#thank you for this ask i loved writing this so much!!!!

[dollfacefantasy]

hiii i’m not sure if you particularly like writing hybrid!reader but can i pls request something with leon where he tries to feel out his bunny/dog hybrid gf’s kinks by seeing how her tail moves in response to them. like something she really likes she’ll wag her tail real fast and he finds it adorable

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!puppy-hybrid!reader

summary: leon plays with his precious puppy girl by watching her tail

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, humping his boot, daddy kink, praise kink, breeding kink, scent kink, dacryphilia, and size kink

word count: 2.6k

a/n: no because i love this idea so much. it's been in my head since i got it. i hope i did it justice because i think it's so cute. thank you for sending it and i hope you enjoy <3

Leon’s eyes rested upon his favorite sight in the whole world. His precious puppy girl kneeling at his feet. If he had to guess, he’d say it was your favorite place to be too. All signs pointed to that conclusion. Your eyes were wide and locked onto his face. Your body vibrated and squirmed with the urge to jump into his lap. And of course, the way your tail wagged back and forth.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

The fluffy appendage moves in a lazy rhythm right now. You were excited Leon was home and wanted to play, but you weren’t thrilled enough for it to turn to a blur. He chuckles and reaches a hand forward to rub your head. That gets it to speed up a little bit.

“You have a good day, pup?” he asks.

You scoot the slightest bit closer while nodding. You tilt your head to the side, squishing the flesh of your cheek against his knee.

“Yeah? What’d you do today?” he says.

“Took a nap. Watched the tv,” you answer, “You look tired, daddy.”

He smiles at your observation and scratches at the base of one of your ears. Those ears, which were perked up at the moment, were so sensitive to everything. The wind knocking something over outside, his car pulling up on the driveway, and of course, small changes in his inflection. 

Though he sometimes wondered if that’s all it was. He sees the way your tail picks up a notch when his lips curl upwards with that smile. He wondered, if not hoped, that it was something more than just your heightened physical capabilities. If maybe, there was something within you, something deeper, some instinctive emotional connection that bound you to him. That was probably wishful thinking. Someone who understood him implicitly. Still that was how he felt sometimes, and it was always lingering in the back of his mind when he watched your cute little ass wiggle back and forth with the movement of your tail.

“A little. Had a long day at work,” he tells you, continuing the conversation.

“Oh. Was it boring?” you inquire.

“You could say that,” he says.

“I get bored sometimes when you’re not here too,” you say.

The short, curt way you speak drives him up the wall. His hand on top of your head trails down to your cheek and gives it a little pinch before his thumb lands on your lips. Your tongue darts out to give the pad a small lick.

“Cute,” he murmurs as his fingers descend to your jawline and then your throat, “Why were you so bored, puppy? You have the whole house to yourself. You have enough toys to fill a room.”

“But I was missing my favorite toy,” you say, nuzzling against his leg.

“Oh, your favorite toy, huh?” he says. 

His fingers tease the edge of the smooth material that was wrapped around your neck. In place of a collar, you wore a pink satin ribbon. It bunched around to the front of your neck where it was tied in a pretty bow. Leon’s own handiwork. He never saw a reason to collar you. You were the most loyal little thing on the face of this Earth. Even if he kicked you out, you’d probably just take up residence on the mat at the front door. He’d rather you look like the spoiled princess that you were and dress you in the pink ribbon to match the other pink items you wore, your camisole and panties.

You nod at the question he asked, the ends of your bow swaying with your motion.

“Yeah? Well, tell daddy. What’s your favorite toy?” he prompts you.

Your hand snakes up to the front of his jeans and paws at the area where you would soon feel the outline of his hardening dick.

“That’s your favorite?” he asks, feigning ignorance, “Wow. If I'd known that, I wouldn’t have bought you all those stuffies. Coulda saved me a ton of money. Just let you sit on my cock most of the time, and you’d be satisfied.”

You shrug, not caring to roll that proposition around in your head for actual consideration. Sure you loved your toys, but they didn’t come close to one tucked away inside daddy’s jeans.

He grins not only because you’re so fucking cute, but also because he can see your tail starting to go faster. As much as he wants to pull you onto his lap and breed you till you’re a mess of drool and tears, he wants more tonight. You were nothing if not eager, and while he loved that, it meant that it didn’t take much effort from you to get him to cum in minutes. You’d just get so tight, you never suppressed any of your moans or whines, your face always scrunched up into needy expressions of euphoria…

Anyways. He just wanted to tease it out tonight.

“You have been a good girl today. I think you deserve some time with your favorite toy,” he says, watching the specific twitch when he said the two words of praise, “You wanna play with it right now?”

You nod almost as quickly as your tail wags. A sonorous laugh echoes from him. His eyes hold that glint that lets you know there’s more.

“What’s your favorite way to play with it, baby? You like bouncing on it?” he asks, his voice gaining an amused lilt.

You don’t respond with words. He knows your nodding, but his focus is on your backside where he’s getting the only response he needs.

Swish.

“Maybe you like taking it face down, whining into the pillow?” he continues.

Swish Swish.

“Or maybe you like being on your back, legs over daddy’s shoulders?”

Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish.

“I think that’s the winner,” he chuckles, “Why is that your favorite, pup?”

“It gets deeper,” you say. He watches as you try to be subtle about scooching closer. He wasn’t going to stop you though.

“Oh I see,” he says, nodding his head in mock realization, “You want it as deep as possible, right? And to do that, I have to pin you down, keep you underneath me where I can just fill that pussy up over and over. You like being helpless, princess?”

As his tone becomes more husky, you take your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Your hips fight the urge to squirm, but your tail can’t stop flinging itself back and forth. A tingling flame had been lit inside your belly, one you desperately wanted him to put out.

“Yeah. You love when I’m in charge. You love when all you have to do is take it like a good girl, and you can just let that little brain melt away,” he taunts. With each swish of your tail, it’s like he can hear a game show buzzer ringing in his points.

You wrap your arms around his leg that was nearest to you and pathetically whimper out “daddy.”

“What is it, puppy?” he coos.

You look up at him and give him the definition of puppy eyes. “I want it. No more teasing,” you whine. Despite your demanding words, you stay put. You were a good girl after all, and good girls wait for permission.

“What? You want it?” he mocks, “What’s the rush, baby? You don’t like daddy’s voice anymore? You sure were liking it last night when you were all sleepy. Just whining and clinging onto me, begging me not to pull out.”

The movements of your tail start to become blurry as you remember the previous night. He’d fucked you so good and talked you through it the whole time. The main difference between now and then was that then you had his cock stuffed inside you while he spoke.

“I do like it,” you defend with a pout, “But I just want it, daddy. Please. Wanna be full of you.”

“Full,” he repeats, “Does daddy stretch you out? Make you feel like there’s no room for anything else?”

You nod again, but you can’t take it anymore. You scoot forward more so your knees rest on either side of his boot. His knee kisses the space beneath your chin while the rest of his leg is flush up against your tummy, going straight between your breasts. He knows what you’re about to do, but he’s fine with it. Tilting the tip of his boot upwards, he gives you silent permission to start rocking your hips.

That was all you needed to close the gap between the top of his shoe and your clothed cunt. Lowering yourself slightly, your puffy clit brushes the leather. You let out a tiny mewl. Your face was already starting to scrunch up into a cute little look from such a simple touch.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” he teases.

“Yeah, daddy. Thank you,” you whimper.

Your hips move back and forth as if on a pendulum. The rhythm is consistent like the pacing of your tail. Back and forth, back and forth.

“I think you soaked through your panties, pretty baby. You gonna get daddy’s shoe all nice and shiny? Make it smell like you?” he says with a smug grin.

“Uh huh,” you mumble. 

But when Leon mentions scenting his boot, your tail starts going crazy. Absolutely buck wild. He wouldn’t be shocked if you sprained something from how hard it was moving. God, he was getting hard. A solid tent had formed in the center of his lap from watching you. So precious, so adorable. Those pants and whines of pure lust. The way your fingers were digging into the leg you held onto like you needed it to survive. The nonstop rutting of your hips matching up with the wag of your tail.

“Woah woah. Think my girl might be a little possessive,” he says as he watches you. He keeps his tone light. He wanted this to play out before he let himself have any. To stave off his desires, he palms himself over the rough denim.

Your eyes catch that, and it’s almost comical how you nearly drool. “I just want everyone to know you’re mine. You're my daddy. They can’t have you,” you say, nestling your face against his legs.

Your own pleasure builds in the pit of your belly. You’d found the perfect amount of pressure on his boot. You just had to keep grinding your aching cunt into the leather.

“Poor baby. No one’s gonna take me from you,” he croons and strokes your head. His hand moves so much slower than any of your body parts and the contrast intensifies the pleasure further.

“Good,” you say.

“Mhm. Trust me, you keep my hands full as is,” he jokes.

He watches as you keep whining and humping his boot. Your hips move like you’re on the clock. He can feel drool starting to drip on his jeans and dampen the fabric. If only he could see your eyes. He knows they’re getting glossy, hazy with the bliss coming from between your legs. Lucky for him, a particular jolt of ecstasy pulls your head back and ends with your face looking up at him.

“You’re getting to daddy’s favorite part, honey. Keep going, Keep being a good girl,” he says. Again, your tail jerks when it registers the magic words. You snap your hips with renewed fervor, chasing the elusive high. His fingers press down harder against his cock as he sees the gleam of saliva coating your chin and lips.

“When do we get to my favorite part?” you babble. Your voice was starting to give as the warmth of carnal pleasure encroaches on your mind.

“And what is your favorite part?” he asks, knowing what your answer would be.

“The part when I actually get your cock,” you whimper.

He shakes his head. “Look at you. Trying to be smart while you’re going dumb,” he teases, “Quit complaining. You’re still getting to feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” you whine instantly.

“Oh really? It looks pretty similar to me,” he says.

You make a small sound that’s halfway between a whine and a growl. Even with your frustration though, your hips don’t stop.

“I’m just teasing you, pup,” he says, stroking your jaw with his free hand, “I guess it is different. I don’t see you crying like you do when I’m buried inside. I don’t get to see those pretty eyelashes all wet from tears.”

Your eyes roll back at the mention of being so fucked out you cry. It was one of your favorites, and Leon knew it. Being reduced to a crumpled mess of sobs against the heat of his chest got you like almost nothing else.

The reactions etched across your facial features are cute, but he can’t tear his focus away from your ass moving against its will through the force of your tail.

“But that’s not the big difference, is it?” he continues, “No. The real reason you want my cock is cause you want daddy to breed you, huh?”

As soon as it leaves his mouth, it’s like his mental buzzer is letting him know he’s won the grand prize. Everything about you goes haywire. You lock around his leg while your hips rut like you’re in heat. Your tail whips around so fast he thinks it could create a breeze.

“Uh huh, daddy- ah! Mm… just wanna be bred. Need it,” you ramble.

He feels his cock twitching in his pants. He’s sure when he actually does get it in you, he’s not gonna last too long. It’s straining against the zipper as is, and he can’t stop rubbing it. He’s almost as bad as you on the boot.

“I know you do. Silly little puppy. That’s always what you need,” he coos, “Just need to be pumped full of cum. My sweet girl.”

Your tongue is half lolled out of your mouth by this point. You’re past going dumb. Your head is swimming around in absolute thoughtlessness. Not a care in the world besides getting yourself to cum all over daddy’s boot.

He nearly groans out loud from the sight of it. He can feel the warmth of your pussy all over his shoe, the plush of your thighs clamped near the sides.

“You’re doing perfect, baby,” he mutters, “You’re gonna get your treat, I promise. Just let daddy watch you cum, and I’ll make sure you get your fill.”

You want to whimper “ok, daddy,” but your mind is too far gone for words. All that comes out is a strangled amalgamation of sounds accompanied by your head wobbling up and down. And the whole time swish swish swish.

Your swollen little clit had more than enough stimulation to get you to burst. Pants turn to gasps and fluid movements sharpen. You mumble against his leg, your lips squishing all over his pants and wetting them even more with your spit.

“That’s my good girl,” he purrs, which is enough to get another loud moan out of you. He chuckles and continues watching with his half-lidded, lustful eyes.

As the movement of your hips slow, your tail’s swings weaken. He still strokes your head as you catch your breath. Your chest puffs in and out while you feel your skin cooling down. It was hard not to get sleepy after you came, but before you have to worry about falling asleep at his feet, Leon scoops you up and holds you on his lap.

Rubbing your back, he presses some kisses to your forehead and temple. “There’s my girl. How’re you feeling, baby?”

“Good, daddy,” you mutter against his shirt.

“Yeah? You think you’re up for daddy breeding you for real now?” he whispers.

And suddenly, you’re not so sleepy. You sit up straight in time with your ears perking up. You nod and give him a lazy smile. He can’t see it, but he can feel that tail already starting to wag again.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil imagines #resident evil x you

[acciojaeyun]

under the web | p.sh.

PAIRING. officemate!sunghoon x fem!reader

SUMMARY. there's something about the way people seemed to scurry about whenever park sunghoon from the IT department would be coming to whichever area of the office. that's something that would be all because of you, his lovely officemate. your constant teasing and mockery of that one thing you know about park sunghoon made it seem to reach the headlines, and park sunghoon was determined to let you know that you're not the boss here.

CONTENTS. smut, some angst, some fluff. smut with plot. not beta-read. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

SMUT WARNINGS. making out, humiliation, implied dom vs. dom dynamics, dirty talk, slight exhibition, curses, virginity, unprotected sex (please practice safe s), reader is a jealous menace (a bit stalker-ish), mentions of manga, mentions of other members, if i forgot some, lmk!

WORD COUNT. 4.1k

AUTHOR'S NOTE. this will be my first ever sunghoon fic after a long while! i did take a hugeee slump after writing ( and had never been so inspired to write oneshots until now. and i'm such a sucker for glasses hoon and this is the product of it. thank you so much for reading! <3

MY LIBRARY. REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

It was an annoying morning.

Or well, for you, it was annoying. For you had to witness a group of interns gushing over the "guy with rolled sleeves and glasses making his coffee," and you scoffed when they mentioned that he looked like an Americano drinker, which, in their words, made him more attractive.

You rolled your eyes, the guy that they were talking about never liked Americano. In fact, his black instant coffee had the same amount, if not more, of cream added to his stainless steel coffee tumbler.

How did you know about that, though?

One thing about you was that you knew Park Sunghoon very well. He was the Class Salutatorian of Batch 2023, bachelor's in Information Technology. It was pretty impressive, if you were to ask everyone else. Park Sunghoon was immediately hired by the company that you are working in, and while you can say that Sunghoon did deserve both the position and the benefits, you couldn't help but feel like he didn't deserve the attention men and women alike were pouring him.

Of course, if anything, it should be you showering him attention. But, you wouldn't do that. Not when you're Y/N Y/L/N. You're the darling of the company, the sweetheart, so to speak. Because even though you cannot be of the same level as that of talent, knowledge, and skill which Sunghoon possess along with his looks, you were a pretty hardworking person.

Being in the Marketing Department also had its hardships, and while you still pray for the day commoners stop shunning down your bachelors, you are able to supply yourself with your needs and wants just by exerting everything you've learned in business and people-speaking.

But there was something about Park Sunghoon that makes him your own thesis.

Your own skill in building relationships didn't seem to work on him as much as you had hoped. Okay, let's admit it, you had taken a liking into Park Sunghoon. The quiet IT Specialist that exuded looks that were enough to make women fall to their knees.

A little bit of chit-chat here and there, some subtle glances and light touches, you were still far from the starting line. Park Sunghoon still hadn't reciprocated at least a fraction of your advancement towards him.

And by now, you're almost as helpless as it could be as you're munching on your own lunch, eyes over the cubicle of the IT department, watching how Sunghoon eats his sandwich, gaze never leaving his computer as he typed in codes with his other hand.

"How's the thing with Mr. Cold guy doing?" Sunoo would nudge your side as he caught you staring at Sunghoon for the nth time today.

You rolled your eyes for the nth time today as well, "He's so annoying."

"Now, he's annoying? Please, Y/N, cut yourself some slack. You need to get humbled, too, you know?" The blonde boy laughed as he sipped on his coffee.

"I just don't know how he hasn't caught up on it yet," you groaned, stabbing your fork on the penne pasta that you had on your lunchbox, "I've been doing a lot! How come he's still oblivious!"

"That, or he knows and just doesn't want to do anything."

You furrowed your eyebrows at Sunoo, "What do you mean?"

"Please, you're practically throwing yourself at him, it's a miracle how he hasn't caught up on yet."

"Or, he's a virgin."

Sunoo laughed, "Maybe,"

A loud thud on your desk was heard throughout the department as you placed your lunchbox down, "I'll talk to him."

"Again?" Sunoo looked at you, bewildered. "And, while he's working?"

"What, can't he handle a little distraction?"

"With you almost pushing your boobs towards his face? I think not."

"You know what? Fuck you." You flipped your best friend off, making him laugh as he ate his tteokbokki happily, ready to see you in your downfall yet again.

You, on the other hand, were determined. Straightening your slacks and blouse, grabbing your laptop, you made your way over to the IT Department, greeting everyone along the way while making a beeline straight to Sunghoon.

"Hi," you greeted.

Sunghoon hummed, his eyes still not leaving his screen.

"I mean to come to you to help me with a feature on the application that we're using?"

The boy glanced at you, his chewing coming to a slow halt.

"What about it?"

"Oh, I was hoping that I can access the Network's files? I've forgotten my flash drive at home and I only have access to some of the files but it would be in Sunoo's disk."

Sunghoon flashed you an impressed look at your terms, at the bare minimum.

"It'd be against company policy to allow you to access other people's disks without their consent, Ms," Sunghoon cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "and besides, aren't you friends with Mr Kim, anyway? Why wouldn't you ask him directly?"

"Uh, well..." you trailed off, "well, Sunoo also has the copy of this file on his flash drive, and coincidentally, he has also forgotten it at home!"

The boy raised an eyebrow at you. He was not buying it, you thought.

But your thoughts were proven wrong as Sunghoon swivelled in his chair, clicking on the multiple tabs open until he had manipulated the system for the time-being upon your request.

Your hands glanced on his hands, so dainty, long, and pretty. You wondered how it would feel around your neck, or in your pussy.

"It'll be open only for your access, Ms," Sunghoon said, looking up at you, "I'll be resetting it to company's default after forty-five minutes. Would that be enough time for you to get your files?"

You nodded, "Yes, thank you,"

"Do you have anything else for me to help with?" Sunghoon looked at you with a raised brow, making you blush.

"N-No, not that I know of, thank you, Sunghoon," you smiled at him.

He merely nodded before opening his coding software, clearly blocking you out from all his senses as he returned to eating his sandwich and work.

You pursed your lips, inhaling a large breath as you excused yourself from his cubicle, greeting yet another group of people acknowledging your presence as you made your way out of their department.

You were not expecting what you are seeing.

Not at all.

Whatever it was, there seems to be a glitch in the system as you also had an access to Sunghoon's drive.

You see, it was not your fault you were a bit nosy over your crush. You had taken a liking in him, and maybe, you think, there may be some stuff about him in his drive that could let you know a little more about him.

If not him, then, maybe, technology, his trusted friend, could help you.

You've seen his curriculum vitae, all the data he's working with, his clients, as well as a folder of his personal stuff which included torrented movies.

You laughed, his degree really has his perks.

You were so close to clicking off the movie folder named "O", but as you clicked on the next folder, named "P," you gasped at the number of porn videos were downloaded into the folder.

And all of them had the same theme: office sex.

It maybe too much, but in your mind, it made sense, when you were noticing how each of the female partners had the same features as you. Smirking to yourself, you glanced a look at the IT Specialist, bingo.

Surprised would be an understatement when Sunghoon entered the pantry as he went through his usual routine: leave his things at his desk, make his creamy coffee, work, leave to buy Subway for lunch, work, leave at 5:30 PM sharp.

He was surprised when the first people in the pantry left as he entered the room, furrowing his eyebrows when he heard faint words such as, "porn," "boundaries," and "couldn't he have had downloaded it in his own laptop?"

Now, Sunghoon may have been overthinking. His quiet life at work was already enough for him. But there was something bugging him for the first time in his life as he placed water in his stainless cup, especially when after making his coffee, no one would even dare look at him as he made his way to his cubicle, men and women, alike, swivelling their chairs to move farther from him, as if he were a plague.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, it was getting to his nerves.

And if it weren't for Jake, his only friend in the department, who initially swivelled his chair away form Sunghoon, but then decided to swivel back as Sunghoon didn't even stand up for lunch, who told him about the rumours that spread about him, he wouldn't have known, and there was only one person who would have accessed his files.

You.

He snickered at the story Jake was telling him, and left Jake to his imagination whether the story was true or not, only giving him a shrug when the older did try to confirm to him.

"Believe what you want," Sunghoon responded, typing aggressively on his keyboard, "besides, I think you have, since you initially scooted away from me."

"Look, man," Jake scooted closer, whispering, "if it's not true, I could tell it to them, you know? I don't want them to think of you as some horny teenager who doesn't know about work boundaries."

"As if they're going to believe you," Sunghoon curtly responded before pressing a key harshly before looking at his friend, "if it came from Y/N, no one would even bat an eye at you."

"Y/N? Why her?"

"Only she had access to my files yesterday. Wouldn't it be too much of a coincidence if the story only spread now?" He chuckled, amused.

"So, it's true?"

Sunghoon shrugged again.

"Are you going to do something to address it?"

"Address it? What for? They already think I'm some horny dude, anyway."

"Well," Jake licked his lips, "just send me the stashes next time, too, okay?"

Sunghoon laughed.

Your plan was working.

A lot of people had taken their distances from Park Sunghoon. Making you think you're progressing at your plan to keep people away from him.

You can't help it. As long as there were hindrances in your way towards Sunghoon, you think there would be little chances to make your advances to him. You had yet to tell Sunoo, but you know that he was already aware of the rumour, and he would ask you about it after his client events.

So, while everyone had left Sunghoon alone in the pantry, that was your cue to enter the pantry. Making your way as calmly as possible to the counter as possible, you placed your food on the microwave, heating your breakfast as Sunghoon was stirring his drink in his cup.

"I never took you as the guy," you sighed, faking sympathy, getting more annoyed as you never got any reaction from the boy.

