#why must my rambles always be so long :'>>

[babydoll372]

Sorry for this im not really good at requesting stuff 😭But for part 2 of angel could it be something like wanda and r are hanging out with R’s friends and maybe they get too close and wanda gets jealous…

After they get home Wanda is still totally oblivious to how much stronger she is than reader and yk takes her anger out on r in bed (rough) but could there be a line that goes like “why are you running im giving you what you want”

Sorry for not really giving you a good request this is my first time asking 💔

Angel Pt. 2

Pairings: Angel!Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 928

Warnings: not spell-checked, smut, strap on sex, service top!wanda, jealousy, overstimulation, innocent!wanda, spanking (very light amount)

A/N: Ik I said I’d do longer fics from now on but I don’t think I have the motivation currently 😭 sorry if that upsets you but I’ll be doing smaller, blurb sizes from now on with all fics

Wanda huffs with each thrust, ignoring the sounds of the headboard slamming against the wall vigorously or the squeaking of the frame, all she cares about is watching your face contort with pleasure. She occasionally glanced down to where the strap hooked to her hips met your hole, chewing on her lip as she got lost in the sight of your juices spraying your own thighs. Her wings weren’t contained inside her dress any more, and now they hang freely behind her.

“Wanda- fuck! Can’t…I c-can’t t-take any more…” You weakly spoke, and she barely heard the words, too focused on the rest of your body. You knew it was your fault you ended up in this position, but really you had no idea in the world you were doing anything wrong when your friend was touching your arm, whispering in your ear, laughing at all of your jokes. She had always been a touchy person, you thought she did the same with everyone, but maybe Wanda was right to pull you away, telling you in a whispered, angry ramble that she clearly was trying to make a move on you. You denied it at first, but as you drove the two of you home, since she is yet to get her license, you could only think about how stupid you sounded looking back on every moment you shared with the girl. And it was clear Wanda wasn’t happy, which is why she politely asked you, with a frown residing on her face, if she could take this feeling out on you in the bedroom.

You could feel your second orgasm approaching and choked out a sob, repeating her name like a delicate whisper as your hips jutted upward. You could see by the etching in her eyebrows that she is focused, like she is planning every step.

“May I slap you?” Came her sweet voice, and it almost felt wrong to hear those words come from such vocals. You nod, too weak to say or do much else in order to grant permission, but she doesn’t need anything more. Your thighs that were separated in the air suddenly fell target to her hand, and she apologized after each one. She only slapped you twice. You would’ve chuckled if you could, but somehow, she was still able to remain the same pace of her hips without a bead of sweat on her forehead, without a cramp in her muscles. It must be an Angels gift, her stamina, but to you it’s both a blessing and a curse.

“Wanda, t-this is the last one- fuck! Oh shit, oh shit!” Your voice grew lower until your lips move but no sound comes out, and she watches your thighs shake again just like before. She still has no idea what that means but she likes to assume it’s a good thing.

“Baby, I’m so fucking close- don’t fucking stop!” You moan, loudly at that, and she nods as if she was following her bosses requests. The soft, squishy ridges of the toy rub right against your g-spot, and with her momentum, it doesn’t take long before your release squirts along her soft skin, and you’re too blown out to realize what you just did. But the moment you’re able to bring yourself back to awareness, a whine escapes you. You’re sore, aching, and now slowly trying to inch away from her. Wanda doesn’t realize why, so she quickly pulls you in closer to her, leaning down in a new position with her arms around you and your faces less than inches apart. You shake your head repeatedly, whimpering against her and using your legs to try and push her off. You watch the frown return to her face and almost feel guilty, but then you instantly remember the soreness as she thrusts again.

“Wanda, please…please, get off.” You sigh in relief as the toy inside of you halts, but it’s not quite enough. She’s still hugging you, frowning at your resistance. You can’t entirely blame her, she doesn’t understand what’s wrong, but you wish she just had a little bit more common knowledge.

“Why are you running from me? I thought you’d want this too.” Your fingers lift her chin to make her look you in the eyes so she knew she was not doing anything wrong. Her wings even sulked with her.

“I’m not running from you, I did want this too. But now I’m sore and I need to stop, do you understand? So please, I need you to remove the strap gently and then we can cuddle again.” Her eyes widen, the only thing that seems to register in her brain was that you are in pain. She jolts up, careful to not cause the strap to bring more hurt as she slowly removes it from your tight entrance. She hears you quietly whimper and apologizes, sitting there nervously at the end of the bed.

“Uhm, now I get the cloth, right? Yeah, that’s right! Right?” Your nod brought a smile to her face as she rushes to the bathroom. She gives herself a mental checklist: clean off the toy, grab a hand towel, wet it with warm water, grab lotion, go back. And each item is used generously, mainly because she doesn’t have a sense of time and can accidentally spend an hour cleaning you off alone. She treats it with careful precision and stands with a giddy smile once she’s done, stretching her arms out for you to allow her into your arms to cuddle with.

[whentherewerebicycles]

.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

i fear everyone needs to know i'm a big nerd- bc oh my god- the new doctor who episodes are sosoosos good- the way we met a new god- and they brought the mimic back is just!!! I'M SO EXCITED- i need to catch up on the past couple of eras- but- seeing the newest episodes has me !!!!!

[plasky]

Honestly I feel like if I actually did go a route of Cameron going insane because of the whereabouts and happenings in seven banners a character I feel that would most reflect what he would act like when he gets to that state is Adi in Sweet Tooth

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 7: September 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families...I think that's it?

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The office was bright and quiet, the kind of designer-calm that was more aesthetic than practical. Polished concrete floors, oversized pendant lights, art books stacked just so. Everything looked effortless.

Except for Isabelle.

She sat at her desk, scrolling through final renderings for a residential project in Nice—light oak built-ins, linen upholstery, exposed stone. Her headphones were in, her tea long cold, her focus sharp.

And still, she could feel them.

The looks. The half-paused conversations. The way the room always seemed to hush just a little when she walked by.

It had started a few months back—right after she had started working on Max’s penthouse. 

After “The Verstappen commission,”

Which, yes, was massive. Private penthouse in Monaco. Full control of design. The budget so generous it felt like cheating.

But it wasn’t why her colleagues looked at her like that.

No, that was because of the last name.

Leclerc.

At first, it was subtle.

“Oh, Max Verstappen, huh? Funny coincidence.”

Then came the lingering glances. The comments that weren’t really jokes.

“Must be nice to have connections.”

 “Clients like that don’t just walk in the door.”

 “I mean, your brother is in F1, right?”

They never said it outright.

But she heard it. Felt it.

The implication that she hadn’t earned it. That she hadn’t spent years working late, poring over lighting plans, chasing perfection in the grain of walnut veneer. That she hadn’t clawed her way into an industry where quiet women were often passed over for louder, flashier names.

She was good at her job. Isabelle knew that. She was good. 

Good enough that her clients rarely asked for changes. 

Max’s design brief had been short and to the point: 

“Make it feel like home.”

And she had.

Still, the office couldn’t let it go.

Even now—months later—she could hear it in the voice of her coworker, Camille, who leaned against the edge of Isabelle’s desk with faux friendliness.

“Is that the Nice project?” Camille asked, eyeing her screen.

Isabelle slid off her headphones. “Yes. Final layout before the client walk-through.”

Camille hummed. “You’re getting all the high-end clients lately. It’s impressive. I guess once you do one Formula 1 driver’s penthouse…”

Isabelle smiled politely. “I still have to earn every brief.”

“Of course,” Camille said, all syrup and knives. “It just helps when people know your last name.”

Isabelle looked back at her screen. “Or your work.”

Camille blinked. “Sorry?”

“I said the client liked my work. He saw it before he saw my name.” She didn’t look up. “But thanks for the reminder.”

Camille stood there for a beat too long, clearly debating whether to keep the fight going.

Then she smiled, brittle and bright. “Anyway. Let me know if you need a second set of eyes.”

Isabelle nodded. “I will.”

She wouldn’t.

Camille walked away. Isabelle exhaled.

Never mind that she’d been designing clean, grounded spaces with layered textures and a focus on subtle light since she was twenty-one.

Never mind that she had graduated top of her class at Sorbonne. Never mind that she had won awards for her work. 

Never mind that just last week, she’d redesigned the entire layout of an apartment, hand-sourced reclaimed timber from an antique dealer in Northern Italy, managed three contractors across two countries, and did it all on time and under budget.

None of it mattered.

Not to them.

They saw the name. They made their assumptions. They smiled, thin-lipped and cold, when she walked into a room.

No one said it outright, of course. That wasn’t how this studio worked.

It was in the “accidental” exclusion from meetings. The last-minute presentation changes that stripped her name from the credits. The way Léa always called her Charles Leclerc’s sister when speaking to clients, like that was more relevant than her entire résumé.

And Isabelle… she swallowed it. Like she always did.

Because fighting it felt worse. Like it would just confirm what they already believed: that she was here because of someone else. That she had something to prove.

So she nodded. She worked. She smiled.

There was such a gap between the life she had at home and the one she had at work. 

One full of careful love and quiet safety. One where someone saw her, really saw her, and chose her without hesitation.

And one where people looked at her and saw an advantage. A connection. A shortcut they assumed she’d taken.

No one here knew she’d just moved in with Max Verstappen.

No one knew that the penthouse she designed now held her books. Her blankets. Her favorite brand of tea, tucked next to his energy drinks in the cupboard.

No one knew that she woke up on mornings that he was there to him pressing a kiss to her temple and mumbling, don’t forget your scarf, it’s windy today, like she was something precious he’d wrapped his life around.

Her private life was a dream.

It was slow breakfasts in a sunlit kitchen. Laughter tangled in late-night Netflix documentaries. Max standing behind her at the sink, arms around her waist, whispering that he loved the life they were building.

But her professional life?

It felt like it was crumbling beneath the weight of other people’s expectations.

Not good enough to be here on her own.

 Too quiet to demand credit.

Too privileged to complain.

She clenched her teeth. 

She wasn’t going to let them shrink her. Not again.

Not after all the ways she’d already been made small.

Because the truth was: her name had opened zero doors.

But her work?

That spoke for itself.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: Hey Isabelle—random question. You have a minute?

Isabelle: Of course. What’s up?

Victoria: I’m redoing the kids’ room, and I’m going to lose my mind.

Victoria: So, Luka wants a car-themed room.

Victoria: Lio wants a dinosaur room.

Victoria: And I love them, but if I let them pick everything, my house will look like a Hot Wheels museum and a Jurassic Park gift shop had a child.  

Victoria: No one else I’ve talked to gets why I don’t want neon walls and tire-shaped beds.

Isabelle:  Because you have taste. And also because you care about designing something they can grow into.

Victoria: Yes, exactly!! I don’t want to be a sad beige mom, but I don’t want three hundred Lightning McQueen stickers either. 

Victoria: HOW do I make it nice? Like, actually nice. Not themed-party nice.

Victoria: Aesthetic. Calm. Maybe even cohesive??

Victoria: Is that possible??

Isabelle: It definitely is. The trick is color palette + subtle accents.

Isabelle: For Lio: a neutral base. Soft greens and sandy taupes for the walls. Dino Silhouettes, a custom mural, or maybe wallpaper. More storybook style than cartoon. Texture it up with wood shelves, natural materials, and some cute storage baskets that don’t scream plastic chaos.

Isabelle: For Luka: Think more along the lines of vintage race cars. Maybe white with some slate grey? More graphic than literal? Maybe we could find a tire print bedding…  also vintage racing posters, or maybe wallpaper. 

Victoria: You’re kidding. That sounds… beautiful. Isabelle. This is amazing.

Isabelle: It can be cute and timeless. Trust me.

Victoria:  Can I actually hire you for this? Like, for real?

Isabelle: You don’t have to hire me. I’ll help because I want to. But thank you for asking.

Victoria: No, thank you.  You’re brilliant.  I’ve looked at a million Pinterest boards, and none of them had this.

Victoria: Max is a nightmare to impress, and even he won't stop bragging about how you designed the penthouse.

Isabelle:  I’ll put together two mood boards for you—one for each theme: subtle, elevated, and adaptable. You can mix and match, and I’ll help make it look amazing.

Victoria: You’re amazing. Truly. 

***

Isabelle was in the studio early—like always—finalizing fabric pulls for a coastal villa project when she opened the project file and found everything… gone.

Her digital mood boards? Wiped.

The CAD revisions she stayed up late fixing? Replaced with an earlier, incomplete draft.

At first, she thought it was a mistake. Maybe she’d forgotten to save her edits. Maybe the cloud hadn’t synced. Maybe—

“Hey, Isabelle,” said Léa, voice syrupy-sweet from her desk across the room. “Your name’s all over the drive this morning. Everything okay?”

Isabelle turned, trying to keep her voice steady. “Someone deleted my work.”

“Oh?” Léa blinked. “Maybe you just didn’t save it?”

“I did.”

“Well, these things happen. Tech is finicky. Or maybe it was a permissions issue?” She smiled, sharp and condescending. “You’re still getting used to the system, right?”

Isabelle said nothing.

It wasn’t the first time. Last week, someone had “accidentally” removed her name from a client presentation. The week before that, she'd been left out of a team brainstorming session for a luxury development she’d pitched.

Now this.

She wasn’t supposed to care.

But she did.

So, so much.

***

Max heard the door open and shut softly. He glanced at the clock—past midnight. Again.

Isabelle walked in, kicking off her heels and sighing as she dropped her bag on the floor. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, shoulders slumped with fatigue.

Max crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “You know,” he said, “there’s an easy solution to this.”

She raised an eyebrow, already knowing where this was going. “Oh?”

“You quit your job,” he said simply. “Become my incredibly spoiled, disgustingly pampered trophy wife. No more late nights, no more stress. Just you, spending my money and riding your horses.”

Isabelle snorted, shaking her head as she walked toward him. “Max.”

“I’m serious,” he said, watching her. “I don’t like seeing you like this. You work too much.”

She sighed, rubbing at her temples. “I know. But I don’t like depending on anybody.”

Max frowned. “It’s not depending on me, it’s—”

“It is,” she cut in gently. “I’ve spent my whole life making sure I can take care of myself. I never want to be in a position where I have to rely on someone else to be okay.”

His expression softened, and he reached for her hand, pulling her closer. “You wouldn’t have to. But you could if you wanted to.”

She exhaled, leaning into him slightly. “I know. And that’s why I love you. But I need this, Max. I need to know I can stand on my own two feet.”

Max sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Fine. But at least let me buy you dinner when you come home too late to eat.”

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist. “That, I can agree to.”

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen 

Victoria: Do you still want to help with the final installation for the boys’ rooms?

Isabelle: Of course!  Just say when.

Victoria: Next weekend?

Victoria: Luka’s been asking when “Tante Belle” is coming back to make his race cars zoomier.

Victoria: And I promised him wallpaper would happen soon, or I’d never hear the end of it.

Isabelle: I can fly in Friday night. Max has a race weekend, so I’ll be solo anyway.

Isabelle: Want me to bring anything?

Victoria: Your magic brain.

Victoria:  And maybe the strength of ten men for this wallpaper. Think we can manage?

Isabelle: If you hold it straight, I’ll climb the ladder. We’ve got this.

Victoria: That’s the spirit.

Victoria: Also—want to do a decor run Saturday morning?

Victoria: I thought I had taste, but apparently, everything I pick is “too boring” or “not sparkly enough.”

Isabelle: Consider it a mission.

Isabelle: But honestly… I might just order half the internet to your house before I get there.

Victoria: Dangerous. I like it.

Isabelle: Just let me know what color Lio’s “not jungle but jungle” theme has become this week.

Victoria: I think we’ve settled on “treehouse with optional dinosaurs.”

Isabelle: That’s a mood.

Isabelle: Thank you for asking me to come. Really.

Victoria: Belle.  You’re family.

Victoria: And you’re good at this. That combo is rare and very needed.

Isabelle: Now you’re going to make me cry over wallpaper.

Victoria: You’re allowed.

Victoria:  Just not on the ladder.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen 

Isabelle: Victoria invited me to come for the weekend. 

Isabelle: To help with the boys’ rooms. Final install.

Max: That’s great! She loves your designs. I knew she’d want you there for it. You said yes, right?

Isabelle: Of course.

Isabelle: I mean… I think I did?

Isabelle: I panicked a little and offered to book a Friday evening flight and overnight half of Zara Home to her house.

Max: Sounds like a yes.

Isabelle: It’s the first time someone in your family’s invited me like that. Just… as me.

Max: That’s because they love you.  I knew they would.  You’re impossible not to love.

Isabelle: You’re biased.

Max: I’m correct.

Max: You’re going, right?

Isabelle: Yeah. I want to.  You’ll be gone anyway. Race weekend.

Max: Good. I like it when you’re with them.

Isabelle: Thank you.

Max: For what?

Isabelle: For never making me feel like I’m just passing through.

Max: You’re not. You’re home.

***

Instagram Stories: @/victoriaverstappen

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen 

Max: Thanks again for inviting her this weekend.

Victoria: Don’t be ridiculous. She’s brilliant.  And the boys adore her.

Victoria: Luka yelled, “ISABELLE’S HERE!” like she was Santa.

Max: I think she was really nervous.  She hasn’t been… included like this much. Not by family.

Victoria: I picked up on that. She was so polite it almost broke my heart.

Max: Yeah.  That’s kind of her default.  Be small, be quiet, and don’t get in the way.

Victoria: Not in this house.

Max: Thank you.

Victoria: You don’t have to thank me for loving someone who clearly loves you.

Victoria: I see the way she looks at you, Max.

Victoria: Like she’s finally allowed to breathe.

Max: That’s how I feel when she walks in the room.

Victoria: Then we’re all exactly where we should be.

Victoria: I’ve got her. Go win your race.

Max: Trying. For both of you.

Victoria: We’ll be watching. Luka’s already decided that if you win, it’s because Isabelle helped pick the right snacks.

Max: He might be right.

Max: Thank you, Vic. Really. 

Victoria:  She’s family.  I just hope one day her brothers realize what they’ve been blind to.

Max: I hope so, too. But until then—she’s got us.

Victoria: She always will.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridwives: I’m gonna need someone to explain why Isabelle Leclerc is calmly shopping with Victoria Verstappen like it’s not news?!

↳@/softpitstop: I think Isabelle is helping Victoria with her sons’ rooms. ↳@/sleuthsinmonaco: Do you think Max gave Victoria an interior designer tip?!

@/lightsoutgirlies: This is my Roman empire: Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle leclerc

@/wagsandwhiplash:  Wait, wait wait—are Luka and Lio getting room makeovers??? And Isabelle Leclerc is doing them?? Like designing them???

@/thepaddockprince:  Okay, but I’m sorry, WHERE is Charles in all this? Isabelle’s out here designing Verstappen bedrooms, and he’s just... letting that happen?

@/f1fanficfuel: i need 4k behind-the-scenes content. I need the mood boards. I need the receipts. I NEED TO KNOW WHY ISABELLE LECLERC IS DECORATING THE VERSTAPPEN FAMILY HOME.

@/danielricchaos The funniest thing about all this is that none of them are explaining anything.Victoria just tagged her.  Isabel didn’t repost. Max hasn’t said a word, and now I’m insane.

@/leclercstanaccount: me trying to figure out how Charles’s invisible sister ended up doing a home makeover with victoria verstappen: ?!?!

@softlaunchcentral:  Ok, but why does Victoria’s entire weekend story arc feel like a soft launch of a new family member?  Isabelle Leclerc walked in with a tape measure and iced coffee and took OVER

@/babyverstappens: No, but genuinely: How do Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc know each other?! Who organized this crossover episode? Was it Fred Vasseur? Is this ferrari pr? Are we being gaslit?

@/plsnotanothersecretwedding: Isabelle Leclerc shopping for race car wallpaper and stuffed dinosaurs was not on my 2025 Paddock Bingo card. But I’m invested now. 

@/wagsfc: are we… soft-launching Isabelle Leclerc as victoria’s best friend?? is this happening?? 

@/formulaclarles: Why is Charles Leclerc’s sister shopping for Victoria Verstappen’s kids’ rooms???

@/dinosanddrs: The Verstappen toddler has a Leclerc choosing his wallpaper. F1 lore has never been deeper.

@/paddockpoetry: Watching Victoria and Isabelle together today just made me realize that… they both have brothers who risk their lives every weekend. Not a lot of people understand what that does to you.

@/f1bloom: Victoria and Isabelle are from two different worlds but somehow the same one:  like who else really understands that fear? Of watching the person you love fly at 300km/h and having to smile through it?

@/slowpitstoppoet: Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc are watching the race together while wrangling toddlers like it’s a normal Sunday afternoon… There’s something really tender about that.

↳@/paddockthoughts It’s easy to forget sometimes that these guys are brothers and sons and uncles—not just drivers.

@/theracedaypoet: Two sisters. Two very different men behind the wheel. One Red Bull. One Ferrari. And somehow, they meet in the middle of a living room, with juice boxes, toy dinosaurs, and silent prayers. That’s what hit me about Victoria’s stories today.

@tracksideemotions: Charles Leclerc. Max Verstappen. Two of the most elite drivers in f1. Their sisters? Sat on a couch this afternoon, raising small kids and holding juice pouches and watching people they love do something terrifying. I don’t know. That’s kind of beautiful.

@/gridgirlsundays Not to get sentimental, but Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc watching the race together? That’s actually so beautiful??? Two women who know exactly what it’s like to love someone who goes 300 kph for a living

@/gridgirlsunite: Seeing Victoria and Isabelle watching the race together, surrounded by kids and calm chaos… and realizing both of them have brothers in those cars. That hit.

@/chaoticenergyf1:  We always talk about the WAGs.  But the sisters? The ones who grew up with karting fumes in their hair and have to smile through every post-race debrief because no one really asks if they’re okay? Victoria and Isabelle deserve more credit.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Isabelle: My car won’t start.

Isabelle: Can I borrow one of yours for a few days?

Charles: No.

Arthur: HAHAHAHAHAHA. No. 

Lorenzo: Absolutely not.

Isabelle: …Are you kidding me? I have no way to get to work.

Arthur: Take the train?

Isabelle: It’s too far, and there’s no direct route.

Charles: The bus?

Isabelle: I’d have to leave in five minutes to even make it work.

Lorenzo: Taxi?

Isabelle: I can’t afford a taxi every day, Lorenzo.

Arthur: Maybe this is a sign you should finally buy a new car.

Isabelle: Oh yes, let me just manifest thousands of euros out of thin air.

Charles: You should have planned for this.

Isabelle: My car was fine yesterday, Charles! I didn’t exactly expect it to die overnight!

