipated, like there was no longer a divide. You both spoke more freely with each other as if there was now a common understanding, like there were no secrets, well, still some secrets.

So now, when you'd hang out, you kept your doodle pad away, preferring to immerse yourself in conversation with Miguel rather than sketch your time away. He noticed how you were more present, more attentive while you were with him, and though he'd never admit it aloud, it made his heart feel full for you to want to spend time with him.

"You got your uh- notepad?" he asks, changing the subject of today's events at HQ.

"Always," you smile, head tilting to the side as if to understand him better. "Why'd you ask?"

"I want to try something," he sheepishly grins, his demeanour coltish as he avoids your gaze. "Can I borrow it?"

You playfully squint your eyes as you watch his expression soften. "I suppose,"

"And a pencil?" he adds, his tone sweet and juvenile as he extends a hand. 

You weren't completely certain about what he had planned, but you had an idea.

"Okay, turn around a bit... no, towards me... now, put your arm up... yeah, on the table... no, your elbow. Mierda," (shit) he chuckles, shaking his head. "Put that there," he grins, adjusting you, moving you around in your chair. "Now, relax," his smile widens as he gazes at you across the table. "Hermosa," (beautiful) muttering under his breath.

His grin slowly fades as the lead touches the paper, looking stumped as he peeks at you over the notepad. He softly sighs as he begins to sketch you, glancing up at you every few seconds, sometimes looking at you more than necessary. 

"How's it looking?" you sweetly ask, trying not to move too much.

"It's uh- it's," he pauses, masking the unsatisfied look on his face. "Good," he shrugs, his tone unconvincing as he continues to draw you.

He didn't have to say anything for you to know what he was thinking. His expressions were clear enough, even if he thought he hid them well. 

"Can't wait to see it," you reassure, your eyes soften as they meet his. 

He sighs heavily as he guides the pencil over the paper, flick-like strokes around the page as if he's sketching your hair. "It's terrible, cariño," (honey) he huffs, visibly frustrated as he drops the pad to the table. "Sorry,"

"No, no, don't be," you grin, standing from your seat, joining him on his side of the table. "Can I?" you ask, reaching for the pencil tightly gripped within his fist.

He nods, extending it towards you with a wry smile.

"Why you being so hard on yourself? It looks good," you partially lie. 

It wasn't an awful drawing. It just wasn't great. You hated the idea of lying to Miguel, but surely this one time would be okay, a small white lie to avoid hurting his feelings. For someone who doesn't often do anything artistic and creative, it was actually a pretty solid effort. And although he wasn't one to care for art, you could tell this meant a lot to him, like he was trying to impress you or show another side to himself, a softer side even. 

You could tell that he was frustrated in his attempts, so you reassured him, placing your warm palm over his forearm. "I think it looks great, Miguel," you smile. "Would it be okay if I help you?" you question, being careful with your wording to avoid the possibility of upsetting him.

"Go ahead," he nods, scooting his chair closer to you, resting the side of his head in his hand like he was getting comfortable to watch you. "I'm sure," he says, answering the question you had in mind, noticing the quizzical look in your eyes.

"Okay, so," you grin, looking at him. "I think it's the angle. It makes the proportions look funny, and it makes my nose look enormous," you playfully scold, earning you a soft laugh from Miguel. "But, you did the eyes well- wait a second, why are my lips so detailed?" you coyly smile, slowly turning to face him.

He doesn't answer. He shrugs, avoiding your gaze.

"Okay, okay, I'll drop it," you say, hiding your smile behind your hair, shielding the side of your face with it.

"Don't hide it," he mumbles, extending a hand, reaching for your hair and brushing it behind your ear. He smiles, noticing the blush form over your cheeks. "Show me how to improve it,"

So you did. You sat close together, inches apart as you made minor adjustments to the sketch, adding shading and highlights as Miguel admired the process, watching the drawing come to life. His eyes dart between you and the finished sketch of you on the page, a sweet, sincere smile spreading across his lips. "Hermosa," (beautiful) he whispers. "I'm gonna frame it."

@sunshiines-stuff @queerponcho @selfryed

[maxislvt]

Have A Merry Little Christmas

Request: WandaNat and reader cuddling and watching holiday movies on Christmas eve night. An extensive kissing scene comes on and the reader starts to squirm, which gets the attention of wandanat.

Warnings: Smut, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Threesomes, penises, pregnancy

A/N: This basically solidifies that every fic in this event is either pure filth or the cutest thing you'll ever read on my blog and that's just so me!

Event Masterlist

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As much as the three of you loved going big for the holidays, there were times when you and your lovers simply wanted peace. Sure, dressing up and getting wasted at one of Tony's parties was fun, but nothing could beat being wrapped up in the arms of two beautiful women and being treated like the most precious thing in the whole galaxy. Wanda on your left and Natasha on your right, the usual setup for a movie night. They had already gone through the trouble of getting snacks and picking out all the movies you'd be watching that might. You were practically reduced to a human teddy bear for the night.

Not that you were complaining. Wanda and Natasha had always made a big show of spoiling you any way they could. All throughout the night, you were kissed and praised for the slightest thing. It made your heart warm. The warmth of your heart seemed to spread to the heat of cunt a lot faster than you'd like to admit. With Wanda's choice of a rather explicit Christmas movie and the constant touch, if it was no surprise you'd get wet. You didn't want to ruin the holiday cheer and just kept it to yourself.

Your lovers knew you too well. It was part of their plan, to begin with, but you could never hide your neediness from them. One low whimper from your mouth and they'd be on you in seconds.