"I was expecting more from you, Mr. Salutatorian, I'm sure you know about policy since you were so high and mighty about it when I tried to get into Sunoo's files," you continued, watching his every reaction.

But he remained stoic. And that irked you.

You were about to open your mouth when the microwave had beeped, making you jump and take your food, frustrated over the fact that Sunghoon was ignoring you. Forgetting that it was still hot and you didn't retrieve the mittens beside it, you burned your fingers, finally getting Sunghoon's attention.

He discarded his coffee and immediately went his way over to you, grabbing a hold of your hand before examining your fingers, his eyes never leaving it as he tried to suck on it in attempts of both soothing the wound and seducing you.

Your breath hitched, making you look at him. What the hell was he doing?

"S-Sunghoon?"

He smirked at you as he pushed your fingers to his mouth, wetting your pointer finger with his warm tongue, only for him to retract it and swirl it on the tip of it.

"There's one menace between the two of us," Sunghoon whispered as he pulled away, leaning in to you, "and it's not gonna be you."

You let out a breath you didn't know you held as he pulled away and made his way out of the pantry.

Weeks later, you found yourself mad at Park Sunghoon.

Because after the incident at the pantry, he seemed to be hovering in your space more times than you would like. And while it did seem the best thing for you, it wasn't. For Sunghoon was not only hovering, but he made sure his presence was made known whenever he was around.

Holding on your waist, rubbing his crotch against your bum, rolling his sleeves whenever he knew you looked at him – while keeping his unbothered expression at his face.

Other than that, you were thinking he was losing his game as another person had suddenly took a liking into you. Food in carton boxes at your table by the morning you come in to work, and while you had hoped that it were him, your hopes were shut down as fifteen minutes after you had arrived from work, only had then Sunghoon, too.

Flowers were also hard to miss every week. There was a different flower every week, the whole department gushing whenever you grab a stem on your desk. And while you had hoped it was Sunghoon, again, you looked at his desk and see him in his natural habitat: working and face straight to the computer.

By this time, you had grown infuriated. Because you felt like he was toying with you. Especially when he was not paying you any attention at the Thanksgiving Party your office had held after reaching more than the targeted quarterly sales, and it was because of you! Why wasn't he giving you any attention?

Blame it on the alcohol in your system, and your innate drive to prove something to Sunghoon, a trait of yours that you have acquired overtime, you made your way towards the guy who was alone at the bar, nursing his on the rocks with his finger dancing around the rim of the glass.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" you spat, annoyed.

Sunghoon turned on his seat, smirking at you, "For being the best employee?"

"What else!"

He chuckled, taking a sip on his drink, "Congratulations, princess,"

You scoffed, "That's it?"

He grinned, "What, you'd want me to kneel for you?"

You were stunned. "You know what? Whatever, Sunghoon, I feel like I'm just a game to you, anyway."

And maybe that's what did it for Sunghoon, because the moment you uttered those words, you found yourself being pulled by your wrist outside of the ballroom you were in by none other than Park Sunghoon himself.

"Let go of me, Sunghoon!" you said as you tried to escape from his grasp.

But Sunghoon did not budge, he was determined on making you regret what you say. He pushed the fourteenth floor button, the floor where he was staying, and even though it took quite a while to get to the floor, Sunghoon didn't even try to lay his hands on you, it was better for him to do it on his bed, anyway.

Because you deserved it.

The moment the elevator doors opened, you found yourself being pulled to his room, with heavy breaths as he discarded his suit jacket on the couch, he turned around and met you in a passionate kiss, surprising both you and Sunghoon.

Ah, if there was one thing you didn't know about Sunghoon? Was the fact that he was a virgin. He never had any relationships in the past, and it had only been you whom he was very attracted by. So, it was bound to happen, perhaps. Sunghoon giving you his virginity in the hopes of you reciprocating his feelings.

But Sunghoon was a realistic man, of course, he knew that he was just your own entertainment. Having a lot of suitors here and there, he knew he had to step up his game.

That meant, letting you see through his drive because he was scared of doing the first move of asking you out on a proper date, because everyone was always first in doing so.

A few occurrences later, Sunghoon had decided on levelling his courtship up by bringing you food to your table the moment he gets to work. His bag still on his hand as he ordered your favourite meal as he sped placing it on your table before making his coffee.

Sunghoon had started realising that you liked flowers, so he had brought it upon himself to at least give you flowers every week, keeping it anonymous before he finally musters enough confidence to tell you that it was him who was giving you the gifts.

Not Jake, not Jay, and most certainly not Heeseung.

So, he hopes he had translated all of his misunderstood feelings into the kiss, cupping your jaw as he pushes his tongue in your mouth, swallowing the moan that you had blessed him.

"You drive me so fucking crazy, Y/N," he groans into the kiss, "accusing me of playing with you when you were the one who started this in the first place." He trails off, his lips pressing onto your mouth up and down before stopping by the skin near your collarbones for him to suck.

You let out a whimper, too lost in the feeling of his lips on your skin, "You drive me so fucking crazy, too," you start, letting your head fall back to have the boy kiss more of your skin, "I don't know what's on your mind most of the time." Sunghoon had found your sweet spot below your ear, making you gasp.

The boy hummed, wrapping his hands around your waist, pulling your body flush against his, slowly rolling his hips forward so you could feel his hard cock pressed against you, "Well, it's about time you know that you take over the expanse of my mind, princess."

You were already soaking wet at this point, basking in how Sunghoon looked today, you swear you could feel yourself salivating over how he presents himself. You pull his face away from your neck, locking your lips in an uncoordinated kiss. "I need you, Sunghoon."

Sunghoon groaned, kissing you for a moment longer before abiding to his girl's needs. His cock was aching, and you needed him. It was time to cut the chase.

"My needy little slut," Sunghoon growls as he teased you by rubbing your clit over your panties, and when he slid his hands through her folds, he was met by pleasing wetness, making him chuckle, "You've been trying to fool everyone with how much of a sweetheart you are, angel," he hummed, rubbing his nose on the crook of your neck, "but you really are a menace. Wanting her Sunghoon to give all of his attention to her,"

"Y-Yes," You moaned, grinding your hips on his fingers, "M-My Sunghoon,"

And when he motions to remove his glasses, you tap his wrist and shook your head, making him realise you never want his glasses off, making him chuckle.

"You liked hearing it, don't you?" Sunghoon inquires as he pushes you to the bed, pulling you over the edge of it as he bites on your panties, pulling it down to pool on your ankles, "You love the idea of me being yours, don't you, Y/N?" He smiles as he sinks his finger in you, curling as you clench around you.

"Yes, I do - shit, Sunghoon!" You managed to say, "I did everything because I only want you! Only you!"

Sunghoon docks his head in between your thighs to hide the blush creeping to his cheeks before pressing hot kisses into the expanse of your inner thighs, fluttering light kisses as his lips made its way to your folds, kissing it before he gives kitten licks to your bud.

Your back arches, satisfying Sunghoon with his little experimentation. He, then, soon, pushes another finger in as he started swirling his tongue on your clit, alternating between licking his tongue flat from your hole up to your clit, making you thrash your legs everywhere.

He moaned when you clamped your legs around his face, urging him to continue his movements, "M' close, Hoon," you whispered, one of your hands leaving the sheets to tangle in his newly-cut hair, and with one more curl of Sunghoon's fingers, you were already tumbling over the edge, your cries of his name falling from your mouth.

"God, you're so beautiful, Y/N," Sunghoon whispers as he cleans you off with his tongue, and when he was done, he pushes himself up as he unbuckles his belt and removes his trousers, discarding the article at some part of the room.

"I wanna ride you," You confess, making Sunghoon blush again, "oh, are you... is this your first time?" You asked, your eyes widening slightly as Sunghoon replied with a nod.

Your heart almost burst at his confession, making you sit up and pull him into a slow kiss, "I want to see how you'd look so damn sexy sitting on my cock, Y/N," Sunghoon breathes, "but I want- I need-"

"Take your time with me, Hoon."

A breath escapes you when Sunghoon finally gets you out of your dress, his hands immediately pinching at your nipple. And without another word, Sunghoon lifts your leg and lines himself to your entrance. And with a heavy breath in, he pushes in slowly, the roll of his hips feeling delicious until he's fully buried inside you, low moans heard throughout the room.

"I, fuck, Y/N," Sunghoon starts, groaning instead as you clench around him. Sunghoon hovers over you, his arms on either side of your head before resting his forehead against yours so he could look into your eyes, "God, I love you so much, Y/N."

Before Sunghoon ever regrets he had confessed out of nowhere, you had already pushed your lips on his hungrily, meeting his thrusts, you let out a whine as Sunghoon placed your legs over his shoulders, reaching deeper of you, the same time he rubs slow circles on your clit in time with his harsh thrusts.

"God, you feel so fucking amazing, Y/N," he breathes, earning a chuckle from you as you say, "You're fucking me so good, Hoon,"

Sunghoon smiles at your continuous use of his nickname, before his eyebrows furrow as he lets out a breathless moan as he hit your g-spot, making you squeal, "Jesus, I'm not gonna last much longer!" you say, and you were quick to wrap your legs around his waist, aiming to feel him closer.

"Me either, darling," he whispers, "come with me, please?"

And with a few more thrusts, you feel yourself coming on him, your toes curling, back arching, eyes almost rolling at the back of your head, as your nails rake down Sunghoon's back from his nape. Your walls clench around his cock, making him also reach his climax. He cuts your moans as Sunghoon pulls you to him for a hungry kiss as he empties himself in you.

He slows his thrusts down as he helps you come down from your highs, his lips attached again to your jaw down to your neck, peppering light kisses. And sooner, Sunghoon pulls out and rolls onto his back, his arms around your waist to make you roll on top of him.

A silence was heard in the room as you mindlessly traced irregular shapes on the expanse of Sunghoon's pale skin. He feels like his heart is about to explode from mixed emotions, having the girl of his dreams on top of him, his virginity in your hands – but, at the end of the day, he's unsure about your feelings for him.

However, one thing's for sure: you were all Sunghoon had ever wanted and needed, no matter how much the world can prevent him from doing so.

"I mean every word I said," Sunghoon whispers, kissing your hair, a silent affirmation to the thousand words running in your head.

You giggled, "I feel like I'd look good bouncing on your cock, too, Sunghoon."

"N-Not that.." Sunghoon blushed, "I am really crazy for you, Y/N, but you know, we could just pretend it never happened and think this is a one time thing."

"That's so unfair of you," you say, looking up and leaning your chin on his chest, "because I'd rather have you bringing over lunch and flowers every time if that meant having you every day."

Sunghoon visibly relaxed, smiling at you warmly, "So, it's forever."

"It is."

© acciojaeyun, 2024.

#park sunghoon #sunghoon #enhypen #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #sunghoon x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enha fanfiction #enha smut #sunghoon fanfiction #ksmutsociety #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #sunghoon au #sunghoon imagine #enhypen hard hours #enhypen soft hours #enha hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enha soft hours #enhypen soft thoughts #sunghoon imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen imagine #park sunghoon x reader

[sourlove]

Omg the jock is so cute I was wondering if maybe we could get a scenario thing we're maybe reader and jock are at a diner on a hot summer night just chilling idk how you want to interpret that but I love your writing so far ♥️

TW: YANDERE THEMES BUT NOT REALLY SHOWN. LUCAS IS A GOOD BOY

A/N: I immediately thought of like a small town in the 50s or 60s when I read this lol.

READ LUCAS' HEADCANONS HERE

Thanks for the ask!

The heatwave that settled over the town had everyone abandoning their houses in favor of hanging out at the lake or starting up their barbeques. You, on the other hand, were heading to a date with a certain someone that evening.

"Y/N! Y/N! Over here!"

You had barely even stepped into the diner when you were swept into a bear hug. You didn't even have to guess who it was, by the way your feet completely stopped touching the ground.

"Hi Lucas," you said wearily. The star football player grinned at you, eyes bright from beneath shaggy, golden curls. You snorted and ruffled his hair. "You doofus, didn't I tell you to get a haircut after practice today?"

Lucas pouted. "I wanted to get here before you did. Look, I got us a booth! You said you like booths so I got us one!"

"Yes, I can see that. Thank you, Lucas." You sighed as he dragged you to a seat at the back of the diner, where the crowd was thinner. Lucas squished himself next to you, instead of opposite, rendering the booth pointless. You didn't mind anyway, as you were used to Lucas doing this.

"What can I get you lovebirds today?" the waitress asked, giving the two of you a grin. You smiled back at her. She had always been kind to you and had on more than one occasion, smacked Lucas with a newspaper for trying to makeout with you in the diner. She playfully glared at him and he stuck his tongue out at her, hugging you closer.

"Hey, Donna. Can we just get two milkshakes and some fries?" You asked, ignoring the way Lucas buried his head in your neck.

"Sure thing, hon." Donna walked away to place your order and you patted your boyfriends head gently. Honestly, it was too hot for his shenanigans. You let him stay like that for a while, though. As much as you refused to say it out loud, sometimes you really enjoyed being smothered by Lucas. It was comforting, like a heavy weighted blanket draped on top of you.

Lucas sighed happily as you combed a hand through his curls. "I thought you said you like when my hair gets long? I was growing it out for you."

"I love your hair, short or long, baby," you said. "But not when it gets in your eyes. If you fumble on the field again, I think Coach is gonna get his scissors and hunt you down to cut it himself."

"You love me?" Unfortunately, everything else you just said was obsolete to this boy. "You mean that, don't you?"

"Of course she does," Donna chimed in, holding a tray of your food. "There has to be a reason she would put up with you slobbering all over her."

"Thanks, Donna. Um-there's only one milkshake?" you questioned.

"Yeah, and two straws." She winked at Lucas. "Enjoy!"

Lucas beamed and immediately stuck the straws into the frothy drink, looking at you with such hopeful eyes, you couldn't do anything but sigh and lean forward to drink. You had to admit, the cold drink was just what you needed to stave of some of the heat of the day. Your eyes fluttered close as you savored the sweet taste.

When you opened them, Lucas's big brown eyes stared back at you.

"What is it this time, Lucas?" you asked with a huff.

"You're just so pretty." He smiled sweetly, the big dope. "I like looking at you."

You and you smacked his arm, though it hurt you more than it probably hurt him. "You're such a sap."

"A sap for you, honeybun~"

"I said don't call me that in public!"

"But whyyyy?"

You stuffed fries into his mouth to shut him up, giggling at his puffed out cheeks. He begged you for more and you rolled your eyes but relented. Sometimes saying no to Lucas was like kicking a puppy, there was no logical reason to. You could practically see his tail wagging as he ate greasy diner fries form your hand, licking your fingers clean.

"Let's go home," he whispered softly when all the fries were gone. The look in his eyes was so intense you grew flustered. Lucas grinned and tossed a few bills on the table, pulling you out of the booth.

You called out a hasty goodbye to Donna and she smiled at the both of you from behind the counter. There was something odd about that boy and the way he looked at you. But then again, who was she too stand in the way of young love?

The night hadn't gotten much cooler, but there was a little breeze stirring up the heat. The smell of grilled meat and distant laughter told that people were still enjoying their evening. You would have to swing by to your neighbor's house later. He always saved leftovers from his barbeque for you and Lucas.

Lucas held your hand tightly as usual. He didn't seem to be in a rush like he was on other nights. "What's on your mind?" you asked, swinging your hands back and forth.

"You."

Shocker. You laughed and shook your head in disbelief. "I can't always be on your mind, dummy." He glanced at you in confusion.

"Why not? You're the best thing that ever happened to me!"

You stopped walking and stared at him. He tilted his head, the action making his curls fall into his eyes again. "What's wrong, honeybun?"

The stupid nickname, the shaggy hair, the dumb, sweet smiles. Everything about Lucas that you once thought was annoying, now made you smile about your boyfriend. This was bad.

He yelped when you suddenly dragged him down by his collar to mash your mouths together but soon reciprocated the kiss happily. When you released him, his face was flushed with another stupid grin plastered over it.

"What was that for? Not that I'm complaining!"

"Nothing," you hummed, linking your fingers again. You would have to get the leftovers later, it seemed. You had plans for your boyfriend that night. "Nothing at all, baby~"

A/N: Everyone seems to love Lucas! And I don't blame you, he's the sweetest boy. Thanks for the support! If you enjoyed this, leave a like, comment and reblog. My asks are open though I might not reply to them immediately, I will try to reply to all.

#obsessive love #obsessive yandere #yandere #yandere boyfriend #writers on tumblr #fanfic #yandere jock #jock #golden retriver boyfriend #yandere boy #yandere male #male yandere #soft yandere #yandere x female reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere x #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere fic

[pomefioredove]

could you perchance do a part two to the yuu getting sold to the highest bidder? like how would that characters treat them if they actually get them? sorry if this doesnt make sence!! but thank uu!! ^_^

more than happy to! <3 I'm writing this as a follow up/pt. 2 to this post but if you'd like something different don't be shy! I love getting requests

summary: joining their dorms + wearing the uniforms (for some). a proper ending to this type of post: short fics characters: trey, cater, leona, rook, idia, lilia, malleus additional info: yuu is gender neutral, rook is weird, both fem and masc french words are used during rook's part but reader is still gn, I need to replay book 2 to get leona's voice down, Idia being fun to write, maybe a little ooc

If you thought it was bad before, the news that Malleus intended to marry you made everything about twenty times more chaotic. Bids were upped to insurmountable sums, rumors were spread like the plague, fights were raging through campus as the deadline to donate approached. Even Crowley was starting to feel a little antsy, despite all of the brand new amenities he had already ordered for his office.

Finally, the day came. The announcement was held in the courtyard, where just about any student who had stakes in the matter had shirked whatever after-school responsibilities they had to gather. The prefect themselves was nowhere to be found, though only few noticed their absence.

"Maybe it'll be nice," you say to your direbeast companion, the both of you tucked away in a dark corner at Ramshackle.

"It'll definitely beat living in this dump. You think they got good food in Diasomnia?" Grim murmurs.

You grimace. "Uh... sure. I can't imagine they wouldn't, right?"

Crowley clears his throat, pulling a thin, delicate envelope out of his coat pocket while the crowd eagerly watches on. He takes his sweet time opening it, much to everyone's utter dismay, and when he finally withdraws the contents the entire courtyard falls quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

"And our winner is..."

Trey and Cater's Ending

"Cater Diamond and Trey Clover!"

Everyone stops dead and turns to the back of the crowd. There's a certain sense of unity that, for a brief moment, everyone can feel in the form of a single thought: Them, of all people?

Cater, ever the people-person, can already tell what's on everyone's minds. "What can I say? I run a mean social media campaign. I had some sick infographics,"

Trey can only smile and shrug at the growing disdain coming from the other students, most of which from his own housewarden, who is s currently turning a lovely shade of crimson.

"...Right. Well, the prefect will be ready for you shortly," Crowley says, folding the envelope and setting it back in his pocket. "I trust your housewarden will help you sort out the details."

Riddle looks more like he's about to start throttling them.

"Nah, it's cool. We got this," Cater smiles, though he's only half paying attention as he posts an update to Magicam. "The prefect is in great hands. Right, guys?"

Ace and Deuce shrug. Not the best outcome, not the worst, and either way it's still their friend coming to stay with them. Riddle is gritting his teeth so hard you could practically hear them grinding from Ramshackle.

"Was anyone going to tell me you two had pitched in, as well? Or was it a surprise?"

Trey smiles, almost nervously. "Well-"

"We were only giving the dorm a better chance. It's basic statistics- more Heartslabyul names in the hat, more of a chance one of us will be drawn, y'know?" Cater beams. "No disrespect, of course."

"None whatsoever," Riddle hisses back.

---

"And you're sure he's not really mad?" you ask, trailing behind the two third years.

It had been almost an hour since you'd updated your Magicam feed and read the announcement firsthand, but the shock is still wearing off.

Cater scoffs. "Whaaaat? No, he's totally cool about it,"

"Well. Now he is, anyway," Trey murmurs back. "But he certainly won't kick you out. As long as you're in the dorm uniform, you're one of us. He's just upset we went behind his back."

"...Understandable,"

Cater holds the door open for you, letting you inside to see a precariously placed mannequin with a dorm uniform in your size already on it. You hate to admit it, but it's lovely.

"Riddle had one ready. You know, just in case," Trey says, gesturing you forward. "And don't worry, we'll all be taking it easy on you while you adjust."

You run your fingers down the durable fabric. "Hm. Thanks,"

"You should get changed, I need a post to commemorate the moment," Cater says, beaming. "And I kindaaaa want to rub it in for everyone else who lost out on the best giveaway ever."

Leona's Ending

"Leona Kingscholar! Please... be responsible. Ruggie, I hope you'll keep an eye out for the prefect,"

Ruggie rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything. Leona, who had been absent-mindedly picking his teeth before the big announcement, flashes a big smirk to the audience while swaggering to the front of it.

"Well, well. Look who's come in first place, after all. What, didn't think I'd bother to try?"

Vil grimaces, crossing his arms. "Is there a point to this?"

"Obviously. I'm showing off," he rolls his eyes. "I guess I'll be seeing the rest of you lot around my territory a lot more, then?"

He snickers and then disappears back inside the building. Ruggie can only shrug at the disgruntled crowd before tailing after him.

---

"Well, that felt nice," Leona sighs, stretching out on one of the lounge chairs. "Pity that I couldn't see the lizard's reaction, but I'm sure we'll get to that eventually."

You're sitting at the table across from him, playing cards with a very invested Ruggie. You raise an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Malleus," Ruggie mutters, shuffling his cards around in his hand.

"It's never a party without him, right? He was probably off cowering somewhere with his tail behind his legs," Leona chuckles, picking his teeth again. "But everyone else's faces just about made up for it."

"Whatever," Ruggie grumbles. "I'm all in."

Though you're not exactly invested in the game anymore. You set down your cards, much to Ruggie's dismay, and stand over Leona with your hands on your hips.

"I hope you know that I won't be one of your errand runners for you. I've done enough of that with Crowley,"

He pauses, sharp eyes scanning you over. "You certainly know how to rain on someone's parade,"

"This is not a parade. This is my sanity we're talking about,"

"Tch. And what're you gonna do? Run away?" Leona rolls his eyes. "Hide in the jungle? Maybe you can take Ruggie with you and make it a party!"

"Hey, leave me out of this," the aforementioned says, shuffling the deck.