Arthur: Sounds like a you problem.

Isabelle: You problem?? My car just DIED. I didn’t plan for this!

Lorenzo: Maybe you should’ve.

Isabelle: HOW DOES ONE PLAN FOR THEIR CAR DYING OVERNIGHT?

Charles: By not driving something from 2010.

Arthur: Isabelle, your car was basically a tin can on wheels. It was only a matter of time.

Lorenzo: Yeah, at this point, it was a mercy killing.

Isabelle: Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we all had Ferrari sponsorships. Let me just drop six figures on a new car real quick.

Arthur: You don’t need six figures. You just need something that isn’t held together by hope and desperation.

Isabelle: I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.

Isabelle: One of you just lend me a car. For TWO DAYS. I promise I won’t even breathe near the paint.

Charles: Isabelle, you can’t just borrow a Ferrari like it’s a spare phone charger.

Isabelle: I wasn’t asking for your Ferrari specifically, Charles! Any of you must have something I can use.

Lorenzo: You’ll survive.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: Hey, you okay? Haven’t heard from you today.

Isabelle: Oh. Yeah. Just dealing with a disaster.

Max: …What kind of disaster?

Isabelle: My car is dead. Like fully dead. It made a noise that I’m pretty sure meant it was dying, started smoking, and then it wouldn’t start.

Max: That’s… not great. Did you have it towed? 

Isabelle: It’s at the garage now. The mechanic basically said it’s on life support and not worth fixing.

Max: So take one of mine. You know where the car keys are. 

Isabelle: Excuse me?

Max: So just take one of mine. You know where the car keys are. what’s the problem, schatje?

Isabelle: …You say that like it’s normal.

Max: It is normal? We live together? You need a car? I have cars? Just grab a key and take one?

Isabelle: …I asked my brothers if I could borrow one of their cars while I figure things out. Lorenzo ignored me. Arthur laughed. Charles said that I should have planned for this. 

Max: Your brothers are useless.

Max: Take any one of the cars.

Isabelle: Max. Be serious.

Max: I am serious.

Isabelle: What if I crash it?!

Max: Then I worry more about you than the car.

Isabelle: What if I scratch something??

Max: Then it gets fixed.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: Isabelle.

Max: Just take one. I don’t want you dealing with this.

Isabelle: I cannot believe this. My own brothers wouldn’t even consider letting me borrow a car, and you—

Max: I’m your boyfriend. This is normal.

Isabelle: Is it???

Max: Yes. Now go pick a car before I get somebody to drive you everywhere.

Isabelle: You wouldn’t.

Max Verstappen: Schatje, they are just cars. You are making a big deal out of nothing. Pick whichever one you want.

Isabelle: I just… I can’t believe you’re okay with this.

Isabelle: You are actually insane.

Max: No, I’m practical. You need a car, I have cars. Problem solved.

Isabelle: Fine. Which one do you care about the least?

Max: None of them are as important as you.

Isabelle: That’s not what I—Max. Which one??

Max: …The Porsche?

Isabelle: I cannot take your Porsche.

Max: Okay, then take the Aston.

Isabelle: That is worse.sss

Max: Take the Audi, then. Or one of the Ferraris.

Isabelle: You are not helping.

Max: I’m literally giving you a solution, schatje. Just pick any of the cars. I don’t care which one you use. I have to get ready for qualifying. Take a car. Be safe. And text me when you’re home. Love you. 

Isabelle: Love you too, you ridiculous man.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You are NOT going to believe the absolute nonsense I just went through.

Emilie: Oh, this is already promising. Go on.

Isabelle: My car? Dead. Like full-on smoking and now won’t start. So I asked my dear, wonderful brothers if I could borrow one of their cars.

Emilie: Oh, I know this isn’t going to end well.

Isabelle: Lorenzo said ABSOLUTELY NOT. Arthur laughed. Charles told me, and I QUOTE: “Isabelle, you can’t just borrow a Ferrari like it’s a spare phone charger.”

Emilie: I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet.

Isabelle: I was fuming.

Emilie: So what’s the solution? Are you getting a rental?

Isabelle: I WAS. And then Max texted me because I hadn’t answered him all day. I explained the whole thing, and do you know what he said??

Emilie: …I am both excited and terrified to find out.

Isabelle: “Just take one of mine.”

Emilie: …

Emilie: Of course he did.

Isabelle: I told him that was INSANE. Like, shouldn’t racing drivers be obsessed with their cars? Worried I’ll scratch them? Do you know what Charles would do if I so much as LOOKED at his Ferrari keys too long??

Emilie: Have a full-on cardiac episode.

Isabelle: EXACTLY.

Emilie: And Max?

Isabelle: Told me to just grab a key and drive whichever car I wanted.

Emilie: …He really just handed you the keys to the kingdom, huh?

Isabelle: I told him I could CRASH it, and do you know what he said??

Emilie: Oh, I cannot wait.

Isabelle: “Then I worry more about you than the car.”

Emilie: …

Emilie: This man is going to MARRY you.

Isabelle: SHUT UP.

Emilie: I WILL NOT. That was the most disgustingly romantic thing I’ve ever read.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: So… what are we thinking for a new car?

Isabelle: Something used. I don’t need anything fancy.

Max: Used?

Isabelle: Yes?? I’ll be throwing horse stuff in there anyway. No point in getting something new just to cover it in mud and hay.

Max: No.

Isabelle: …No?

Max: No. You’re getting something safe.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: Isabelle.

Isabelle: You are being ridiculous.

Max: For wanting you to be in a car that won’t fall apart if someone breathes on it? Yeah, I am so ridiculous, you wouldn’t believe it.

Isabelle: It’s not going to fall apart, Max. I’ve had my car for years.

Max: And look what happened to it.

Isabelle: …Okay, fair.

Max: So. Something safe. Think about the children.

Isabelle: …What.

Max: When we have kids, you’re going to be driving them around.

Isabelle: Excuse me???

Max: What?

Isabelle: WHEN we have kids???

Max: Yes??

Isabelle: You’re already thinking about that??

Max: Of course.

Isabelle: Oh my god.

Max: I thought you’d already thought about it.

Isabelle: I have, but you thinking about it is a whole different thing!!

Max: Why wouldn’t I? I want a family. With you.

Isabelle: …

Max: Schatje?

Isabelle: I need a minute.

Max: Okay. Take your minute. But after that, we’re getting back to the car discussion because you are not getting some half-broken used car.

Isabelle: You just casually dropped “when we have kids” into a conversation about cars like it was nothing.

Max: It’s just… something I’ve thought about. A lot.

Isabelle: A lot??

Max: Yes? I want to spend my life with you. So obviously, I think about that.

Isabelle: Oh my god.

Max: And you’ve thought about it too.

Isabelle: I— okay, maybe, but that’s different!

Max: How?

Isabelle: Because I didn’t expect you to think about it!!

Max: …Schatje.

Isabelle: What.

Max: I love you.

Isabelle: …I love you too.

Max: I want to build a future with you. A family. I don’t know when that will happen, but I know that when it does, I want you to be the mother of my children.

Isabelle: …

Max: You’re being very quiet.

Isabelle: …Just processing.

Max: Take your time. 

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emilie. Emergency.

Emilie: What did Max do?

Isabelle: We were talking about CARS. Just cars. Like normal people.

Emilie: Uh-huh…

Isabelle: And then out of nowhere, he’s like, “Well, think about the children.”

Emilie: …WHAT.

Isabelle: EXACTLY.

Emilie: WHAT.

Emilie: And what did you say???

Isabelle: Nothing! My brain short-circuited! He just kept talking like it was totally normal!!!

Emilie: Belle. Be honest. Are you freaking out because it was unexpected or because you really liked hearing him say that?

Isabelle: …I met his nephews.

Isabelle: Emilie. They’re tiny Maxes. Like. Exact replicas. The genes in that family are scary.

Emilie: YOU’RE GONE.

Isabelle: I’M IN DANGER.

Emilie: No, you’re in love.

Emilie: Belle. I love you, but you’ve always been that girl. The type who had a secret wedding Pinterest board at sixteen and a list of baby names hidden in your notes app.

Isabelle: …Shut up.

Emilie: Am I wrong?

Isabelle: …No.

Emilie: EXACTLY. And now you have a boyfriend who also thinks about those things. I’m so happy for you.

Isabelle: But like. He said it so casually. Like he just knows it’s going to happen. No hesitation, no panic. Just “Think about the children.”

Emilie: He’s in love with you, Belle. Obviously, he’s thinking about the future.

Isabelle: Yeah, but. That far ahead?

Emilie: Let’s be real. You love that he’s thinking about it.

Isabelle: I do. I really do.

Emilie: So. What are we naming my future godchild?

Isabelle: EMILIE.

Emilie: Just saying, you should prepare. Because if you do have a kid with Max Verstappen, it’s definitely going to be a mini Max.

Isabelle: I KNOW. That’s the problem. His genes are terrifyingly strong.

Emilie: You’re already picturing it, aren’t you?

Isabelle: …Maybe.

Emilie: You’re so gone for this man.

Isabelle: I KNOW.

Isabelle: I mean, logically, I knew Max was serious about us. But hearing him say something like that so casually? Like it’s just… a fact?

Emilie: Because to him, it is a fact. Belle, you are it for him. You really think Max Verstappen does things halfway?

Isabelle: No…

Emilie: Exactly. This is a guy who commits fully to everything. You think he wouldn’t be the same about you? About your future together?

Isabelle: I guess I just never thought someone would… want that with me, you know?

Emilie: Oh, Belle.

Isabelle: Like, I love my brothers, but I’ve spent my whole life feeling like an afterthought. Charles, Lorenzo and Arthur had their thing, their path, their goals. I was just… there.

Emilie: You were never just there.

Isabelle: It felt like it. Like I was always waiting for someone to see me. And now here’s Max, just—knowing. No hesitation, no doubts. He just knows.

Emilie: And that scares you?

Isabelle: No. That’s the thing—it doesn’t. It should, right? I should be panicking because it’s too much, too soon. But I’m not.

Emilie: Because deep down, you’ve already thought about it too.

Isabelle: …Yeah.

Emilie: So what now?

Isabelle: I don’t know. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Text him like, “Hey, I’d love to ruin my body for you, let’s make a Verstappen baby”?

Emilie: STOP! I just choked on my drink.

Isabelle: You asked!

Emilie: Okay, but honestly—do you want that? Not just in theory. Not just someday. With him.

Isabelle: …Yeah. I do.

Emilie: Belle. That’s huge.

Isabelle: I know. But it’s also terrifying.

Emilie: Why?

Isabelle: Because what if I let myself want it too much? What if I start dreaming about it and then something happens? What if it doesn’t work out?

Emilie: Okay, but what if it does? What if you and Max get everything you’ve ever wanted?

Isabelle: …Then I think I’d be really, really happy.

Emilie: Then maybe it’s time to start letting yourself believe in it.

Isabelle: Yeah. Maybe it is.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Hypothetically, what would you name our baby?

Max: Really, hypothetically? Or are you testing me?

Isabelle: Just answer the question, Verstappen.

Max: Fine. I like names that sound strong. Nothing too complicated.

Isabelle: …That’s not an answer.

Max: You answer first.

Isabelle: No, because then you’ll just pick one of mine to agree with.

Max: That is not true.

Isabelle: Prove it.

Max: Okay. If it’s a boy… maybe Noah.

Isabelle: Huh.

Max: You don’t like it?

Isabelle: No, I do! I just didn’t expect that.

Max: What did you expect?

Isabelle: I don’t know… something more Dutch?

Max: Like what?

Isabelle: I don’t know, Willem.

Max: …That’s literally the king’s name.

Isabelle: And your name is literally Max Emilian, you’re acting like you don’t sound like a prince in a European history textbook.

Max: Says the girl with four names. I refuse to name our kid Willem, by the way. 

Isabelle: Okay, fine. What about a girl?

Max: I always liked Zoe.

Isabelle: …

Max: Why are you silent?

Isabelle: I just. Didn’t expect that either.

Max: You’re testing me, aren’t you?

Isabelle: Maybe.

Max: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Okay, fine, I was curious.

Max: And?

Isabelle: And now I know that you’ve actually thought about this.

Max: Of course I have. I told you—I don’t do things halfway.

Isabelle: …

Max: What?

Isabelle: Nothing.

Max: Isabelle.

Isabelle: It’s just… I like Zoe.

Max: Yeah?

Isabelle: Yeah.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Hey, I need car advice.

GP: For yourself?

Max: No, for Isabelle.

GP: What happened to her current car?

Max: It died. Fixing it would cost more than it's worth.

GP: That sounds about right. So, what are you thinking?

Max: Something safe for the kids.

GP:

GP:

GP: WHAT KIDS?

Max: ???

GP: MAX.

GP: ISABELLE IS PREGNANT???

Max: No??

GP: THEN WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT "SOMETHING SAFE FOR THE KIDS"?

Max: Oh. I meant, like, future kids.

GP: Max.

GP: You nearly gave me a heart attack.

Max: Why would you immediately assume she's pregnant?

GP: BECAUSE YOU SAID "FOR THE KIDS."

Max: Yeah, but future ones. Obviously.

GP: Nothing about that was obvious, Max.

Max: …So do you have a car suggestion or not?

GP: Max. MAX. You’ve been dating for—what—five months?

Max: Almost six.

GP: AND YOU’RE ALREADY THINKING ABOUT KIDS??

Max: I mean, yeah? Why wouldn’t I?

GP: Because most people don’t plan future car safety for hypothetical children six months into a relationship??

Max: Well, when you know, you know.

Max: Anyway. I’m thinking of an SUV. Maybe a Mercedes. Isabelle wants something practical, but I don’t trust her to pick something actually safe.

GP: What does she want?

Max: “Something cheap that won’t make her cry if a horse destroys it.”

GP: And you?

Max: Something that won’t crumple in a crash. Something safe. Something that—

GP: Can carry future Verstappen babies, I got it.

Max: You’re catching on.

GP: You are so lucky I’ve known you this long because if anyone else told me this six months into dating, I’d assume they were insane.

Max: I am insane.

GP: … Fair.

GP: So, does Isabelle know you’re out here planning a future family car?

Max: Not exactly.

GP: Oh my god.

Max: We were just talking about what kind of car she should get, and I may have casually mentioned thinking about safety for future kids.

GP: And?

Max: She kind of short-circuited.

GP: No kidding.

GP: So, what’s the plan?

Max: I’m going to “help” her pick something.

GP: Meaning?

Max: Meaning she thinks we’re going car shopping, but really, I’m going to steer her toward something I already picked out.

GP: You are so manipulative.

Max: Smart. I’m smart.

GP: Does she know that you’re just going to buy it for her?

Max: No, and she’ll fight me on it, but I’ll win.

GP: How?

Max: I’ll just tell her it’s a gift, and if she doesn’t accept it, I’ll be very sad.

GP: Max, that only works because you have the face of a golden retriever.

Max: And I use it.

Max: So, what car should I buy her?

GP: You want me to help you pick a car for your girlfriend, who has no idea you’re about to buy her a car?

Max: Exactly.

GP: Do I look like a car salesman?

Max: You look like my race engineer, which means you’re good at analyzing data and helping me make smart decisions.

GP: That is such a stretch.

Max: Come on. What would you get if you were picking a car for your girlfriend?

GP: Something reliable. Safe. Not too flashy—

Max: Boring.

GP: Practical.

Max: I don’t want Isabelle driving something boring.

GP: Because you’re planning on borrowing it?

Max: No! Because she deserves something nice.

GP: But she doesn’t want nice, she wants practical.

Max: I can do both.

GP: Max—

Max: What?

GP: Just buy her a Volvo.

Max: A Volvo?

GP: Safe. Reliable. Built to last.

Max: But—

GP: Also one of the best crash-tested brands in the world. You did say you were thinking about kids, right?

Max: I hate that you know me this well.

GP: That’s my job.

Max: …Fine. I’ll look at Volvos.

GP: Good. Just… next time you text me something like that, lead with the fact that she’s not pregnant.

Max: I think it was funnier this way.

GP: I hate you.

***

"You’re being weird."

Max glanced at Isabelle as they walked into the dealership, his face a perfect mask of innocence. "I’m not being weird."

"You are," she insisted, narrowing her eyes. "You hate car dealerships. You said, and I quote, ‘Why would I subject myself to this when I can just order a car online and have it delivered like a normal person?’”

"Well," Max said smoothly, "this is different. This is your car."

Isabelle was still suspicious but let it go. For now. She’s just grateful he came with her. She might love shopping, but car shopping? Absolutely not.

A salesman approached, all too eager when he recognised who had just walked in. "Mr. Verstappen, it’s a pleasure! How can I help you today?"

Max didn’t even hesitate. "We’re looking at SUVs."

Isabelle stopped in her tracks. "We are?"

"Yes," Max said, completely unfazed. "Something safe. Reliable. Good for long drives and carrying things."

"Like hay and tack and muddy boots?" she deadpanned.

The salesman, sensing an easy sale, grinned. "I’ve got some great options! Any particular brands in mind?"

Max gave him a look. The look. The one that meant he already had one car in mind and would not be swayed.

"Show us the Volvo XC90, please."

Isabelle blinked. "A Volvo?"

Max nodded. "Volvos are the safest cars on the market."

"You sound like a commercial."

"It’s true."

"I thought you were going to make me test drive something ridiculous, like a Ferrari SUV."

"No," Max scoffed, as if the mere suggestion was offensive.

The salesman led them over to a sleek, black Volvo XC90. Isabelle, despite herself, was intrigued. It was nice. Comfortable. It had all the modern safety features Max has probably memorized.

She ran her hand over the hood. "This is… actually not bad."

Max gave her a satisfied look. "GP thought you would like it."

Isabelle frowned. "Wait. GP was involved in this?"

"Of course. He and I had a whole discussion."

"About my car?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Max shrugged, playing innocent. "I wanted his opinion. He agreed it was a good choice for you."

Isabelle crossed her arms. "So you two picked this out before we even got here?"

"Not exactly—"

"Max."

"Okay, yes."

Isabelle gaped at him. "So this whole ‘shopping’ trip was just a performance? A setup?"

Max looked far too pleased with himself. "Well, I couldn’t just tell you to get this one. You’d have fought me on it."

"Of course I would have! You can’t just decide for me!"

"But you like it, don’t you?"

She hesitated. Damn him. She did like it. But that wasn’t the point.

"You’re insufferable."

Max grinned, leaning against the car. "Yet, here we are."

The salesman, wisely staying out of this, cleared his throat. "Would you like to test drive it?"

Isabelle sighed. "I guess."

Max nudged her. "You’re welcome."

"I didn’t thank you."

"You will," Max said smugly.

And annoyingly, she knew he was right.

***

Max had never been one for extravagant birthday celebrations. He much preferred a quiet evening, good food, and the company of someone he actually wanted to be around. Which was why, when Isabelle asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday, his answer was simple:

"Just dinner. At home. With you."

So that was exactly what they did.

Isabelle had insisted on cooking, despite his half-hearted protests that they could just order something. But she had shot him a look—one he knew well by now, the kind that dared him to argue—and so he had wisely backed off. Instead, he stood at the kitchen island, sipping a glass of wine as he watched her move around the kitchen with quiet efficiency.

"You know," he mused, "this is a pretty good birthday already."

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the small smile she tried to hide. "I haven't even finished cooking yet."

"Doesn't matter. You’re here. That’s enough."

Her hands stilled on the cutting board, her grip tightening slightly before she exhaled and resumed slicing the vegetables. She had never been great at accepting compliments, but Max had learned to give them anyway.

Dinner turned out perfect—simple, comforting, and exactly what he wanted. After they had eaten, they lingered at the table, talking about everything and nothing at all, her fingers occasionally brushing against his. When they finally moved to the couch, he pulled her close, letting out a content sigh.

"Happy birthday, Max," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

He hummed in response, his arms tightening around her. "It is."

Max hadn’t wanted a big celebration. No parties, no cameras, no over-the-top surprises—just a quiet evening at home with Isabelle. And honestly, that was all he needed.

He smiled, tightening his hold on her. “It is.”

The quiet hum of the city outside their apartment barely registered as Max sat there, content with the warmth of Isabelle tucked against him. He had spent birthdays in Monaco, in fancy restaurants, surrounded by people who barely knew him beyond his racing. But this—just the two of them, no distractions—was his favorite.

She shifted slightly, tilting her head to look up at him. "You’re really that easy to please?"

Max smirked. "When it comes to you? Yeah."

A faint flush rose on her cheeks, and he resisted the urge to tease her for it. Instead, he traced a slow line along her arm, feeling the way she relaxed under his touch.

After a while, Isabelle sat up, reaching for something on the coffee table. It was a small, neatly wrapped box—he hadn’t even noticed it before. She hesitated before handing it to him.

"I know you said you didn’t want anything," she said, suddenly looking a little nervous. "But—well, I wanted to get you something anyway."

Max took the box, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he unwrapped it. Inside was a simple metal bracelet. But what caught his attention was the engraving on the inside—subtle, almost hidden.

"Vitesse et cœur."

Speed and heart.

His chest tightened.

"It’s nothing big," Isabelle said quickly. "I just—I know racing is everything to you, but I also know you drive with more than just skill. You drive with everything you have." She exhaled, fingers twisting together. "I just thought it fit."

Max stared at her for a long moment before carefully sliding the bracelet onto his wrist. It fit perfectly.

He didn’t say anything right away—just pulled her close, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

"You know me too well," he murmured against her skin.

She huffed a quiet laugh. "I’d hope so, considering I’ve been secretly dating you for months."

Max chuckled, his grip on her tightening. "Best secret I’ve ever kept."

***

[misswynters]

short drabble

Ekko and heimerdinger are being nerdy while you sleep

requested. by anon

There was always a soft hum of machinery that filled the air in Heimerdinger’s workshop. And with that accompanied by the occasional clink of tools and the professor’s enthusiastic ramblings. The workshop had an oddly calming atmosphere, a mix of glowing gadgets, bubbling contraptions, and the gentle warmth of lamp-lit light. It was perfect for dozing off, especially after a long day of following Ekko around Zaun.

You were sprawled out on the old, lumpy couch tucked in a corner of the workshop, your head cushioned by one of Ekko’s jackets that you’d claimed for yourself. Curled up against your side was your pet, a small, scrappy Zaunite fox. Its fur was a mix of gray and russet, with glowing green streaks running along its ears and tail. Ekko had found it injured near one of the Sump scrapers, and after some patching up, it had attached itself to you like glue.