"Oh Wanda, I think someone's really enjoying the movie," Nat chuckled before placing a kiss again. "It's pretty late, I think it's time to give them that gift we made." Her words were punctuated with more kisses along your neck and jawline. A familiar hardness began forming in her pants as she rubbed against you. "I think you're gonna love it, malysh. It's something you've always wanted." Natasha's hands grew bolder as they explored your body.

Wanda hummed in agreement as she rubbed her crotch against your thigh. "I think you're right, our little puppy has been so good this year. One early present won't hurt." Wanda took the job of kissing the other side of your face and neck. Hers were much softer than Natasha's. More focused on getting you to relax than marking you up. "Isn't that fair, puppy? Just one gift before Christmas morning. We promise you'll like it," She said in a mocking tone.

You helplessly tried to squirm away from the strong hands grabbing at your body. "N-no, I'm fine! We can keep watching the —" Any attempts to argue were immediately stifled by the searing kiss Wanda pulled you into. Wanda's heavy tongue invaded your mouth while Nat began trailing kisses down your stomach. All the strength in your body was needed to pull away from Wanda just for a second. "I wasn't being needy, I promise!"

Wanda raised her eyebrows in shock. "Oh, really? Why don't we check?" She held up one of your legs, exposing your cloth-covered heat. "Let daddy touch you and we'll find out fair and square." Her nails dig into your skin to keep you from closing your legs. "You're getting your gift either way, but you know how we feel about liars."

Natasha shook her head. Even with the barrier of her fingers, your cunt had practically covered her fingers in slick. "Oh, baby you're soaking. There's no need to hide it." She kissed your pussy over your underwear before pulling them off. Two of her fingers slipped inside you with ease. "There's nothing wrong with being needy, that's what we're here for baby."

Wanda's other hand snaked down to play with your clit. Rubbing it in slow, tight circles just to hear you whine and beg for more. "That's right, just let us make it better. We just want you extra happy for Christmas." Her lips went back to attacking your neck "Just keep being good and everything will feel so good!"

You could only whimper and nod along. Unable to think for yourself, just letting yourself be marked and stretched. "Wanna…wanna cum," You said, barely stringing the words together in a comprehensive sentence. The feeling of two more of Natasha's fingers stretching your sopping wet cunt nearly sent you into orgasm. Your hand clamped over your mouth to prevent any more obscene noises from coming from your body, only to be snatched away by Natasha.

"Nope, none of that. Mommy and Daddy won't know they're doing a good job if you hold back." Natasha curled her fingers against your g spot, finally letting you fall into the ocean of pure bliss. She wanted you to drown in it. No matter how many times you tried squirming away from her fingers or tugging at her shirt, her fingers never stopped. "I know it's a lot but you're gonna need to be extra wet for our gift, puppy."

It was only by the grace of Wanda's lust that you were freed from Natasha's torture. "Let mommy have a turn and then you'll get your gift. I promise!" In one swift motion, Wanda turned you around to face her. "Just one taste." Greed had clearly over the plan the two originally played out as Wanda spent what felt like hours eating you out. The nerve endings on your clit were assaulted by both her tongue and fingers.

Wanda's tongue easily forced out two orgasms before she was done eating you out. You were thankful for the few minutes you were given to recover. "Thank you, momma. Thank you, daddy." Words were barely above a whisper but it was all you could get out before your brain short-circuited. You could only make a confused face and let out a "Hm?" When Wanda pulled you into her lap.

"It's time for our special puppy to get their little gift!" Wanda smiled before peppering your confused face with kisses. Her hand reached in between your bodies and guided the tip of her dick around your clit. "I know you're still sensitive, but you're a good puppy. Mommy knows you can take it." Wanda slid inside of your cunt and bottomed out in almost record time.

Natasha pushed you forward a bit. "And now you get the extra fun part." She peppered your cheek with kisses before slipping her dick inside of you. A deep groan came from her as she pushed as far in as she could. "God, this little hole was made for having babies." Her hips slowly began to thrust in sync with Wanda's and she grinned.

If you weren't so cock-drunk and full, you would've noticed the way Wanda slapped Nat's arm and reprimed her for almost ruining your surprise. Instead, you enjoyed the feeling of being stuffed and stretched out. Mindlessly bouncing on your lovers' dicks with much concern for how late it was becoming. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum again!"

Wanda smiled. "Go ahead, make a big mess for your mommy and daddy! You're gonna make us so proud!" She groped your hips and pulled you closer to her. Having you sandwich between her and Natasha was forever a blissful experience, but not one of them would ever compare to how important this instance would be. "You better hope your daddy can hold it for three more minutes or she'll ruin the gift. Then the two of us will have to punish her, won't we?"

It seemed you liked the idea of a little revenge because your walls tightened unreasonably around your partners. "Fuck, I don't think either of us are gonna last if they keep pulling shit like that." Nat was practically rutting into you at that point. Her stamina was at its peak and not even the threat of Wanda's punishment could break her need to cum. "Be easy on me, just 2 more minutes."

Your brain barely processed Wanda's threats. Her words were far too big and long for your fluffy little head to understand. "No punishment…just wanna be full." You grabbed both of your partners' hands and signaled them to press down on the bulge in your stomach. The second your lovers fulfilled your wish, you came for the fifth time that night.

The rapid clenching and fluttering of your walls sent both of your lovers into orgasms of their own. They coated your insides with sticky white cum they'd been holding in for days. Their bodies moved as one in an attempt to prolong the bliss you three were captured in. Natasha was the first to collapse and Wanda didn't follow much longer after.

"Merry Christmas, malysh."

"We're gonna be a family."