You stand your ground, though you don't know what else to say. Eventually, Leona sighs.

"Fine. I won't make you do anything you don't want to if you're just going to whine about it,"

He pauses, and a small smirk crosses his face. "But you'll at least have to wear the uniform. I need the satisfaction of seeing the look on everyone else's faces."

You smile triumphantly, and sit back down across from Ruggie for another round while Leona watches on, pretending not to care about the game.

It could be better, but it could also be worse.

Plus, something about that smile of his let on more than just a little self-satisfaction.

This could definitely be interesting...

Rook's Ending

"...Ah. Rook Hunt!" Crowley says, folding the paper back in his pocket and leaning down to whisper to Azul in the front row. "Tell the prefect I said good luck."

At the heart of the crowd, Vil turns to Rook, hands on his hips. "Rook..."

"Ah, magnifique! How happy I am, my heart could weep for joy!" he says, completely ignoring whatever disappointed comment Vil was about to unleash. "I must run to my prize at once, there's not a moment to lose!"

Vil grimaces as Rook bounds off into the school, moving so swiftly that he cuts through the crowd of confused (and mildly concerned) students like an arrow.

As always, Rook is genuine with his words- he truly feels as if his own heart is about to leap out of his chest and race him towards Ramshackle.

What a chance, what an opportunity! Not only to be close to someone he has his own private fan club for, but to truly, finally possess beauty in physical form. He would display you on a shelf if it were feasible.

The idea so overwhelms him with joy that you barely had time to ask what was going on before you suddenly found yourself sitting beside him in the Pomefiore lounge as he smooths out the crinkles in your new uniform.

He murmurs under his breath, kneeling before you while inspecting the uniform. "Magnifique, joli, belle, quelle beauté, une rose parfaite..."

...Leaving you in a torn state of embarrassment and shyness. You look across the room to Vil for help, and he rolls his eyes.

"I coulda get used 'ta this!" Grim shouts, lounging on a nearby silk pillow with a mouthfull of pâté. Two freshman are tediously brushing his fur with the nicest set of combs you've ever seen.

"Comfortable?" You ask, only a little sarcastic.

"Uh-huh! Ya know, when I found out the winner was Rook, of all people, I was a little worried. But this is way nicer than collecting dust in Ramshackle!"

You couldn't have said it better yourself.

Rook smiles. "Tsk, tsk. I would never let anyone harm a single hair on your precious head,"

The question is directed to Grim, but he looks straight at you when he says it. "Like a delicate porcelain doll, I will handle you with the utmost care,"

You're not exactly sure what you had been envisioning- maybe he'd release you on a remote island and hunt you for sport?- but this had far exceeded any of your expectations.

Though his gaze is as unsettling as ever, and any hopes of personal space are gone out the ornate glass windows, his usual guarded demeanor had softened just the tiniest bit.

It was unnerving. But nice, in a way.

"Mon trickster, this is just the beginning for us. We have many shining days ahead, and I plan on spending every beautiful breath of them with you. Do you hunt?"

"Oh, sevens," Vil murmurs.

Unfortunately for Vil, Rook's smile is contagious and you can't help encouraging him. Just this once. "Not usually, no,"

"A merveilleuse opportunity! I will teach you all I have learned, then. Ah, this reminds me of a poem I wrote for this exact occasion!"

He may or may not be watching you sleep tonight. Hopefully you're the kind of person who can live with that.

Idia's Ending

LOL. Normies.

Look at them, crowding around like a bunch of sheep. As if anyone has a real chance. SMH.

I knew it was pointless to begin with, but getting into Crowley's banking account and seeing the bids... now I feel lame for even trying at all.

That money could've gone to some new parts. I've been itching to build another PC...

The door flies open, slamming against the wall behind it so loudly that even if Idia wasn't completely absorbed in watching the announcement on his biggest monitor, he would've jumped anyway.

He whirls around in his chair, wide-eyed and shaking like a prey animal, expecting to see some high level boss or classic horror game antag waiting for him.

Instead, it's Ortho. "Idy! You'll never believe-"

"Geez, Ortho, you nearly killed me. And I don't have any extra lives this time," Idia says, spinning back around to face his screen. "Something wrong?"

"Actually, I have some really great news! Wanna guess what it is?"

Idia grumbles, powering off his computer. "Nah, not in the mood,"

Ortho's brow furrows as he catches a fleeting glimpse of the camera feed playing over his brother's screen before it flickers to black. "You've been watching the announcement on the courtyard cam footage?"

"No! I mean- well, I was just curious," Idia says. "I watched for like two minutes. Who even cares about this thing, anyway?"

"Well-"

"I mean, it was a game over from the start. Taking on the highest level bosses at our school with my measly stats? Forget it,"

"But Idia-"

"Who even cares where the prefect ends up, anyway? I doubt they'd wanna be trapped in a basement like this for all eternity,"

"Idia!" Ortho shouts, loud enough to shake his brother from his ensuing pity party. Idia can only stare as he moves to the side, revealing a rather surprised looking you, dressed in the dorm uniform, behind him.

"Idia, you won!"

And then he dies.

That's what he thinks, anyway. Really, Idia goes into a state of complete shock and blacks out so hard that, for a moment, the blinding light shining through his eyelids feels like the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Is he okay?" you ask, tentatively watching as Ortho clicks off the small light he'd been shining in his brother's eyes.

"He's displaying symptoms of a panic attack. Don't worry, he gets them quite frequently,"

A distant groaning pulls the both of you back into the present moment and you watch Idia slowly rise.

"His heart rate has steadied to 70 BPM," Ortho says. You raise an eyebrow. "That's normal. Idia, can you hear us?"

He takes a long moment to respond.

"This isn't real. I'm sleep-deprived from my last speed run and now I'm hallucinating. There's no way,"

You look between the two brothers. This hasn't exactly gotten off to a stellar start.

"Your vitals are normal, although you're lacking Vitamin C. Might I suggest having a fruit cup while we talk?" Ortho asks. Idia shakes his head. "Yuu? Snack?"

"I could go for something,"

Ortho hovers out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. You're too nervous (or is he too nervous?) to ask to sit, so you stand over him while he practically rocks back and forth. His face is so red and hot with embarrassment you could cook an egg on it.

"Um..."

He mumbles back. "Just pretend I'm not here. IK you probably wanted one of those epic SSR students to pull you, I don't blame you for being disappointed,"

He talks so fast and quiet it's hard to make out what he's saying... but you get the gist of it.

"Hey, don't put words in my mouth. This is a hell of a lot better than it could have been,"

He seems to genuinely consider your words for a moment before you're interrupted by Ortho coming back with snacks.

Idia is back on high alert the second he's returned. "This doesn't make sense. I got into Crowley's online bank info and saw all the bids, I wasn't even close to the top five. How?"

"Oh, easy!" Ortho chirps. "I simply rewired funds from Crowley's bank account to up your offer!"

"You... took money out of his account and sent it back to him?"

"Clever," you murmur.

Idia grumbles. "I guess that's not technically stealing... fine. But why? I thought I told you not to bother!"

"My user intel indicates that the prefect is very popular amongst the student body. Their top three descriptors are helpful, kind, and friendly! I thought you two might be able to practice your social skills together... Perhaps you could show them around the dorm as a starting point?"

You turn around to look at Idia, who's sheet-white. Nonetheless... he sighs and stands, muttering a quick "Let's get this over with,"

You watch, as still as stone, as he stops in the doorway and turns to look at you from over his shoulder, his face and hair a pleasant shade of pink.

"Well? Are you coming?"

Lilia's Ending

"And our winner... is... hm. I don't even remember seeing this one in the pile," Crowley grumbles, scratching his head under his hat. "Um, Lilia Vanrouge!"

Silver is the first to look at him. "Fa-Lilia, I thought we talked about this,"

Lilia, currently hovering in the shade of one of the courtyard's signature apple trees, simply shrugs. As if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Oh, we did. I really thought about what you said, about the prefect's freedom, and I decided that you're right! But how could I guarantee their safety from everyone else?"

Silver groans (which turns into a yawn) and Lilia puts on his best cute look as everyone else in the audience turns to him.

Crowley clears his throat. "The prefect will be ready for your-"

"Oh, no need! Thank you, though," he says, and then disappears into the building.

---

You've been distracting yourself by counting cobwebs for far too long, as evident by your headache and the taste of dust on your tongue.

You turn to look at Grim. "Should be over by now. I'm surprised I haven't heard anything yet,"

"Surprised, you say?"

No matter how many times he does that, you're never quite prepared.

You jump, nearly hitting your head against the table you'd been taking refuge under. Grim yowls, clawing into your sleeve (and just barely missing the tender flesh on your arm, thank goodness), and you both stare at the fae ahead of you.

Lilia is sitting on the table, hanging his head upside down and staring right at you. Grim mumbles.

"Don't even tell me. I'm out!"

Lilia waves him goodbye as he makes a swift exit, and then turns back to you.

"I have a secret. Wanna guess?"

You're a little curious (aren't you always when it comes to him?) but that isn't enough to overpower your rising dread.

"No,"

"Aw. Really? I'm sure you'll like it,"

"Definitely not, then,"

He slinks off the table and lies on the floor, cupping his face in his palms and kicking his legs back and forth.

It would be amusing if you weren't so sure of what he's about to say.

"Well, despite your best efforts, I'm not surprised at all. But Malleus couldn't even come here to get me himself?" you sigh.

Lilia tilts his head to the side. "Now, why would he do that?"

There's something written within the margins of his tone that makes your eyes lower at him. Something he's keeping from you.

"...Well... he did win, didn't he?"

"Oh, my. You were hoping for Malleus to win? Now I'm sure we both feel silly,"

You raise an eyebrow. "Hoping is... a strong word. But I was expecting it, yes. So he didn't win?"

"No, dear, Malleus is not the winner,"

"Then... who is?"

Lilia gives you a sweet, self-satisfied grin, his fangs glinting. "You're looking at him,"

Ah.

If there's one thing Lilia Vanrouge is good at, it's surprising you. No matter how stoic you act, no matter how clever you are, he always manages to catch you off guard.

This might take the cake, though.

"I didn't even know-"

"No. Initially, I wasn't going to. But Silver and I... we had a long talk about valuing your freedom and independence, and thus I so valiantly threw myself into the flames to save you from becoming someone's slave," he pauses to smile. "Chivalrous, yes?"

"...Charming," you mutter. "But what was that thing about-"

"Oh, yes. Don't worry, you'll be treated as any other student at Diasomnia. In fact, I'm sure we already have some uniforms in your size!"

"This is... quite the turn of events,"

"Ah, isn't it? I haven't felt this elated in... well... a long time," he grins. "Come along, now. I plan on treating you to a hearty welcome dinner!"

You can only grimace at that.

Malleus' Ending

During all of the confusion, the fighting, the rumors that shook the school, no one, again, had remembered to invite Malleus Draconia to the announcement.

Not that it mattered. Not this time.

One knock at Ramshackle's creaky door and you were suddenly in the depths of the forest around the school, admiring a crumbled stone structure.

"What was it?" you ask, turning to your walking companion.

Malleus smiles slightly. "I believe it was a wall. Fascinating, no? Since you have inhabited Ramshackle, I come here when I want to be alone,"

Ah, right. You'd almost forgotten that you'd made a home out of his ruins of preference.

Ramshackle was in a much better state than this, though. At least you had four walls and a roof over your head.

"Are you alone a lot these days?" you ask, rather absent-mindedly for such a heavy topic.

You're well aware of the answer already. No, of course not. Malleus is constantly surrounded, whether that be his friends, personal guard, mentors...

"Yes,"

Oh.

"I'm... sorry to hear that," it's all you can think to say.

Fae don't seem to know the conventions of human small talk. Or maybe that's just him. Not that you mind. "What about Silver, and Sebek, and Lilia...?"

"Fine companions," he crosses his arms. "I owe them a debt of gratitude. But being physically surrounded does not amount to closeness."

Oddly profound.

You can't help but relate, thinking back to everyone you know. Even with good intentions, they're still out there, bartering over your life.

"I'm glad you came and got me," you say, breaking the tense silence. "I was afraid you'd gone to that... announcement thing."

He raises an eyebrow. "The what?"

"...Never mind. I guess my point was that I've been feeling a little lonely lately, myself,"

Malleus is quiet for a moment, staring directly ahead at the mess of stones and moss that once made up a sturdy wall. Now crumbled, scattered across the ground.

And the, he smiles.

"Well, there is a solution to this trouble of ours. But I'd need your consent,"

What exactly is he getting at? You raise an eyebrow. "Go on,"

"I've been so preoccupied with the formalities that I haven't had the chance to ask you properly, yet. Lilia suggested I might have more success this way,"

He pauses, and then smiles. "I would like us to marry. Does this agree with you?"

You thought you might be stunned. Speechless, even. But the answer comes so naturally.

"Yes, it does,"

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus enjoyers this goes out to you. and rook being weird enjoyers (me) #cater diamond x reader #trey clover x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #rook hunt x reader #idia shroud x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #malleus draconia x reader #the varying lengths of these... RIP. sorry everyone

[avawritesthings]

crash n burn | ln4

✦ word count - 1,358

✦ summary - y/n crashed out of the 2024 shanghai gp, and lando can’t help but worry.

✦ warnings - injuries, angst(?), worried lando, racing/f1 inaccuracies!!

✦ ava’s notes - f1driver!reader for this one, folks. sorry for the inactivity, i haven’t had the writing spark in a while. but here i am, and with a new sport, no less! i'm also trying smth new, no Capitalization...not sure if ya'll are into it. i got into f1 a couple weeks ago, so there might be several inaccuracies, but i tried my best. thank you for the support 🫶🏼 (sorry for the long ass note LMFAO)

f1 masterlist & nhl masterlist

THE FAINT SOUNDS OF VOICES reached your ringing ears. you could feel your head pounding from within the totaled car. suddenly, the simple act of opening your eyes was the hardest task for your shuddering body.

“y/n, are you alright?” the voices of your engineers could be heard through your helmet.

“i’m alright,” you mumble, not sure if the words made it out of your dry mouth. as your hands reach towards your harness and disconnect the latches, you let out a sigh of defeat, a whimper slipping past your lips.

you knew the race was over. the helmet was next to come off, throwing it out of your car before shakily ripping off the balaclava from your sweaty head. the act of taking off your helmet meant you couldn't talk to your team, you knew, but you couldn’t care less. 

you felt like you couldn’t breathe with the restrictive head gear on. 

tears burned behind your eyes, but you willed them back, refusing to show weakness. you felt and heard people around you. medics, probably, you couldn’t tell.

they were whirling around you and the war, or what was left of it. you felt them help you out and you let them, too tired to refuse. as your almost lifeless body left the constricted space, you took a heavy, deep breath, the exhale coming out trembling.

hands grabbed at your waist to keep you upright. waving a hand towards the concerned yet roaring crowd, the medics helped you into the van. before the double doors closed, you opened your eyes as much as you could and stifled a sob at what was left of your car. 

you willed the strength to run your hands down your exhausted face. a blood pressure cuff made its way up your arm and you turned to the man responsible.

the thought of your family filled your head; are they worried? are they watching? your boyf-

lando.

you knew he’d be worried sick. turning your head towards the medic, you asked “c-can i speak to him? lando?”

the man – who you felt knew you were going to ask at some point – wordlessly handed you a headset, and you could already hear his yelling.

“-and none of you bloody fuckers have heard from her? complete bullshit. is. she. okay?!”

“lando?” his name spilled from your lips, relief ever so present in your voice, knowing he was okay — as well as he could be after seeing the love of his life crash, hard.

“babe? is that you? fuck- i hadn’t heard from you and i thought the worst.” he spoke, and you knew that if he wasn’t racing, he’d be running his hands through his hair like a madman.

“i’m okay lando, i promise,” you said, your hands gripping the microphone attached to the headset. “i’ll see you soon, okay?”

“yeah- yes, baby. i’m so glad you’re okay. i love you,’ and that was the last you heard before the doors of the medical van opened and you were being whisked away to the medical center in the paddock.

-

a mild concussion and a bruised rib.

you got off easy, they said. it could’ve been much worse, they said.

you just felt tired. exhausted. however many g’s your body was put through would have probably killed a normal civilian. soon enough, you saw the familiar head of dark curls jogging towards you. daniel wrapped you in a comforting side hug, running a hand up and down your back while he placed a soft kiss on top of your head.

“glad you’re alright, sugar,” he breathed out. “don’t know what i woulda done if you hadn’t ended up okay.”

a small, genuine smile appeared on your chapped lips as you leaned against his warm body. danny had dnf’d a couple laps before your crash, and you were slightly glad. it was nice to have a friend after your unfortunate end to the race. 

“thanks, avocado,” you acknowledged, a hand coming to rest on his upper arm. the nickname stemmed from an interview he did with a kid that butchered his last name, saying avocado instead of ricciardo.

“you talk to lando yet?” danny asked, knowing your boyfriend is probably worried sick.

“yeah, spoke to him on the way here,” you answered. “he was worried sick, yelling at his team until i got on the radio. sorry you crashed out, danny. it wasn’t your fault.”

“ah i see,” he teased, knowing how much the boy loved you and worried over you. “and ‘s alright, couldn’t do anything to stop it. appreciate it though.”

you squeezed his arm before letting go, knowing he’d have to do interviews and such. “you got somewhere to be? interviews ‘n whatnot?”

danny turned his watch towards himself and swore, making you lightly chuckle. the sound of your laugh brought a smile to his face and he squeezed your arm back, his worried eyes scanning over your tired body. “you sure you’re alright? i can probably push the interviews back a few…”

waving him off with a flick of your hand, you affirmed that it was fine for him to go. he left you with another kiss to your temple and hurried off, turning around with another wave and his signature large, beaming smile. you blew him a kiss and he pretended to catch it, and you smiled fondly. your relationship with danny had always been friendly and flirty, lando never felt intimidated. a brother & sister bond is what it felt like with danny, being teammates strengthened your friendship greatly. 

sleep was calling, but the crowd and bustling people kept you up. your eyes met the tv broadcasting the race, seeing the drivers come towards their garages. red flag, you correctly assumed.

fiddling with the zipper of your fireproof suit, you couldn't do much other than stay hydrated and watch the race. a few more people came in and visited you, mostly your team, to make sure you were okay and alive.

on the uncomfortable hospital bed, you tried to catch up on sleep. as soon as your eyes closed, you heard the voice of the commentators. “the race has come to an early end. y/l/n’s crash was brutal. we haven’t heard much about her condition as of yet…” their voices faded out as you heard commotion outside of your hospital bed.

minutes later, lando came barreling in. his fireproof suit was still suited up, and his eyes immediately locked onto your worn out body.

“oh y/n,” he whispered out. lando walked closer to you and carefully wrapped his arms around you, and you could feel his body buzzing from adrenaline. 

“hi, lando,” you spoke softly, wrapping your arms around his slim torso. you could feel him hug you tighter. “they didn’t have to call off the race, y’know…i’m honestly fine.”

lando stood up straight and his eyes raked over you, similar to when daniel checked up on you. “fine my ass. you look like shit, y/n. but i’m so glad you’re okay.” his hands ran up and down yours, seemingly to calm himself and you down. “fuck the race, i had to see if you were okay.”

“just a bruised rib and-”

“and? there’s more?” lando’s concerned yet exasperated voice berated you. 

you rolled your eyes before continuing, “-and a concussion. honey, i swear, i’m fine. they gave me meds for the headache and i’ve just been in here waiting for you.” you turned your head and grabbed his hand, your lips meeting the inside of his wrist. a smile formed on your face, trying to comfort him. 

he sighed out in relief, glad you were okay. he brought you into his arms again. “i just- i don’t know what i would have done if it was worse. i’m so glad you’re okay.” you could feel him press a million kisses to the top of your slightly throbbing head. 

a few seconds passed before you spoke up, teasing clear in your voice, “you’re gonna have to apologize to your team, y’know. your yelling was quite loud, baby.” 

he groaned out dramatically and chuckled, “oh, fuck off.”

--

italics they could never make me hate you :/

(like/reblog/comment/follow, if you want! if ur a little ghost reader, i appreciate u xo)

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #formula one #formula 1 #lando norris imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #lando norris fanfic #my writing!

[cherryredstars]

Hiii cherryy><!!

I LOVE your blog, ur writing is just soo good!! <3 I hope you're doing well!!

I was just wondering if you could possibly do a Miguel x virgin!reader ? Only if your comfortable and have time ofc!! And when I mean inexperienced.. I mean INEXPERIENCED . like never even had an orgasm before ><.. (I KNOT IT MAY BE KINDA WEIRD?? SRRYY!!!)

I asking this mostly bc I am one and like I'm WAY to shy to try anything, but the thought of Miguel guiding me thru it is just so 😵‍💫🧎‍♀️

AAAAAAAAAA

ANYWAYY thanks cherry ><!!! I hope you have a good day/night!!

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x virgin!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Guided Masturbation, Fingering

Summary: The key is to be gentle

A/N: It’s not weird at all, love! 

Word Count: 730 (Not Edited)

Gentle. 

He has to remind himself to be gentle. Has to remind you to be gentle. That this has to be gentle. Gentle and delicate and soft. No matter how hard and rough and fast he wants to be with you. It’ll have to wait. He’ll have to be patient. Because it isn’t about him, it rarely is when it comes to you. So, he’ll be gentle. 

He’ll be soft when he lays you flat on the neatly made bed. His touch light when he helps pull the clothes from your body. His eyes concentrate as he spreads your legs, making sure not to strain your joints. Rubs soothing circles into the skin of your thighs to release the lasting tension stemming from your spine. The only roughness coming from the calluses on the tips of his fingers as he circles them around your wrist, guiding your hand between your legs. The hitching of his breath is faint as his eyes follow the movement of your fingers, the caressing of wet skin covering the noise. 

“Gentle, cariño,” His voice floats, the tiniest pressure stopping the clumsy movements of your fingers. 

You’re pressing too hard, irritating your sensitive skin too much.  He guides two of your fingers with one of his, bringing it back to your twitchy clit. He makes soothing circles around the bud, biting the side of his cheek when you let out soft gasps as the pleasure you were trying to find flinches through you. Your fingers continue the movement even when he pulls his away. 

“There you go, just like that.” He praises, placing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

You whine, confidence washing over your body before you trail your fingers further down. You wince the moment you try to stuff both of them through your small hole and Miguel tusks. 