Ekko called it “Scraps” (because of course he would), and Scraps was now peacefully snoozing, just like you.

Across the room, Ekko and Heimerdinger were huddled around one of the professor’s latest inventions, discussing something that involved words you didn’t fully understand.

“…but if you accelerate the core’s energy output without stabilizing the oscillation, it’ll implode,” Ekko said, gesturing animatedly at the device.

Heimerdinger adjusted his tiny glasses, nodding. “Precisely! Which is why you must ensure the harmonic calibrations are synced—ah, but don’t forget to account for temporal distortions.”

As the professor continued explaining, Ekko’s focus wavered. His gaze drifted toward the couch where you were sleeping, your form softly rising and falling with each breath. Scraps twitched its glowing tail but stayed nestled close to you.

A small smile crept onto Ekko’s face. You looked so peaceful, completely at odds with the chaos that usually surrounded you both in Zaun. Your hand was loosely tangled in Scraps’ fur, your other arm tucked under your cheek.

He didn’t notice the professor had stopped talking until Heimerdinger’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Ah, young love,” Heimerdinger said, his tone tinged with teasing amusement.

Ekko snapped his head back toward him, blinking. “Huh? What’re you talking about?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. “There’s no use denying it, dear boy. The way you’re looking at them, it’s rather endearing, really.”

Ekko’s ears burned. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was just—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re asleep, alright? That’s all.”

Heimerdinger hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Still, allow me to impart some wisdom, as one who has witnessed countless romances blossom and wither over the centuries.”

“Oh no,” Ekko muttered, groaning.

Ignoring him, Heimerdinger continued, his voice taking on the tone of a well-meaning but meddling elder. “When courting a significant other, one must always show respect, patience, and attentiveness. Flowers are an excellent gesture, but so is active listening. Communication, you see, is the foundation of—”

“Professor,” Ekko interrupted, exasperated. “I don’t think you understand. We’re not—”

“Young people these days,” Heimerdinger said with a dramatic shake of his head, cutting him off. “Always so quick to dismiss advice. But mark my words: treat them well, or you’ll regret it!”

Before Ekko could retort, Scraps stirred, lifting its head with a sleepy yawn. The movement must’ve disturbed you because you shifted slightly, blinking groggily as the sound of their voices filtered through your half asleep haze.

“Mm… what’s going on?” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Scraps hopped off the couch and stretched before circling back to your lap.

Ekko winced, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Firefly,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d given you. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Firefly—because you were always a little light in Zaun’s darkness, buzzing around him with endless energy.

You shook your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “It’s fine,” you murmured, scratching Scraps behind the ears. “What were you guys talking about?”

Heimerdinger perked up. “Oh, nothing of consequence!” he said cheerfully, though his smirk told a different story. “Merely enlightening young Ekko on the art of courtship.”

You blinked, then glanced at Ekko, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Courtship?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Ekko muttered, shooting Heimerdinger a look.

The professor chuckled, his ears twitching. “Ah, youth. So easily embarrassed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ekko’s expression, your earlier grogginess fading. “Well, did you learn anything useful?” you teased.

Ekko rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

He reached out, ruffling your hair gently before pulling his hand back. “For real, though. Sorry we woke you up. Want me to walk you home?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the couch. “Nah, I’m good here. I like listening to you two talk.”

Heimerdinger beamed. “A kindred spirit indeed! Intellectual discourse is a joy to behold, is it not?”

Ekko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And now you’ve encouraged him. Great.”

You just laughed again, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. Scraps let out a contented sigh, curling up in your lap, and Ekko plopped down on the couch beside you. His hand found yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go, his usual ease returning.

The three of you stayed in the workshop, for endless hours as the two nerds worked on their projects. Whereas you cheered them on at the sidelines with cute ol’ Scraps to keep you company. Especially when they would talk about all the science lingo that you did not understand. Even though ekko would sometimes explain it in more simpler terms. It didn’t quite go through your head. Needlessly to say you enjoyed the days you would spend at the workshop.

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

banner. @anitalenia

[limitbreaker23]

This so cute, and I'm so touched you enjoyed my little oc being present, that I wrote you this little moment of Lan Xichen and Yu Mengwan together after Chengzhan's wedding in Silence. Thank youuuuuuu so much!🥹 🤲 *ugly crying noises*

Lan Xichen let out a sigh too loud to be ignored. Watching his little brother set off for weeks of night hunting right after his wedding left him with tangled feelings. The soft expression of happiness on Lan Wangji’s face stretched his lips into the smallest of smiles and sprinkled glittering light into his eyes. Rarer than blue and red moons, calmer and more threatening than both as well. Next to Clan Leader Jiang’s bright grin, cutting across his face until his teeth were bared in laughter instead of a growl for once, no one would once again pay attention to Lan Wangji’s subdued happiness. Only this one person looked at Lan Wangji with all his might, and Lan Xichen tried only to linger on that.

He didn’t have trouble smiling back as Lan Wangji bowed his final goodbye and rode off on horseback with Clan Leader Jiang. That heavy heart of his forced him to watch them grow smaller and smaller in the distance. It wasn’t torturing him anymore, it wasn’t painful, but a heart needed more time to let go of some people. Lan Wangji had always enjoyed night hunts, travelling, wandering the world and taking in its wonders and plights. Lan Xichen had always enjoyed receiving his letters, never more than a few sentences, and a gift from his travels attached from time to time. Now, would he still receive letters from his brother?

“Zewu-Jun.”

Clan Leader Jiang’s second in command had approached him, clasped his hands in a quick, friendly greeting. Yu Mengwan had been appointed as second in command only recently, and was now already in charge of the entirety of Lotus Pier in Clan Leader Jiang’s absence. He smiled as if that responsibility was joy, not a burden, and a little flutter of the heart was unavoidable.

“You’ve been standing here for a while. Would you come and join me to show you a better view?”

Lan Xichen smiled back. His heavy heart could still flutter, perhaps it could soar again sooner than anticipated. “I’d be happy to. Lead the way.”

Yu Mengwan offered him a smirk void of mischief to cling to, then led him away from the gates of Lotus Pier. They crossed bridged walkways, water full of lotus flowers glistening beneath their feet, and headed through courtyards full of wedding decorations. Lotus Pier had bloomed under them, and the disciples and servants all indulged in taking in the sight once more, before joining efforts to take them down together.

Yu Mengwan was chatting as they walked towards the lakes. It was always good to have someone around that was great at telling stories, that could take the mind to different places when it wanted to hide. Lan Xichen listened to all the stories as intently as possible. Listened to which rooms Clan Leader Jiang had rebuilt, which details in the carvings he had been particular about, where he had been fed up with delays to the point of hammering a roof into place himself. He listened to which places Lan Wangji had enjoyed to spent his days at when he had visited Lotus Pier for a prolonged amount of time last winter. How he had taught little Young Master Jin horse riding here, archery over there, and scouted an instrument for music lessons right there.

Apparently, another roof had fallen victim to the snow and Lan Wangji had fixed it together with Clan Leader Jiang. This was just something Lan Wangji indulged in at times, when he saw the need for a helping hand, he extended it until his arm was pulled and nearly torn off. Clan Leader Jiang didn’t seem like the person that would sit on a rooftop in winter to fix wood and frames, but looking up at the room Yu Mengwan pointed at, Lan Xichen could see the shape of his brother, joined by his now-husband, and he hoped they had looked as happy as his mind painted them.

“These piers, too,” Yu Mengwan said as they walked out towards the lakes. “They were scorched and broken when we returned to Lotus Pier after the Sunshot Campaign. Supplies and workers were limited, so we all worked on it together. Oh, watch out if you ever go to the eastside. Whoever put those planks together thought all people can float over those giant gaps between them.”

Lan Xichen raised his hand to cover his laughter behind his sleeve. The railing here was steady enough to lean against, which Yu Mengwan made a point out of showing him as he casually leant against it to present the view of the lake. Perhaps not worth another laugh, and Lan Xichen gave it anyway.

“Good work,” he said and patted the railing, as if it had put itself together, and that was ridiculous enough that Yu Mengwan should laugh back at him, not just smirk.

“Thank you, Zewu-Jun. Up until… this part over there, I built it all by myself.” Yu Mengwan ran his hand over the smooth railing like he, too, was praising it for holding together so well for many years. “So, naturally, I think it has the best view in all of Lotus Pier. What do you think?”

Lan Xichen settled his hand on the railing, smooth and without the danger of possible splinters, and looked out over the lakes. From where they were standing, nothing obscured the view all the way to the other shores, no houses, no pavilions, no boats, only the vast horizon. In the golden sunlight, the water gleamed more beautiful than jewellery. The thick green leaves of the lotus flowers around them were covered in sparkling dewdrops, healthy and strong, without bitemarks from water spirits on them. In the coming months, they would bloom splendidly, surely.

“What a beautiful view to enjoy while working,” Lan Xichen said. “I hope to see more of it in the summer.”

“Nothing will stop you from visiting,” Yu Mengwan said with that hint of his smirk almost teasing, quite distracting from the view. Quite some foolish flutters of the heart.

“Oh, I’m sure there’s no need to worry,” Lan Xichen said quickly. “This isn’t a prison, after all…”

Yu Mengwan squinted at him for a moment, then took it as a joke, which most people at Gusu-Lan were not skilled at. “You looked quite pitiful, staring after your brother, as if you’d never see each other again, so I wanted to make sure,” he said, just like this. “I’m aware there were some disagreements between you, your brother, and Clan Leader Jiang. But it’s settled now, and you know…” He looked down to the pier, poked the tip of his boot at the small gap between the planks where the lake water was dragged past them by the gentle winds. “Water under the bridge.”

“Oh? Why do I feel like you have to talk to a child, Yu Mengwan?” Lan Xichen asked with a smile, too appreciative for the advice to make his reply sound insulting.

Yu Mengwan seemed to take no offense, had given none either. “Don’t most of us enjoy when someone talks to us like they worry? And too few people try and encourage us to do better after a certain age, hm?”

Lan Xichen smiled, because yes, at some point, teachers seemed to never guide you anymore. Apart from Jin Guangyao, who now had too many people to worry about, only his brother had never stopped. And now, with Lan Wangji leaving him, who would find him early in the morning in a cold room and drape a cloak around his shoulders, sit quietly next to him as he answered correspondence, play the qin to ease his mind?

Lan Xichen noticed that he had nervously tapped the smooth railing and been watched. He quickly smiled and stopped treating wood as if it was an instrument’s strings, worth a melody long past.

“I know that it’s sometimes hard and sometimes not so hard to let a brother go, I do,” Yu Mengwan said. “Oh, believe me, my brother would be over the moon if he didn’t have to see my face every day. I hope you didn’t feel offended hearing him serenade the moon the other night. He was a little tipsy.”

“I saw you blocking Clan Leader Jiang’s view when your brother was drinking under the kitchen table,” Lan Xichen said, because he couldn’t help himself. Not when Yu Mengwan made such an endearing pained face as if someone had caught him and not his brother drink from the giant jar of wine under the table. “It seemed Clan Leader Jiang only pretended he didn’t see.”

“Brothers,” Yu Mengwan said through clenched jaws, expecting reassurance, and Lan Xichen gave it instinctively, his heart fluttering, hoping for another smile, and when relief washed over that handsome face, the smile returned. Thankfully.

A little foolish, but no one there to judge foolishness and flutters. Lan Xichen clung to the railing and leant just a little closer, lowered his voice just a little.

“You and your brother,” he asked, slowly and carefully, almost whispering his words, as if they were sharing a secret, “have been staying at Lotus Pier for a while now. Perhaps you feel unrest… and yearn to travel soon?”

Yu Mengwan crossed his arms on the railing, right next to his grip, and leant right into his space, eyebrows raised in question. “What do you mean to ask?”

He wasn’t too sure himself. “By now, it’s almost certain Clan Leader Jiang’s second in command is destined for greater adventures the moment they’re appointed. Your predecessors married quickly only a few months later and returned to their homes. Do you… well. Someone like you… I’m sure, well, you have many options.”

“Me?” Yu Mengwan chuckled as if that was the only funny thing about Lan Xichen’s embarrassing stutter of words he had immediately regretted. “I don’t plan on getting married. And I don’t plan on leaving my home here. When you ask whether my brother and I will ever return to Meishan-Yu, then I cannot speak for him, only for myself. Lotus Pier is my home now. I decided to follow Jiang Cheng during the Sunshot Campaign, and I have seen nothing that will change my mind.”

“Oh?” Perhaps sometimes a mere sound implied a thousand questions.

“I know Jiang Cheng since he was a child. When we trained with the spiritual whip, my brothers and I, he was dashing through the gaps, jumping over and around them, until we had to tie him up, and he still demanded to train with us. I remember him fighting, leading, rebuilding. I remember the blood on his face and hands, and I stopped thinking that this is only a child I knew once. That was Clan Leader Jiang now, who would do anything to keep us safe, stain his hands before ours, even when others would judge him for his actions. All of our wrongs and rights built this shelter we have now. We made ourselves a new home at Lotus Pier, all of us together. I’m not leaving it. I’ve worked so hard for this position. The heavens, the earth, hell can all try and take it from me. Let them come.”

Lan Xichen smiled, listening to this confession of loyalty, and even when his heart felt heavier again, it wasn’t stopped from soaring straight out of his chest, leaving him warm all over. His smile felt like it reached place it hadn’t reached in a long time, and Yu Mengwan did smile back at him, his face seeming a little redder than before.

He pushed himself off the railing and rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly, cleared his throat. “I also remember your brother when he was a strict little boy, disciplining boys three heads taller than himself. He was far from polite refusing to eat my steamed buns. I even had some without meat for him. Just to remind you.”

“I don’t need reminding. My uncle fondly remembers Wangji’s first time punishing someone, three heads taller than himself. He loves telling the story.”

Yu Mengwan let out a pained chuckle, as if he was about to burst into tears at the memory of that strict child standing tall next to his kneeling figure, reciting the regulations to hammer them into his brain with unrelenting calm.

“It’s hard to remember your brother ever was a child,” Yu Mengwan said.

Lan Xichen nodded. “Sometimes…”

Yu Mengwan glanced at him for a moment too long, then patted the railing next to Lan Xichen’s hand, a little close, a little too far away. If he stretched his pinkie finger now, he could find out if that hand that had built this railing was rough or soft, cold or warm, a little of both perhaps.

All those flutters of his heart had taken his sanity from him, apparently.

“Hanguang-Jun isn’t easy to read, and I don’t assume many people aside from you and Clan Leader Jiang can, but I hope when you remember how happy it made all people at Lotus Pier to have him around, you can rest assured that we’ll look out for him. Oh, I’ll write to you when he eats a steamed bun I made, would that be alright with you?”

Lan Xichen smiled, tapped at the smooth railing and looked into the sky after his fluttering heart, soaring in the sky among that flock of swallows between the clouds. He nodded.

“Do keep me posted,” he told the lakes. “I look forward to correspondence from Clan Leader Jiang’s second in command.”

“Then I’ll –”

Loud trampling sounds, as if a horde of cows had burst onto the piers, made them both turn. Three children ran towards them, two pushing and pulling each other in their attempts to be first, the one behind them laughing, attempting to walk as fast as possible.

“Young Masters, slow down!” Yu Mengwan blocked the children’s way and crouched in front of them, arms outstretched so that they couldn’t make it past them.

Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi nearly toppled over each other. Behind them, Lan Sizhui stopped as well and bashfully looked at his feet, as if Lan Xichen would scold him for running now.

“Yu Mengwan!” Jin Ling put his hands on his hips. “You are slacking off again, I will tell Uncle!”

“But what if I tell him first that you’re running on the pier, hm?” Yu Mengwan also put his hands on his hips, while Jin Ling seemed to ponder the consequences carefully.

Lan Jingyi looked ready to smack him over the head, looked up at Lan Xichen, then at Lan Sizhui, and then decided to also look bashfully at the pier. “We won’t do it again, Zewu-Jun. Please don’t tell Hanguang-Jun.”

“We were practicing,” Lan Sizhui said. “By jumping over the gaps between the planks.”

“When Uncle and Hanguang-Uncle come back, I want to fly to greet them,” Jin Ling exclaimed with such determination, Lan Xichen chuckled softly.

“Then we’ll practice together,” Yu Mengwan said to the cheers of the children. Jin Ling was jumping at him suddenly, wanting to be carried on his back. Lan Jingyi stumbled after, pulling at Yu Mengwan’s other arm and at Jin Ling at the same time, until no one could have guessed if he wanted to pull Jin Ling away or climb on Yu Mengwan’s back as well. “Slow down, I can’t carry all of you!”

“I can carry one of you,” Lan Xichen said.

“Oho!” Yu Mengwan grinned up at him with that teasing smirk that could have disarmed an army, then turned to the children. “Who of you is brave enough to ask Clan Leader Lan, Zewu-Jun, infamous member of the Venerated Triad, for a ride, hm?”

Jin Ling used Yu Mengwan’s robe to hide, Lan Jingyi froze as if time had stopped for him, and Lan Sizhui stepped forward, soft smile on his face. He reached for Lan Xichen.

“I am,” Lan Sizhui said, holding out his hands as the other children gasped. “Carry me, Zewu-Jun?”

Lan Xichen smiled back, that group of people too happy not to. He let Lan Sizhui climb on his back, while Yu Mengwan heaved two children on his shoulders. For a moment, he swayed as if he was crumbling under the weight, and Lan Xichen reached out to steady him, right before Yu Mengwan caught his balance dramatically. Jin Ling laughed as if it was an old joke between them. Even if it wasn’t necessary, apparently, Lan Xichen kept his hand close to Yu Mengwan’s back in case any would fall, stumble, even sway again.

“Hold on, Young Masters,” Yu Mengwan said and started to speed up, away from Lan Xichen’s hand. He had to walk faster to keep close. Up. “Let’s see if we can win a race against Zewu-Jun and A-Yuan, hm?” He grinned at Lan Xichen, only a heartbeat for a silent question, and dashed ahead like an arrow shot from a bow. The children yelled and cheered him on, and Lan Xichen ran after all that noise, Lan Sizhui clutching at his neck much like Lan Wangji had as a child, the only difference the bubbling laughter hitting his neck.

At Lotus Pier, running wasn’t forbidden, and surrounded by such laughter, it was quite fun. Lan Xichen caught up after a few steps, the pier just large enough to run next to each other, so there was no need to race ahead. Indulge himself once, feel an elbow brushing his, and letting a laugh escape into the symphony of shouts and cheers.

a completely self-indulgent portrait sketch of Lan Xichen and Yu Mengwan, Jiang Cheng’s second in command from Silence Withered in Spring by @limitbreaker23

[dollyswishingwell]

Hiii, love your writing:3 could you write one about the LADS guys with an MC that loves kisses but had a partner that said that too much kissing was annoying so she struggles asking for them

how would the guys reassure MC that they adore kissing her

Have a lovely day :3

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Give it to me

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ flufff, just pure fluff lol

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They want all your kisses

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

– He thinks something’s wrong when you suddenly start pulling back after kisses. He notices your nervous fingers and sad little glance.

– “Cutie?” he says, slipping in front of you and leaning close. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like I won’t kiss you stupid?”

– You shyly admit you’re used to being told it’s too much.

– He goes dead silent, then starts peppering your face in dramatic, sloppy, tickly kisses.

– “I love your kisses. Love, love, love. I want ten more. No—twenty. Right now. Don’t make me cry, baby, I need them to live~”

– From then on, he pouts if you don’t kiss him every few minutes. “I think I’m withering,” he moans, sprawled dramatically. “Only your lips can save me.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

– Zayne notices it immediately. The slight pause, the shy glance at his lips, the way you lean in but never quite close the distance.

– “You want a kiss?” he asks lowly, tilting your chin. When you hesitate, he narrows his eyes. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

– When you tell him your ex said it was annoying, there’s a long pause. His jaw ticks. “That won’t happen here.”

– From that day on, Zayne kisses you constantly, forehead, temple, hands, lips. Even in the middle of hospital rounds, he steals private kisses.

– “Don’t you ever hold back again,” he murmurs, breath brushing your lips. “I’ll never be tired of kissing you.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

– You nervously pull back every time you try to kiss him more than once in a row, and Xavier catches on with his usual eerie calm.

– “Do you think I dislike it?” he asks with a soft tilt of his head, confused. You tell him you’ve just… been told that before.

– He frowns slightly. “That doesn’t apply to me.”

– After that, he starts counting your kisses like little stars. “That’s three. Only three?” he teases. “You must not love me very much.”

– Sometimes he’ll wake up from one of his random naps with a lazy grin and murmur, “Did I miss any kisses? Give them all to me now.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

– The moment he notices you pulling away or hesitating to lean in, Sylus is on high alert. He thinks someone’s upset you.

– When you admit you’re just not used to asking for kisses because your ex found them annoying, Sylus is pissed.

– “That’s because they were a damn fool,” he scoffs. “You’re lucky I don’t chain you to my lap with how kissable you are.”

– From then on, he kisses you just to shut you up mid-ramble, mid-cooking, mid-bubble bath.

– “You want a kiss?” he smirks. “Then take it. All of them. Every second you don’t kiss me is annoying, sweetheart.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

– Caleb’s sharp eyes catch it the first time you look longingly at his mouth and then glance away.

– “What is it, princess?” he asks gently. You brush it off, but he presses again.

– When you admit the truth, he’s stunned, furrows his brow, softly cupping your cheek. “Who said that to you?”

– You’re embarrassed, but Caleb pulls you into his arms, presses a long kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.

– “You’re mine now. That means your kisses are mine too. Ask me for them whenever you want, or better—just take them.”

– He always tilts his head down just a little when you walk near, so his lips are right there for the taking.

[spideyyygotmotionn]

PETER PARKER - the mask stays on.

Synopsis 🕸️ you always dreamed of doing it with spider man, this was like a birthday wish come true.

Contains 🕸️ nsfw!, 18+, spiderman fan!reader, smut, piv, mask stays on, afab, bday sex, a lot of plot sorry, established relationship, secret relationship, horrible roleplay, pet names, praise, oral sex (m!receiving), no protection (wrap it before u tap it irl), reader doesn’t know spider-man’s identity, oblivious!reader, parker is a people pleaser for you only

word count 🕷️: 4K

you had a secret.

a secret that you’ve managed to keep all to yourself for as long as you could remember. you had a tiny crush on spiderman. “tiny” is a understatement. okay a big crush whatever you want to say. you couldn’t help it, he just looked so good? sure you weren’t sure of the face card situation but the energy? no one understands it like you do. he’s so mysterious yet kind and cocky all at once but not too much to the point where it’s a turn off. he’s so cute. imagine how horrified you were when word got out that you liked spider-man.

you wanted to kill Laura. she teased you about it a little too loudly during homeroom and word got out fast. “really? spiderman? sure he’s cool, but you got all this in front of you babe.” flash laughs while gesturing to himself as if he was somehow magically a choice in your eyes. Peter rolled his eyes at flash’s weak attempts to flirt with you. you couldn’t even bring yourself to reply as you scoffed at him and turned to Laura. ‘see what you did.’ your face read while she mouthed a ‘sorry!’ in silence. all of you somehow missed a blushing peter parker as ned jolted out of his seat to slap him.