“I just told you to be gentle,” He scolds, pulling your hand away despite the whimper of disapproval you let out. 

He folds your hand, the wetness on your fingers smearing on his palm. He slowly slides your middle finger back through your hole, your walls accepting it easily. You gasp, your hips bucking as your brows furrow. Miguel smiles as you melt into the bed, your finger slowly pumping in and out of you. Miguel’s hand once again manipulates your hand, your fingers curling against your walls. Miguel basks in your surprised reaction, guiding your pointer finger to press against your entrance. 

It slides in much easier than the last time, your pleasure doubling. Your teeth sink into your lip to prevent the desperate noise that threatens to leave you. Right before you cut into the soft flesh, Miguel’s thumb tugs it away. It allows the sweet note to spawn from your mouth, your fingers curling and pumping desperately inside your gummy walls. It’s a truly beautiful sight, and Miguel can’t help it. His hand pulls your fingers out of you, ignoring your pleas of protest. Your taste is warm and sweet in his mouth, and he hums around your fingers. His tongue feels strange around your fingers, but you can’t help but think about how it would feel around somewhere else. 

Your thought is cut off when two- no one- of his fingers sink into you. It’s slightly bigger than the two fingers you stuffed yourself with, and you squirm. Miguel hisses, your tight walls pulsing around his digit. You’re so tight, he can’t imagine feeding you his cock when you’re so small. His finger curls, pressing into your walls in an effort to allow more space. You gasp, grabbing at his arm as your body spasms. This feels way better than what you imagined, better than what you could ever do to yourself. You can feel tears well up in your eyes as something tight and hot burns your stomach. 

“Mig..I-” You gasp, your back arching as your body locks. 

You scream silently as you gush around his finger, your body twitching as Miguel continues curling his finger. He only stops when your body collapses back onto the bed, harsh breaths rising and falling from your sweaty chest. Miguel’s finger slowly slips out of you, your walls clinging desperately around it until it escapes with a small pop. The finger glistens with your release, and your eyes droop as Miguel sucks it into his mouth. 

Nice and gentle.

#cherry's requests🍒 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv miguel #miguel smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel o hara #miguel atsv #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x reader smut #miguel o hara x y/n #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o hara x you #miguel o'hara x you

[ellecdc]

Okie but I really would love more Barty x potter sibling reader it just makes me happy I don’t care if it’s smut fluff angst I will read whatever you write please👉🏻👈🏻

love these goofs so much, thanks for your request!

Barty Crouch Jr x Potter!reader who feels really bad for manatees

CW: talking about how it's illegal to interact with manatees and how sad that is (read: it's fluff), fem!reader, reader has long enough hair to push behind her ear

It had taken a bit of coercion on James’ part to convince Regulus to join him up in Gryffindor tower tonight - and by coercion, I mean James batted his eyelashes dramatically and promised lots of cuddles and kisses for Regulus’ ‘trouble’ - but James was feeling quite chuffed as he and his now official boyfriend stepped through the portrait hole of the Gryffindor common room.

Those feelings of chuffedness quickly vanished when he spotted you cozied up in an armchair built for one with none other than Barty Crouch Junior. 

“Who would you rather she be with, James?” Regulus hissed at him, alerting James to the fact that he’d been grumbling aloud.

“Anyone.” He muttered petulantly.

Regulus scoffed in response. “Please; I hardly think you’d believe anyone good enough for your sister.”

James thought that Regulus was quite right. 

“I think you’re quite right.” He admitted aloud before starting towards the two of you. 

“James Fleamont Potter.” Regulus hissed as he grabbed James roughly by the sleeve. “You look at me right now.”

James wrenched his eyes away from you to look at Regulus’ fuming (though no less beautiful) eyes, dividing his attention between two of the people he loved the most in the whole world. 

“James Potter, boyfriend or not I will drown you in the Black Lake and leave you to the sodding squid if you go over there right now.”

James ripped his gaze from where Barty’s hand sat on your knee to look at his boyfriend scandalized. “You wouldn’t.”

“You know I would.” Regulus threatened promised. “Do not fuck around with the only love he receives.”

James fought the urge to whine as he turned his gaze back over to the two of you; you were speaking animatedly, gesticulating wildly as you lamented about something James would have absolutely told you to shut the fuck up about nearly 30 seconds in.

“You can see how much he worships her, Jamie. And I think you should feel grateful knowing that there is truly no one who would be as devoted to her as he is.”

James did whine petulantly at that, even perhaps embarrassingly stomping his foot a little bit, though he would deny it if you asked. “I hate it.”

“Tough.” Regulus said simply, pulling James over to a love seat near the fireplace; close enough to see and hear the two of you, but not close enough that the pair would alert either of you to their presence. “Just be quiet and watch.”

James made a dramatic gagging sound earning him a smack up the back of the head from his boyfriend, but he acquiesced and turned his attention back to the two of you.

You were curled up on Barty’s lap; your back resting against the arm of the chair and your feet tucked under Barty’s thigh that you weren’t currently perched on.

You regularly tried to shove your feet under people that you were sitting with because your feet were always cold; James knew this because he’d swatted at your legs enough times for doing it to him. Barty didn’t seem to mind much though.

He also didn’t seem to mind that you were holding one of his hands hostage in yours as you fiddled and played with the various rings adorning his hands, speaking a million miles a minute and hardly pausing to take a breath.

“I just think it’s so sad. I mean; they don’t know! They don’t know that it’s not safe for them to be around people, but I can’t help thinking; what if they think we’re ignoring them?!” You asked emphatically.

Barty’s eyebrows rose to mirror yours as he raised his free hand to push a lock of hair behind your ear that had fallen in your theatrics.

“It’s because they have no natural predators, you see.” You continued solemnly, earning you an ‘oh, really?’ from Barty. “Many people think that sharks or alligators may pose a threat to manatees; but the species peacefully coexist. So, you know, then all of a sudden there are these long noodly manatee things in the water and the manatees are just like ‘holy shit; that’s a weird looking manatee! I’ve never seen one of those before.’ And then they try to make friends or say hello, but it’s illegal for humans to touch them.”

“Illegal?” Barty queried. “To touch an animal begging you to touch it?”

“Exactly!” You agreed quite loudly, if you asked James. He watched though as Barty’s hand moved back down to your legs and brushed his thumb in soothing circles as he kept his attention dutifully on you. “So they’re asking for pets or saying hello and trying to make friends; and people have to just…keep swimming. I’m sure they believe we must be quite rude, always ignoring them like that.”

You sounded actually quite dejected at the thought; your face falling as you looked down at Barty’s hand in your lap.

“Do you think perhaps there are mermaids where the manatees live?” Barty asked, earning him an eager gasp from you as you seemed to remember something.

“That’s brilliant Barty.” You shouted; and though James expected a cocky expression to grace Barty’s face at being told he was right about something, it never came. In fact, his face remained dutifully lovesick. 

“Did you know that muggles used to believe manatees were actually mermaids or sirens during the late 15th century?”

Barty scoffed at that. “Well they’ve clearly never seen a mermaid before if they believe those sweet things resemble one.”

“Well yes, but I think muggles imagine mermaids differently. More just a beautiful lady living in the water, maybe with a tail; the beauty standards back then idealized curvy women.”

“Obviously, curvy birds are hot.”

“I know!” You agreed quickly. “I’m sure though that if we have mermaids in the sodding Black Lake, surely they have them in the America's?”

Barty was quickly nodding his head at you. “I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that they do, Princess.”

“Yeah?” You asked hopefully.

James watched as Barty’s face broke out in a soft grin as you met his eyes. “Would I ever lie to you?”

You shook your head in response and returned your gaze to your lap where you continued playing with his hand. 

“Maybe the mermaids are friends with the manatees? They look like they’d just love some belly rubs.” You mused.

“Perhaps someone just needs to tell the mermaids to tell the manatees that it’s for their own good.”

You looked back up at that. “Yeah?”

“They could be like our underwater owl; we just travel to…”

“Florida.” You offered for him.

“Florida and find some mermaids to deliver our message.”

You seemed to consider the idea before looking back at him. “I think you might have to do it alone.”

Barty tilted his head at you and squeezed your calf. “You wouldn’t want to come with me to swim with manatees and mermaids?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think I could; if a manatee approached me I would have to pet it and then the manatees would all die and it would be my fault.”

Barty hummed in understanding and brought one of his hands to your chin. “Okay, Princess; I’ll be your oceanic owl.”

“You’d do that for me?”

Barty gently pulled you by your chin to slot your lips together. “I would do anything for you.”

James, having had quite enough of seeing such sickening displays of love thank you very much, turned his very unimpressed glare to Regulus, who was already looking at him with one perfectly arched eyebrow. 

“That’s disgusting.” He grumbled indignantly. 

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t be a manatee’s owl for me? Don’t I deserve that?”

James scoffed derisively at that. “I think it’s very obvious I would; you’re the most deserving person I know!”

“Then doesn’t your sister deserve that too?” Regulus asked gently.

James’ eyes moved back over to where you were now tracing delicate shapes over Barty’s face with your forefinger, yet he still couldn’t seem to force his eyes away from lovingly gazing at you.

“Let me ask you this, Jamie.” Regulus asked, joining James in watching his friend and James’ sister from afar. “Do you think there’s a line you would draw when it comes to how far you’d go for me?”

“No!”

“No?”

“Of course not.” James insisted.

“So you’d kill your mother for me?”

What?

“What?” James asked dumbly.

Regulus smirked. “Would you kill your own mother for me?”

“Erm,”

“Jamie.”

“Yeah?”

“The answer is no; that’s the right answer.”

“Oh thank Godric.” James sighed, holding his head in his hands. 

“But Barty would; Barty would raze the entire fucking earth for Y/N.” Regulus continued. “And even if he wouldn’t,” He continued when James seemed to take issue with that. “How long would you have let her talk about manatees?”

James huffed and crossed his arms petulantly, even though he knew the answer. The answer was that he would have cut her off the second he realized she wasn’t talking about quidditch or pranks.

“She’s very loved, James. And he…” Regulus seemed to take an emotional breath as he watched his oldest friend take your hand and bring it to his lips to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “You Potter’s love like no one else I’ve ever known, James.”

James turned his full attention to his boyfriend and took one of Regulus’ hands in both of his.

“You love loudly, and openly, and freely, and everyone around you is better for it. Barty most of all.” 

James let out a sigh and kissed Regulus’ knuckles. 

“Fine.” He relented in faux irritation. 

Regulus chuckled and pressed a shy kiss to James’ shoulder. “Don’t worry James, you Potter’s are in the protection of Slytherin’s now; we protect our own.”

And whether or not James particularly liked Barty, if there was one thing he knew to be true; no one would be able to mess with you with the likes of him around.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #slytherin skittles #the slytherin skittles #barty crouch jr imagine #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch jr x you #barty crouch jr fluff #barty crouch jr drabble #barty crouch jr ficlet #potter!reader #fem!reader #jegulus #background jegulus #ellecdc fics

[kiwisbell]

helen ; chapter five

be seeing you

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the choice.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship, sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, tess cameo, childhood/religious trauma, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST, bamf miller bros, smut, fingering, joel is an emotional munch, shower sex, unprotected PIV, handjob, male whimpering, conflicting emotions, orgasms aplenty, Big Angst and Big Sad but also Big Epiphanies, ambiguous ending, i'm getting emotional writing these tags, it feels so final, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 9.3k a/n: hi, friends. i can't believe we're already at the end of the main story, and tbh if i think about it too much i'll probably cry. i want to thank @cavillscurls for beta reading this chapter as always and giving me the guidance and support i need. we'll have an epilogue after this chapter, so there's still more to look forward to, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy and thank you so so much for reading. xoxo prev | next

Her eyes are so sad, you think, stepping back to take in the full scope of the canvas. It’s doused in paint from corner to corner, still wet to the touch, the woman and her lover intertwined so thoroughly that it’s difficult to tell where they both end. It’s in shades of glum blue and flecks of angry red and brown where his eye watches you. But it’s her eyes that cannot lift to meet yours. It’s her lashes that fan across her cheeks as she casts her gaze toward the bottom edge where the canvas is wrapped taut around the wood. 

The sun will soon rise, but you haven’t slept. The contours of the sky are washed in a haze of greys and pale blues and light pink and the air smells warm, heavy—a storm about to roll in. The clouds on the horizon are thick with a blackening rage. You sit in the alcove by the window and put your temple to the cool glass. You yawn. Joel does not come back.

“Do you think it's true,” you asked him one night, your head on his chest, hand on his heart, “that art makes nothing happen?”

Joel, drawing shapes on your back, dozing off in the golden light of the sunrise, frowned. “Someone tell you that?”

“It's something my art teacher used to say,” you told him. “No matter how much it moves people, it doesn't do anything.”

“Your art teacher sounds like a fuckin’ downer.”

You laughed, hiking your thigh up over his hip and playfully biting his jaw. “So it's bullshit?”

“I think,” said Joel, tucking his chin to kiss the top of your head, “that your art makes people feel. It brings ‘em together. It's important because it's yours.”

You propped your head up on his chest and threaded your fingers through his too-long hair, overdue for a trim. A curl draped over his forehead, his beard patchy and soft under the pads of your fingers. “Sometimes I wonder why you chose me,” you said. “I wonder why the universe brought you to me.”

Joel shook his head, guiding his rough, callused fingers up your arm, curling them around your wrist, gently prodding your veins. “Wasn't the universe,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t a choice. I was yours the second I saw you. So, I guess it's your fault.”

You just rolled your eyes and kissed him, mouth to smiling mouth. 

Your paintings may be yours, made with life and energy and colour, but when they are finished, they don’t move. They are stagnant as a heavy rock beneath a cliffside, washed over and over again by the cresting waves, its salt stolen for the water, eternal damnation to a fate of non-movement. And sometimes an artist will walk under the cliff, shove their easel into the fleshy ground the way a man erects his country’s flag in the earth he has stolen, and paint the rock. The artist is moved by the breathtaking colours of the shore and the way the wind flutters through the grass. But the rock does not budge. It never will. 

Your art will never erupt from the boundaries of the canvas and tell you what it means. The lovers in your painting will not tear open their mouths like the seams holding a wound together. They will not tell you what they want, need, crave. They are you, and that is what you hate—because dimpled flesh and lustful fingers and the press of his mouth to her throat cannot tell you what you’re supposed to do. 

You had become complacent in his love for you. You had let him press his worn hands to your body and pull your soul out through his mouth and you had been a wife, while all the time there was a stranger who occupied his heart, a spirit in an abandoned body. All the time, he'd been haunted. And although you had loved him, your love had not been enough to exorcise the guilt and trauma, pecking at him, an eagle at his liver. 

Crossing the room and sitting back down in front of the easel, you press your fingers to the corner of the canvas. The paint is cool to the touch, and you leave behind fingerprints where your signature should be. Pulling your hand back, you examine the accumulation of colour, the blues and reds swirling into the deep purple of a bruise, the bodies on a canvas that may only ever mean something to you, and you wonder, Is this all I am? A cautionary tale, a love lost? A fucking footnote at the end of a clause that reads: “See, for example, the one who never loved deeply enough to make it count”?

You bring your hand to your face to wipe away the tears beneath your eyes and blink hard at the sting, realising you’ve smeared paint across your cheekbones. 

In the bathroom, you scrub furiously, the cloying scent of it clinging to your throat and your tear ducts, washing away the evidence of their entwined bodies, their love, your pain. 

Once, you tried to get Joel to paint. You sat behind him on your bench, your legs bracketing his hips, your paintbrush in his hand. 

“I don’t know where to start,” he said.

Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. “There’s no rulebook.”

He tried to turn his head and kiss you, but you nipped his ear in reproach. “Remember when you took me out driving at the airstrip because you wanted me to feel the road? Think of this like feeling the canvas. Go on, cowboy. Make nothing happen.”

Joel’s painting still hangs over your shared bed. The intruders never found it, or never cared enough to destroy it. It’s a candle, just a candle, its lines imprecise, the paint unevenly applied in places, the shine of the flame more orange than yellow. But it’s a painting, so the candle always burns. He titled it Love. 

The pain still sits low in your chest, pulling down your heart as if tied to it by a string. But Joel is still out there, fighting his way back to you, the way he always has, always will. You look down at your left hand, clutching the edge of the marble vanity, and decide to clean your wedding ring. 

“I’m sorry, brother,” says Tommy, turning the gun on Joel. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” growls Joel, struggling against his bonds. The clip rattles faintly in his brother’s hand as a tremor courses through him. 

“He’s following my orders,” says Cabrera, clapping his hand down on Tommy’s shoulder. “Fascinating what a man will do when he must consider his family’s well-being.”

Joel sucks on his teeth, his eyes not once leaving his brother. 

“It's my son,” Tommy says through his teeth. “It's Maria. If I don't do this—”

“Yeah? You gonna kill me, Tommy? Is that why your hand’s shakin’?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” his brother snaps. “You think I want to do this? I gotta save my family, Joel. You know what that's like.”

“All I’ve done for you,” says Joel, his hands curling into fists behind his back, “and you put a bullet in my head?”

“Not just your head, Joel,” says Cabrera. “When we're done with you, we’ll take your pretty girl as payment for my son’s life.”

Joel growls like a dog, blood roaring in his ears. “Kill me yourself, you goddamned coward. Kill me yourself and don’t you mention my wife again, or I swear to Christ—”

“You take His name in vain a lot for a nonbeliever,” says Cabrera, pulling his sleeves through his coat and setting his teeth as he looks toward Tommy once more. “Do it.”

“Yeah, brother,” Joel says darkly, “do it.”

Tommy nods once, planting his foot and pivoting. Five distinct sounds of handguns cocking echo throughout the warehouse as Tommy points the barrel between Manuel Cabrera’s eyes.

“Now that I’ve got a gun to your head,” he says evenly, “you can go ahead and pull that contract.”

Joel at last twists his wrists free of the ropes that bind them and shucks down the sleeves of his jacket to rub the raw skin. Not one soul does a goddamn thing to stop him as he rises to his feet. His chest heaves, his open lungs coarse and wet with a brittle rage, his exposed heart throbbing red, transparent as the stained glass windows of the church.

God does not tolerate anger, said the Sisters, again and again, bringing down the whip across his back. Sinew and bone and skin peeling back to lay bare some tender part of him they sought to rot out. Put your energy into His worship.

Slowly, Cabrera lifts his hands, sneering. “Your wife,” he warns, “and your unborn son—”

“Are family,” says Tommy. “Just like my brother. Now tell your guys to put down their guns and I won't kill you where you stand.”

Joel joins Tommy at his side. “Took you long enough,” he says under his breath. 

“Got held up,” he says. “Your wife’s a good artist.”

“Yeah, whatever. You bring me a gun?”

“I’m sure you can find one yourself.”

“Jesus, Tommy. I’m too old for this.” Joel turns to Cabrera and glares at the same stubborn arrogance that once gleamed in his son’s eye. “You pull the contract, and I’ll leave for good.”

Cabrera’s laugh weans out in the air like rings of smoke. “You think you can really leave, Joel? You think that there won't be consequences for what you've done to my son?”

“Yeah,” says Joel, “I think I’ll take my chances.”

“And you?” Cabrera’s lip curls up at Tommy, whose gun no longer wavers in his grasp. “I promised your wife and child security. You’re willing to throw that away?”

“My wife and child are safe because I don’t take deals from men like you,” says Tommy. “You trusted a Miller to turn on his own blood, Manuel. That was stupid. Now pull the contract.”

“So this is your great suicide mission.” Cabrera smiles, a man who knows he has lost or a man who still expects not to. “A man who has seen Hell does not willingly descend back into its depths—not unless he likes the taste.”

Joel feels the corner of his mouth twitch, a wound on his cheek reopening. “Maybe I do,” he says plainly. “Maybe it’ll taste even better when I take you down with me.”

The gleam in Cabrera’s eye shifts as his gaze flickers behind Tommy. Night has since descended, and yet the predator’s eye glints in anticipation of the hunt. Joel turns and shoves his brother out of the way—just as the shot rings out. 

He hears Tommy’s breath punch out of him as they both hit the concrete hard. Joel tears the handgun from his brother’s grasp and puts a bullet between each of the two men behind them. He rolls behind one of the hulking bodies and holds up his weight as a shield against the incoming bullets. Tommy takes the dead man’s gun and fires at the remaining three assailants. Only one shot misses, but Joel sends his brother a look anyway and finishes the job. 

“Rusty,” grunts Tommy, pushing himself to his feet. 

Joel grimaces as he accepts his brother’s outstretched hand, his wrists bleeding from the relentless rub of the ropes. “He ran,” he says, grinding his teeth. “Goddamn coward. Just like his son.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, by the way,” says Tommy, giving Joel the dead man’s gun and snatching back his own. “Saved your ass.”

“And he got away.” Joel kicks his chair, and the clattering echo of metal reverberates like a choir off the cavernous walls. His hands flex, open, closed, open, closed, until they make tight fists and he can see nothing but red and the silver moon mocking him through the broken windows high above. 

“Joel…”

For a moment, he hears the young boy his brother once was, whispering across their shared bedroom to him in the middle of the night when they were both meant to be asleep. 

Joel… Are we going to be okay?

“I gotta finish it, Tommy,” he says quietly, his hands shaking loose. Parts of him bite and sting, touched by new and old wounds alike, and he wants to come crawling home to you. He wants to curl into your side and wash away the blood in your cleansing pool, daisy and honeysuckle, some faraway field where you are the warden, where he knocks on the door to be let in, to be gathered, covered in white, buried, unearthed. 

“Was he right?” asks Tommy. “Do you… enjoy this?”

Joel casts his eyes toward the ground, his trembling hand, the gleaming band on his ring finger, his skin speckled with blood but the metal pristine. “I don’t know,” he says. 

This is who you are, Cabrera would tell him. The Sisters: Your place is here, under God, under His word. And God Himself, silent as the air, the ringing in his ears only ever quieted by the soft brush of your knuckle across his cheek, the whisper of My Joel in his ear. 

“Think hard on it,” says Tommy, “because you may like it, but you’ve gotta consider if your revenge is worth more than what you’ve already got. And if you choose wrong, Joel, you’re gonna lose no matter what.”

A figure leans stone-still against the wall by the hotel room door, the gleam of a blade in the soft light the only indication that it is not a mere shadow. 