“anyway, this is so not the 18th birthday i wanted to experience. my senior year, freshly 18, and my celebrity crush is the biggest topic of conversation. yayyy.” you sarcastically cheered clearly bothered by everyone knowing.

“well it’s not so bad. it’s just a celebrity crush. at least your real crush isn’t taking it to heart.” Laura smiled sympathetically. you didn’t miss her head gesture towards Parker who was actually your boyfriend. it was a bit of a complicated situation you felt guilty yourself for keeping another huge secret from your best friend. Peter Parker was your boyfriend but no one knew.

“so.. spiderman?” parker questioned with a shit eating grin on his face. you groaned in desperation as you plopped yourself face first down on your bed. “oh c’mon it’s not the worst thing in the world. it’s kinda cute.” peter laughed as he caressed your hair, an attempt to comfort you. “not cute. it’s embarrassing.” you sighed rolling over to face him. peter couldn’t help but feel the tiniest amount of guilt for knowing why he found it cute.

you kept staring into your handsome boyfriends innocent eyes and your biggest dream crossed your mind. would it be shameful to ask? you would assume yes but it is your birthday after all…

“Happy birthday sweetheart.” Peter kissed you gently on the lips. a small innocent kiss which lasted around 3 seconds max.

“it is my birthday…”

“it is.”

“can i ask you something?” your cheeks were burning. you didn’t even want to imagine how foolish you must look in Peter’s eyes. face blushing furiously as your curious eyes scanned his face looking for any type of expression.

“go ahead love, you can ask me anything.” he smiled unsure of where you were going with this but still curious nonetheless.

“can we have sex—withyoudressedupasspiderman?” you rambled so quickly trying your best to not melt away. you’ve never felt your body so hot before you felt as if this was nearly the end.

“okay.” without a second thought peter responded. honestly ever since he’s heard that you liked spiderman it’s all he’s been thinking of. he felt like a pervert but i guess that can be applied to both you. okay wasn’t the answer you were expecting but you never felt such joy.

“REALLY? you’re not messing with me right?? because if you are-“ your defensive words quickly got cut off by a kiss. one that wasn’t as soft as the first one, this one was more harsh with a hint of desperation behind it.

“no. not messing with you at all. i’ll be right back.” your boyfriend hurried off leaving you confused. you sat on your bed all alone with a small pout on your face due to the lack of explanation that came from him.

—★

after nearly an hour you finally heard your doorbell ring. you jumped outta bed and went to go open the door. before fully opening it you looked through the peep hole as you usually did. there stood your slightly less handsome boyfriend. yes, less handsome because he left you alone for almost an entire hour on your birthday. you opened the door to give him a piece of your mind only to stay silent.

all your anger washed away as he stood at your door with a spider-man suit in his hands. you were not expecting that… you pulled him by his shirt inside and slammed the door shut not wanting to waste anymore time. you rushed into your bedroom holding his hand not slowing down your pace for anything.

“where’d you get that?!” you asked shocked by how realistic the suit looked. your boyfriend smiled sheepishly as he tried to come up with some sort of explanation but none were good enough and luckily fell on deaf ears. you were so excited his words didn’t register inside your head. it’s like everything was going in one ear and out the other.

Peter wasn’t an idiot (most of the time), he knew this was risky. the suit he brought was an old one that he had from awhile back. it wasn’t his most recent suit but you being the fangirl you are still recognized it as one of spider-man’s iconic suits. your personal favorite as well. you stared in awe at the material as you ran your hands over it admiring every stitch. it was how you perfectly envisioned it to look and feel. buttery smooth and vibrant.

Peters shaky hands took the suit from your grasp before you can get any ideas. you glanced up at him almost confused as to why he took it away. “I should put it on right?” he asks examining your face. he wasn’t sure what exactly you were thinking about at the moment but the silver lining of excitement crossing your eyes told him everything he needed to know.

“yes!” you nodded frantically. a bit too excited for your own liking. you were so excited you couldn’t even remind yourself to play it cool. this was everything you ever dreamed of. you couldn’t take your eyes off of him as you took in everything. from his hair, brown nervous eyes, his shaky breathing, toned body, built arms, and abs. your eyes crossing over every inch of skin he was exposing to you.

you felt your body shiver as he put on the mask. you could feel every single small hair on your arms rise up as your heart beat got louder. goosebumps. a rush of butterflies in your stomach. it felt so real. more real than you could even imagine. your heart itself could’ve froze if it wasn’t for how rapidly it was pounding in your chest.

—★

“are.. are you okay?” spiderman called to you as he laid you gently on your bed. it was his idea to role play a scenario of him rescuing you and you ‘returning the favor’ in your own way.

you almost forgot your own line as you got lost staring into the white eyes of the mask. your stare was so strong it was as if you were trying to look for his brown eyes under the mask.

“no. i think i need some more help.” you pleaded forcing yourself to sit up on your knees, snapping out of your previous thoughts. you raised your hand to lay on his neck pulling him down closer to you. you could hear his breath hitch under the mask.

“are you hurt?” he asks shyly. he never would’ve imagined finding himself in this situation fake or not. he was thankful for the mask that was hiding his blush due to the perfect view he had of your breasts. he could see the dark blue lace of your bra peeking out of your black tank top.

“yes. i feel a lot of pain… here.” you looked at him with innocent eyes as you used your free hand to guide his hand to your right breasts. he had to bite down a groan of his own.

“well-well that’s just not good is it?” he asked breathlessly grabbing your breast harshly as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. “m-mm” you shook your head in agreement.

you felt yourself growing shy by the second when he pushed down both your bra and top exposing your breast to the suddenly cold air. you weren’t sure if the air was actually cold or if it was because your body was so hot. even his suit felt cold against your body, highlighting every inch of heat your body had to offer. despite his fingers being fully covered he can feel the heat radiating from your body through the material. he’s never felt you this warm before it flattered him.

“don’t worry angel, i’ll make you feel better.” he mumbled in your ear. he only lifted his mask halfway up to expose his mouth. you opened your mouth to say something but your thoughts were shut down as he took your breast into his mouth. you couldn’t hold back your moan as he flicked his tongue around your nipple while he used his other hand to massage the other. this felt like too much teasing for your own liking at the moment.

you reached back to unclip your bra and slip off your shirt completely. he stared in awe, sure it wasn’t the first time he saw them but it was the first time Spiderman had the luxury of seeing them firsthand. you scrambled out of your soft cotton gray sweatpants exposing your lace red thong. Peter almost had the wind knocked out of him by the sight. he knew you liked Spiderman but the fact that you wore both his colors as well? it was like a wet dream come true for him.

“y’know it is my birthday… but i don’t mind treating you.” you playfully giggled as you planted yourself on your knees in front of him. Peter was thankful you were still somewhat away from him so you couldn’t hear him gulp. ‘i am not worthy’ he silently thought to himself before pulling his mask back down and pulling down the zipper of his suit. (we’re imagining okay. EVERYTHING STAYS ON IDC)

you’ve seen his member before but it felt so different this time. you kept having to remind yourself this wasn’t Spiderman but nothing ever felt so real before. it’s like your own boyfriend perfectly captured him in this suit. his build was always amazing and you admired it all the time but damn.. this suit works wonders for him doesn’t it? maybe he should be spiderman.

Peter couldn’t help but shrink a little, despite towering over you he felt like you were the one looking down on him. your eyes were so intimidating, it turned him on especially when he couldn’t read your emotions. “oh fuck—feels so good.” he groans when your warm mouth consumes him full. he’ll never get used to that, the way your mouth is perfectly shaped for his dick. you take him in with ease as you bob your head up and down. “your boyfriend’s real lucky. lucky to have this mouth all to himself.” he says somewhat jokingly. he knows how lucky he is to have you.

man he was so cute. you could almost feel your lips curve up into a smile at his praise. he might be dressed as spiderman but that was still your peter parker under there. your sweet loving peter parker. peter always had to fight back the urge not to buck his hips into your throat rapidly. he was well trained, keeping his hands to himself, arms behind his back, groaning sweetly as he throws his head up in bliss. “fuck, so good for spiderman huh?” he didn’t miss the way your moan caused a vibration around the base of his cock.

he swears he could’ve came right there and then when he looked down and saw your pretty mouth make a ‘pop’ sound with giving his head one last suck. the almost invisible string of saliva connecting your lips to the the tip of his pink head. you knew exactly what he was looking at, it’s what he always stares in awe at after you give his reward. you smiled sweetly at him, placing a soft kiss on his tip teasingly.

“you’ll kill me.” he groans. you didn’t even get a chance to stand up on your own as he pulled you up as if you weighed nothing. he planted you on the bed right where he wanted you with your legs spread wide for him, knees bent, feet on the edge of the bed as you laid on your back.

you propped yourself up on your elbows before trying to rise up your hips. “wait- what are you doing?” peter questioned pushing your hips back down with his hands. shit. he was strong. he didn’t even realize how much accidental strength he used when securing your hips back in place. you didn’t dare complain, you found it hot. “don’t you want them off?” you asked with genuine curiosity. was he really planning on not taking them off?

“no… red’s my favorite color.” liar. he lied, it’s not. hell he doesn’t even have a favorite color but after seeing you in red he’s convinced it is. he’s always liked the colors red and blue but now? he loves it. he has more reason to love those colors even more now. he let go of the pressure on your hips and rubbed the spots with his thumbs. it was almost as if he was saying sorry with the gesture, he sure does hope that doesn’t bruise in the morning.

his dick was still left wet and sloppy from the wetness of your mouth. it was coated in a mix of liquids that involved your saliva and his pre-cum. god he loved using your fluids as lube. he pulled your panties to the side, taking a moment to admire the view of you like this. some hair slightly in your face, your pleading eyes filled with anticipation, breasts perky and exposed. normally he’d kiss your entire body starting at your neck going down to the entrance of your cunt. that wasn’t really possible with the mask on so he settled for taking in the view for now.

he teasingly slapped his cock against your pussy making your hips jump at the sudden action. he took this as a sign to keep on hand on your hip in order to make sure you don’t move without permission. he loves to tease. man you thought it was bad when he was just peter parker, it was way worse as spiderman. he would slide himself up and down against your folds. teasingly pushing in the tip of his cock just to take it back out and rub it against your folds once against. you’d whimper at the lost of contact each time.

“peter-“ your voice was cut off by a harsh thrust that left your jaw dropped.

“name’s spiderman.” he reminded you as he filled you up to the brim, only staying there for a second before pulling all the way out and slamming himself back in without warning. he loved the way it brought tears to your eyes.

“oh- fuck!” you screamed as you arched your back involuntarily. he started out with a slow pace but harsh thrusts that made you throw your head back. you wanted to raise your hips but couldn’t as he held them down for you.

“mmmph- feels so good spiderman.” you moaned as he picked up the slack. he loved how your slick covered his cock completely. it left a white creamy ring around the base of his cock that he took the opportunity of admiring it every time he pulled out. he could feel your walls clench around him each time he pulled out as if your pussy was begging him not to leave you.

“so fucking wet for spiderman aren’t you?” he roughly spoke slamming your hips down to meet his cock half way. “yesyes mhm just for spidey.” you absently sobbed as you begin to feel loss in the bliss. your tear filled eyes desperately tried to cling onto the face of the mask. you wanted to remember this moment forever. the one of the friendly neighborhood spider-man pummeling into you as he praised you for being so good to him.

“pussy’s so good for me. taking me so well princess. almost as if you were made to take care of this cock for the rest of your life.” he mumbled under his mask but you still understood every word he said. peter only ever spoke this filthy to you in bed. it was hard to imagine this was the sweet boy you met at school who would stutter over his own words around you at times.

“mhmm. sososogood.” you couldn’t even form an opinion or respond in coherent sentences as you felt every inch of him burry itself into you. you felt your tummy twist on the inside as your climax started to catch up to you. Peter knew you were getting close as your walls suffocated him. closing down on him as your pussy clenched around him. your slick was covered all over him and it began to leak out of you.

he only wondered how you would react if he admitted that he was still holding back. holding back was so painful for him, he questioned if he should allow himself to finally let go. would it be selfish or would you enjoy it as much as him?

“need more please.” you cried, wrapping your legs around his waist. you needed help reaching your high. this sign couldn’t get anymore clear, he finally let go of the deathly grasp he had on your hips. he exchanged it with wrapping one arm underneath your waist holding you up with his pure strength. the other hand of his held your head up to meet his. you loved the mask but you missed his lips. you weakly went to lift up half the mask to expose his pink lips. the ones you familiarized yourself with well enough.

you wasted no time capturing his lips with your own as you held onto his suit with your hands. your kiss was interrupted with your scream as he pummeled himself up into you with no mercy. “oh fuck!fuck-ohmy-feels so gooddd.” you swear you lost all feeling in your body you were amazed at how he was able to keep you up with his strength alone. you threw your head back in pure ecstasy as his lips wrapped around your neck. you felt an incredible amount of sensation that was unmatched. it was like nothing you ever felt before.

you could feel his wet kisses all over you neck, the harsh grasp he had on your waist, one hand still holding tightly to the back of your hair, his hips clashing with your skin, every inch of him being pummeled straight into you, you could feel the tip of his cock slamming itself against your cervix at the end of every thrust. that sweet spot that made your head dizzy and your eyes blur. you never looked more beautiful to Peter as he took note of your facial expression. lips parted as you moaned, eyes closed, tear stained cheeks, and a blush that was spread from your cheeks to your nose.

you felt your body tremble as your orgasm hit. you also felt his cum shoot into your pussy as the amount of liquid in your body began to slip out. you felt the liquid trail down on your inner thighs. your whole body gave out on you as you collapsed against his body. you couldn’t even remember what happened next. the last thing you saw was black as your eyes finally closed one last time. the last thing you felt were the soft cushions of your bed as your body was gently placed down.

after cleaning you up Peter finally took off the mask and suit while you rested sound asleep. he hopes you didn’t put two and two together and he kept you distracted enough. he wanted to do nothing else but lay in bed with you and enjoy the comfort of your body heat a little longer. of course before he could get the chance his phone alerted him a message. it was that time again, to go off and be spiderman for the world once more. he sat next to your bed watching you sleep for a bit longer. you were cuddled up in your blankets and you seemed at peace. he wondered what you were dreaming about.

“happy birthday.” he kissed your forehead and left, feeling bad he couldn’t stay any longer.

—★

the next day at school your legs were as sore as a motherfucker hell. you settled with wearing some low rise sweats and a white t shirt that ended right below your belly button. you decided to sit next to your boyfriend for once at homeroom. the two of you were early so you planted a kiss on his lips before anyone else can get there.

“hey babe, i missed you last night.” you pouted, taking advantage of the empty classroom and sitting on his lap at his desk.

“i’m really sorry i had to go. i missed you too.” he was genuine with his apology. he always was, he hated having to leave you at night especially after intimate moments. he never wanted you to get the impression that he was just sticking around for sex.

you didn’t bother responding. you were still so sleepy from last night you just wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your head into his chest.

“you still tired?” he asks rubbing your back. “mhm” you whined not wanting to get up but knowing you should because anyone can walk in at any moment. you soon jumped out of his lap at the sound of the door creaking open. ugh, it was just flash. you rolled your eyes at the sight of the geek.

“wassup pretty lady. ew- what are you doing next to that thing?” he emphasizes his disgust by making gagging noises at peter.

“certainly not sitting next to you. that’s what.” you replied while putting your hands on your hips. your hips were within eye level of Peter which is when he noticed the light purple bruises sitting right above the hem of your sweatpants.

“whatever your loss babe lemme just tell you-“ flash continued his rambling as he sat down and didn’t bother to look at the two of you any longer.

the sight of your bruises made peter sit up straight as he grabbed your waist to pull you in closer. you felt your cheeks heat up when he pulled the band of your sweatpants down to look at the bruise. he couldn’t really give two shits about what flash was rambling about. his thumb rubbed the bruise as he continued to examine them on both sides. you felt yourself blush furiously at his lack of attention to anything else around the two of you.

“peter.” you scolded quietly, pushing his hands away from your hips. he looked at you with genuine confusion before looking around to notice people were starting to come in. you took back your seat next to him, the blush never leaving your face. you knew he felt bad but you loved the bruises.

“stop worrying, i think you should actually leave more.” you whispered in his ear, now it was his turn to blush.

[velvetydream]

꒰ : 🍃 [ A fox's heat ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : Due to an unfortunate event your boyfriend started to act weird, you should soon know why.

Pairing : Tighnari x fem! Reader

Word count : 1.9K Words

Genre : Smut with plot

Smut content ➵ Breeding / Mating Kink, Possesiveness, Praising, Raw (Wrap it up people), Knotting, Petnames

Authors note : I love Nari sm omg

It was a quiet morning; Tighnari was out with Collei, and you decided to sleep long before getting ready slowly, eating a nice breakfast, and cleaning Tighnari's workplace before helping the forest ranger outside. The sun was shining down today, but luckily, the trees of the rainforest cast some nice shadows to be safe from the heat. Wiping the sweat from your forehead you talk calmly to a new forest ranger, assuring he wasn't going to die from the fruit he ate. The poor boy came from Mondstadt and never saw the fruits or vegetables from Sumeru, probably.

"Master Y/N! We need your help!" Colleis's shrill voice screamed for you; immediately turned around to catch the young girl running to you, your warm hands on her shoulders. "Collei? What happened? Calm down, darling, and explain." It was strange that Tighnari wasn't with her, so something must've happened, you just hope that stupid man didn't decide to eat some unknown mushrooms again. "Master T-Tighnari he.. We found this flower patch we had never seen before. He picked some up and started to inspect them, and then he fell unconscious! Cyno is with him now, but..! I don't know what happened." She was rambling again; she always was when something happened to her friends or anyone, actually. "Okay, my love, calm down, lead the way, and we'll bring him back here; you two, come along!" Calling over two more forest rangers, Collei quickly started to lead the way; it was a short walk, but luckily, not too far away.

Upon arriving, you could see the fox-eared man sit up, arm on his knee as his hand holds his head. "Nari! What happened? How are you feeling?" Crouching down in front of the man now, you could see the blush on his face; oh no, was he getting a fever from those flowers? Maybe an allergic reaction. "He sat up shortly before you came, he hasn't spoken a single word since then." Cyno stood behind you now, explaining the situation to you and making you nod. "Okay, let's bring him back. Cyno, could you help carry him, please? I think he starts to have a fever, probably some reaction to the flowers; I'll have to make some medicine to hopefully wear the effects off." Cyno nods as he picks Tighnari up, the arms of your boyfriend around Cyno and the other forest ranger now. Still not talking, his eyes in a haze, this was definitely bad.

Looking down as they get a few steps away, you crouch down to touch the flowers despite Collei's protest, but they have no effect on you; they smell rather pleasantly. "Are you sure it's a good idea to touch and smell them?!" Collei was obviously worried about you, which made you chuckle, shaking your head. "It's fine, I'm pretty sure they won't affect normal humans but Tighnari.. it must be because of his fox genes.. Let's take some with us, but please you take them, I want to inspect them some more without exposing Nari further to them." Collie nods as you quickly plug a few flowers before Cyno's voice calls you to catch up with them. "Comming!" Running after them now, you worriedly look at Tighnari; his whole body was slumped over, his tail dragging after him as his breathing was rather hard.

"Good, please lay him down here Cyno, put that on his forehead. I'll start the medicine." Handing Cyno a bowl with ice cold water and a rag as you start to gather everything to hopefully ease the symptoms. If you knew what flower that was and what exactly the effect they had on him, you could make something much better, but this will have to do now. "Nari, open up; this will make you feel better.." His glazed eyes look at you and then the medicine as he shakes his head, trying to roll away from you onto his side just to groan in pain. "Stubborn fox, seriously, you're a forest ranger and practice medicine yourself, yet you refuse to take this.." Groaning now, your hand grabs his shoulder harshly as you push me onto his back, sitting down on his stomach to pin him down, his body thrashing. "N-No! Stop!" Finally, he spoke, yet that won't get him around the medicine. "It's your own fault to go inspect and try everything you don't know." You tell him, as your hand grabs his chin, pushing your thumb into the corner of his mouth; he opens it, his sharp teeth shining as you let the elixir trickle down into his mouth, making him swallow by holding his chin up and mouth closed.

"Is that how he always takes his medicine?" Cyno stands beside the bed now as he watches you stand up as Tighnari falls asleep. "Yeah, he hates to take them; either I put them into his food or drink, but then he sometimes notices and throws it away, so I mostly settle for this way." Wiping some sweat from your forehead after fighting the fox, you put the washcloth onto his forehead and the blanket back over him. "Well, I'll go check on Collie; make sure to take care of him." Cyno closes the door after himself after you bid your goodbye, looking over to the sleeping fox now, hoping the symptoms would soon wear off.

Getting back to your studies now, you open the book where you left off as you start to examine the gems you have found, trying to determine what they could be. Lumine even brought some last time she visited from Liyue and Inazuma which was such a great find.

Immersed in your studying, you didn't notice your boyfriend waking up, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. Standing up on wobbly feet, he walks over to you, his arms laying around your shoulders immediately, as his face hides in your neck, jumping a little from surprise. "Nari! You're awake, how are you feeling? Is the fever going down?" Looking over your shoulder, he was still beet red, his eyes half-lidded and still hazed. "You smell so sweet.. My beautiful mate.." He groans into your neck, before meeting your eyes. Oh fuck. "Nari.. Don't tell me.." He groans softly from the way you say his name, confirming your suspicion even more. "Need to breed you full till you can't walk anymore." His sharp teeth graze your neck, over the mark he had left long ago, marking you as his mate. "Help me.. Please.. It's so hot I.. I can't take it anymore.." He whimpers.. he never whimpers. Those flowers must've triggered his heat to come early. Normally, it should've still been a few weeks at least, but something must've been with these flowers to trigger it.