“Hey, kid,” says the apparition. 

Joel nods in greeting. “Tess. Could get in trouble with that knife out in the open.”

“You expect me to keep your girl safe with just my fists?”

“You make it sound like you couldn’t.” Tess snorts, and Joel places fifteen gold coins in her waiting palm. “I appreciate you doing this.”

Tess peels away from the wall. “You and your brother are paying me good money to babysit a door. I think I can live without the thanks.”

“Still,” he says, “you did us a solid.”

Tess, who itches at the prospect of gratitude as much as any other gun-for-hire, shrugs. “Everyone’s saying you’re coming back. That true?”

“Just visiting,” says Joel. “On my way out soon.”

Tess flips one of the coins and turns it over and over across her knuckles, evidence of a restless energy that’s always made Joel’s eye twitch. “One way or another, huh?” she says.

“One way or another.” He shakes her hand and watches her retreat down the hall, still twirling the godforsaken coin, before he turns toward the door. Joel presses his forehead briefly to the cool wood and turns the key to seek the field that awaits him.

A key rustles in the door and Joel steps through, closing it gently behind him. Judging by the quiet click of the lock, he expects you to be asleep, but you jolt upright from your seat in the alcove and cross the room toward him.

He meets you halfway, his right hand flexing at his side. You inspect him: the gash on his cheek, the bruise on his jaw, the blood splattered on his white shirt. He makes no footfalls as he walks but you can hear every stride like thunder between your ears. You feel his hand at the back of your neck, cool from the night air, rough as the underside of a shark’s belly.

The moment coils taut between you as your hand reaches up to grab the lapel of his jacket, and he smells of iron, cologne, Joel, some paint. Maybe that smell is you, stuck underneath your fingernails, embedded in your blood. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe you could never help but fall, maybe it never mattered anyway, and you’re already snipping the final thread, unwinding the spool, and kissing Joel Miller like it’s the first time. 

He let out a small groan, tasting the first drop of water in a drought, steadying you with his arm around your waist, his hand cradling your head. He’s gentle, exploratory, careful not to jostle, to shock you out of it. You feel his heartbeat thud, strong, calm, steady behind his clothing and skin and muscle, and your body caves.

It’s coming home, you realise, your arms snaking around his neck, fingers tousling the messy curls on his head. It's the warm press of his hand to your spine where it begins to curve inward. It's a soft mouth, a plush lower lip, made for slow mornings and black coffee, for the aching release of a thumb pressing deep into a muscle knot, a wound. Old aches soothed in the space where bodies meet, beginning to colour the slate-grey world. 

It’s the exchange of gasping breaths when you pull apart, his mouth still vaguely chasing yours, opposite charge. 

You hold him tighter, swallowing the lump in your throat, your hands squeezing his shoulders. "Are you…"

Joel inclines his head. "Yeah."

"Did he..."

"Yeah."

Need pulses. Supernova. Bright as the moment of obliteration. "Can you—"

He nods vigorously. "Yeah."

Joel’s kisses are like raindrops: velvet-soft to the touch—his hands bringing the hem of your shirt up over your head, his fingertips scorching, branding, grazing the supple swells of your breasts—before the crescendo roars in your ears and he loses himself to the storm. He always does. 

There is nothing reserved about the way he shows his love. Lightning crackles across your skin where he touches you, baring you to him, his lips making a map of you, mouthing at your jaw, your throat. You hear yourself hum at the press of his lips to the spot beneath your ear, detaching from your own body, absconding with the pleasure of being close to him and leaving the fucking world behind. 

Joel staggers forward so he can press you to the wall and begins to sink to his knees. Your breath catches as he pulls down your ratty bottoms, your cotton panties, his mouth burning into your hips and your belly and the ring on your finger. 

“Joel,” you say brokenly as he clutches your fingers. Tears prickle, pressure building behind your nose, and he shakes his head, unfurling your palm like a bud in bloom and kissing its heel. Wordlessly, you watch him, your eyes shuttering, blood singing. 

Don't hurt me again. 

He understands even though the words cannot come alive on your tongue. He squeezes your hips, his thumbs dumpling your flesh, his forehead falling to your belly. 

“I’m yours,” he says. “I’m whatever you want.”

Your legs haven't forgotten the way they part so easily for him, one thigh on his shoulder, opening the core of you to his waiting mouth. His lips part, his tongue wetting them, glistening, and your stomach tightens at the sight of his eyes so black. 

You could easily cower. His hands are stained with blood. His knuckles are split. But your terror has become an arid thing, no kindling to burn, no oil to ignite. Watching him now, as eager to please as he always has been or maybe more so, on his knees like a supplicant, the hairs on your arms do not rise in apprehension. Your body does not squirm in fear. You see a broad horizon, the sun outside spilling its golden blood over the city, and you see all of him in a way you never did before. 

He’s Joel, who grew up in darkness, lashed and beaten for not believing in a false god. He’s a man who has lied and killed and yet he is no liar, no killer. He holds you as he always has, your body liquid in his hands, your mouth proclaiming the word he will follow. You're the truth he's always told. 

It still unsettles you to see the dark eclipse that warm brown, to watch his desire consume the hypnotic shapes in his irises, and wonder if that cavernous black was the last thing so many men saw before he snuffed out their lives. But there's nothing of the death shudder in the way you guide your fingers through his hair and beg him—

“Please.”

He brings his mouth to your core and parts your folds with his thumbs, slowly gliding his warm, wet tongue through your slit. You die a hundred little deaths in the split-second of that first touch, that first agony.

You sigh, your head thudding against the wall as he licks through you, his hands holding your hips in place, keeping you from writhing. Joel flicks his tongue over the sensitive pearl of your clit, the pleasure searing, and you tug at his curls to push him away even as you cry out, More, please, please. God, I need more.

He obeys you as easily as breathing, though you suspect he can barely hear your pleas, opening his mouth and flattening his hot tongue to your clit. You gasp, your core pulling taut, your eyes locking with his as the muscle undulates over, over, and over again. 

“Oh,” you whimper, your hips bucking to meet his face. He groans, his mouth working your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking. You cry out, your leg kicking, the sounds of the world muffled in his stifling closeness. Your thighs begin to ache, tensing and relaxing a hundred times over in the throes of his attention. 

And his fingers are gliding across your hip, seeking the warmth between your legs. You gasp his name, your hips flexing, as he collects your wetness on two fingers. 

“Let me in, baby,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your puffy clit. It relaxes you enough to welcome the press of his fingers inside you, sinking to the knuckle, curling up against the spot he would know in his sleep. 

You whine, your body keening toward him, tugging his face back toward your pussy. He obliges with a quiet moan, and you think he needs this just as badly. 

The obscene squelch of his fingers inside you rings in your ears as he licks and sucks at your clit, his free hand grabbing desperately at your ass to keep you fixed to him. You’re crying, “Yesyesyes, Joel, please—fuck, that's it,” the pleasure stuck in the grooves of your brain. Absentmindedly, you reach for his hand and clasp it tight, your engagement ring digging into his palm. He holds you with the same fervour as he coaxes you higher, his face buried in your pussy. He grunts and groans like it's his own pleasure he seeks, his battered knuckles stinging. 

“Joel… Joel, oh, I’m…”

He knows, of course, from the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his head, the relentless crushing of his fingers in your own, your body tightening for him, cavitating, unwinding—

You come with a shout, your throat raw, writhing in his grasp as he keeps sucking, keeps licking, rubbing, pressing. You're dizzy by the time your head lolls to the side, your muscles twitching, eyes glazed, and Joel is there, pulling his fingers out just to place them on his tongue and swallow you down. 

Your breath rattles through your lungs. Joel presses his lips to your inner thigh, beard soaked in your arousal, moustache glistening. His mouth soothes your sore muscles and your eyes begin to droop. 

“You need a shower,” you say, your tongue like lead in your mouth. You gently pass your thumb over a cut on his cheek and frown. “You're all bloody.”

He nuzzles his face against your thigh, inhaling you. “I know.”

“You were gone so long.” Your voice quivers, pressure prickling behind the bridge of your nose. “I thought…”

Joel rises to his feet, his hands cradling your face. “I’m all right,” he says. “I’m here, and I’m safe, and I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together so the sob will not escape. Tracing his face with your fingers, broken in places, healing in others, you see the echo of a boy who didn't know his place in the world. You see the haunt of days gone by. A ghost still occupies the cage of his ribs. 

“I think you should tell the little boy that still lives here,” you say, putting your hand on his chest. “Tell him he’s alive. Tell him that he made it.”

Joel lowers his head, watching the way your fingers splay over his heart. He puts his hand on yours and pushes, and you feel the strong thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat. 

“He knows.”

You lean forward and put your mouth to his temple. “Shower, Joel,” comes your whisper in his ear. 

He nods, wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you into the bathroom. The water hits you both true, scalding, the drain circled with red. He’s naked, his back to you as he sets his hair and lets his wounds bleed what they need to. 

You lift your hands and trail them down his broad shoulders, your forehead dropping between his shoulder blades where your name is inked into his back. Joel’s muscles idly flex, his palm flat against the shower wall. His body shudders when you press your lips to the name on his back. 

Wordlessly, you bring your arms around him, caressing his side, careful of the new bruises. Your other hand drops to his steel-hard cock and you begin to slowly stroke him. The noise that wrenches free from his throat is half pleasure, half agony, his hips bucking into your fist. You bump your nose against his back, your years-old sign to Just relax, and Joel hides his face in his bicep as you work your hand over him.

“G—fuck,” he grunts. “Goddamn… honey, I—”

You squeeze him at the base and twist your hand up and down the length of him, the weight warm and heavy, your thumb coaxing out a bead of precum. Your cheek is warm on his back, your arm struggling to reach around the width of him, your chest humming at the sound of his gruff moans. 

“Let me…” He cuts himself off as you speed up your strokes, and you can feel his abdomen tense. “Fuck, let me make you feel good. Shit… let me…”

“Joel,” you say, “for once, stop trying to be my hero.”

His head falls back and you press your lips to his throat, nibbling the sensitive spot behind his ear: the old scar, that tiny circle, that hairless patch. He groans your name, and you’re smiling despite yourself, your mouth curling against his warm, tender skin. 

“Inside me,” you whisper, the pace of your fingers over his length slowing to a crawl. “Remind me how it feels.”

He turns his head to look into your eyes, his lashes dewy, blinking hard to flick away the water, brow furrowed. His moustache bristles as his lips part in a question he does not (or maybe cannot) articulate, and you’re fractured into pieces by the intricate curve of his nose, the freckles on his jaw, the silver strands in his beard. A rough hand cups the back of your neck and another takes you by the waist, and you’re flattened to the wall, your hand braced on the glass next to you as he kisses you deeply. 

Consuming, heady, warm—you give in, your hands avoiding the delicate skin of his wrists where he’s been bound, helpless. Sighing softly into his mouth, you let his kiss humble the part of you that still needs the walls you’ve built from the marrow of your anger. It circles the drain, lead-filled paint, as you remember under his hands how it feels to live.

You reach between your bodies, your leg wrapping around his waist, and slide the head of his cock through your weeping slit. Joel sucks in air through his teeth, the water lashing his back like a whip, and he surges forward, grasping you by the waist and sinking his cock into your tight hole. 

You cry out his name, burying your face in his throat and baring your teeth. Your name leaves his mouth in kind, an apparition, sounds you barely recognise anymore. As you take him inside you, the memory of who you were with him pounds at your ribcage, begging to be let out. And you covet them, selfish as you are now for fucking him this way, needy and impatient, your fingers tugging his wet locks. 

You see no point in scooping out the marrow; there is still sweetness stuck to the bones of your old life with him. Instead, you coat your teeth in this, the slow drag of his cock, the depths he reaches so easily, so knowingly. His fingers prod the bruised flesh of your hurt and yet you still guide him inside. You still pull his hair and kiss his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs and you still let him hold you close enough to splinter. 

He’s grabbing fistfuls of your ass and sucking on your throat, his thrusts sloppy as he tries to hold back, to make you come first, but you tighten, clenching down on him, making his groans pitch up into whines. 

“Joel,” you gasp, your needy fingers prickling his scalp where you pull his hair. His teeth graze your throat and you want him to bite, you want him to sink in deep, you want his jaws to latch onto your skin. You want him never to leave again. 

He comes hard. His hips buck, pushing so deep he disappears into your body, and you see the blues, browns, reds of your painting as he empties all he has left inside you. 

Panting, he drops his head to your breast, his open mouth still scattering weak, worn kisses over your skin. Your lungs expand under his palms, fingers stuck in the grooves between your ribs, his body an offshoot of yours, not the other way around. In the ringing afterlife of your pleasure, you vaguely feel him mouthing words you cannot hear. You run your fingers through his hair and enjoy the battering of the scorching water as it melts you both into one.

Later, in the sticky, humid silence of the bathroom, steam still swirling around your heads, fogging the glass, you trim Joel’s hair.

"Do you ever get scared?" you ask him, the shhhick of the scissors gliding across a chunk of his hair. "Do you ever go out on a job and think to yourself, What if I slip? What if this is it?"

Joel huffs. "It's not so much about myself as making sure the other guy goes down first."

“I think I’d be scared.” You twirl a lock of hair around your finger and let it fall over his forehead. “I don’t think I’d be able to look into someone’s eyes and take their life.”

He casts his eyes to his lap, flicking off some hair from his thigh. “One time, I thought it was over. I wasn’t quite seventeen yet, runnin’ drugs for some gangster. He sent me to El Sauzal to discreetly transport a couple kilos out of the city; someone had snitched and he didn’t want any rival gangs to find his stash. But the people there, they… They didn’t know any better. There were mothers, kids. Innocent people, y’know? Just strays. I decided I’d come back for ‘em.”

Your stomach twists. “What happened?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I was too late. By the time I got back, the whole goddamn city was on fire. The people were either dead in the streets or close to it. They didn’t do anythin’ wrong. They didn’t ask for any of it. But they were weaker, slower. I couldn’t walk ten feet without seein’ some kid wrapped up his mother’s arms, burned to a fucking crisp. So, I came back with weapons, marched into the gang’s territory, and I killed ‘em all.”

Days ago, you’d be afraid of the man whose back warms your belly where you stand just behind him. You would hesitate to reach out and put your hand on his shoulder the way you do now. But you curl your fingers over the muscled curve of his arm and his head falls back against you, spidering open, his gooey molten centre bared for you.

Joel. Just Joel. 

“Did you see the painting?” you ask him quietly. 

“I see everything you do,” he says. “It's beautiful, baby.”

You drop your gaze from his face in the mirror and set down the scissors on the vanity. “I can't pretend to understand what you've been through, Joel, and that makes things even harder. All I've ever wanted is to love you, to take your pain, and all this time there's been so much I never even knew about. And I’m sorry.”

Joel’s hand comes to cover yours, clasping your fingers. They’re warm, rough, but you do not sense the phantom blood. “If I’d told you from the beginning,” he says, “maybe I never would've hurt you in the first place. All those years I thought I was protecting you from myself, I was hurting you—the one thing I swore I would never fuckin’ do.”

“Joel…”

“Baby, don't apologise to me,” he says firmly, putting his lips to your knuckles. “Never apologise to me. And don't you let me off easy.”

“Have I ever?” you say with a halfhearted smile. 

“Yeah,” he says, “the day you let me marry you.”

You scoff. “Oh, please. Wedding planning was hell on earth for you.”

“Just because I didn't like the photographer—”

“You didn't not like the photographer, Joel. You wanted to draw and quarter the photographer.” 

He huffs like an angry dog, frowning at you in the mirror. “He kept puttin’ his goddamn hands on you.”

You laugh, brushing your thumb over the patch in his beard to indicate you're finished. “He was posing us, cowboy.”

Joel rises to his feet and closes the scissors away inside the drawer. “Posin’ you, sure.”

“He was afraid to touch you. Probably thought you’d take off his hand. And the pictures turned out great.”

“Yeah,” he says, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Way the sunlight caught in your hair, your eyes… I don't know. Beautiful.”

He was so shy the first time you kissed him. Cheeks flushed, eyes cast toward the ground, the wind ruffling his curls where it blew over the water. He was made in an artist’s image, you thought that night, the details pored over like paperwork, the sparkle in his eyes something the painter covets. But the portrait has never wilted in the years you've known him. It's grown older, sure, but it is not old. He's still shy sometimes; he still looks down when he smiles, and he still turns his cheek when you tell him he's beautiful. 

“Do you…” He rubs his palms over his thighs, looking up at you through his lashes. “Do you wish you could go back?”

It's your turn to sit. You drop into his chair, your arms curling over the back of the seat, and watch him on his journey to his knees. “I don't know, Joel,” you tell him. “I think about that day and part of me wants the magic of it back. I want the breeze and the sun and the white canopy and I want you sliding this ring on my finger. But knowing what I know now…”

“You wouldn't have married me,” he says like it's the only answer. His eyes are wet and sad and they sparkle so bright in the day. 

“I wish I’d known,” you say plainly, bringing his hand to your cheek and resting it over the cool wedding band. “I wish you would have told me everything. I wish you didn't make me question your love, even for a second. I wish you could have spared me all this anger I have—all this pain.”

He’s stone-still, a figure in a portrait, and you brush your fingers across his cheek. “But killing isn't what you are, Joel. It’s what you do. And I’m so tired of being angry.”

You say it fiercely, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth, your throat tightening. You swipe your thumbs under your eyes and meet your husband’s eye. “I love you more than my anger and my hurt have room for. And if I can love you this hard, if I can feel all this pain and still be that same girl who fell for the guy from the restaurant, then I can let myself get hurt all over again.”

Joel shakes his head, cupping your face in his hands as his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, baby…” 

“I know it's never been an easy marriage,” you say, your voice breaking, “and I’m always travelling, and I know that I can get snippy and we bicker, but I wouldn't go back to that day, Joel, because I wouldn't change anything. Even if I have to feel all of this again, I wouldn't take it all back.”

His inhale shudders through him and your heart lurches out of your chest. “I don’t deserve that,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek, catching a tear that falls. “I’ve hurt you too much to ever be worthy of what you've given me, sweetheart. I ain't a good man, or even a decent one. But fuck, if I can be good for you, I’ll pray to whatever God they want me to. I’ll scrape my knees and put my hands together and fake it ‘til I’m someone you want. I swear it, baby.”

“Joel.” You gently pry his hands away. “The life you've lived, the things you've been through… I can't change any of it. I can't be what you need all the time, and fuck, I want to be. I do, Joel. But this life is something you have to figure out yourself. Nobody should force you to believe in something that's only ever caused you pain.”

He never told you about the tattoo; you had to find it yourself. Shucking the hem of his shirt up over his head, two weeks separating the last time you’d been able to indulge in his body, you trailed your fingers up his back and paused at the sound of him hissing through his teeth. 

“Easy, cowboy,” you cooed. “Are you all right?”

Wordlessly, he turned, taking your hand and lifting it to the reddish skin around the black ink. You gasped, your fingers jolting backward as if struck by a feeler of lightning. 

“Joel,” you said tremulously, “please don't tell me you were drunk and this was an impulse decision.”

“Guys in the Marines would get tattoos that meant somethin’ to them. Easier to carry around with you when you're away.” Joel met your gaze again, your tearful eyes, and brought your knuckles to his mouth. “Tell me you want it gone, and it's gone.”

You shook your head, a laugh snaking past the lump in your throat. “Selfishly, I think it’s very sexy.”

He chuckled, kissing the breath from your lungs. 

The memory is heavy in your stomach. It's something you'll have to roll around in your mouth a thousand times before the taste begins to dissolve. 

“I need time, Joel,” you tell him. “I need to wrap my head around things. I… I can't be the girl you want right now.”

Joel brushes his thumb over your chin. “You have always been the girl I want,” he says. “If you need time, you have it. If you need a warm body, you have it. I’m whoever you want me to be. And if it ain't a husband, then… then that's okay. But I can’t promise you that I won't stop tryin’ to get my wife back. That’s not who I am.”

You sniffle, twirling the ring on his finger. “You’ll get sick of it. The waiting.”

He smiles so softly that you can feel a bud begin to bloom in the core of you, nourished by the way he keeps his hand on your thigh, absently rubbing the sore muscles there.  “I waited my whole life for someone like you to come along—someone who could give me the purpose I’d been lookin’ for. I can wait another lifetime. I can wait a thousand.” 

“You’ll resent me. You’ll start to hate me.” You don't know why it comes pouring out of you, but the gates are brittle wood and they snapped in the torrent. “I’m an angry drunk. I smell like paint half the time. I travel for work.”

Joel just studies your face, some inexplicable calm etching out the agony. “You take your coffee with milk and sugar and you can't stand it black, but you make it that way for me anyway. You sleep until noon when you're jet lagged and I sit up in bed just to watch you dream. You lie in my arms on the couch at home and ask me about my day even when you're noddin’ off. You dreamed about love when you were a little girl, the way it happens in books. You told me in your wedding vows that you'd found it with me. You think I could resent a girl like that?”

He smiles like it hurts and heals all at once, like it's a foregone conclusion, like you were meant to be loved by him. 

“Time doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I know the girl I see in front of me now. Time won't change how much I love her.”

Flipping through the list of potential venues, Joel tucked into your side, you said, “We’ll have an outdoor ceremony. No churches.”

“Baby, I won't burst into flames if I step inside a church.” Joel playfully flicked his tongue over your nipple, obscured by his T-shirt. “Tommy, on the other hand… things he's done…”

You laughed, gently pushing at his head. “No churches,” you said again. “I don't care how much more we’ll have to pay or travel to get around it. You're my husband. You're my comfort, and I want to be what's comfortable for you. Understood?”

He looked up at you, his lips parted as if on the precipice of speech. You beamed, bringing his face to yours and kissing him deeply. 

“But if the wind knocks over the gazebo, you're not getting your dick inside me on our wedding night,” you said against his mouth. Joel shook his head, yanking you on top of him and tearing the shirt from your body. Your binder landed with a flutter of loose pages to the floor. 

“You didn't kill Cabrera.”

Joel lowers his eyes. “No. He got away.”

“So there's still a contract on your head.”

“For now.”

“So,” you say with a sigh, crossing the room and digging through your bag, “you have to go.”

“I have to go,” he echoes, following you like a shadow. “No matter what… I’m finishing it. Tonight.”

You pull the switchblade from your bag, open Joel’s fist, and place the cool wood hilt in his palm. 

“Goddammit, Tommy,” he says under his breath. “He shouldn't have…”

“But he did,” you say. “He said I should be the one to have it. I think it should be yours.”

He curls his fingers over the hilt and flicks open the blade. It's light, but it seems to weigh him down. You rest your hand over his. 

“Do what you need to do.”

He drops his forehead to yours and closes his eyes, soaking in this final breath exchanged between your silent bodies, dipping his fingers in the sanctified waters and coming out unscalded. 

Bill calls Joel not a moment after he steps onto the street outside the Continental. 

“That's a heavy price on your head.”

“Yeah, Bill, I know.” He breathes in the cool air, like cigarette smoke, his nostrils stinging. Trash and a new, fresh breeze carried into the city. Nothing that stays here ever thrives. “Stayed alive so far.”

“So I hear,” grunts the Manager, “and leaving behind a hell of a lot of cleanup.”

“I won't stick you with the check,” says Joel. “It's my business.”

“I don't conduct business inside this hotel,” says Bill, “which is why I won't tell you that a certain helicopter at a certain helipad is refuelling as we speak.”

Joel smirks, flicking out his cuff to check the time. “Any reason why you aren't tellin’ me this?”

“I like you, Joel. Despite myself.” 

Silent, he waits for more. 

“Besides,” Bill continues, “we live and die by honour. And you've saved my ass more than once.”

Joel snorts. “Which time are you thankin’ me for?”

“Just take my goddamn advice and leave this world. For good this time.”

“I will,” says Joel. “One way or another. Thanks, Bill.”

High above the ground, sitting in the alcove by the window, you watch storm clouds gather over the city, darkening the sky, the sun, and your Joel, so far away, slouching calmly toward whatever end he will choose. 

It's raining. 

The first time you kissed him, a downpour suddenly swept up the both of you and you'd scrambled underneath a bridge by the water. You both laughed until your ribs were sore, holding hands as you ran, a soaking wet playbill above each of your heads for cover. 

“At least the show was good,” you shouted over the roar of the rainfall. 

Joel was mesmerised into stillness by the colours of the traffic lights in your eyes, how they shifted over the planes of your face. Starting to think like an artist, you'd tease, and he'd lean into it, a planet circling its sun. 

“It was all right,” he said, taking the playbill from your hand. “You could catch a cold. We should get a cab.”

“Always my hero.” You grinned up at him, your eyes scanning his face in that particular way they did, as if ingesting the sight of him to later put the lines to a canvas. “Did you have a good time, Joel? I mean, really. You won't offend me.”

He grimaced. “I, uh… well, see, I’m not the best judge, and… I guess—”

“Joel.”

There was a gleam in your eyes that could have been amusement or could have been hunger. He doesn't remember. He only saw you tilt your chin and lower your eyes to his mouth, to that one place the Sisters always called vulgar, obscene, a place meant only for His word—

“Can I kiss you, Joel Miller, or will you keep being all heroic?”

It was soft, gentle, exploratory. Your mouth opened his like a wound, setting the scorching blade of your lips to the gash, staunching the blood. You healed and burned him, one hand on his back beneath his jacket, the other cupping his face. It reminded him of the statue that lived in the theatre underneath the church where all the boys and girls trained. An angel cast in white marble, cradling the face of Saint Eustace. The statue was chipped where his eye was meant to be. 

He remembers the way he shuddered when you touched him like that. He remembers the chill that started in his feet and crept up his spine. Something like coming alive, settling back into his own body—no longer a spirit haunting the shell of a home but a man. 

You pulled back, but Joel curled his hand around the back of your neck and kissed you again, deeper, maybe a little too eager, too inexperienced—but you gasped, fingers curling in his hair, your body curving into his. Your noses bumped when you separated, and he remembers laughing. 

The rain is nothing like that night. It's the lash of a whip across his face, seeping colour from the world instead of infusing it with light and movement. The water by the docks slaps against the concrete and boats rock and groan against their mooring. The lights of the city are distant now. 

Joel steps out of the car. 

He marches toward his target, cocking the pistol in his hand, and calls out a name. It gets lost in the roll of thunder across the sky and lodges in his chest. 

Cabrera waits on the landing pad, looking wraithlike in a long black coat and a pair of leather gloves. His pilot fuels the helicopter nearby. Neither of them hear Joel’s voice in the air. The rising sun is what gives him away—or maybe the gunshot, as he lifts his arm and pulls the trigger. 

It does not pierce flesh. It ricochets off one of the rotor blades. He had aimed slightly to the left. 

The pilot scampers off into hiding, but the slash of the bullet through the rainfall is enough to get the attention Joel wants. Cabrera reaches inside the lining of his jacket and fires a single shot. Joel can feel it tear through skin and muscle, but it doesn't hurt. 

“Joel,” greets Cabrera. 

“Manuel.” 

His chest heaves, his jacket soaked through, the cold sinking bone-deep. 

“Let's finish this.”

The glimmer in those depthless black eyes is the panther at the hunt, relentless in its hunger, licking its chops at the sight of a challenge. For all the coward’s blood in his veins, it still pulses at the prospect of winning. 

“Like men,” says Cabrera, tossing his gun aside at the same time Joel does. “With honour. No more guns.”

And it's laughable: the thought that there is any honour left in a world like this. A world where children are beaten and lashed and trained to hold a weapon too big for their hands. A world that burns villages, butchers families, and still claims that without rules, we live with the animals. 

A world as unruly as this cannot be ruled. He never truly considered it until he saw the sad gleam in your eye, felt the empathetic touch of your hand on his face, and began to realise that maybe he should be furious. 

But because he already knows he's going to win, Joel lets his opponent land the first blow. 

The blood is tangy, near-sweet, as he swipes his forearm over his mouth and smears crimson on his shirtsleeve. It tingles faintly on his lips and crackles, warm as the melt from a late-winter snow. He feels it settle in the grooves of his palms, the hairs of his beard. He’s drowning in it. 

Cabrera hits hard, but he’s slow. He’ll take five punches in the time it takes to wind up for one. Joel brings his arm up to block the next and delivers a blow to the sternum with his knee as his opponent’s guard drops. Wide open, Cabrera stumbles a few steps back, choking down the telltale wheeze of being winded. Joel marches forward, relentless in his crusade, grasping him by the scruff of his neck, teeth bared like a mad wild dog, and bears his skull down on the side of the railing. Around them, the wind howls and lashes at his clothes, but he still hears the pained scream as if it were poured into his ears. 

Cabrera drops to his knees, and Joel grabs him again, bashing his head repeatedly against the steel bar, the lapel of an Italian leather coat bunching between his fingers, tainted by rainwater and the fist of the man who's come to take his life. 

And fuck, Joel wants to make it last. 

But there's a knife in his opponent’s hand, conjured from the darkness of his coat pocket, and Joel must release him to avoid the lethal slash of the blade. Blinking blood and lashing rain from his eyes, the man lunges with a snarl, and Joel recovers from his lost victory, stopping him with his fingers curled around his opponent’s wrist. He brings his hand to the crook of Cabrera’s elbow and uses his leverage to snap the bone.

Yowling, Cabrera drops to his haunches, the knife clattering to the ground. Joel, chest heaving, stands over him, flexing his fingers as he readies his fist for the killing blow.

His name leaves Cabrera’s bloodied mouth, accompanied by a mouthful of crimson-tainted saliva spat on the ground at Joel’s feet. 

“Joel…” He lifts his head, cradling his broken arm, and sneers. There’s a chilling glow of satisfaction in it. “Did you get your perfect life, Joel? Do you really think you’ve won? It won’t ever stop. Not after you’ve killed me, not after you’ve killed all of them. Is that what you’re going to do? Kill them all?”

He could. He has done far worse. He has spilled blood for gold coins and superficial alliances and someone else's revenge. He has stalked, stolen, lied, killed, and he could finish this now, so easily, with the flick of a blade. 

But the song of death does not call to him now. 

For so long he had trudged, unmoored, through heavy crimson blood. Like pulling at the seams of velvet, he'd sewn more lives into the sea of red and he never looked behind him to see the souls trying to pull him down at the ankles. He didn't know purpose until he saw the way the candlelight flickered in your eyes, until he tilted his head to the side and realised your smile was a new kind of beautiful from each angle. 

The rain sticks to his lashes and he thinks of an old song of prayer the Sisters used to chant. He remembers curling his fingers around one of the rosaries that hung from the large cross in the cathedral and wincing in anticipation. He thought he would burn—that the metal would leave a red stain on his palm. It never did. 

Maybe that's why he never believed. Surely, if there was a God, Joel Miller would have burned by now. 

He thinks of shopping for furniture and date nights and lazy mornings, tangled in bedsheets. Your mouth, smiling against his, whispering I love you across the breakfast table. Dancing—or swaying, more like—under the kitchen light. Loving easily, never feeling as if he must grab hold of the cross and burn himself upon it just to feel. 

Joel turns the switchblade in his hand, lurches forward, and plunges the knife into Cabrera’s chest. 

There is no noise but a faint gurgle from his mouth, his hand weakly rising to grasp the hilt. Joel drops to his knees and fishes Cabrera’s cell phone from his pocket. 

“The blade is stuck in your aorta,” he says. “If you pull it out, you’ll bleed out and die.” He puts the rain-slick screen in front of Cabrera’s face. “Pull the contract.”

A few feeble taps are all it takes, and Joel Miller is no longer a target. His name glares back at him on the screen, from two million to nothing, not the boogeyman any longer but something akin to a civilian. Joel tosses the phone into the water and turns to leave. 

“See you in hell, Joel,” Cabrera chokes, still grasping the shiny wooden hilt of the blade.

He barely hauls himself into the car, which chokes to a rumbling start. There's blood seeping through his shirt where Cabrera shot him, and his fingers shake as they pull away from the wound, the red so bright, so alive. Joel grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. 

If there’s a God, he thinks, I hope you fucking hear me now. 

Tell me that we don’t get what we deserve. Because there is nothing I deserve in this world if I cannot keep what I’ve found.

His fingers trembling, smearing blood across the screen, he makes a call. 

And your voice on the line, soft, sticky with sleep, whispering his name—just his name: Joel?—is what wrenches the first sob from his throat. 

Joel, you say, like it means something, like it's precious. A jewel pressed from dusty black coal. Come back to me. Come home. 

So he does. 

#fic: helen #kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #joel miller au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #john wick au

[nomazee]

Hello, congratulations on your milestone! 🎉

May I have (for the mix-and-match 😚) Dr.Ratio and the word-concept "bathtub"? 🫢

Take your time! ❤️❤️

this one was fun to write too (as per usual with ratio) i've written for dr ratio so much in the last two weeks i think i am becoming him.... Im slowly morphing into veritas ratio please save me... THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING this was lovely :3

my 1k event!

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“No way. You take bubble baths with a rubber duck?” 

Veritas freezes for no longer than a millisecond before whipping his head around to see you in the doorway of the bathroom. He’d been relaxing just moments ago, sinking into the hot water with his eyes closed, and yes there was a rubber duck in the bath with him but that was not by choice. It just happened to be there when he ran the bath, and he opens his mouth to argue but is quickly cut off by your endless rambling. 

“Anyways, I came to wash your hair. One of your assistants told me you just left in the middle of your usual work hours, and I thought, ‘wow, how odd, the Ratio I know would never do that!’ And then I thought, what better way to cheer my dear friend up than keep him company and wash his hair! It did look a little greasy today.” 

“I am not your dear friend,” he argues mockingly, but the bite in his voice falls short when you circle around the bath and set down your paraphernalia on the tiles next to you (a microfiber hair towel, shampoo, conditioner, some miscellaneous hair foams and sprays that he really does not trust you with). “You are the most insufferable person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Get out of my bathroom.” 

“This is our bathroom now, Ratio. We’re a community, you and me.” 

“It’s ‘you and I.’”

“Exactly! You and I, a community. You’re getting the hang of it now.” 

Veritas sighs, surrendering any potential of a relaxing evening to your whims. This is, unfortunately, how it usually goes, and he has yet to make a real effort to stop it. A voice in the back of his head taunts him because at his core, he has zero desire to stop it at all. 

“Come on,” you keep babbling, threading your fingers roughly through his already-damp hair. It’s not a pleasant sensation at all, and he winces and holds back a pained yelp. “It’s kind of like going to a spa, or whatever. I’m trying to pamper you. Be grateful!” 

“There’s nothing to be grateful about when you’re trying to scalp me,” he could push your hands away easily, bat you off and make you leave. Instead, though, he gives you a minute to tame your inelegant movements into something gentler. He hears the sound of a bottle uncapping, and then your hands are back on his scalp, lathering honey-scented shampoo into the layers of his hair. 

“Is this better?” you ask cheekily, tracing circles in his hair, digging your fingertips in and scratching just a little bit, hard enough to feel it but light enough that it’s still soothing. Veritas sighs through his nose, deep and heavy and sinking back into the water. There’s no mocking retorts, no quips, no sarcastic tone, just the even cycle of his breathing and the rhythm of his heartbeat thudding in his ears. If he tries hard enough, focuses enough, he can hear yours too, but it makes his stomach twist with an uncomfortable, unnameable feeling. 

In your bundle of things that you brought, there’s an empty plastic cup, and you use it to scoop water from the tub and rinse the foam from his hair. Veritas feels wholly exposed, for obvious reasons among others, and the urge to kick you out still sits heavy in his chest. Right next to it is a warmth, though, something holding his sensibility hostage, something that finds this more comforting than it would be if he’d sat in the bath until the water went cold, all alone, without your hands washing his hair clean of oil and grime and the weight of his research. 

You break him of his reverie, but the sudden sound of your voice isn’t as intrusive as he anticipated. “You know, you should start using this oil thing for your hair, I got it from one of my coworkers,” by now, his hair is completely rid of any remaining shampoo, and your hands are rubbing a thin layer of conditioner into the ends of each strand, “and it’s supposed to help your hair grow. I think you’d look great with long hair, Veritas, don’t you agree?” 

“What, do you think about that often?” It’s supposed to be something snarky, something to shut you down before you dig too deep, but you never catch the hint—it’s your best and worst quality. 

“Maybe,” you admit, heft in your words, a density that needs to be cut open and examined. He’s good at that—good at looking and prying, but he’s the worst if he’s next to you. You’re nowhere near as thorough of a researcher as him, but he thinks (with a sense of embarrassment) that when the subject is him, you’re the most qualified person around. “Wouldn’t it be nice? With your hair all down to your shoulders, maybe. And if you really think it’s a hassle to take care of, I’ll just do it for you.” 

He’s perfectly capable of taking care of his own hair, thank you very much, but the idea of having you wash it for him, brush out the tangles in it every other day is appealing to a starving man like Veritas. He aches, and the skin at the nape of his neck itches. 

“You’re saying nonsense,” he says, and he can feel the way his brow has tightened and he instinctively goes to chew at the dead skin on his lips. “My hair is perfectly fine the way it is.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you respond, “just giving you options.” Your hands finally leave his hair, and suddenly the water in the bathtub feels frigid and icy, and Veritas represses a shiver. “Your hair is squeaky clean. Now, get out of the bathroom! It’s my turn to hang out with the rubber duck.” 

“Would you—?!” Veritas turns to glare at you, but the impish grin on your face makes him falter. You’re incorrigible. “The duck isn’t mine! And you have your own bathroom. Stop invading my space.” 

“Sigh,” you say aloud, because you’re corny and theatrics are written into every part of your personality. “Oh, grandest Ratio, I really did think we were friends, but you wound me so deeply! All this time has meant nothing to you! All this new shampoo that I bought just for you, gone to waste…” 

“For gods’ sake,” he mutters, reaching for a set of pajamas that you’d so conveniently taken from his own dressers and brought with you while on your mission to wash his hair. “Turn around so I can get dressed and then you can use the bathroom. So annoying.” 

“Not annoying enough to kick me out, though,” you say, and you’re completely right, and Veritas will admit that one day, but certainly not today.

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gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @hanyi-writes

#nora hits 1k #veritas ratio x reader #dr ratio x reader #ratio x reader #dr. ratio x reader #hsr x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #veritas x reader #oh veritas my beautiful annoying obnoxious scholarly man

[inkyray]

sick!matt x reader fluff 😛

a/n: i literally love writing a platonic reader n chris dynamic

content ahead: sick!matt x reader, bae u a master chef in this, just pure cutesy fluff :P

TOO LATE

"You're joking." You say, holding your phone up to your ear as Nick's voice boomed through it. "I swear I'm not, he can't even like– walk on his own." Nick said, almost like he was complaining but he definitely wasn't, if anything he was worried for his brother Matt.

He called you to let you know just how bad Matt's sickness got, based on what he told you, Matt's body temperature was burning hot yet he was still freezing, he was cold and sweaty, his small strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Apparently it was a struggle for him to even head to the bathroom, almost falling over with how weak his body had gotten. "Whatever he's got, it's definitely worse than fever." Nick sighs as you hold your phone with your cheek and shoulder, putting on your shoes.

"I'm coming over, I'm bringing medicine and a few ingredients. I'll make him some soup, hopefully it'll help." You assure, tying your shoelaces. Nick sighs in relief, "Thank fuck. I knew you'd be help. I'm like, so glad Matt came to his senses and asked you to be his girlfriend. If he hadn't done it sooner I would've asked you to marry me by then." You brightly laugh at his words, grabbing for your keys.

"Okay, I'll be over in a few minutes."

-

It was a lot worse than you thought.

The moment you entered his room, it was warm with unnatural heat and he was clearly tangled under all his pillows. You approached the side he was laying in, bending down to his level, your knees on the floor as your hands immediately tangled in his hair, moving it to the side so you could see his eyes better. "Matt." You mutter, your voice low and soft, unsure if he's asleep or not. His eyes flutter open to the sound of your voice, looking up at you lazily, beyond glad that you were here. He utters your name, his voice husky and thick. You immediately lean forward to peck him on the lips. "How are you feeling?" You question

He frowns, as if his sickness has been draining both physically and mentally. "Horrible. So so bad." Matt's eyes look like they were exhausted, rimmed with pink. You scowled, feeling beyond bad for your boyfriend. "Okay, I brought you medicine. Sit up for me, baby?" You ask him, your voice immediately soothing through his migraine like honey.

You turn to the bag you brought, skimming through it as you grab the right antibiotic. Matt takes long seconds to build up the courage to sit up, knowing how much physical energy it would take from him. When you turn your head back to him, he finally uses his elbows to sit up, his blanket slipping from off his chest, a hot breeze hitting you in the face.

A small comforting grin rests on your lips, and Matt curves his lips up lazily and crookedly, his mood feeling the most better at the sight of you. Handing him the pills to his palm, you grab the water bottle by his bed. 

With the pills finding their way to his mouth, you hold the water bottle up to his mouth. He takes large gulps from the bottle, depending on you to hold it for him. He pulls his head away, deciding that was enough for him after swallowing the medicine, visibly wincing, lifting a hand to touch his adam's apple. You understand that he had a bad case of a sore throat, and you get up. Matt's eyes follow you up. "Have you eaten yet?" You question, and he drops his gaze, shaking his head. You sigh.

"I thought as much."

"I'm sorry." He apologized with a harsh and croaky voice. You melt right then and there. "No, no. Matt, hon, it's okay." You offer a breathy chuckle. "I'll cook for you." You soothe your hands through his knotted and messy hair and his face visibly softens. He loved when you'd cook, always preferring it over take-out.

One time, you had caught your boyfriend arguing with his brother, Chris, to have you cook for them instead of just ordering out.

+

"Dude, she's not gonna be able to make chicken alfredo. We don't have the fucking ingredients." Chris sighed, pressing his eyebrows together.

"Chris, trust me. We could just go out and buy them really quick! I swear, it'll be heavenly." Matt jolted his leg up and down, attempting to talk him through it, already tasting his girlfriend's cooking on his tongue.

"It's almost 12:00 AM, Matt! The store is literally closed and she probably doesn't even wanna cook." Chris initiated, grabbing his phone out to order something. Matt rests his head on his palm, leaning against the kitchen island as he watches Chris order, giving up. "Do you think she'll want to tomorrow, though?" Matt wonders out loud.

"I actually hope so. I don't think anyone's made steak the same way she has." Chris responds, not denying the fact that your cooking truly is something else. "Right?" Matt agrees. "One of the best dinners of my life." Chris nods along, secretly hoping you'd be willing to feed them the next day.

+

You tap the large wooden spoon against the pot, letting any remaining liquid fall down the pot. You had decided to make him the classic chicken noodle soup. When Nick was sick, you had made him tomato soup, thankfully he had loved it, even after recovering asking you to make him some more. But you knew if you made that for Matt, it would've been a death wish.

You pour him the soup in a bowl, lifting a normal spoon up to your mouth as you blow the steam away, trying it. Perfect.

Getting the feeling of a lingering body behind, you spin your head around, seeing Chris hold his phone between both his hands like a purse, standing shyly behind you as he eyes the pot. "You good?" You laugh, and he doesn't audibly respond, only giving you an exaggerated sigh. "You want to try?" You finally ask after he gives you another sigh, he smiles immediately. "Yes, puh-lease." He uttered desperately. You take a quick scoop and hold it up, holding a palm under the spoon to keep anything from dripping. He notices your action, taking the spoon from you and mimicking your gesture, holding a hand under it as he brings it to his mouth.

He blows on it, flinching at the hotness of the liquid before finally pulling it in his mouth. A sense of victory pumps through you as you watch his eyes light up. "Can I have a bowl? Please, please, please. I promise I won't ask you for anything else. " He begs and you roll your eyes. 

"Let me feed your brother first, if there's any left, you can take some."

"Ugh." He huffs, migrating to the living room couch, watching on his phone until you're done.

You place the bowl under a plate, stabilizing it as you head for Matt's room.

Pushing through the door, you walk in on Matt in the same position you had left him in, scrolling through his phone before looking up at you when you enter. Closing his phone, he fixates himself on the bed as you approach, sitting on the side of his bed right by where his legs are crossed over each other under the blankets. "You made soup?" He questions before his eyes level with the bowl.

"I had to, it's tradition." You tell him, knowing he wasn't the biggest fan of soup. But if you were one thing, it would be willing to get him to like anything. "Okay." He hums, although you hadn't said anything, he trusted your judgement. You hold the spoon up to your mouth and blow at it, trailing it to his mouth.