"Alright, let's take care of you.." Standing up, Tighnari starts pawing at your clothes desperately, pulling your shirt off of you, before attaching his lips to your soft buds, moaning from the feel of them in his mouth. "So soft.." He moans before he pulls his own shirt over his head, revealing his porcelain skin to your eyes, pushing you onto your back on the bed now before he already pounces on you. "I'll make you feel so good, breed you full till you carry my cubs." Kissing down your neck, small little moans escape your mouth as your hand's card through his soft hair, softly scratching his ears. "I love you so much you're so gorgeous.." He mumbles against your skin as he kisses down to your chest and to your stomach. Softly pulling your pants and underwear off of you, his soon following the pile on the floor.

"Have to prep you first so you can take my knot, my love." He whispers against your stomach as his fingers softly glide through your folds, circling your clit a few times softly before moving down as he pushes two fingers into you carefully, your body arching from the feeling of his fingers. They hit just the right spots inside you, hitting the soft gummy spot perfectly. "You're so gorgeous, my darling; how beautiful you'd be all swelled up with my cubs." Moaning from his words now, your walls tighten on him as more slickness coats his fingers from the arousal. "You would like that, right? Have little cubs of our own, running around.." He kisses your neck softly, as his fingers work you open for his knot to come.

"I think you're prepped enough, mh..?" He pulls his fingers up to his face and sucks them clean with a moan before looking down at you as he pushes himself up a little bit. "Ready my love?" Nodding as an answer, he alines his length with your entrance as he starts to softly push in; his size made you arch and moan every time; he was so big, especially now that he was in heat. His head rested on your chest for a while, giving you time to adjust before you tapped his shoulder blade softly to signal him to start moving, which he didn't waste any more time and did. His thrusts at first were slow and deep but grew in pace quickly. Tighnari was never able to last long once he was inside you, but he would last for many rounds, making sure he bred you perfectly full.

"M-My love.. ah.." He kisses your chest softly as he starts to suck the left bud into his mouth again, his right hand coming up to play with the other one. "N-Nari.. oh archons.." Moaning softly, you could feel his length start to pulsate meaning he was rather close, you yourself close to the edge. "Come my beautiful mate~" He murmurs into your ear as his fingers softly circle your clit making your back arch as you drift into the pure bliss of your orgasm. Meanwhile, Tighnaris's thrusts were getting sloppy as he felt his knot swell before emptying his load in you, his knot preventing anything from escaping as it locks him into you for a while, his body softly laid down half on you to make sure he didn't crush you.

"Beautiful.." He mumbles, brushing a few strands from your face, still connected to you, his hand rubbing softly over your stomach and down, knowing exactly you were right now filled with his cum. Exhausted, you drift off into sleep as Tighnari pulls the blanket over you two, planting many kisses on your cheek and temple before the door opens, making him groan and growl possessively. "Okay, dude, I'll leave you be in a bit, I just forgot to give her these gems; seriously, don't go too hard on her." Before Tighnari could throw a book from his bedside table at him, Cyno disappeared again.

Later on, you wake up with many blankets and pillows around you now like a nest, your body cleaned, and a new pair of underwear on you; as you look behind you, you see Tighnari finally asleep without a blush, finally calm. It would definitely take a few rough days for his heat to be over, but you were used to it and loved to help him. Hand rubbing softly over your stomach now as you look down, hopeful that maybe finally, after years of being together, you'd get pregnant.

[runningwithscizzorz]

(1)Learn the rules before you break them + Gather proper references

(2) Understand what you want to break and how

(3) Can't do it? Find someone who can

(4) It's going to look really bad for a while

(5) Have fun with it!

(1) -Yes, I am that kind of artist. Yet, not in the conventional way. I encourage people to go in guns blazing when it comes to drawing something new, then coming out analyzing what they know, and what they need to learn more of right away.

-Here, I broke down the anatomical pieces of Nour and Narinder's face with the same labels so you guys can understand this weird invisible pattern that I follow in my work. Doing this with any animal you're attempting to draw greatly improves your line confidence when drawing different face shapes. Also understanding the biological function for why animals look a certain way helps you keep consistency.

(3) Time to throw any artistic guilt you have for heavily referencing people's art OUT THE WINDOW and start ANALYZING PEOPLE'S WORK YOU WANT TO BE LIKE✨ I've always done this, having a reference of someone else's amazing work right next to my own drawing so I can try and understand how they make their magic work! No shame, no embarrassment, nada. Pure, unadulterated will and spite that I would be just as good as the artist who made me so motivated and happy with their work! I couldn't figure out how to make Nour's face both sheep-like, and humanly expressive, so I looked at a LOT of Zootopia and old Disney art for help!

(2) With how I draw narilamb, I'm still working on it (as you can see) but I wanted to break Narinder's face to be fluffier and slimmer, while Nour's face would be shorter and flatter. If you look at it for too long, it's absolutely going to look weird, in the way that if you look at Anna from Frozen for too long she starts looking really weird. The anatomy isn't meant to be correct or consistent, it's meant to convey the emotion and energy I want out of the characters in that moment. If you're able to properly get that across, then you don't need to think about how broken something looks, as long as your eye is happy enough to trick your brain into thinking what you're seeing is canny.

(4) Yeah, I hate this part too. It's going to look like shit at first. I can't even look at my art from a few months ago when I was figuring out their designs... God, so fucking ugly. If it weren't for the shittiness of those drawings, I would have never gotten here! Wading through the "trust the process" stage always really sucks, but it's absolutely worth the relief of when you finally get something to look right.

(5) Art is work, yes. It's stressful, it's long, it's straining, its draining, it's exclaiming, blah blah blah. But, I try to keep my art FUN. If I find my artwork becoming slow as I depressingly drag my pen over my tablet, I'm failing. You MUST keep spirit and life in your work. The spirit of emptiness or the life of sadness can have a very meaningful place in art, but those can only exist with keeping work light, easy, and fun! If you're stressing how a specific thing looks or how you can't get something to look right no matter what, FUCK IT. Draw something to bring the flavor back in your work! I'm kind of rambling, but just, HAVE FUN!✨️ Be messy, scream, laugh, slash canvases, throw paint, smash sculptures, tear apart books, GO CRAZY

[cybersunnie]

the look of love | collection

02 RAFE CAMERON accidentally runs into Miss Sugar.

includes ib request / fem!teacher!reader / uncle!rafe / reader goes by "miss sugar" / fluff / dialogue heavy / mildly suggestive / wc 1.9k

Rafe rarely had good days. They were tolerable. Average, but never good. 

Today wasn’t any different. 

The moment he woke up, he had received the worst news he could receive: an investor pulled out of his latest project. Why? Because it was taking too long. Rafe couldn’t exactly argue with him there. Delays had occurred and put them behind schedule. But still, that son of a bitch was a millionaire. He had money to spare.

Whatever. He didn’t need him. That was what he thought until he saw the looks of his remaining investors’ faces when he reassured them to stay confident in his project. It was safe to say they weren’t very convinced. 

Everything was going just as planned. Clearly. 

And now, he loitered in the Kildare Retreat’s parking lot, staring at the beige three-story building before him. It was an apartment complex located just outside The Cut. One of his first projects. The one when people finally started to believe he had what it took to run his dad’s business. He earned their respect. Every smartass that had something to say before became mute in his presence. 

He supposed that was why he always found himself at Kildare Retreat. If he had done it then, he could have done it now, and he desperately needed that reminder.

But it was hard to reflect on anything when someone had music blasting on the third floor. Rafe didn’t know what was playing. An old song, he knew that much. It must be a new tenant. Some inconsiderate, low-life—

The music got louder as a door swung open, and a woman emerged, holding a paint can in each hand. 

Who was this bitch?

Rafe raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. Once he squinted, the woman’s face cleared. Holy shit. He stepped away from his car and dropped his hand. You were the woman, his niece and nephew’s art teacher, Miss Sugar. The last time he saw you was when he picked up the kids, and since then, you have been a fleeting but persistent presence in his mind. 

Whatever insult he had ready to go vanished. 

You could play your music as loud as you wanted to. That was a problem for your neighbors to deal with, anyway. 

You descended the stairs and stopped in front of what he assumed was your car—a sedan he was sure had seen better days. It looked like it was on its last leg. When you popped your trunk open, you glanced in his direction and finally saw him.

Your eyes widened. He waved.

“Hey!” you greeted, your voice higher than usual. You cleared your throat and lugged the paint cans into your car. “You’re Jackson and Josie’s uncle, right? Rafe Cameron?”

Before he could stop himself, he smiled. You remembered.

“That’s me.” Rafe approached you, stopping just a foot away. “Miss Sugar?” 

You grinned, the corners of your eyes wrinkling. “So formal,” you teased. That alone had his cheeks feeling warm. “I’m outside work. Please, just call me Sugar.”

He wondered if that was your real name. It could be a nickname. Either way, it suited you—sweet and addictive. 

“If you insist, Sugar.” 

Your eyes narrowed, and you asked, “So, what are you doing here?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Are you stalking me?”

His blood ran cold. “What? No—”

You held up a hand to stop his ramblings, laughing, “Calm down, I’m joking.”

He scoffed. You were going to give him a heart attack one day. 

Rafe scratched his brow and then eyed the green and blue paint cans. “You gonna do some painting?” he assumed, nodding toward them.

“Yeah. A mural for the school,” you clarified, turning around to shut your trunk, steel hitting steel. “Also, you never answered my question.”

He licked the inside of his cheek. “Right, I’m just visiting,” he answered plainly. When nothing else was said, you gestured for him to elaborate further. You were nosy like Josie. “I designed Kildare Retreats.”

Your brows raised, and your lips parted in surprise. But that all muddled into a look of confusion the longer you stared at him. He watched the frown on your face deepen until your eyes flickered with recognition, a lightbulb appearing over your head.

“Cameron Development,” you said, snapping your fingers. “It’s literally on the entrance sign—I don’t know how I didn’t put that together.”

Amused, he chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, it’s really nice,” you praised, craning your neck to stare at the apartment building behind you. Rafe wondered if you genuinely liked it or were just being polite. He wouldn’t be surprised if it were the latter. “You guys did a great job.”

“Thank you,” he replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

And for a moment, there was silence. 

The song that blasted from your apartment carried through the parking lot. You were beautiful in the sunlight, your hair fluttering in the wind. Nothing captured his attention like you did. Rafe knew he was staring, but you were staring at him, too. Your gaze roamed his face like a gentle caress, and he swore you could see right through him.

“Do you have time?”

Your voice brought him back to reality. “What?”

“I just, uh, I’d like some help transferring the rest of my things into my car,” you explained, your hands smoothing down your jeans. “If you’re up for it, of course.”

Rafe glanced at his watch. He still had time. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

“Great!” you beamed as you motioned him to follow you. “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

After many flights of stairs later, you led him to your apartment. Through the booming music, Rafe heard bed creaks followed by an over-the-top pornographic moan from next door. His lips curled in distaste. No wonder your speaker was on full blast. 

Once you opened your door, sunlight bleeding into the space, he was greeted with a mess. It's not a gross, rotting mess. Just disorganized. Your brain probably looked like this, too. The coffee table in the living room was cluttered with stacks of paper with yellow sticky notes that said ‘STUDENT WORK :)’ slapped on top. Boxes hugged the walls, newspapers were beneath a freshly painted canvas, and paintbrushes were stuffed in a cup near the kitchen sink. 

It was a sight, for sure.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” you said over the music, stepping aside to let him in. “I’ve been doing more painting than cleaning.” 

Rafe tried to appear indifferent, but Sarah always told him he was never good at hiding his feelings. He shrugged, “Nah, you’re good.”

Your chin dipped hollowly to your chest, and you kicked a small box out of your way. You must have caught his bluff. Oh, well. At least, he tried. 

He looked around your apartment, his gaze lingering on the framed pictures of what he assumed to be your parents. A heavy feeling weighed on his chest. He forgot what it was like to have parents. But the sound of your grunts caught his attention, and he saw you hunched over and dragging a storage bin toward him.

“Can you carry this, please?” With a huff, you dropped the bin next to his feet. “Just be careful. It’s pretty heavy, so—”

Rafe picked it up with ease. You clamped your mouth shut.

“Never mind,” you said, your eyes falling to his arms, chest rising as you sucked in a breath. “You’re, uh, very strong.”

His lips twitched at your unabashed stare. Though, your gaze was more innocent than anything. A look of admiration as opposed to lust. You eventually turned on your heel and walked into a closet.

“You got any new projects you’re working on?”

Rafe adjusted his hold on the bin. “Yeah,” he answered, “a couple of studios in Figure Eight.”

As he approached the closet, you suddenly poked your head out the doorway and asked, “Figure Eight’s Northside, right?” When he nodded, you disappeared behind the wall again. “I’m still trying to get used to your guys’ lingo.”

Your words replayed in his head. So, you hadn’t lived in Kildare for that long. That explained why you were so friendly with him. You didn’t know his history.

You came out with a rolled-up tarp in your arms, your lips pursed in thought. “What kind of studios?” 

“It’ll be up to the tenant what they wanna do with the space.” Rafe looked you up and down, his head tilting. “Why?”

The smile on your face faded into something less genuine. “I’ve always wanted an art studio,” you said, the music almost drowning out your voice, “but I don’t have the money for it.”

“We can work something out,” he offered, his mouth working faster than his brain. 

You stared at him, doe-eyed. “Really?”

Rafe chuckled, “Of course.”

He saw your gentle eyes harden, analyzing him, searching for a speck of insincerity. You looked at him like everyone else had his whole life—like he was just some fuck up you couldn’t trust. It made him nervous, worried that you were starting to see that, too. But soon enough, you returned to your sweet and unknowing self, smiling. 

“Alright, well, c’mon,” you ushered, striding past him to disconnect your phone from the speaker. 

The music cut off abruptly, and your neighbors were louder than ever. You didn’t seem fazed by it, though. He wondered if this was a daily occurrence for you. 

You stepped outside. “I don’t wanna waste more of your time.”

Once he followed you out, Rafe waited while you locked up your place. His eyes trailed to your neighbor’s door, their moans having turned into screams of ecstasy. Intense and raw and unnecessarily loud. He might as well be in the room with them. 

“I should've put better soundproofing for these apartments,” he mused, his brows pinching together.

When you looked at him, you frowned and tilted your head, “What makes you say that?”

He huffed, a smile creeping on his face at your feigned ignorance. You bumped your shoulder into him as you walked past him, and the brief interaction made him forget about the ache beginning to settle in his arms. 

It didn’t take long for you both to descend the stairs and return to your car. You opened the rear door and plopped the tarp onto the floorboard. He did as he was told and set the storage bin on the backseat, and you buckled it into place.

You clasped your hands, grinning, “Thank you so much for your help.”

“No problem.” 

Rafe could hear the birds, the rustling leaves, the vehicles that drove by, and how the asphalt crunched beneath your shoes when you stepped toward your car to close the door. His mind was quiet around you.

“Oh, about that art studio—” He took out his wallet, retrieved his business card, and handed it to you, “—I’m just a call away.”

You glanced at the card, reading the information before taking it. “Okay, CEO, I see you,” you mumbled teasingly. “Thanks again.”

He smirked, stashing his wallet away in his pocket. “Don’t be a stranger, Sugar,” he said, echoing the words you had exchanged when you first crossed paths. 

Your smile widened, the apples of your cheeks lifting. “I won’t,” you promised, genuine sincerity dancing in your eyes as they dropped to the card for a split second. “Have a nice day, Rafe."

He nodded. “You too.”

And as he walked back to his car, he couldn’t help but get one last look at you. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that you were already in the driver’s seat, and your gaze met his through the rearview mirror. He immediately looked forward, rubbing the back of his neck.

Rafe had a terrifying realization: he would do anything to keep you around longer.

sunnie speaks! IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! i'm sorry it took so long; i've been busy w school </3 but i love my babies sm so i hoped you guys enjoyed reading!!! let's chat about rafe cameron / teacher!reader

if you like my work, consider following my library blog (@sunniefics) to be notified of all my future fics!

TAGLIST:  @rluvsr @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @larvalerius @rafesheaven

[moonstruckme]

my love!! hello!! somehow over the course of the day i’ve come down with a cold?? i was perfectly fine this morning and now i’m a sniffling mess:( anywho! i was wondering if you’d write a poly!jily x reader with a cold perhaps? only if you’d like! absolutely no pressure. i imagine james would be very coddling and lily would be the one reminding reader to take some cold and flu meds </3 sorry for the ramble<33

Awe I'm sorry you aren't feeling well lovely! Thanks for the request <3

poly!jily x fem!reader ♡ 560 words

“Don’t look at me.”

“But I love looking at you.” There’s a smile in James’ voice. His fingers curl around your arms, tugging playfully at where they’re crossed over your face. “Looking at you is one of my favorite things. Don’t be cruel.” 

You sink further into your pillows. “Stop.” 

“Why don’t you want me to look at you, m’love?” 

“Because,” you say, voice nasally and consonants muddled, “I’m disgusting.” 

“You are not,” James replies placidly. 

“You’re lovely,” says Lily. 

You hear her heels click into the bedroom a moment before your nose tickles warningly. You lunge for a tissue just as you sneeze, looking at your girlfriend over the paper wad in silent dissent. Lily only looks sorry for you. 

She comes over, setting a bottle of medicine on the nightstand before sitting on the bed. Whereas James is in pajamas and you’re in one of her old moth-bitten shirts, Lily is fully dressed and ready for work. Her long hair has been pulled back into a clip, her crisp button-up wrinkling where it’s tucked into her skirt. She brushes a cool thumb over your cheek. 

“Make sure to take some of that soon,” she says, nodding to the medicine, “okay?” 

You must make a face, because James chuckles. He presses a wet smooch to the side of your neck. 

“I’ll make you a tea to wash it down with,” he offers. 

James has decided he’s going to stay home with you. It’s easier for him than for Lily because her boss is stricter and nobody can ever say no to James for anything, but really you don’t need either of them here to watch you sniffle and sleep all day. You told them so, but James still insisted and Lily was still sorry she couldn’t stay too. 

It’ll be fun, James had promised. We’ll have soup and watch Notting Hill. 

Lily had looked distraught at that. 

Okay, we won’t watch without you, he’d amended quickly. Only boring, unromantic films while you’re trapped at work, lovely, promise.

Already, a morning in bed with James has turned you into a whiny, slothful creature. Lily touches the backs of her fingers to your cheek, and you lean into the touch pitifully. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” she indulges you. 

“My head hurts.” 

James coos, cuddling close to you. 

“Do you want a warm flannel?” Lily asks. 

You really do. “You’re going to be late.” 

“I know, just,” she stands, going into the bathroom, “let me do this for you before I go.” 

You lay flat on the pillow when she comes back, letting her smooth the cloth over your forehead. A bead of warm water slithers into your hairline. Lily’s green eyes are soft with caring. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. 

“Course,” she says back, just as softly. “Let James know when it gets cold, okay? Jamie, can you—”

“I’ve got it.” James stretches over you, kissing her with a smile on his lips. “Go to work. I’ll take good care of her.” 

Lily lets his smile spread to her. “Okay.” She kisses you both, James again on his lips and you on your cheek. “Be good.” 

“Now, why would she say that?” James asks you, teasing. “Aren’t we always?” 

You sniffle instead of answering, and Lily sends him an expectant look from down the hall. James diligently reaches for the tissue box.

[wileys-russo]

in the blink of an eye (5) II a.putellas

series masterlist in the blink of an eye (5) II a.putellas

"-it happened again? usted no es serio?" you laughed in disbelief, the empty takeout cups of your coffees empty and long finished on the table in front of you.

"de nuevo. they must have a whatsapp!" alexia joked awkwardly as you grinned, the sight sending a very strange feeling through the blondes stomach which she rapidly pushed down and away.

"her new girlfriend leaving her for her ex girlfriend, different girls but twice now. we are sure she does not just find all of these chicas in the same bar?" you joked back as alexia chuckled, lips curling with amusement.

"sí sí, está maldita!" alexia shook her head, picking at the piece of banana cake she'd insisted the two of you split since it looked so good but you'd both been so busy talking you'd barely had a second to get a bite in, the icing now a little hard and crumbly.

"alexia you cannot call your own hermana cursed!" you laughed a little louder, throwing your head back and missing the soft smile which curved into the features of the girl across from you who covered it up by placing a forkful of cake into her mouth.

"por qué? she is!" the catalan insisted as you playfully rolled your eyes and sliced off your own mouthful of cake. "alba is unlucky, not cursed." you chuckled, covering your mouth with your hand as you pushed the fork past your lips causing alexia to snicker.

"qué?" you frowned once you'd swallowed and she wordlessly shook her head, small smile still playing on her face as you quirked an eyebrow. "no, tell me." you urged, twirling the fork between your fingers as your ex chuckled.

"you still do the eh, the mouth thing, when you eat." the girl gestured to her lips as you looked on confused, cutting off more cake and once again holding your hand over your mouth as you shoveled it inside.

"eso!" the blonde laughed as you did, pointing her finger at you accusingly as you realized just what she was referring to, feeling your cheeks heat up a little.

"i cannot help it, blame my mami for always telling me i looked ugly when i eat!" you rolled your eyes, alexia worried for a moment she'd offended you before your upper lip quivered as you tried not to smile.

"well you did like to talk with your mouth full." alexia teased as your eyes widened and she felt you kick her lightly under the table, mumbling that she was a dirty liar under your breath as the blonde grinned and snaked another bite of cake.

"cómo está ella?" the midfielder asked, tone softening just slightly but as hard as she may have tried you couldn't miss the ever so subtle hint of pity behind her question, and knowing exactly what it was about.

"ella está bien. she still grieves, cries, mourns, she thinks she hides it well but..." you trailed off with a sad smile, one which alexia mirrored as she hummed to show she was listening, giving you her full attention.

"i think having posie around is sometimes difficult for her even if she will never say so. mariposa is a reminder of natalia in ways that can be so beautiful, but also so hard." you mused honestly, not really having had anyone to talk to this about for some time now.

"she is also getting older, and that shows in her body more than she wants to accept. it is also why she is not able to take posie full time, she struggles to pick her up and hold her with the arthritis." you added on, realizing you were rambling a little more than you intended and stiffening, clearing your throat.

"lo siento, no quería seguir. cómo está eli?" you asked swiftly, alexia's eyebrows knitting together into a frown. "you do not need to be sorry. we got a coffee to catch up, no? that means actually talking about things." the girl reminded firmly but not unkindly as you nodded, flashing her a smile.

"it is nice, talking." you spat out honestly, the words leaving your mouth faster than you could take them back as surprised flickered across the blondes face but she was quick to mask it.