"It's too hot, baby." He gasps, his lips jolting back from the sudden heat. "I know, but you'll have to drink it down. The whole point of soup when you're sick is to drink it hot." You assure, blowing a little more at it.

"But why?" He murmured, not liking what you were saying. "To burn the germs and to help you sweat, sweating helps you lose your fever quicker." He listens to you explain as you continue a little further, mentally reminding himself that you were also an older sister, this behavior coming to you naturally.

"Mm. Okay."

Grimacing when the hot liquid makes its way into his mouth, his face drops from any stiffness and lets it marinate in his mouth, swallowing it down. "Is there anything you're not good at?" He asks.

"I always burn sugar cookies."

"Oh yeah." Matt recalls. "I thought I was gonna experience a second house fire."

You shut him up with another spoon to his mouth.

-

The hours pass and you've done everything in your will to help Matt, and now that the sun is fully set, you can tell he has gotten the slightest bit better, knowing the change would kick in the next morning. There was no doubt that you were tired, doing the dishes and putting everything away, tidying up the kitchen, the living room, and Matt's bedroom.

It was when he threatened to never recover from this fever until you finally rested when you decided to take a break. You changed into spare pajamas that you keep in Matt's room, he watched you change with an upset look playing. 

"What?" You had asked.

"Wish I wasn't sick. Doing all these things for me, and still looking so beautiful. What a lucky piece of shit I am." He began getting sentimental. "You're too perfect for this world, you know that?" He watches you turn a flustered shade of blossom as you begin crawling into bed next to him.

You lay on your side as Matt raised an arm to drape over your shoulder, pushing you closer to him as you got comfortable, resting his hands on the dip of your waist, his fingers drawing shapes. Seconds pass, and you finally answer. "I don't think you're a piece of shit."

The sound of his hoarse chuckle vibrates through his chest. "You suck at taking compliments."

You lift your head up and he looks down at you, both of you getting the same idea in mind. "Don't." He warns, but you kiss him anyway. You didn't care that he was sick, or if that'll get you sick too. His warm lips pressed onto yours as you smiled in triumph.

"Too late."

#inkray #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #the sturniolos #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #the sturniolo triplets #stromboli #matt sturniolo blurb #matt #chris and matt #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo x reader #nicolas antonio sturniolo

[pb524830]

right where you left me

part: 1 pairing: paige bueckers x oc word count: 2.6k c/w: language a/n: heyyyy everyone! my anons have been begging for another series like anyone else, so here's one i've been thinking about for a second and finally put to paper. i hope you like this just as much as 'anyone else'. btw, if you guys want to send in long ass asks live reacting to my writing (whoever @imaginespazzi 's anon is that does this, i LOVE it) it's such a great way to know what you do and don't like about my writing, and i'd so appreciate it. love you guys!

I blink as the sun hits my eyes, almost blinding me. I stretch at my front door, loosening my muscles that are still a little tight from sleep. I squint against the blaring sunlight, then push my AirPods in and start off down my street. It’s this quaint little neighborhood in Virginia, a not-too-far cry from my home state of Minnesota. 

My run is peaceful, Kendrick Lamar blaring in my ears, the music a smooth symphony of artful lyrics backed by a spurring beat. I take down about three miles, reaching what looks to be an old basketball court before slowing to a jog, then a halt. I pant, placing my hands on my hips and allowing my chest to heave as I recover from the run. My sports bra and shorts are soaked with sweat, but the summer air is refreshing.

I tip my head back, soaking in the sun, when I hear a voice behind me. “Hey, you shooting or…” I whip my head around, the voice impossibly and frighteningly familiar. 

No fucking way.

“Maya.”

“Paige,” I breathe. 

She hesitates, a ball braced at her side, and it looks so natural, just as it always has. She’s wearing a white tee shirt and dark shorts, with blue, red, and white shoes on her feet. Her hair is parted down the middle, slung into a bun at the base of her neck. My breath catches when my eyes meet her stark, blue ones - pools of crystal that glimmer in the summer sun. Her limbs are long and she’s tan, her lips stuck in that damned half-smirk that used to drive me crazy. It fades from her face a little as she takes me in, and I cross my arms over my stomach self-consciously.

“What are you… what are you doing here?” I swallow hard as I stutter over my words.

She coughs awkwardly, tossing the ball back and forth between her hands. “My friend, Azzi - don’t know if you remember her, um… She lives here. In this neighborhood. But we also moved to Virginia when we- when I left for school.”

I remember Azzi. She was one of Paige’s basketball friends, a tall, pretty girl with dark hair and a kind smile. Paige clears her throat. “You… uh, what about you?” I blink. “Oh, um. Yeah, same, actually, my family moved here. Also.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

We’re quiet for a few more minutes. It’s my turn to clear my throat awkwardly.

“Still dancing?” She asks. 

I laugh nervously. “Can’t seem to stop. Still hooping?”

She smiles a little more at that. “Can’t seem to stop,” she echoes back to me. Paige hesitates for a moment.

“You look good,” she admits after a few moments.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh! Thanks, um… you do, too. Look good, I mean. You look great!”

She raises an eyebrow at my rambling. “Great?” She muses.

I scoff. “No, good. You look good.”

“No, I got it the first time.” Her smirk is widening, her tone teasing.

“Good.”

“Not great?” She’s pushing my buttons now.

“Paige, stop,” I blurt out.

It hangs over us - my usage of her name, the undeniable tension that lingers in the air, nearly suffocating. 

She looks down at the ground, kicking at it. “Sorry,” she mumbles. 

I sigh. “No, you’re fine. I should- I should go.”

“Maya, don’t do that. Look, I’m sorry-”

“No, I should get home. It was good to see you.” 

Stubbornly, I plug my headphones in, pretending not to hear her voice calling out my name, the sound of it echoing behind me, praying I can drown out the past if I just turn my music up loud enough.

************

“You’re doing it wrong. Put your foot down on the off beat.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Paige demands, and I bite back a grin.

Patiently, I re-explain the 8 count to her. “It’s just a stupid TikTok. Bro, you’re so extra,” she whines. I hold my hands up. “You’re the one who said you wanted to learn it for real. Like, dancer-style.” 

“I never said that.”

“I think those were actually your exact words. Okay, look-”

Paige groans. “Can we take a break?” She begs, grabbing her phone and tossing it onto her bed. She collapses onto it right after, shrugging her shirt off before falling back onto the pillows. I roll my eyes, grabbing my own phone. I sigh, looking at my notifications. Paige’s eyes flicker to mine. “What? Nicky again?” I shake my head. “It’s just… I need to break up with her.” Paige tries and fails to stifle a grin. “You think she knows?” She asks. There’s a hint of smugness to her tone that I don’t like. 

I narrow my eyes as she eases off the bed and approaches me, slinging her arms around my waist. “Knows what?” I ask. Paige smirks. “You know what,” she smiles, dipping her head to mine. I shove at her chest, but she pulls me closer. “Knows what we’re really doing?” Paige teases. “Shut up, Paige,” I chide, but she moves in, anyway, slotting her lips against mine in a slow, meaningful kiss.

Her lips work against mine skillfully, and though I’ve only kissed Paige a few times by now, melting into her is only instinct. “Did you eat my Nerds?” She demands, pulling away and licking her lips. I crinkle my nose at her. “Maybe?” She shakes her head at me, mischief glinting in her eyes, before she hoists me up, tossing me onto the bed. “You’re gonna pay for that,” she warns playfully, before tackling me, fingers poking into my sides and eliciting raucous laughter from the both of us. “Okay, okay! I’ll buy you more, stop! Stop!” I shriek. She collapses on top of me, ignoring the way I push at her shoulders. 

Paige stares down at me, then leans down to connect our lips again, mouth dancing languidly with mine. I sigh, pushing a hand into her hair and responding eagerly, winding my leg between hers. “Tell her,” she urges, pecking me once. I sigh. “I know. I feel awful about it.” She pushes her body slightly up and nudges my nose with hers. “Come on. She’s not stupid.” She tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “We’re… obvious. You know?” I raise my eyebrow. “If you mean that everyone can tell how bad you want me, then yeah,” I tell her. She sucks her teeth, hitting me on the shoulder. “Tch. You know what I mean. We… were gonna happen.”

I grin at her, though I don’t mean to. “You seem pretty confident about that,” I muse. She grins back at me, her mouth hovering over mine. “Good. I am.”

***************

My run home is more of a sprint, and I’m absolutely spent when I shove through my front door. “Maya!” My mom calls. “Come help with the groceries!” I oblige, unlacing my shoes and skidding into the kitchen. My mom’s head is stuck in the fridge, trying to make room for all the new produce she’s just bought, so I make myself busy storing away the pantry foods.

“You will not believe who I ran into at the store!” My mom exclaims, poking her head out from behind the fridge door. She’s still in her scrubs, probably just having finished off a shift at work. I raise an eyebrow. “Michelle Obama?” I ask. She frowns at me. “You’re not funny.” I shrug. “I beg to differ.” 

My mom is definitely more of my best friend than my actual mom. I mean, she works so much, and I’ve had to practically raise my brother. Plus, with my dad out of the picture since… forever, she’s really all I had.

“Anyway,” she says pointedly, dusting off her hands. “I was at the store, and I ran into Bob Bueckers! Isn’t that crazy? I haven’t seen the Bueckers’ in years, and you and Paige were so close…” My mom continues speaking, I’m sure, but there’s a sudden muffled tone to it, like there’s water in my ears. 

It’s just the mention of her name. I hadn’t heard it in years, had tried my best not to even think of her because I knew it would hurt. And seeing her today…

It isn’t fair. She does look great - better, somehow. Not the tall, lanky teenager I was used to. She’s a whole woman, now - muscled and lean, much more sure of herself. And yet… so much is the same - that damned perpetual half smile on her face, the way she tilts her head, the way her eyes glint. I can’t help but wonder if other things are the same, as well.

If her hands are as warm as they always used to be.

If she still picks her face when she’s nervous.

Fuck. Stop it.

“Did you hear what I said, sweetie?”

I shake my head out of my reverie, turning back to my mom. “Uh, no?”

“I invited them over for dinner tonight. Wear something nice.”

I splutter, processing what she’s just said. “I’m sorry. You what?”

*************************************

“Uh… here.”

I gingerly take the loaf of banana bread from Paige. I don’t meet her eyes as I let her, her brother, her dad, and her stepmom into the house. “Thanks,” I mumble. Drew stares up at me. “You look different,” he says matter of factly. I smile a little at him. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I tease. He narrows his eyes at me. “I’ll let you know,” he informs me, then skips past me. My little brother, Matthew, catches sight of him, and the two of them run off eagerly to play together.

My heart squeezes a bit at this. I hadn’t realized that Paige and I… growing apart, I suppose one could call it, would mean that our brothers would lose a friendship, too. “He’s, uh… He’s tall, now,” she tries, hesitantly. I glance up at her from the side of my eye, walking to place the dessert on the dining table. She follows me. I hate that she does. I hate that she still smells like herself, that the way she looms over me feels oh-so-familiar.

I toy with the sleeve of my top nervously. “Is that- is that mine?” Paige blurts out suddenly. I glance down at my navy blue top, and my eyes widen. She’s right. It is her shirt, and I hadn’t even realized. It’s a bit big on me, and I’d found it in a box after we’d moved to the new house. “Oh. I guess so, do you want it back? I can go change?” I yammer, and she shakes her head frantically. “No! You don’t have to- That’s not what I meant, you-” She clears her throat.

“It looks nice on you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I chance a glance at my feet, my hands, anywhere but her. She sighs. “Well, this is fucking awkward,” she mutters. I laugh hollowly. “Whose fault is that, hm?” I say, and I can’t keep the acrid taste of resentment out of my voice. I don’t miss the way her eyes flit to mine, mouth twisting with an unspoken response. “Maya-” she starts. “We should go help,” I interrupt, turning on my heel and walking quickly to the kitchen. 

As though it couldn’t get any more awkward, Paige ends up right across from me at dinner. Our parents chatter away, our little brothers in some heated discussion about basketball, and all she and I can do is pick at our food. There are onions in the stir-fry my mom made.

Paige hates onions.

I stifle a grin, despite myself. She’ll eat them, anyway, but I see her pushing them around her plate, putting it off. “Problem, Paige?” I ask sweetly. She narrows her eyes at me. “Not at all,” she shoots back. My mom abruptly stops the conversation she’s having. “Are you alright, honey? Is the food okay?” Paige nods hastily.

“Yes, Ms. Jacobs! It’s so good,” she reassures her. My mom cocks her head, sharp as ever. “Well, you’ve hardly touched it!” I bite back a laugh as Paige shovels a huge scoop into her mouth. “Really good,” she says around the food, smiling as best as she can at my mom. My mom nods, satisfied, and turns away. Paige shoots me a look, kicking me under the table.

I’m shocked. So shocked that the action is natural for her, and shocked at what I do next: kick her back. She gasps, and I guess the huge bite she’s just taken goes down the wrong pipe. She begins coughing violently, and my eyes widen. “Paige? Maya, honey, take her to the kitchen! Get her some water,” she instructs, concerned. Paige thumps her chest, holding up a hand. “All good, I swear,” she tries to say, but her coughs swallow her words.

“Okay, get up. Come on,” I sigh, walking around the table to haul her to her feet by her elbow. I drag her to the kitchen, patting her on the back. I hand her a water bottle from the fridge and she accepts it gratefully. When she looks to the ceiling, her eyes are glassy with tears. “You’re such a little shit,” I sneer. “Me?” She demands indignantly. “Yes! I didn’t even kick you that hard,” I complain.

She raises an eyebrow. “What? You want me to show you?”

“You kicked me first!” 

“You were instigating,” she hisses back.

“Spell ‘instigating’, Paige.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Find someone else to do it. That’s what college is for, isn’t it?”

We both fall silent at that. Then, realizing how close we’ve gotten, we back away.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

She sighs. “No, it’s… I deserve that.”

I bite my lip, glancing at the ceiling. “It’s fine. It’s been… what, three years?”

“Still. I should’ve-”

“Look, dude, I’m over it. I’m just giving you a hard time,” I say. Lies. I’m not over it. Not even close. 

She blinks. “Yeah, no. Of course. I’m- I’m over it, too.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

It’s so painfully awkward that I want to scream. This is someone who had seen me at my worst, who had held me sobbing when I hadn’t gotten into the school I wanted.

This is the person who sat with me when my dad died, and I had grappled with the grief of losing someone I had hardly ever known. 

This is the person who had seen all of me, who had taken my virginity, who had kissed away all my fears and made me feel loved and safe and whole - and the person who had made all of that come crashing down in one fell swoop.

And now I look at her, standing in my kitchen, far from the Minnesota homes we both grew up in. The sharp pain of ‘I don’t fucking know you anymore’ stabs at my heart, nestles into my throat, and I feel tears pricking at my eyes. 

I turn away from her and march back into the dining room.

I’m done letting her make me cry.

It’s later that night, long after Paige and her family have left, when I’m finishing up washing the dishes that I hear a knock on the door. I frown, wondering if my mom is expecting someone. Drying my hands off with a towel, I warily open the door.

It’s Paige. My breath catches.

“Hi,” she starts uneasily.

“Hey. Did you forget something?” I ask, keeping my distance.

“Huh? Oh, no. I just…” She swallows hard, looking at her feet.

She clears her throat. “Can we talk?”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #wcbb #fic #uconn wbb #✂️ anon #ncaaw #paige bueckers x oc #fic talk

[mellowinfluencermiracle]

as someone who is currently badly injured, I would love to see Carlos and the drivers+WAG'd reactions to Baby! Sainz getting injured, like a broken bone

i love your writing so much!!! 💗💗

Hi love! I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope you'll be fine again soon. I hope you'll enjoy this little piece for you! 💕 My requests are always open and feedback is very much welcome. -XoXo

The broken arm

You know that moment when terror spreads through your whole body? The voices around you become muffled, and your heart hammers in your chest. You can’t get enough air into your lungs. For one millisecond, you think this is the end. Your hands start to shake, and your body heat seems to drain away. Carlos felt all of this right now. For that brief moment, the world stopped. Everything froze. His eyes remained glued to the floor, which stared right back at him. The color drained from his face. In that fleeting instant, Carlos wished the world would swallow him whole.

When he took his next breath, everything around him sprang back to life. He heard Kika and Alex crying, Oscar and Lewis arguing with the nurse, Lando fainting and falling, Charles taking deep, shuddering breaths, Carmen and George trying to console each other, Lily pacing the floor, Alex staring shell-shocked at the wall, Max rubbing his hands up and down Kelly’s leg, and Pierre cursing in French.

It was all too much. The only thing keeping Carlos from spiraling was Rebecca. She knelt down in front of him and took his face in her hands. “Hey, Carlos. Everything is okay. She’s alright. It’s just a broken arm.” Oh, how his heart broke.

No one would have thought that before 8 p.m., the hospital would be flooded with drivers and WAGs. Why? Because Amira Sainz accidentally slipped down the stairs. And boy, did that hurt. When she was on the floor again, she was surrounded by people. Before anyone could ask her anything, she started crying. That was all it took for the group, including Mamá and Papá Sainz, to rush to the hospital.

When the nurse emerged and informed them that his little sister had broken her arm, chaos erupted. The group’s loud reactions drew plenty of attention, but in their defense, the nurse had just shattered their hearts.

“It’s just a broken arm. She’ll be fine in 4 weeks.”

Four weeks! That couldn’t be right. While the atmosphere outside felt like the onset of an apocalypse, inside Amira’s room, it was surprisingly calm.

Mamá gently stroked Amira’s hair, while Papá held her hand (the uninjured one). “Estás bien, mi princesa. Eres tan valiente en este momento,” Mamá whispered sweetly in her ear. Reyes and Carlos Sr. knew how terrified their daughter was of hospitals, so they both did their best to reassure her.

The kind doctor addressed her."Señorita Amira, in four weeks, everything will be okay again. Just be careful not to get the cast wet.” Carlos Sr. thanked the doctor, and Reyes asked, “Are you ready to go, mi hija?” Amira nodded quickly, and with Papá’s assistance, she hopped down from the bed, still holding his hand. After all, she was his daughter.

As they returned to the entrance, they were met with a crowd of people. Over the next four weeks, Amira was treated like the little princess she truly was.

Carmen and George accompanied her on walks through the park. Charles and Alex visited with Baby Léo. Max shared some silly Red Bull rumors while Kelly gently painted her nails. Yuki prepared meals for her. Lewis pampered her with skincare routines. Alex and Lily joined her for movie nights, watching all her favorite films. Lando engaged in playful games with her. Kika and Pierre exchanged gossip. Oscar, Lily, and she went shopping together. They all did things for her, and she felt immense gratitude.

Yet, her most cherished moments were when Carlos and Rebecca were present. Her brother always cooked her favorite dishes, while Rebecca patiently braided her long hair. During those moments, everything felt calm. “Are you okay, darling?” Rebecca inquired. Amira glanced over her shoulder and quietly replied, “Yes.” Becca smiled, kissed her cheek, and resumed braiding, both of them engrossed in their show. As for Carlos, he relished seeing his two favorite girls bonding. But just as he settled into the scene, an odd smell reached his nose. When he turned around, he discovered the pizza had burned.

"Fuck…."

#formula 1 #carlos sainz x sister!reader #charles leclerc x alexandra saint mleux x reader #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x kelly piquet x reader #max verstappen x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #george russel x carmen mundt x reader #george russell x reader #alex albon x lily minu he x reader #alex albon x reader #fernando alonso x reader #pierre gasly x kika gomez x reader #pierre gasly x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #baby!sainz!sister

[latenightdaydreams]

Can you write about Viking!Konig who's the leader of his clan. One time he raids a random village and meets fem!reader, who's beautiful with her hazel eyes and round breasts. Then he takes her as his wife!!!!! Ahhhhh I'm crazy about this. I'm sorry for asking too much 😭😭😭 BTW thank you for accepting my previous request ❤❤❤ love ya so muchhhhh

König is 100000% a boobie man and I will die on that hill😮‍💨 lmao, I LOVE this!!!! Don't ever feel bad for requesting. I'm having a bit of a writers block and this story helped me find my flow again🩷. I hope you're well and taking care of yourself🥰🥰

Viking!König x Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, violence, naughty thoughts

1.0k word count

.

.

You wake up from your slumber hearing the screams from your neighbors in the small village you live in. You rush past your family who is now also scrambling to their feet, your husband rushing to gather himself as your children panic. You open your door slightly to see rooftops on fire and dead bodies lying in the roads.

Quickly, you close the door and turn to your husband with wide eyes, “Callum, it’s Vikings…” Your voice shakes with fear. You’ve heard stories from other villages about their attacks, leaving nothing but death and sorrow in their paths.

“We have to run, grab the children!” Callum whispers loudly as you stand there feeling overwhelmed with emotions. Everyone always assumed this village would be safe, untouchable, but this proved them all wrong.

Rushing to your children, you quickly squat down, “We are going to have to run, as fast as you can, okay?”

The children nod their heads crying, your oldest trying to be brave for you. Just then you all jump as the door is flung open. Screaming, you turn to see three big men and an equally large woman enter your home. An even bigger man, ducks to enter your home. Your eyes go wide seeing him, you’ve heard of the giant Viking man, but you assumed he was more of a myth to instill fear in people.

Using your body to shield your children as you step in front of them, you look to your husband. Callum seems to be frozen in fear, unable to even breathe. There’s a moment where no one moves and it’s quiet other than the sounds of your children crying.

The large man has a mask covering his face, his pale blue eyes are the only part of his face that is visible in the low light in the home. He has an aura about him that could strike fear in any warrior’s heart.

“P-please leave us, we don’t have much.” You speak up, your voice trembling.

The leader turns to two of the other Vikings and speaks to them in a language that you’ve never heard before. They nod and move to my husband, restraining him. He screams and the woman hits him, making you fear for your lives more. You look up wide eyed as the tall man begins to approach you.

König sees the family before him, a man frozen in fear, three children cowering behind their mother, and then their mother… you. A small but brave woman, brave enough to speak up when her husband couldn’t. It makes him impressed, wondering what type of woman could be so bold.