"sí, gracias por preguntarme." the older girl smiled sincerely, both of you mumbling a thank you to the waitress who collected your empty cups and plate, both of you praising how good they were.

"that cake was not as perfect as your mami's, but still it was good. i missed barcelona!" you sighed quickly diverting topics before an uncomfortable silence could build at all.

"i missed you." alexia spoke without thinking, her cheeks blushing pink as she realised her words and was quick to sit up a little straighter. "it missed you, barcelona, i am sure it missed you." she was fast to correct herself, both of you knowing that was not what she meant but alexia was grateful you chose to move on to save her any further embarassment.

and without her little slip up, the next question may not have tumbled out of your mouth quite so loosely.

"would you like to come over for dinner? to meet posie properly." you asked quickly, hesitating for a moment if you should retract the invitation, doubt swirling angrily through your head as you fiddled nervously with your fingers in your lap, hands well hidden beneath the table.

"i do not know if-" you didn't even let her fiinsh before humiliation and regret washed over you and you interrupted. "lo siento, eso fue una idea terrible." you apologised, stammering a little and alexia jolted as you stood clearly about to leave.

"oye oye! no no no, please sit." alexia stood as well, gesturing for you to sit down as you paused but none the less slowly lowered yourself back into your chair and she did the same.

"if you let me finish, i do not know if i can tonight. but i would like to, really, if you are okay with it?" alexia now hesitated, playing with the hem of her shorts as she awaited your reponse.

"sí, si está seguro." you echoed her question as you both exchanged a somewhat awkward smile. "sí, two friends having dinner." alexia confired with a curt nod.

"si, two friends who almost got married." you blurted out, hand smacking over your mouth once you had and cursing yourself over and over in your head.

"oh dios mío alexia, estoy-" you started, stopping abruptly when much to your surprise a belt of laughter left her mouth instead, the blonde locking eyes with you as your lip twitched and before either of you could help it the air was filled with your amusement.

"too soon?" you finally managed to get out once the pair of you had calmed yourselves, earning a few dirty looks from other cafe goers on the tables around you at both of your boisterous outbursts.

"sí, for some, not for us." alexia assured as you both exchanged a shy smile, looking away from one another and taking a beat. "so maybe uh, friday? for dinner." alexia asked, clearing her throat as you nodded.

"sí, friday."

~

"-pink tía?" posie questioned, balanced on her knees as your arm lay in front of her like a canvas, none of her coloring books peaking her interest today and to save yourself a tantrum you'd just given in and offered your arm up as an alternative.

"mm pink is nice nena." you mumbled tiredly, having only just gotten home from work and hardly sleeping last night since posie had been wriggling and kicking until eventually she seemed to find comfort draped across your head, the hot evening air not helping.

you tried hard not to let it happen, but without meaning to and with the rhythmic humming of your niece paired with the scratchings of the marker against your arm and you must have dozed off.

a sharp knock at the door jolted you back awak, sitting up so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash, wincing at the sharp bolt of pain which shot through your neck as you did.

"mierda!" you cursed when you realised you were alone now, the three year old who had once been curled into your side nowhere to be seen as a few more loud knocks echoed through your apartment.

"posie? dónde estás? mariposa? posie!" you shouted, rushing through the house and sighing in relief when you finally found her in the kitchen, but that relief dissapeared and the air sucked from your lungs as if you'd been kicked in the chest by a horse.

"mariposa baja eso ahora mismo!" you shouted, sprinting over and scooping up your niece who somehow had wound up with a steak knife in hand, one of the drawers pulled out and cutlery scattered all over the floor.

she hadn't thought she was doing anything wrong but your stern reaction had the girls eyes welling up in tears and before you knew it she was full on sobbing as you carefully pried the knife from her hands, setting it down on the counter.

"hey hey hey no bebita do not cry! i am not mad at you promesa promesa. i am not mad at you, i love you posie. you just scared me a little that's all! siento haberte gritado." you cooed softly, stepping over the cuterly spill and bouncing her gently up and down on your hip, feeling her tears create a small wet patch on your shoulder.

a glance back had you wincing, you thought you'd done a good enough job at baby proofing since you made all the changes ana required but clearly you needed to make a further effort if a three year old could get a knife in her possession so easily.

the guilt of it all washed over you like a shower would, your eyes squeezed shut for a moment to stop the tears which threatened to leak out, inhaling sharply and composing yourself.

how could you be expected to calm a wailing three year old if you couldn't even keep it together?

but right as posie's sobs started to melt down into wet sniffles, there came the knocking again and off she went, causing you to wince and your blood to run hot as you continued to mumble gently to her, rubbing your hand up and down her back.

right as you touched the door handle the knocking sounded again but thankfully this time posie just continued to sniffle and you cringed at how much snot and tears were crusting on the collar of your shirt.

as you yanked the door open and began to speak someone beat you to it with a click of their tongue. "so you are alive? you can tell your ex that you are back but not even call me after i-" mapi's words fell short as she took you in, disheveled, half asleep and with a sniffling toddler on your hip.

"not a good time maría." you replied curtly as the shock was still engrained in her features you weren't even sure if she'd heard what you said, too fixated on posie who was hiding herself in your neck as you protectively shifted so she was as out of sight as possible.

you were overwhelmed, overstimulated and quite frankly as much as you held no ill will toward the spaniard hers was one of the last faces you wanted to see right now.

"but-but who is-where did-" mapi began to stammer, eyebrows furrowed together with confusion as you sighed, utterly exhausted despite the fact it was barely past midday.

"lo siento, i will call you." you softened your tone slightly but before the tattooed defender could utter another syllable you were closing the door again, back thumping against it as you exhaled slowly and shakily.

"ven aquí nena, let us get cleaned up eh?"

~

once you'd gotten posie cleaned up, calmed down and settled in front of one of her cartoons you could breathe again, smiling at the way her eyes drooped despite the fight she'd put up that she wasn't tired.

you let out a chuckle and swooped in to grab the little container of cut up peaches out of her hand as you watched her eyes close and her grip loosen, setting it on the coffee table and smoothing her hair out, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead and tucking her bear under her arm.

you'd sat her on the counter and as calmly as possible explained knife safety best you could to a three year old, who adorably had explained she was trying to make you a snack after your nap, just like you did for her.

once again you had to stop yourself from crying knowing that wasn't what your niece needed, instead wrapping her in a tight hug and murmuring how much you loved her, unable to tell the tiny human just how much you needed her as well.

with posie down for her afternoon nap and still under your now hawk eyed supervision it allowed you to flutter about tidying, determined to make a better impression on your ex girlfriend than when she'd last visited your home.

you cursed under your breath as you finished and checked the time, two and a half hours somehow flying past as you needed to get posie up as well as start dinner so it was mostly done by the time alexia was set to arrive.

only you knew the girl well enough that for alexia early was on time, on time was late and late was unforgivable.

so you weren't caught off guard at a knock at the door sounding twenty minutes early, already having seen her car park ten minutes prior and checking in amusement every few minutes to see if she'd left it yet.

a quick check in on posie and you found her on the floor of her room playing with a few of her stuffed animals, another check confirming there wasn't anything she could swallow, choke on or hurt herself with before you ducked out and headed for the door.

"hola." you greeted the girl with a smile, not missing the obvious nervous tension in her shoulders as she repeated the greeting and you stepped aside to let her in.

"it is uh, cleaner, than last time." you chuckled a little awkwardly, closing the door after her as she looked around. "don't do that, people live here, of course it will looked lived in." alexia assured with a nod as you squeezed her arm appreciatively, stepping past her as she slipped off her shoes.

"oh! for you." she seemed to remember her hands weren't empty, holding up a bottle of wine, the label sparking memories that hadn't hurtled to the surface in years, a laugh of surprise leaving your lips.

"i know it is cheap but-" "but it is my favorite. i have not seen it in years!" you grinned happily, alexia seeming a little relaxed now as her lips curled upward, clearly content with your reaction.

"tía?"

and just like that any and all sense of calm alexia once felt was sucked away in an instant, the tiny brunette peeking out of the bedroom looking her up and down as you moved to stand beside her.

"remember i said one of my friends was coming over for dinner posie? well, this is alexia." you squatted down, nodding encouragingly to your niece who curled herself into your side.

"oye who is this shy chica? where is my posie mm? mi pequeño parlanchín." you teased, poking your fingers into her side as she giggled and alexia suddenly felt her knees go weak at the sight, clearing her throat lightly trying to pull herself out of it.

"tía i'm here!" your niece squealed, wriggling out of your hold as you grinned and poked her a few more times until she looked up at alexia again and shuffled closer to you.

alexia suddenly realizing she was a lot taller than a three year old immediately squatted down to seem a little less intimidating as you flashed her a soft smile, whispering something to your niece who nodded.

you stood again and offered her your hand, her tiny fingers wrapping around yours as you lead her over to where alexia was. "me llamo mariposa." the small girl spoke shyly before ducking to hide behind your leg as alexia glanced up at you and you nodded encouragingly.

"encantada de conocerte mariposa, me llamo alexia." the footballer introduced herself softly, holding out a hand as you had to stifle your laughter at the sheer size difference between hers and your nieces as posie slowly shook her hand.

"did you know the name mariposa means butterfly?" alexia smiled as posie seemed to perk up a little more, stepping out properly from behind you.

"sí! i have butterfly wings, from abuela." posie nodded eagerly as alexia gasped. "muy chulo." the blonde smiled as posie seemed to regain her confidence. "i show you after dinner?" posie offered as alexia instantly agreed and your smile grew even wider watching their interactions.

your niece letting go of your hand stepped forward now with a slight frown, alexia tensing up again as a tiny finger traced her cheeks. "mami and papi's video." the three year old spoke as you now frowned, squatting down and gently pulling her hand away from where her fingers continued to prod softly at alexia's face.

"bebita we already watched mami and papi's video this morning before you went to abuelas, remember?" you started gently, knowing the topic was an incredibly touchy one as the small girl shook her head.

"see you, in mami and papi's video!" posie pointed to alexia and looked to you expectantly, but before you could say a word she was taking off, racing away as tiny footsteps thumped through the house.

you took off after her and alexia was quick to follow, finding her in the living room with the remote in hand which she shoved at you, babbling away to press play on the video and ignoring anything you said in response.

alexia stumbled a little as posie tugged on the hem of her shorts, clearly trying to drag the much taller girl toward the couch as she sat down, posie climbing herself up to join her as with a sigh you gave in and clicked play.

you took a seat on posie's other side and for the first few minutes the three of you sat in a somewhat uncomfortable silence, though right as you were ready to attempt to put your foot down and turn it back off, it happened.

"mira! mira, mira, mira! alexia!" your niece stood to her feet, clinging onto alexia's shirt to steady herself as she pointed to the tv and sure enough, there she was, and a tidal wave of emotions overcame you and suddenly it was as if you could still remember the very day.

"estás muy guapa." the brunette hummed in your ear as you returned from the dance floor, settling yourself down on her lap as her arms tightly encircled your waist.

"muy muy muy preciosa, mi preciosa novia." your girlfriend showered you with compliments as you leaned back into her, your head craning backwards to rest on her shoulder.

"deberías ver a mi novia." you smiled teasingly, the older girl leaning down to press her lips sweetly against yours. "mmm, i hope she can fight?" the footballer whispered mid kiss as you laughed, hands finding her cheeks and deepening it slightly.

you were both pulled from your little love bubble at the sound of wolf whistles, your very drunk sister waving at you from the dancefloor as her newly elected husband caught her before she fell, sending you a knowing wink as he whisked her away.

"do you want to get some air?" you asked, pushing back up off of alexia who nodded, joining you as you stood, her fingers interlocking with yours as the pair of you made small talk with a few people on your way out.

you exhaled into the crisp night air, closing your eyes and soaking in the fact the pair of you were finally alone, ears ringing from the sheer contrast of how quiet it was out here compared to how loud the music was thumping inside.

"this could be us one day cari." you were consumed by the scent of your girlfriends perfume, turning at the sound of her voice and moving to wrap your arms around her torso.

"too drunk to walk?" you teased with a grin, your sister having been far from sober out of nerves nearly all day, quite the anxious bride from the moment she'd been proposed to.

"tal vez, we could be married mi amor." alexia was too tipsy to notice the way your body tensed up in her arms, playing it off with a laugh and hoping she would change topics.

"is that something you want?" no such luck.

"i have had too much tequila mi amor, i think i want to go back to our room soon." you looked up with a smile, reaching up to push a loose strand of hair behind her ear and not missing the odd look which flashed across the older girls face.

but before she could say another word the two of you were once again pulled from your little bubble at the sound of loud retching, letting go of one another and spinning around.

"oh dios mío....is that my mami?" you groaned in realization at the woman hunched over, throwing her guts up into the flower beds. "who is holding her hair?" you questioned with a frown, squinting to try and work it out but your girlfriend clocked it first.

"dios mío i think that is my mami!"

"tía? tía?" you crashed back down to the ground as a hand touched your cheek, blinking a few times and meeting your nieces little gaze which looked up at you.

"mira! alexia." she tugged on the sleeve of your shirt, pointing to the tv where again there was another clip of a much younger alexia spinning you around on the dancefloor, a quick glance to your right showing the girl in question watching the tv avidly with an unreadable look on her face.

thankfully it seemed someone somewhere had your best intentions in mind as the oven pinged signalling the timer was done and you breathed a sigh of relief you hadn't realized you'd been holding in.

"vamos! time to eat."

you stood with a soft tender smile on your face as you packed up the leftovers from dinner, posie twirling around the living room after she'd made you and alexia push the couch and coffee table out of the way.

she had her little butterfly wings on and you had to stop yourself from laughing aloud at alexia's own wings, which were two little blobs of purple and orange vaguely resembling tacos which posie had drawn and insisted be taped to alexia's back.

you'd tried to talk her out of it but much of your sister was in her daughter, especially natalia’s often hard headed stubborn tendencies as of course alexia assured it was fine and you'd given in, somewhat relieved you’d manage to avoid any sort of meltdown or tantrum.

it seemed posie was trying to teach her a dance of some sort and you had to hide a snicker into your hand as the footballer awkwardly tried to copy her movements, rigid and stiff and you'd always teased her that she danced with two left feet.

placing the last container in the fridge you had to interrupt, a glance at your phone showing it was nearing posie's bedtime and she still hadn't even had a bath yet.

"vale! beautiful dancing chicas, but i think it is time for a certain little butterfly to have her bath." you smiled as alexia exhaled in relief, dropping her arms from the position posie had insisted they be in, rolling her shoulders with a slight wince as you bit your lip to hide your smile.

"five more." you felt a small body hurtle into your leg nearly knocking you down as you chuckled and brushed her flyaways away from her forehead which was prickled with sweat from her dancing.

"no nena, bath and bed, or else you will be a grumpy butterfly tomorrow." you honked her nose gently as the three year old huffed, scowling and making a point to stomp her tiny feet all the way to her bedroom.

alexia jumped hearing the door slam and you chuckled with a shake of her head. "who says it is only teenagers who have attitude? mentirosa." you tutted as alexia's face softened, a snicker sounding from you as she tried to awkwardly crane her arms to pull off the paper wings.

"aquí, date la vuelta." you nodded for her to turn around as you carefully peeled off the paper, brushing a few loose pieces of fluff off of alexia's t-shirt and tapping her shoulders gently to signal you were done.

"tía! stuck again!" you heard posie holler out from her room, alexia now the one to chuckle as you explained your niece had a habit of somehow winding up tangled in her clothes when left to pull them off of her body herself.

"i should go..." you trailed off and nodded behind you with a small smile. "i should go too." alexia was swift to reply as you swallowed your disappointment at her words.

"or i stay? help with the uh dishes and to move things back?" she quickly offered, rubbing the back of her neck with a signature awkward smile. "oh no you do not need to help with those!" you assured as posie yelled out for you again.

"but if you want to stay, i will not be long?" "bien, but i am doing the dishes." "do i have a choice?" you began to walk backwards with a smile as alexia grinned and shook her head.

"tía ayuda! stuck!"

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Something constant. | joel miller x f!reader, 9.1k

Summary: You are Tommy’s best friend, Joel’s constant complication- the one woman he can’t touch without breaking. But when years of tension finally snap, Joel has no choice but to face what he’s been running from: the fact that you’ve always been his, whether he deserves you or not.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST (like- I'm putting them through it like my life depends on it)(it does.), SMUT, reader is 5 yrs younger than Tommy, so that leaves a 10 yrs age gap with our man, emotional and physical abuse, toxic dynamics: mentions of abusive family but nothing descriptive or graphic, mentions of abusive boyfriends and unhealthy relationships in general but nothing descriptive or graphic, substance use: mentions of gambling and intense sexual content: grinding, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, unprotected PIV, dom!Joel. Please be aware and read responsibly.

A/N: Well, well, well- what do we have here? It’s been almost a year since I last posted anything of mine. This is not some breakthrough, or something you haven’t read before. For some reason, I decided to forgo dividers and use titles instead. Where did that come from? Lord knows. The writing and rhythm feel a bit different, especially in the beginning- don’t ask me to explain, I’m not a trained professional. I also think I used dashes more than I ever have before, maybe I'm addicted, who knows. (They made sense, ok?) Anyway, I don’t know why I’m rambling; I don’t even know if you still remember me, but hey-(oh look, another dash!) I'm still here and I’ve missed you guys!

P.S.: Oh- oh and please don’t forget, as always, I hate summaries!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

They say you only get what you think you deserve in this life.

They must be gravely wrong then, because you don’t think you deserve Joel Miller. Not for one second. And yet, somehow.. here you are.

But let’s take things from the beginning.

The past.

You and Tommy met when you were young. Well, he was young. You were young..er. Which, by default, made Joel the old..er brother.

You and Tommy became fast, inseparable friends. You were both drawn to mischief and that made you almost instantly thick as thieves. He’s always been like a brother to you. You spent summers at the Millers’, crashed there during rough times.

You didn’t have a stable home life. You learned from a young age to adapt.

Actually, you learned a handful of helpful things: how to read faces, microexpressions, words unsaid and gestures unmade. When to activate your sympathetic or parasympathetic systems. When to freeze. When to hide. When to run. Especially where to run.

The destination was always the same, the Millers’ house. Tommy and by extension Joel, became your lifeline.

The one person you could never read to save your life though, was Joel Miller.

Joel, always wiser, quieter, intense. You called him “sir” jokingly. He called you “kid.” Typical.

He wasn’t warm, but he was reliable. Always picking Tommy up from trouble. Always fixing things. Always there.

You admired him before you even understood why. He never faltered. Never drifted.

As you grew up, that admiration turned into something deeper. But beyond that, all you could ever figure out was that he didn’t like you all that much. You guessed you were used to that. You’d had your whole life training for it.

The hidden love.

You never said anything. Joel treated you like a kid.

Even as you matured, he stayed distant, protective, but formal.

You kept it to yourself, how you felt about him and tried to date others. No one ever measured up. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t even give you the bare minimum.

But even when they did -rarely- your heart was singing only for Joel.

What a stupid fixation, you thought.

To crave the safe. To long for the normal. To love the constant.

But he provided. So you did.

Truth be told, you’ve never shared much with Joel. He was always orbiting your friendship with Tommy, anyway. He was the big brother. He was always around, mostly to keep an eye on Tommy, if you had to guess. So, inevitably, he ended up getting to know parts of your life, of you.

Like right now, when you wish more than anything that he never knew you at all.

You see, you’re in a bad relationship. You don’t tell Joel as much. You never would.

But Tommy knows.

And if Tommy knows, Joel does too.

Because Joel is observant. He always watches. He always has.

Like you said, to keep Tommy straight. Wasn’t his fault if you were always around. So it wasn’t that hard to figure you out. To notice things.

Like you, clinging to people who give crumbs of affection, because you grew up without real support.

Like you, staying with your boyfriend after he apologizes, crying, believing it meant change.

The sleepover.

Tommy lets you crash at Joel’s place. You don't even need to ask; it’s practically a given. He thinks it’s casual, just like always.

You feel safe there, even with Joel being standoffish. He never kicked you out, though. His door was always open when you needed it and that meant something. It had to, right?

But when you settle into the familiar room and mattress, you have a confession to make. You admit to Tommy that you forgave your boyfriend because “he cried and I thought maybe he deserved another chance.”

“Jesus..” Tommy sighs, his brows pinched in frustration. Not at you but at the lucky bastard who’s havin’ it easy.

He doesn’t know what else to say to make you see; you are enough. Enough to stand on your own. You don’t need anyone else to feel whole. Complete. Relevant. Seen.

But who is he to talk? He’s always carryin’ his own demons, makin’ his own same mistakes; always havin’ Joel anchor him to reality, like you’re havin’ him.

Tommy sits on the bed next to you, searching your eyes. “What are you not tellin’ me?”, his voice soft and caring like a knuckle brushing against a cheek.

Goddamn Miller brothers and their ability to read you like an open book.

You avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but him.

He calls your name now, sternly. Serious. Patience was never really his strong suit, but then again, you already knew that. “Done playin’ games, darlin’.”

Tommy pinches your chin, forces your eyes on his. “Spit it out.” He speaks like he’s scolding you, but his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles.

You start stammering, the words to admit your level of failure elude you, like smoke curling in the air. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket. Your knee bounces once, then twice. You suck in a breath like it’ll help you speak. It doesn’t.

“I- I-” you exhale loudly. You rehearse the sentence in your head but it comes out wrong every time. Too much. Too small. Too pathetic. You hate that it’s even real. “I think he spent all of my savings on gambling.”

Silence.

It hangs there, thick and heavy, filling the room like smoke. You don’t dare look at him. You regret saying it already. It feels too real now, like speaking it out loud makes it official.

Tommy doesn’t respond right away.

You half-expect him to curse, maybe yell. You’ve seen that version of him. Loud, angry, Miller.

But when he finally moves, it’s quiet. Gentle.

He rubs a hand down his face, exhales slowly, the kind of breath that says I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Then, softer than you were ready for- “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Your eyes stay glued to the worn edge of the blanket you’re gripping. “I dunno.” Your voice is small. Pathetic. “Guess I didn’t wanna see it.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor for a moment before glancing your way. “You gonna tell Joel?”

That makes your head snap up. “What? No- no. I don’t want him to know. He’ll just-”

You stop. You don’t even know what exactly you’re afraid of. Joel being disappointed? Joel being right? Joel looking at you like you’re one of those strays he has to keep out of the yard?

Tommy narrows his eyes just a bit. “He ain’t like that, you know.”

You shake your head. “You don’t know how he looks at me.”