König approaches you with a hungry look in his eyes. His gaze drops down to the way the thin fabric of your nightgown clings to your body. Your breasts are massive and perfectly round, nipples hard and poking through the fabric. König has always loved a woman with large breasts and a little extra. Your breasts looking so perfectly full, his mind begins to wonder if you are still feeding your youngest. Your body is simply perfect for him.

“Name?” König asks in a low voice.

“Leave her alone!” Your husband shouts, trying to protect you. He gets hit by one of the people restraining him.

“I- I’m y/n.” You respond trying to be brave.

The closer he got the more his true size became obvious. The smell of his clothes-stained copper from the blood and his natural musk filled your nostrils. You feel small as he towers over you. His eyes are still wandering your body.

“I’m König.” He says finally.

He feels himself getting lost in your eyes as he takes in the beautiful color. You gaze up at him with the most stunning sage green eyes speckled with golden brown. The most beautiful hazel eyes he has ever seen. Gently he raises a hand to your face and caresses it, leaving a streak of blood behind. Your skin is so soft to his large and rough hand. He can only imagine the rest of you is this soft.

“Is this your husband?” He points to Callum.

“Yes, and these are our children. Please, we are simply farmers. We don’t have much.”

“Hm, I see.” König takes a deep breath and looks down at your breasts again. “Are you still feeding the youngest?”

“Y-yes…” You answer hesitantly wondering what type of question is that.

That is exactly what he wanted to hear. You are not only bold, daring, and beautiful; but also soft, desirable, and can create children for him. This is what he’s been looking for, and he finds you here. Wasting your milk on a weak man’s offspring.

“Perfect, you’ll be coming with me.”

Your jaw drops stunned as you look up at him shaking your head no, “I- I can’t leave my family. My husband-”

“That man? He’s not worthy of you. You deserve more, and I intend on giving it to you. Now please Liebling, don’t fight.”

König steps to you and grabs your arm to pull you away from your children. Your husband begins to yell at König, saying that he can’t do this. He can’t just take you. Your children stand confused, not understanding the whole situation completely while the youngest cries.

“Please, don’t.” You whimper, looking back at your family as he drags you away.

“You’ll be happy with me. You aren’t a farmer's wife, you’re a queen. My queen. Now come.” König scoops you up into his arms bridal style, his fingers digging into the supple flesh of your thighs as he carries you away from your small home.

“Don’t worry, my people will let your family live.” König whispers to you as he walks. His eyes are drifting down your body. He feels the anticipation rising as he begins to walk you back to his clan’s ship on the coast near your village. He wants you in his home, in his bed, undressed where he can enjoy you and gaze into your eyes as he makes you cum. Soon.

#konig #konig x reader #konig x y/n #könig #konig cod #könig x reader #konig smut #könig smut #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x you #konig x reader smut #könig call of duty #könig x y/n #könig x you #viking könig

[jordyn14]

can you please write jealousy joe??? I would love to see that 😁😁

Pairing: Joe x fem first person

Words: 2,020

Notes: I’m loving these requests, please keep sending them in! I hope you enjoy!! <3

Taglist: @wickedfun9

I reached forwards and grabbed the alcoholic drink I’ve been sipping on periodically while laughing and having a great time with some friends. Like every night after the Bengals first win of the season, Joe, my best friend and her husband, and me all go to our favorite bar in Cincinnati to celebrate the win, and today wasn’t any different.

The bengals first game of the season which was a home game was pretty much a shutout. Joe threw for over 400 yards and threw for 4 touchdowns, 3 of which were to ja’marr chase. It was everything we could’ve hoped for the first game of the season, so in celebration, we all came to this bar in the quieter part of Cincinnati.

We all sat at a small table in the back together while Joes hand rested on my thigh, squeezing and trailing his hand up and down it periodically, which sent shivers down my spine. As I sipped my drink, I got to the very end of it and then set it down on the table. “Alright, I’m going for another drink run. Anyone need anything else?” I asked the 3 other people at the table who were still laughing at something Joe said a few seconds ago.

From next to me, Joe patted my thigh. I looked over to him with a flustered smile on my face, the alcohol somewhat taking an effect. Damn, I was a lightweight. “I’m good, baby, but thank you.” Joe said and leaned over to me and placed a kiss on my cheek. My face flushed red and I looked over to my best friend, Serena, and her husband jonny. I let out a little giggle as Joe slid his hand up my skirt jokingly, knowing how it affected me. Once I contained myself, I cleared my throat and waited until they both said they could use another drink before I walked away.

As I walked away, I could feel Joe’s stare on me the entire time. Ever since we first met at LSU when he transferred, I was totally taken aback by him. The first thing that drew me in were his looks. Those locks that fell onto his forehead and those bright blue eyes. His body wasn’t bad either. What made me stay was his personality. Before I met Joe, I didn’t know a man could be so amazing, inside and out. I mean we’re talking about a nerdy, Lego and SpongeBob loving, funny, kind, thoughtful man. What more could a girl ask for?

When I got to the bar, I found a place to squeeze myself in and placed myself between two people. After a few seconds, the bartender walked over to me so I put in all of our drink orders and started to sing along to the music quietly, wanting the time to pass quicker. “Oh my gosh…is that really you?” A familiar voice asked from next to me. I raised an eyebrow and looked over to the man before my mouth practically dropped open. “Luke? What the hell are you doing here?” I asked in a shocked tone and instantly wrapped my arms around him. The both of us just laughed, shocked to see one another.

Back at LSU, Luke and I used to hang out pretty frequently. It was never anything more than two friends getting together, getting high, or getting drunk-even studying in some rare cases. Our little friend group consisted of me, Luke, anna who was Luke’s girlfriend, and Serena, my best friend. But, since Luke was 2 years older than me, by the time Joe came along Luke had graduated, which means I never got to introduce Joe to him and the friend group kind of broke up and became Serena, me, Joe, Ja’marr chase, and Justin Jefferson.

“Since Anna grew up here, we decided to move back. What are you doing here?” He asked me as we pulled away. “I followed my boyfriend here after college. When I get my drinks you’ll have to come meet him, he transferred right after you left.” I told him. After hesitating for a few seconds, he nodded and flashed me a smile. “Yeah, I definitely will have to meet him. So how have you been? How’s your writing going?” He asked me. “I’m good, writings been good too. I actually published my second book a few weeks ago. What about you? How has your business major been going?” I asked him with laugh, knowing back in college he had no idea what to do with it. “I actually didn’t do anything with it. I’m a police officer how. I love that I found out what I was passionate about after I spent thousands of dollars on college.” He laughed. I laughed and grabbed the drinks the bartender set down in front of me as was about to invite Luke over to our table so Joe could meet him.

All of a sudden, I felt a hand slide around my waist and looked to the side to see Joe practically hovering over me and Luke, who was shorter than me. I couldn’t help but notice the angry expression on Joe’s face and how he was clenching his jaw. I was about to open my mouth to introduce them but Joe spoke right over me. “Hey, I’m Joe, Her boyfriend. And you are?” Joe said abruptly, giving Luke a fake smile in the process. I looked up to Joe with a glare on my face at his rudeness and was about to say something yet again when Luke talked first. “Hey, Luke. It’s good to meet you, man.” Luke said and held out his hand for Joe to shake it.

Joe just glared down at his hand and then looked right back up at his face, not shaking his hand. “Excuse us, Luke. It was great seeing you again.” I said. I flashed Luke a smile before grabbing onto Joe’s arm and tried to pull him with me, but he wouldn’t budge. Why did he have to be so strong? I could feel his arm muscles as I gripped onto his bicep before I said, “Joe?” In a somewhat pissed off tone. I saw Joe look Luke up and down before grabbing two drinks in his hand while I grabbed the other one and started walking with me.

I scoffed a little bit and stopped walking before we got to the table so Serena and Jonny couldn’t hear us. I turned to face Joe as we both set our drinks on the nearest table. Joe was just looking down at me with a pissed look on his face. “What the hell was that, Joe?” I asked him. Joe looked like I was the stupid one before he gestured over to Luke and said, “What the hell was that?” I looked at him like I was missing something. What was his fucking deal? “Me catching up with a friend from LSU and you being a fucking dick before I was able to introduce the two of you, that’s what it’s called, Joe.” I said.

Joe just looked me up and down while biting his lip slightly and said, “I don’t care what it’s called. I don’t like the way he was looking at you. I’m your fucking boyfriend, not him.” I let out a small laugh and shook my head, taken aback. “What, do you not trust me now or something? When have I ever given you a reason to not trust me.” I practically spat at him, getting even more annoyed as we talked. Never in our time as a couple have I ever been unfaithful. “It’s him that I don’t trust. If you haven’t noticed, you’re the most gorgeous girl in this entire bar.” Joe said.

What reason would he have for not trusting Luke? Could he not see by the way I reacted that we were only friends who haven’t seen each other in a while? And anyways, he overreacted before he even got the whole story. I couldn’t help but laugh at him a little bit. “He has a fucking girlfriend, Joe. Why are you so jealous?” I asked him. “It doesn’t matter that he has a fucking girlfriend,” Joe said quickly and looked over at Luke before he looked even more pissed and gestured angrily over to him, “I mean look at the way he’s staring at your fucking ass right now.”

Without even looking at Luke, I scoffed while shaking my head at him and said, “you’re unreal.” Joe squinted down at me. “So now I’m not allowed to be pissed when a random man is drooling all over you?” He asked me. I put my hands on the top of my head for a few seconds before letting them slide off, shocked at how he was acting. “You are blowing this way out of proportion, Joseph. We were friends back at LSU.” I said. “Why, because I don’t want a man who used to be your friend flirting with my girlfriend and staring at her ass? You’re mine.” Joe said.

“Exactly, I’m yours. I’m yours and you are mine, so who the fuck cares that someone I was friends with a few years ago was flirting with me?” I asked him. Joe looked over in the direction of our table and grabbed my arm gently and moved us a few feet away. While he was moving me, I looked back at the table to see Serena and Jonny staring at us, knowing something was going on.

When we stopped, Joe looked right into my eyes. For the first time during this entire conversation, my face flushed red and I could feel myself getting turned on slightly. Why was this so hot right now? “I do. I care. I am the only one that should be flirting and looking at you like that.” Joe said. I tried my hardest to hide my smile because despite how much I was annoyed with him and his jealousy, he was really fucking hot.

After a few seconds, I couldn’t hide it any more and smiled up at him. Joe glared at me in confusion while butterflies flew around in my stomach. “You’re honestly pretty freaking hot when you’re jealous.” I said, my face heating up a little bit from the dirty thoughts in my head as I admired Joe and his pissed off state. Joe started to smirk a little bit but when he realize what he was doing, he cleared his throat and the smirk was gone just like that. “It’s not funny. Do you know how much I wanted to smash his fucking face into that bar?” Joe asked me. With a little glare, I wrapped my arms around his neck and tried to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t budge. So, I tried to go closer to him, but all he did was back up.

I stopped moving and then stuck out my bottom lip jokingly, knowing one of his weaknesses was when I looked sad. With an annoyed look on his face, he wrapped his arms around my waist, hating the effect I had on him. We both pulled each other in closer so I leaned forwards and kissed Joe’s lips. Not expecting it at first, Joe pulled back slightly and gazed into my eyes before smashing his lips against mine. Joe breathed in the kiss as I arched my back. Joe kissed me back hard and right before we pulled away, Joe bit my bottom lip gently. “Was he watching that?” I breathed out with a smile. Joe looked up at the bar past my head and then nodded with a small smile. “Good.” I said and turned around to look in the direction of the bar with our arms still around each other. My eyes caught Luke’s who immediately looked away with an embarrassed, awkward, and nervous look on his face. I looked away and to Joe while running my fingers through his hair. “Let him be the jealous one, I’m not going anywhere Joey. Ever.” I said.

#joe burrow #joeburrow #cincinnati bengals #nfl #joe burrow bengals #joe shiesty #joey b #bengals #joey burrow #joe burr #joe x reader #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #nfl fan fiction #nfl imagine #football #jealousy #angst

[f0point5]

would you consider writing the time when max realized that he loved yn?

i remember that he was like in a mindset of idgaf what happens with her im js happy being best friends and having her in my life but i wonder how he got to that point

The way this came out…idk I hope you like it 😂 I really wish I’d retconned this whole situation but I stayed true to the fic timeline.

I just…I really hope you don’t hate it 🫠

✨Set after Max wins his 3rd championship in Qatar✨

Honestly, who (is he) to fight the alchemy?

Max has been in love before. He knows what it feels like. It felt like winning a race. The adrenaline, the elation, the satisfaction, the sliver of relief. He didn’t think there was a better feeling, and if you feel that when you’re with someone, then that must be love.

He never felt like that with you. So he wasn’t in love. He loved you, but he wasn’t in love. Thank God for that, he’d always thought to himself. Max didn’t put effort into games he wouldn’t win and the games you played with men didn’t have a rule book. He was just so lucky, to have you as a friend, and a roommate, and a feline co-parent, and that’s how it would stay.

Except, when the journalist had asked him if you were going to live with him after he retired, he didn’t know what to say. Of course you would, except, how would your boyfriend feel about that? And of course he wanted you to, but he wanted a family, too. But you were family, in some complicated way that he’d never realised before that moment might mean that you wouldn’t always be…with him.

And he didn’t have the desire or the language skills to explain that to a random German journalist. He’d rattled off some answer about how he never knew what the future would bring. It was true, he didn’t think much about the future. But he should have, because when he did it always had you in it.

He wanted a house, and a wife, and kids. It wasn’t like he envisaged doing all that with you. Except, he hadn’t envisaged doing any of it without you, either. It was always you imagined having breakfast with, you he imagined would teach his kids to ski, you he thought about when he thought about buying one of those mansions in the hills above Monaco. Naively, he hadn’t imagined either of you with partners that would mind you and Max living your lives together. It sounded fucking stupid when he thought about it. But, it’s not like he was going to marry you, because he’s not in love with you.

It’s not like I’m in love with her. He’d said that before.

Aren’t you, Max?

Isn’t he?

Is he?

So now here he is, at this totally-not-a-party party, celebrating his this third world championship, wondering if he’s in love. Wondering if that even matters. The music is loud, not enough to drown out his thoughts. He can’t even drink too much because he still has a race tomorrow. He feels lightheaded enough.

He doesn’t know why he’s questioning himself. He has an answer. He knows what being in love feels like, and he doesn’t feel that about you. How he does feel about you, is…not quantifiable. Except he’d really like a name for it right about now. One that’s not going to spin his whole world off its axis. But then, he’s not exactly the axis, is he? Not really.

He should feel like the centre of the universe tonight. He’s lost count of how many times he’s received praise and congratulations, plaudits, and pictures, even gifts. Everyone wants to be in his orbit, everyone wants to talk to him, everyone except you.

You’re leaning against the balcony, bopping along to the music, talking to his dad of all people, your flushed face and lazy grin telltale signs you’ve had too much to drink. Jos is as close as he ever gets to smiling, a telltale sign he’s had too much to drink, and the two of you are, as usual, talking over each other. His eyes linger on your long legs and gentle curves. It would be cutting a corner, to say he’s in love with you, because how can you not be at least a little bit infatuated with the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen? But that’s not love, exactly. Even half drunk, with all this talk of spinning and the party beginning to blur at its edges, the only thing he can see clearly is you. You don’t even notice him looking, because you’re so used to feeling eyes on you.

No, being around you has never felt like winning much of anything. It actually feels a bit like he’s fighting for his life. It feels like…driving, he realises, as the gin starts to hit.

Being around you was like being in the RB19. Like being behind the wheel of something that could kill you, but fits you like a second skin. Like the illusion of having control of a force of nature. It was like living on a knife edge, but building a home there. Comfortable with the uncomfortable, they’d called him, and nothing had ever made him as uncomfortable as you.

If that was being in love, he’d probably been in love with you for as long as his dad said he was.

You don’t notice him looking, but Jos does. He waves Max over, and Max is glad for an excuse. His body gets up before he’s decided to, and he blinks furiously as he walks, trying to focus his thoughts enough to hold a conversation with you when he’s beginning to think he might-

“Maxy,” you say, grinning like it’s the first time you’ve seen him all night.

Fuck. Fuck.

Oh, fuck. The gin’s coming back. For a second he feels like he’s either going to ask you to marry him or vomit all over you.

“I’m leaving. She’s all yours,” Jos says, and Max steadies himself. His dad leans over and gives him one last hug before switching to Dutch. “Get her to bed. And yourself, also. You’ve still got to race tomorrow,”

Max nods and waves him off, closing his arms around you when you wobble, leaning into him for stability. Jos gives you a pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd, and you teeter again, pushing you further into Max. The extra weight is like a balm on what is now a gaping, raw wound, with the nerves exposed. He will never recover from this.

You turn in his arms, scrunching your nose in displeasure as you look up at him. “I hate this hat,” you flick the brim of his World Champion cap. “Worst hat they ever made you. Next year, we do a better one,”

“Okay,” he says, chuckling as the hat leaves his head.

“Can I have this?” You’ve already put it on.

“Sure,”

Take it. Take my Valkyrie. Take the trophy. Take my last name.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t know how he’s looking at you. Is it different than he looked at you two hours ago? Different then when you were 19?

He just shrugs, tipping the hat back for you, since it’s so big. “You’re drunk,” he yells over the music.

You lean in, so close that he’s intoxicated by the scent of your perfume, champagne, and Red Bull. He turns away from you slightly, because he’s had too much to drink to be this close to you.

“I know,” you whisper to him, your lips grazing his cheek as you talk. That’s not helping. He turns back to you, finding your eyes searching his. For the first time, he’s worried what you might see. Because you’ve always seen him too clearly. It was awful, then exhilarating, now it’s just fucking terrifying. Your eyes narrow and Max thinks you’re about to outright accuse him of wanting- “You’re supposed to be drunk, too,”

He laughs. He laughs at your pout, at getting away with it, for a little while longer, at least, and he laughs because on the night he’s won a world championship he realises he lost his heart a long time ago.

Loving you didn’t feel like a winning a race, it felt like driving in one. And after all, isn’t driving all he ever wanted to do?

“I am, Engel,” he says, “trust me, I am.”

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen fanfiction

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream and how they will court you. 

AN: To the filo-czennie who requested this, thank you! <3 to give more context. Courting is a tradition that Filipinos do wherein they do gestures, actions, and such to prove to a girl that they're worthy to be their significant other. (think of it as someone swooning a girl in order to win their heart.) I'm pretty sure some other countries also have courting tradition but it's common here in the Philippines! <3 (I wrote a filipino version for this one. this is for the filo-czennies hehe.)

Mark Lee

Let's be REAL. He'll do any music-related when it comes to courting you. He'll be the type to write lyrics or maybe compose a song that is dedicated only for you. If he's feeling it, he'll write a whole mixtape about you because that's just how he can show his love for you! If not, I feel like Mark would be the type to give you a playlist full of songs that reminds him of you!! He's also a family man so I bet that he'll also need to win your family's vote when he's courting you. And your family likes him because he's such a gentleman to begin with. <3

Huang Renjun

I feel like Renjun would be the type to give you gifts and what-nots if he's courting you. He's the type to spoil you because you deserve it and he loves your reactions whenever you open his gifts. It can be either expensive type of gifts like jewelries or cute trinkets that reminds him of you! Either way, you appreciate his efforts. Also! I think that Renjun's other love language is food, so I bet that he's the type to bring you to a lot of food dates, (hotpot of course!) or would send you food whenever you're craving food! It could be as simple like a cup of coffee when you're in the middle of your study, or a batch of cookies because you were craving for it!

Lee Jeno

Oh definitely a quality time type of man. Jeno wants to know you better and vice versa, so he makes sure that you two spend much time together! It can be either going out for a date, any type of date! (amusement park, food date, and maybe a mall date) or just you two staying indoor, doing mundane things, (watching movies, playing games, or just cuddling.) Even though you two are still in the courting stage, it already feels domestic whenever you two stay indoors. Also Jeno would be the type to use words, probably loves comforting you and gives you tons of compliments. 

Lee Donghyuck

I believe in clingy Haechan so I feel like even during the courting stage, he's already clingy to you but not too much! He's just the type to hold hands with you, hug you before you two separate ways, and kisses you if you let him be. Just anything where he can hold onto you will be enough for him. He also loves endless calls too since he's talkative, I feel like if you two haven't seen each other in a while, calls will be his way to know what happened to you, and vice versa. He'll ask you how's your day and he'll be so into the dramas that's happening to you, probably knows your best friend's cheating boyfriend at some point that he wants to fight him. 

Na Jaemin

BLUSHING RN but I'm sorry, Jaemin has to be the sweetest out of all Dreamies. He has too! He just knows how to swoon you and he's such a gentleman! He's an act of service guy, so I bet when he was still courting you, he'll be the type to pick you up from your place and walk you to school and vice versa. He never missed unless it's an emergency! He loves this mundane things, holding your hands, and also carries your bag on the way lol. Jaemin probably knows what you want and you don't like, so he takes notes of it everytime you two go out on a date. So you'll be surprise that he remembers while he'll be smug about it. 

Zhong Chenle

Chenle thinks that courting you means taking you out to multiple dates and giving you gifts. It can be the former or the latter, and sometimes it can be both! You swear that Chenle's spoiling you too much but that's just how he show to you that he likes you and wants to be your boyfriend. Whenever you two go on a date, he take notes of what you want, like when you two are at the amusement park gift shop and he saw you staring at this cute capybara plushie, you'll be surprise that at the end of the date, he gives you a plastic bag that contains the plushie. He'll probably loves teasing you too but that's because he thinks you're cute when you're annoyed. 

Park Jisung

Another guy who loves giving you gifts when he was courting you. Flowers. Mostly flowers, he'll be the type who thinks careful of what flowers to give you, and would be so happy explaining to you that the flowers that he gave you symbolizes love and happiness. You find his efforts sweet and cute. Aside from that, I feel like Jisung is good with words. He's VERY flirty with you that sometimes it caught you off-guard, knowing that he has a shy demeanor when he first started courting you. He'll probably cringe when he's all alone, remembering all the things he said to you. He'll curl up in a corner and thinks that you find him cringe but the truth is, you were very flustered!

#nct dream #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fic #nct x reader #nct #nct dream imagine #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct dream reactions #nct dream imagines #nct drabbles #nct mark #nct jeno #nct renjun #nct haechan #nct jaemin #nct chenle #nct jisung