Tommy gives a little snort. Amused. Tired. “Pretty sure you don’t know how he looks at you.”

Your breath catches. And now you have to look away.

He sees it. Of course he does. Goddamn Miller brothers.

Tommy doesn’t press. He just shifts closer on the mattress, hand resting lightly on your shoulder. No pressure. Just there.

“You’re not stayin’ with him anymore,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

That “we” shouldn’t hit you in the chest the way it does.

But it does.

You nod once, quietly. You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re not grateful, but because you’ve learned that some kindnesses are too big for words.

Joel’s Judgment.

Sunlight’s starting to crawl into the kitchen. Joel’s already up, nursing his coffee, sleeves pushed up, working a stubborn hinge loose on the cabinet door.

Always fixing what breaks, never what’s breaking him.

He’s got that tired, focused look, the one he wears when there’s too much on his mind and nowhere to put it.

Tommy walks in after a while, hair still a mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re not around, maybe still in the spare room, maybe hiding from the weight of everything.

Joel doesn’t ask, not directly. He never does. But he eyes the hallway, then glances at Tommy.

“Everything alright with her?”, he asks almost indifferent while still working on the cabinet door.

Tommy runs a hand over his face. Hesitates. Then shrugs.

“She always ends up with assholes, doesn’t she?” Joel mutters under his breath.

Not angry. Not cold. Just.. detached. Like he’s trying to put you in a box he can label and keep at a safe distance.

Tommy’s halfway to the coffee pot when he freezes.

His voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Jesus, Joel.”

Joel looks up, brows raised. “What?”

Tommy slams the pot down harder than necessary. “She thought she could trust him. He cried, said he’d change, you know how that goes.”

Joel watches him now, more alert. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Tommy exhales through his nose, pacing once. Shit. Then- too late to take it back- “..The bastard drained her savings. All of it. Gambling.”

Silence.

Joel blinks once. Sets the screwdriver down slow, deliberate. Like he actively accepts he’s capable of murder right at this moment.

“You serious?”

Tommy just nods, jaw tight.

Joel doesn’t say anything at first. His face hardens, not with judgment, but with something else. Something Tommy has seen too many times before. That cold, calculating kind of quiet. Like when a storm’s just out of sight but already coming.

He glances back toward the hallway.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller looks like he might actually break something.

The confrontation.

“Is she really that stupid?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, low, gritted, sharp like broken glass.

You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Just happened to walk toward the kitchen, bare feet soft on old floorboards, the kind that creak at the worst moments.

But now you’re at the doorframe.

And you’ve heard it.

They both freeze when they see you.

Tommy’s mouth parts like he might say something -anything- but Joel gets there first. He takes a step forward, guilt blooming all over his face.

"Wait-", time fractures; each fraction of a second splitting into aching pieces, stretching into eternity, as he struggles to find the right words. "That’s not-"

You flinch back. Not from fear, from instinct. Like touching him would burn.

Your eyes are glassy, breath stuck somewhere between your chest and throat.

You tried so fucking hard. For years.

To believe he didn’t despise you. That it was just the way he was, guarded, quiet, rough around the edges. Maybe, just maybe, under all that brooding, he gave a damn. Not enough to love you, but enough to keep you torturing yourself. Hoping.

You clung to scraps. Glances. The open door. The silence that wasn’t quite rejection.

But now- now you have your answer.

He reaches out and you step further back, hand half-raised like a warning.

“Don’t.”

Your voice cracks.

“You’re cruel, Joel.” His name tastes foreign, like something you were never meant to say out loud. Not in this kind of sentence. Not aimed at you.

He flinches.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be alone and still try to believe people can be good. That they’ll change. That you matter enough for someone to try.”

You laugh bitterly. Short, sharp.

“I used to think that was my strength, it gave me hope, nurtured my heart.”

You shrug, mouth twisting.

“Now I just feel stupid.”

Joel opens his mouth and this time his voice is soft. A crack in the armor.

“Sweetheart-”

It halts you.

Like something forgotten and fragile just cracked open in your chest.

He’s never called you that. Never reached for softness when it came to you. You were always kid, background noise, someone tolerated.

But this- this name, heavy with something almost gentle- it lingers.

Uninvited warmth in the middle of a wound. A wrong word at the worst possible moment.

And just like that, you falter.

Your footing slips, like the floor forgot how to hold you. You hate that it gets to you. You hate that part of you still wants it to mean something.

You snap.

“No.”

You shake your head, fast, like you're trying to physically push the word away.

“No, Joel. You made what you think of me very clear.”

You take another step back, voice trembling but strong.

“You sorry you said it or just sorry I was there to hear it?”

He looks like he’s on the verge of breaking. But you don’t let him. A quiet kind of peace settles over you- cold, final. It’s all done now. Sealed. Clear. Maybe hope was never meant for you. Maybe it ruined more than it ever gave.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for having a heart. For seeing the good in people. For thinking maybe, just maybe, I could believe in something better.”

A beat. “For thinking you’d ever see me as something more than a burden.”

Then the final twist- “But hey- I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to be an asshole, it’s you.”

Silence.

You turn around.

And this time, when you walk away, you don’t look back.

The void.

The door doesn’t slam. He almost wishes it did, something loud, something final, something that could match the sting in his chest.

But no.

It’s the quiet that kills him.

He stays there, frozen. One foot half-forward like he still thinks maybe he can catch you.

Maybe call you back.

Maybe undo it.

Too late.

Tommy doesn’t speak. He’s seen this side of Joel before, the kind that hits hard and then stands in the wreckage, not knowing how to fix what’s left.

Joel drags a hand down his face, slow. Tired.

He feels like he just handed a loaded gun to someone he swore he’d protect and it went off in his own damn hands.

He sinks down onto the edge of the kitchen chair, his elbows digging his knees. Staring at nothing. Staring at the space you occupied moments ago.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters defeated. “Not like that.”

But there’s no one there to hear it.

The room stays still.

Tommy leans against the doorframe. Crosses his arms. Watches his brother fall apart without making a sound about it.

He wants to say I warned you.

Wants to say You crossed a line you can’t uncross.

But what good would it do now?

Joel doesn’t need a lecture.

He needs a time machine.

Tommy sighs, low, deep; rubs the back of his neck.

“You love her,” he says simply. Not a question. “You just don’t think you deserve her.”

Joel doesn’t look up. Doesn’t argue.

Tommy nods to himself, jaw tight.

“Then I hope to God you figure out what you do deserve, before she’s too far gone to look back.”

He pushes off the frame and walks out, boots heavy on the floorboards, leaving Joel alone with the quiet and what he’s done.

The conversation.

Tommy stepped out onto the back porch with two beers. Joel was already out there, sitting in silence, the lamp behind him casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards. He didn’t say anything when Tommy handed him one.

They sat for a while.

“She didn’t mean to hear it, y’know,” Tommy said eventually. “Was just.. bad timing.”

Joel didn’t react. Took a sip. His expression remained flat.

“Maybe it’s better she did,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his thumb as it peeled the label off the bottle- then drifting back up again, straight into nothingness.

Tommy bent forward slightly, fingers laced together. “Jesus, Joel. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

Joel’s eyes stayed lost in the dark. “She’s the kind of woman who believes in second chances. Believes people can be better. Damn, she forgives the unforgivable like it’s just another Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said softly, almost in awe. “I know.”

“But me?” Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle. “I’ve run out of people to prove wrong. And if she ever looked at me the way I look at her.. God help me, I’d take it. I’d take it and I’d never let go. Which is exactly why I can’t.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment.

“You really think you’re that far gone?”

Joel gave a hard smile. “You see the man I am now. But she didn’t see who I had to be. Who I chose to be. I’ve done things, Tommy. Not the kind that sends you to jail- the kind you do when you look out for your own. I walked away from people who needed me. I picked you over them. And I’d do it again, but that don’t mean it didn’t mark me.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy said sharply. “For me. For us.”

“That don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong either.”

Joel’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “She thinks people can change. I know they don’t, not really. And I ain’t gonna be the one to prove her wrong.”

Tommy studied his brother for a long beat. “You ever think maybe she sees who you are now ‘cause that’s who you are?”

“She’s not like us, Tommy,” Joel said flatly. “She’s strong, but not cold. Got this light to her that-”, he stopped, sighed. “I ain’t got no business even standin’ near.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy said. “You love her.”

“And that’s the goddamn problem,” Joel snapped. “I need her. And if I let myself need somethin’ that good and I lose it..”, his face shifted, darkening into something grim and unyielding, “-Lord have mercy on anyone standin’ in my way.. I don’t think I’d come back from that.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, head tilted up toward the sky.

“She’s not gonna break you, Joel. She’s already holdin’ your pieces together. You just too scared to admit it.”

Joel took another sip as silence settled over them once again. There was something fragile in his voice now.

“I have a brother, you know,” he said with a dry quip. “He trusts me with everythin’. Even her. I can’t give him a reason not to.”

Tommy laughed bitterly. “I think he’d be more pissed if you kept hurtin’ her just to protect him.”

Joel stared off into the night, beer forgotten in his hand. Another beat of quiet. His resolve was cracking slightly. Not entirely. Not enough. Not yet.

Then, barely above a whisper-

“A man like me don’t get to want things like her.”

The explotion.

It’s been weeks.

No word from Joel.

Tommy checks in from time to time, but he doesn’t say his brother’s name. Not once.

And you don’t ask.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the silence doesn’t ache.

Then one afternoon, Tommy texts you:

"Swing by Joel’s place. Left some stuff for you in the garage. I’ll be back in 10."

You don’t think twice. You go. You assume Joel’s at work. He always is.

But when you step inside, the air is too quiet. Tommy’s truck is gone. And then you hear a key turning in the front door.

Joel walks in.

You both stop in your tracks. He blinks, like he’s not sure if you’re real. Your heartbeat drums in your ears. You mumble something about Tommy. He nods; says nothing at first. Just sets his keys down on the table.

He glances at you. There’s a hesitation, like something’s been living in his throat for too long and he’s finally decided to let it out.

"Tommy said you.. broke things off."

You nod stiffly, eyes dropping to your feet, like they could carry you away from him. Like they ever would.

He shifts his weight, almost uncomfortable. His voice is low, a little rough, when he dares-

"That guy ever lay a hand on you?"

Your jaw tightens.

Not this again. Not from him. Not when he’s the one who shattered you last.

"Not everyone’s lucky enough to have Joel Miller in their corner." you bite out before you can stop yourself.

His brows twitch and you don’t wait for him to respond. The words keep spilling now, bitter, broken, sharp.

"I don’t let people touch me or talk to me like that. Not anymore."

Your eyes flash, not with anger, with hurt.

"But you? I made an exception for you. God knows why."

He flinches. Not dramatically. Just a subtle shift in his jaw, his breath caught wrong.

Like it’s only now hitting him that being let in -truly in- came with weight. That he held something fragile in his hands and dropped it anyway.

And you?

You hate that your voice breaks on the next part.

"You were the only one I thought I didn’t have to protect myself from."

He takes a step forward. Slow. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded and wild.

You don’t move- not back, not forward. Just watching him, tight-lipped and trembling like you’re holding yourself together with spit and thread.

"Don’t," you say, low and hollow.

He stops. Hands hovering like he might reach for you and thinks better of it. Again.

"Kid-"

You flinch at the nickname. Just slightly, but enough. He notices. Of course he does.

That damn observant look of his. It used to make you feel seen. Now it just makes you feel exposed. Like he sees the ache he put there and doesn’t know how to address it.

He doesn’t know what to fix first.

The way he spoke to you?

The way he looked at you after?

The way he didn’t come after you when you left?

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

"That day, I didn’t mean-"

You cut him off, voice like stone, "You never mean to. That’s the whole problem."

The silence after is raw.

He doesn’t step closer. He doesn’t step back. He just stays there, suspended in regret.

Like, he finally understands the difference between being in someone’s corner and being someone they can truly rely on.

The tension is suffocating. It coils in your lungs like smoke, thick and hot and inescapable.

Joel says nothing. Quiet again. Resigned. His eyes fix somewhere over your shoulder, or maybe nowhere at all. You can’t tell.

He won’t even look at you. You were always a ghost to him, weightless. Unseen.

A haunting he never asked for.

A slight inconvenience, someone he tolerated for Tommy's sake. Never close enough to matter. Never far enough to ignore.

And that tells you everything.

You’re not getting an explanation. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever that moment was, the truth he nearly let slip, the rawness behind his voice, it’s already retreating back into the dark.

You feel it, the distance returning, sharp and cold, like the final click of a door locking from the inside.

Of course. Of course he’d leave you standing there with nothing. Of course he’d choose silence again.

Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s always done.

And suddenly your chest feels too tight, your throat dry, like your body’s trying to brace for impact but the crash never comes.

So you nod. Once. Slow.

You turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.

But as you move past him, something inside you screams enough. And before you can stop yourself-

“Why do you hate me so much?” you ask, your voice cracking before you mean it to. You weren’t even going to say anything, but the way he always looks at you, jaw clenched, arms crossed, that permanent scowl — it’s been eating at you for years.

Joel’s response is a gruff, confused, “What?”

“Every time I’m around, you act like I’ve done something wrong. Like you can’t stand the sight of me. I just- what did I ever do to you, Joel?”

His face shifts. Something flickers in his eyes- not anger. Something else. But it’s gone before you can name it.

“You didn’t do nothin’.” he says quietly.

“Then why? Why are you always so angry with me?”

He won’t look at you. Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his mouth, like he’s mocking you. Silence stretches. But you keep going, your voice sharper now, almost shaking.

“Is it because I’m not your business? Because I was always just Tommy’s dumb little friend hanging around? Or is it just fun for you; pushing me away over and over until I finally take the hint?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” he snaps, his voice cold and defensive, eyes glittering with barely-contained rage.

“Then say it!” you bite out, bitter and breathless. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back for years; say it. Tell me what the hell I ever did to make you look at me like I’m something you need to keep your distance from.”

You’re flushed now. Heart pounding. He still won’t look at you. So you take a step forward.

“Is it because I’m too young? Because I’m soft? Because I forgive people who don’t deserve it?”

Now, finally, Joel looks at you. Maybe he thinks this is meant for him. Maybe he knows he’s one of those who don’t deserve it- forgiveness. Your forgiveness. And something inside him snaps.

“It’s because I can’t afford to look at you the way I want to.” he says low, furious.

You blink. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

“It’s because every time you walk into a goddamn room, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. And that shouldn’t be your burden.”

“Joel..” you whisper, barely audible.

He goes on, more raw now.

“You think I’m angry with you? I’m angry with myself. For wantin’ something I got no right to want. For feelin’ like maybe -maybe- there’s a version of me that could be good enough for you. But there ain’t.”

He laughs once, bitter, shaking his head.

“I push you away because if I didn’t, I’d never stop reachin’ for you. And you deserve better than a man who can’t let himself want good things without breakin’ ‘em.”

Silence. His jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides.

“I would’ve given you everything, Joel.” you say, voice trembling. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you just said something cruel. His face twists- not in anger, but disbelief. Something almost panicked beneath the surface.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, quiet, almost pleading.

“What?” you ask, startled.

“You think you do, but you don’t. You’ve always looked at me like I’m some fixed thing. Like I’m solid. Steady. That ain’t love, sweetheart. That’s just safety.”

You blink, like he’s slapped you. And he keeps going, like he has to kill the feeling before it grows roots.

“You don’t want me. You want the idea of me. What I was to Tommy. What I never was to you.”

“If I ever let you close enough to see what’s really here,” Joel gestures vaguely- to his chest, his heart, whatever broken thing still beats inside him, “you’d realize you don’t love me. You just mistook the feelin’. And I can’t be the reason you lose that part of yourself.”

But you’re steady now. Hurt, but unwavering.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I feel.”

Joel stiffens. But you don’t stop.

“You think I saw you as safe? You? With that goddamn storm behind your eyes? With the way you look at the world like it already failed you?”

You step closer. You don’t shout; you just slice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out why the worst parts of you still felt like home. Why every time you pushed me away, I wanted to stay. Why I kept waiting for one -just one- moment of softness from you like it might be enough to last me a lifetime.”

You laugh, bitterly, like he did earlier.

“You think I made you into something better than you are? No, Joel. I saw all of it. Every wall. Every silence. Every time you looked right through me like it would be easier if I just disappeared.”

You swallow hard. Your voice cracks, just once.

“And I loved you anyway.”

Silence. He stares at you- stunned. Maybe horrified. Maybe something else. You’d say he almost looks scared of you; if you didn’t know any better.

You continue, quieter. “You don’t get to tell me I mistook the feeling. You just didn’t want to believe anyone could see the truth and stay.”

And then you push again, sharp, your voice shaking with rage and pain as you step forward.

“So, I ask you again, Joel, because you’ve failed to answer me, how dare you tell me what I feel?”

He exhales, tired, low. “I’m tryin’ to protect you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “You’re protecting yourself. Because it’s easier to believe I’m just confused than to admit someone could really love you for who you are. Even with all the shit you carry.”

He flinches. You see it. And it only hurts more.

“I do love you.” you tell him. “I love the man who sits in silence and makes sure everyone else eats first. The man who takes the blame even when it isn’t his. The man who looks at me like he’s drowning but won’t reach out.”

You’re toe to toe now. Your voice drops.

“You think that’s not real? You think I don’t know the difference between comfort and love after everything I’ve survived?”

Your next words come softer, almost breaking.

“You’re not some ghost I projected things onto, Joel. I see you. And I still want you.”

You’re standing so close you can feel the heat of him, the weight of his breath on your face and for a second, you think maybe- maybe this is the moment he’ll finally stop holding back. You reach out, slow, your fingertips brushing the side of his jaw, tentative, trembling with everything you can’t say.

“Joel..” you whisper.

But the second your hand touches him, he flinches- just slightly. Like a breath he wasn’t ready for. Like instinct. But it’s enough. You freeze, your hand falling, your face crumbling. The air goes out of you all at once.

“Right. I- got it,” you say, pulling back, your voice thin and wrecked.

You turn quickly. You don’t want him to see your face, the way it crumples, the way your shoulders shake.

He doesn’t move at first- he’s frozen, like the breath has been punched out of him. But then-

“Wait. Wait- no. No, don’t- don’t do that,” Joel blurts out, panicked.

You keep walking. He follows.

“Don’t you dare think that was about you,” he says, more urgent now.

You stop at the door but don’t turn around. His voice is shaking. You’ve never heard him like this.

“You think I flinched ‘cause I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Your fists clench at your sides. Your heart pounds on your chest; you’re sure he can hear it.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admit quietly, trying to hide your broken voice.

Joel crosses the distance between you before you can move again. His hand catches your wrist- gentle but firm, turning you to look at him. His voice is low, rough, but soft in a way you’ve never heard before.

“I flinched because it felt like everything I’ve been tryin’ not to feel for years just broke wide open.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are dark, wet, desperate.

“Because the second you touched me, I wanted to fall into it. Into you. And I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t get to have that.”

His hand slides to your cheek- slowly, like he’s asking for permission with every inch.

This time, he touches you. His thumb brushes your jaw, reverent. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you in case he loses the right to ever do this again.

“You scare the hell outta me,” Joel breathes, “because you look at me like I’m someone worth lettin’ in. And I ain’t. I know I ain’t. But-”, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his voice shaking, “-just this once. Let me pretend I am.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just breathe -ragged, shallow- afraid that if you say anything, the spell will break and he’ll pull away again.

But part of you still doesn’t trust it.

Not fully. Not yet.

“Joel..” your voice comes soft, almost broken. “Please don’t do this if you’re gonna disappear tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer, and you can see the war raging inside him; you can almost taste it. The doubt. And that silence? It kills you.

So you turn. Ready to leave, to protect what’s left of you.

But he moves, fast.

He doesn’t grab you, just steps into your path, like it’s instinct. For a moment, he considers pressing his palm to the door to stop you. But after everything you’ve been through, he knows better. Even now, even here, he remembers.

“Don’t go,” Joel says, low and aching. One hand half-raised like he’s scared of touching you, scared of what it’ll mean if you let him.

“Why?” you ask, sharp, trembling. “So you can push me away all over again tomorrow?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t look away. He looks at you like he’s falling apart, eyes dark and wide, as if just saying this next part might break him completely.

And then-

“Because if you walk out that door thinkin’ I don’t love you, I won’t survive it.”

The realization.

Your breath catches.

His words settle like thunder under your skin. You look at him -really look- and for the first time, there’s no mask. No guarded distance. Just raw, shattered truth.

He takes a slow step closer, like he’s giving you time to run.

"You still wanna walk away?" Joel’s voice is hoarse.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Joel’s thumb brushes your cheek, his hand warm and steady now, no longer holding back. His forehead rests against yours, and when he speaks, it’s like a promise that’s already been broken.

"Tell me to stop. If you do, I swear I will."

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re something he needs to survive.

"Don’t," you breathe.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and then his mouth is on yours, hungry, devastated, like he’s sorry and aching and starved all at once.

His lips are rough but his hands are gentle, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss starts slow, reverent and builds, deepens. His hands cradle your face, your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t get enough. Your fingers knot in his shirt, dragging him down, pressing into him.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s a sound he didn’t mean to let out. He presses you back against the wall, not rough, not aggressive, but desperate.

"Been wantin’ this for so long.." he murmurs into your mouth.

Your hips shift and he feels it- the press of you against him. His hands fall to your waist, dragging you tighter against him, grinding into you like he needs the friction, needs proof this is real.

You arch into him, needy, breathless. He presses into you, the thick line of his thigh between yours, the heat of his body unbearable. Every little grind is slow, controlled, but filled with hunger.

"You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me…" Joel’s voice is hoarse, dark and full of disbelief.

You whimper at the sound of it. He rests his forehead against your neck, breathing hard, hips rolling into yours.

"Then show me," you whisper, soft and ruined.

He kisses you again, deeper this time; his tongue slipping past your lips, tangling with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You think you’d float away, lost in a dream, if the coarse scruff of his beard wasn’t there, grounding you, prickling the skin around your lips.

His hand slides under your shirt, just skin and warmth and a shiver down your spine. But then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.

"If we keep goin’, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop."

"Then don’t."

Your lips part from his, breaths mingling in the heavy air. Joel’s hands don’t rush; they trace the lines of your body through your clothes, deliberate and sure, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, ghosting over your ribs, fingertips grazing your skin lightly before returning to the fabric. One hand cups your waist, pulling you flush against his hard thigh- the heat there like a magnet.

You shift your hips slowly, grinding against him, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the tension building with every tiny movement.

"So needy already.. what happens when I really touch you?" His voice is low and rough.

You whimper, pressing closer, needing more contact.

"Feels good, baby? Keep grindin’ just like that."

His hands slide to the front of your shirt, palms cradling your soft breasts, thumbs sweeping lightly over your nipples through the thin fabric. He feels them stiffen instantly beneath his palms, the reaction so visceral it sends a jolt through him, something raw, almost primal, uncoiling in his chest. His fingers pinch and roll them with just enough pressure to make your back arch, to draw a broken gasp from your lips.

He watches you writhe, mesmerized by the way you react to every twist of his fingers, the way you shiver and press into his hands like you need more- need him.

Your hands find his wrists, holding him close, desperate for more.

His thumbs drag slowly again over the sensitive peaks, his mouth watering at the thought of that taut skin against his tongue and he swears under his breath, voice thick.

"Joel- please.." you breathe.

He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your jaw. His brain is deep in a haze of desire and need; he's not in control anymore. Maybe he never was- maybe he was always waiting for you to undo him.

His thigh tightens beneath you, holding you steady as you grind harder, matching his rhythm without words. His fingers tease, flick, and pinch lightly, coaxing every sigh and tremble from you.

"You feel that? That’s mine. You're gonna come for me, right here, just like this. Show me you’re mine."

You arch into him, breath hitching, heart pounding as the friction and his teasing combine into a storm inside you. His hands roam with growing confidence, undeterred by your soft moans and shudders. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading fast and he’s right there- steady and sure beneath you, grounding you even as your senses spiral.

The world narrows to the feel of him, the sound of your ragged breaths and the tight coil of pleasure winding up inside you.

Your breaths come faster, your chest rising and falling as Joel’s fingers trace tight circles over your nipples, every pass sending sparks of heat through you, even though he still hasn’t touched you directly. Your hips grind harder, trembling as the tension coils tighter and tighter.

You cry out softly against his pouty lips, your body shuddering against his thigh. The warmth pools low and spreads, waves crashing through you and he swallows every little whimper and moan like a man parched. Your fingers clutch his shirt, digging in as the pleasure ripples and crashes, leaving you breathless and undone.

"God.." Joel whispers, voice almost breaking.

He watches you fall apart- skin flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and something inside him twists.

The love scene.

His hands freeze for a moment, not wanting to disturb you but desperate to hold onto you. He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and steady. Joel watches -intense, silent- his gaze fixed on how your body unravels under his touch, how every shiver and sigh seems to pull at something deep inside him.

His hand stills, hovering just above your skin, afraid to break the fragile spell but desperate to hold onto this moment. His jaw tightens, eyes dark with a storm of emotions he won’t speak aloud- need, protectiveness, and something rawer he’s terrified to admit.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop the rush of feelings, to keep things safe and simple. But the words catch in his throat.

Instead, he simply presses his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven, trying to steady himself. His body tenses beneath you, a silent war raging inside him; he’s drawn to you like never before, but his mind is screaming that this could burn everything to ashes.

Your breath stays uneven, chest pressed to his, foreheads touching like you’re both holding on to something that would vanish the moment you let go.

"Joel, look at me."

He hesitates. You can feel it- the tremble in his hands, the slight shift in his stance, like his whole body’s braced for you to disappear.

"I’m lookin’."

"I’m still here."

And you are -flushed, shaking, pupils blown wide- but still tethered to him, anchored in this fragile space between fear and want. You watch the fight flicker in his eyes. The way his jaw clenches. The way his hands, warm and steady a moment ago, are now flexing like he’s trying not to grab hold too tight.

"You shouldn’t be."

"Don’t."

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like that word, like your voice, cuts deeper than it should.

"I don’t know how to do this without hurtin’ you."

"I’m already hurt, Joel. But not by what we just did. By you thinking I can’t decide for myself what I want."

That hits him. You see it. The flinch. The ache. The guilt sinking its claws in.

But you don’t stop. You can’t.

"You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be safe. I just need you to be real."

He looks at you like he’s drowning again. Like you’re offering him something he’s too afraid to take. But his hand rises anyway -slow, hesitant- and brushes your cheek again, thumb catching a tear you didn’t know had slipped down.

"I don’t wanna lose this. Lose you. But I don’t know if I can be the kind of man you hold onto."

"Then let me decide that."

You take his hand. Place it against your chest. Let him feel the way your heart hammers beneath your ribs.

"I already am. Can't you feel it?"

One breath. Then another. Joel exhales slowly, like something inside him just gave up the fight. And what’s left is raw and exposed and his.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Less desperation, more reverence. Like a man memorizing his last breath. And this time, he doesn't pull away.

The kiss deepens again, but there’s no trembling now. No flinching. Just heat. Just his hands moving with purpose, sliding beneath your clothes, skin on skin, rough palms and calloused fingers learning you like he’s starved for the taste.

You gasp as he lifts your shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes drag down your body like a slow burn, reverent, almost disbelieving.

"Jesus Christ.."

He cups your breasts, thumbs brushing around your nipples, already raw and swollen from his earlier attention, watching the way your back arches into him like instinct. His mouth follows next, hot and open against your tender skin, teeth grazing your stiffened peaks with aching slowness.

Your cunt is pulsing painfully in anticipation, your panties soaked and surely ruining the thick denim of his jeans. All you seem to be able to do is beg for him one more time.

"Joel- please.. I can't-"

He growls -actually growls- the sound scraping low from his chest, like he’s been waiting years to hear that. His hands roam lower, finding the button of your shorts, undoing them slowly, deliberately, giving you just enough time to stop him, but you won’t. You can’t.

Your hands are just as greedy, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel him, to know him the way he’s never let anyone close enough to know. When you finally get it off him, it’s almost too much. All of him -broad and solid and burning under your palms.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you to fuck me, Joel."

A pause. A beat. Like the words steal the air from his lungs.

Then he moves.

Your back hits the wall again -gently, but firm- and his body follows, pressing against yours, one hand slipping into your panties, fingers sliding through slick heat with an almost broken sound.

"You’re so fuckin’ wet.." he breathes against that sensitive spot right beneath your ear and you can feel his hard cock grinding for relief against your hip.

You cry out as two thick fingers slide into you, curling just right, slow and deep. Your soft walls flutter around his digits, welcoming the intrusion. His other hand grabs your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He’s grinding into you now, rutting slow, the thick line of his cock still trapped behind denim- but you can feel it. Every inch of it, hard and pulsing through his jeans.

The slick, obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt only makes you ache more, arousal spilling down his wrist. You’re so fucking close to snapping, to breaking apart if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“God, Joel- need you inside me-”

"I know, baby. I know. I got you."

He pulls his hand back, wet with you and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with a groan that makes your knees buckle. Then he tugs your shorts down, sliding them off you and undoes his jeans, shoving them low enough to free himself and—

Fuck.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing.

Heat spreads across your skin and you’re acutely aware of how vulnerable you are and how completely ready your body is for him. You lean forward, gently brushing his hand away and replacing it with your own. He hisses at the contact. The head of his shaft pulses against your palm, and your fingers curl around him, unable to stop yourself from feeling how rock-hard he is.

"I’ll go slow. Just.. hold onto me.", his voice is low and thick with need. Your heart lurches at the raw sincerity in his tone and you press your body closer, arms instinctively wrapping tightly around his neck.

He lifts you effortlessly, one leg hooking around his hip and pulling you flush against him. With one impatient tug, his fingers sweep your panties to the side, and cool air skims over your heated skin.

The slick tip of him nudges at your entrance, and a sharp gasp escapes you as you feel him teasing you through your wetness.

He sinks into you with one slow, steady thrust and you arch back, teeth gritting to keep the first cry from escaping. A fierce burn flares deep inside as the first inch slides in, and you instinctively dig your nails into his shoulders.

He groans, bending to press his lips against your ear, and exhales your name as he pauses. Inch by inch, he pushes deeper, every fraction of an inch driving wild pleasure through you. Warmth and fullness bloom between your bodies and a long, trembling sigh escapes as your muscles flutter around him, completely filled, leaving you both panting and still.

"That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, takin’ me so good.."

He stays there, buried deep inside you, forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you trembling, both of you lost.

Then he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The song of your bodies meeting- skin against skin, the slick, filthy rhythm of it- fills the room. Your moans spill into his mouth as he kisses you again, tongue tangled with yours, every thrust more desperate, more real than anything either of you has ever known.

"Wanted this.. fuck, wanted you for so long-" he mumbles and you don't know if he's talking to you or to himself.

"Don’t stop. Please- don’t stop-"

He doesn’t. He can’t.

He’s fucking you like he means it, like this is the first and last time he’ll ever get to love someone like this- with everything in him, without apology, without restraint. His hips snap into you with purpose, rhythm deep and relentless, like he’s trying to bury himself in you, like he’s trying to leave part of himself behind.

You can feel the tremble in his arms where they hold you steady, the sweat slicking between your bodies, the way his breath stutters every time you clench around him.

Your name spills from his lips like prayer- wrecked, reverent, desperate. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, mouth open against your skin, teeth dragging over your pulse point like he needs to anchor himself before he loses it completely.

"You feel so fuckin’ good," he groans, voice raw. "Shit- don’t know how I ever lived without this."

Your nails dig into his back, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him right there- inside you, on you, with you. You meet every thrust with your own, chasing that edge together, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Your drooling cunt chokes his dick with every pulse, soaking him all the way down to the base, slick spilling down his balls and ruining his jeans. The sounds of skin slapping skin make you both feral with lust. Your breasts bounce with every hard thrust, your nipples dragging against the coarse hairs on his toned chest, slick and flushed from the effort.

His hand snakes from the small of your back to the base of your neck, wrapping firm- grounding, claiming. You feel your walls flutter instantly under his grip.

“Not yet,” he breathes- simple, sharp, possessive- against your pleasure-parted lips. Like he knows your body better than you do. Like he knows you'll obey.

“Not till I say. You hear me?” His breath is hot against your lips. “You come when I take it from you.”

Everything in you screams to hold on, to never let go of this feeling- this heat, this fucking need. It’s too much and still not enough. Your vision swims with unshed tears, pleasure cresting into pain, into surrender.

His other hand grabs your thigh, spreads you wider and he drives in deeper, his cock hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I need to hear it.” he snarls, forehead pressing to yours, eyes wild. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Your jaw falls open on a gasp, but no sound comes. You can’t. You can barely breathe. He fucks into you harder, his grip tightening.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I stop. Say who this pussy belongs to.”

Your eyes fill with tears- overstimulated, overwhelmed but your voice still breaks through.

“You- Joel, fuck- you- I’m yours- please- don’t stop-”

He groans, deep and guttural, like that was all he needed to unravel.

“That’s right. You’ve always been. Even when I couldn’t have you. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t touch you.”

He drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, breathing you in like a man starved.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. I want you so fucked out and full’a me, no one else ever stands a fuckin’ chance.”

It’s too much- the pressure, the stretch, the heat, him. You try to hold back, to obey, but your walls flutter dangerously around him and he feels it.

“Now.” he growls, voice tearing through the air like a command from God. “Come for me.”

And when you finally fall apart around him- walls pulsing, thighs trembling, stars bursting behind your eyes- you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know, clinging to him like you’ll never let go.

“Mine. Fuckin’ mine.” he growls before he follows you with a broken moan, hips stuttering, his whole body seizing as he spills into you, holding you so tight it’s almost bruising. His face is buried in your neck, breath ragged, heartbeat thundering against your chest like it’s trying to match yours.

Like maybe, for a moment, they’re the same.

The aftermath.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Still buried inside you, still trembling- not from release, but from everything after.

His arms are locked around you, your chests pressed together, heartbeats still thundering in unison. You feel the sweat cooling on his back, his breath uneven against your neck. But it’s not the aftermath of sex that makes him shake.

It’s you.

The fact that he finally has you and the sick, gut-deep fear that he might still lose you.

His hand slides up your spine slowly, until it cups the back of your head. He kisses your hair. Your temple. The curve of your jaw.

“You okay?”

His voice is hoarse- too soft for a man like him and yet it holds the weight of a warning. Like he’s asking if you regret it. If he should start bracing for impact.

You nod, whispering his name into his chest.

His jaw tightens, and you feel it- the wildness under the surface, the animal in him that’s never known gentleness without loss. He kisses you- slow at first, then harder, like he needs to claim the truth on your lips.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters, almost to himself. His hand slides down to your thigh, gripping it, pressing you closer, even though you’re already one body.

“You got no idea what that means, do you?” he murmurs against your mouth. “No fuckin’ clue what I’d do for you.”

You look at him -really look- and suddenly you do.

Because this isn’t about sex. It’s about Joel and how, for once in his life, he wants something enough to stay. To fight. To keep.

He brushes his nose against yours. A soft, strange thing from such a hard man.

“You’re not just mine,” he says, barely audible. “I’m yours too, if you still want me.”

He knows he’s done for. He can’t go back- not after this.

The choice is yours now.

It always was. It always will be.

You lift your head, eyes glassy, lips trembling.

“I always did.”

“Then I got you. I swear to God, I got you.”

And for the first time, you believe it.

[bunny-1111]

Did I stutter? Theo Nott x fem!reader

Description: With the Christmas ball approaching, you can’t stop daydreaming about Theo. But when Pansy reveals that he’s been quietly chasing off your suitors, you’re left questioning his true feelings. When confronted, Theo’s possessiveness comes to light—but will he finally ask you to the ball?

Genre: Angst, slow burn, romance Warnings: Slight possessiveness, mild language

Word count: 1.9k

Part 2, here

Unedited and unread

reblogs, likes and comments appreciated my loves <3

...

The Christmas ball was a yearly sensation.

When the autumn leaves were long covered by the deep snow of winter, was when you knew it was not far off.

As you sat in the great hall across from your friends in a daydream, imagining Theo all dressed up in a three-piece suit, your mind slipped into mush as you dreamed about his hand placed delicately on your waist, moving you through the steps of a waltz.

"Hello, earth calling. Are you even listening to me?!" Pansy clicked her fingers to pull you attention back into focus

"Sorry, you were saying?" you rush, flustered by your own thoughts.

"Yeah, I was asking if you want to go to Hogsmeade this afternoon?" she continued.

"Oh sure" you agree, you eyes now glued to your plate, trying to pull your mind away from him

"we'll join you, yeah" Draco casually adds

"No!" Pansy quickly exclaims

"what, why not?" replies Draco his voice high and whiney

"Because, girls day, only, we're gonna try find some dresses for the Christmas ball" inisted Pans

"we are?" you question

"we are." she states

"Oh Merlin, I hate this ball bullshit" Enzo adds, throwing his fork down

"Couldn't agree more, Enz" says Theo softly

"Yeah, Theo it must be so annoying having every girl in every house ask you to the dance, gosh you boys are insufferable" ranted Pansy

Oh, that's right, the unpleasant reminder that you and Theodore have no romantic relations and you can't do anything about the girls who swoon over him, Merlin. Why do they all have to be so desperate for him? Why can't they just leave him for you? Why can't something happen between you two why can't h-

"Come on let's go get ready for Hogs" She interrupts your self-destructive thoughts, now dragging you along back to the dorms.

As you shiver into your scarf, the cold air bites at your lips, the snow filled streets of Hogsmeade bring a sense of quickness in turns of just how soon the ball is.

"I expect someone should ask you to the dance soon" Pansy says linking her arms in your as you walk together, shopping bags in your free arms.

"Thanks, Pans, you too," you smile

You're met with unusual silence from her, so you give her a small shove, a gentle nudge, saying, spit it out.

"Well, Draco's asked me to go... I've said yes" she carefully says

"Pans! When, why didn't you tell me? This again, I thought you said you and Dray were really done this time?" You ramble, eyes wide with passionate protection for her

"I know, but like his gonna let someone else take me, I wouldn't want him to go with anyone else take me either, it's just like you and-" she starts

"Don't finish that sentence alright, you and Draco dated, Theo and I nothing" you huff

"Oh yeah, then why is he going around threatening any guy who even considers asking you." her tone

Pansy’s words hit you like a bludger to the chest, forcing the air out of your lungs. You almost stumble your steps, but she keeps her arm linked with yours, pulling you along as if she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell

“What are you talking about?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrays you, cracking at the end.

Pansy raises a brow, glancing at you like she’s holding the world’s best secret, and you’re not in on it. “Oh, don’t play dumb. It’s been happening for months.”

Months?

Theo, your Theo, going around and threatening people from asking you to the ball? That doesn’t make sense. He barely looked at you when you weren't all together, always composed, acting as though your presence didn’t make his eyes soften as you wished they would.

But then again, you have noticed that boys, nice boys, that is, had stopped approaching you after a while. You chalked it up to bad luck. You and your friends did have a certain unapproachability. The rumors swirled about Theodore Nott being unattainable, uninterested in any romance, but he never gave any indication that he’d be willing to defend you, much less ward off potential suitors.

“yeah right, that can’t be true.” Your denial comes out weaker than you intend, the words sitting heavy on your tongue.

Pansy giggles like the school girl she is. “Sweetheart, believe what you want, but I know a possessive bloke when I see one. Trust me, Draco’s the same way, just less… subtle.” She waves her hand dismissively, but her eyes hold a knowing glimmer, irritating you. Like she has insight into your life that you aren’t aware of yourself.

You shake your head, trying to process everything. “But why wouldn’t he just—”

“Ask you himself?” Pansy finishes for you, her voice lilting, almost teasing. “Oh, come on, you know Theo. He’s about as emotionally available as a cursed lock. He probably doesn’t even realise what he’s doing half the time.”

“But pans, months?”

Pansy shrugs a nonchalant gesture that tells you she’s probably been keeping this from you for a while. “Look, I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d figure it out, and honestly, it’s kind of fun watching him sulk whenever someone gets too close. Merlin, the way he glares could melt the snow.”

You let out a breath, the cold air burning your lungs as you try to wrap your mind around it. Theodore Nott, the Theo who lives in your mind, your friend of years, the same Theo you desperately want to yourself, had been quietly chasing off any competition? It feels surreal, like a dream you’d conjured in the midst of one of your daydreams in the Great Hall.

But if that’s true… then why hasn’t he made a move? Why hasn’t he said anything to you?

As if reading your thoughts, Pansy squeezes your arm. “Don’t overthink it. Boys are complicated, especially our boys alright, even when they think they’re being clear. Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment, or maybe he’s just an idiot.”

You laugh, a short, breathy sound that fogs up the air around you. “Yeah, idiot sounds about right.”

Hogsmeade is bustling with students, all of them chattering about the upcoming ball, dresses, dates, and everything in between. You glance at shop windows, your eyes trailing over elegant gowns and shimmering accessories, but your mind is miles away, stuck on a certain brown-haired Slytherin boy who, apparently, has been harboring some very mixed signals.

By the time you make it back to the castle, your hands are full of bags, and your head is full of unanswered questions. Pansy is still chattering away, something about her dress and how Draco better match her, but you can barely focus.

You keep replaying her words over and over again. Theo’s threatening people? Why wouldn’t he just ask me? The thought sends your heart into a frenzy, and no matter how much you try to convince yourself, it’s nothing, that maybe Pansy is exaggerating; you know deep down that she’s probably right.

It isn’t until the next morning at breakfast that you catch sight of Theo, sitting at the Slytherin table with his usual quiet confidence. His hair is slightly tousled, like he couldn’t be bothered to comb it properly, and his tie is crooked, but it doesn’t matter—he still looks effortlessly good, as always.

Your heart does a little flip as you watch him, your mind racing with everything Pansy told you. Should you say something? Ask him if it’s true? Or would that be too forward? Maybe you should just wait it out, see if he says anything first…

But before you can make a decision, Theo glances up and locks eyes with you. It’s a brief moment, but it’s enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. His expression is unreadable, as usual, but there’s something in his gaze that makes your stomach twist.

You quickly look away, focusing on your plate, but your thoughts are a mess. Could he see it all on your face? Are you accidentally showing what you didn't have the courage to say?

The rest of the day passes in a blur, and by the time evening rolls around, you’re no closer to figuring out what to do. Pansy, of course, is no help—she just keeps teasing you about it, making cryptic comments about how Theo’s going to “make his move” eventually.

You’re not so sure.

It’s not until later, when you’re heading back to the common room after a long day of classes, that you run into Theo. Literally.

You’re not paying attention, too caught up in your own thoughts, and you bump right into him as you turn the corner.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t—” you start to apologize, but the words die in your throat when you look up and realize it’s him.

Theo’s standing there, hands in his pockets, his usual calm, unreadable expression in place. But there’s something different about him tonight, something that makes your heart race.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine, as his hand lays on your shoulder, steading your place in front of him

“Hey,” you reply, trying to keep your voice still, but it’s a losing battle.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words and tension.

Before you can make a decision, Theo breaks the silence. “You’re going to the ball, right?”

The question catches you off guard, and you nod before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, I am.”

His eyes darken slightly, and he takes a step closer. “With anyone?”

Your heart skips a beat, and for a second, you forget how to breathe. Is this it? Is he finally going to ask you?

“No,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Theo’s gaze stays locked on yours for a long moment, and then, finally, he says, “Good. Keep it that way.”

And just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your mind spinning.

You stand frozen in place, his words echoing in your mind. Good. Keep it that way. It’s a simple sentence, but the way Theo said it, with that intensity in his eyes, sends your heart into a tailspin.

What did he mean by that? Was it a warning? A request? Or something else entirely?

You shake your head, trying to clear the confusion, but it’s no use. Theo’s always been hard to read, but this feels different—like there’s something just beneath the surface that you can’t quite grasp.

"No Theo wait!" you call out before he gets too far

His body swiftly turns around waiting for you, typical Teddy, of course he makes you run after him.

When you finally reach him all you can manage is "I don't understand."

"what's not to understand, darling," he says softly almost sympathetic

"Have you stopped guys from asking me, personally?" you say so quickly you didn't even have time to realise what you had just asked

"Yes. I have" he replies immediately

"wh-what?" you mutter out

"Did I fucking stutter? Anyone asks you and you tell me" his tone stern and meaningful, inching closer and closer to you, "alright"

"alright" you agree in a small voice

"Good girl" he smiles as he tilts his head, before walking off.

well, what the fuck now.

Author Note: I've been feeling so unsure about my writing lately, I've been struggling to produce good work. I have been so flat out at work that by the time I get home, I'm writing at like 2am, so it just turns out shit... and I get too tired to finish it properly like this one, but I just wanted to get something out. Ugh, I'm sorry. anyway hope you try to enjoy this one, I will get back to my confident writing soon, I hope lol love youuuuuuu, B.

Part 2, here