#(and maybe she could make him better still!)

[clockwayswrites]

Fresh Birb! Part 32

masterpost

“Thanks for the excuse to get some fresh air,” Danny said. He sounded grateful enough that Jason felt a little bad for using the ‘stroll around the yard’ as an way to gather some intel.

“Hey, trust me, I get how overwhelming the manor can get,” Jason said, “and there are a lot of us in house right now. It’s easier in small doses for sure.”

“I could see that,” Danny agreed. “But there’s also something nice about the full house. It’s all very… alive feeling.”

The words were more melancholy than they should be. They were more like how Jason, who knew the feeling of death all too well, might say them. It brought troubling thoughts to mind.

“Yeah, that can be nice about it. Sure is quieter if I’m not here or at Roy’s,” Jason agreed after maybe too long a moment.

“Is Roy that much more talkative when it’s just the two of you?”

“Oh, no. Well, yeah, but it’s more about his little girl, Lian. She’s three and a half and an absolute handful most days. She’s also at that age where she’s pretty much narrating her own life in half understandable babble so there’s just a lot of constant noise.”

Danny chuckled. “I bet. Stayed with a friend for a bit when I was between jobs and stuck there for a few months by a non-complete clause. Her one kid was that age at the time and the oldest five. I didn’t know just how much everything there was when having kids that age. It made me actually feel a little sorry for my parents.”

“You the youngest, oldest, or middle?”

“Youngest. I’ve got one older sister, Jasmine,” Danny said. “You could sorta say there’s a half a sibling too. I basically grew up with my best friend and there were some weeks I spent more time at his house than ours.”

“That close to him?” Jason asked.

“Yeah. That and it was easier, sometimes, to not be at home.”

“Oh.”

That implied some unfortunate things that Jason hadn’t quite been expecting. Danny seemed pretty well adjusted. He was even good at handling Damian, but Jason supposed that maybe part of that was because Danny had been through his own issues.

Danny just shrugged. “I have a life long friend out of it. We don’t see each other in person much these days since we’re on other sides of the country, but we still talk plenty.”

Jason gave a soft hum and, a beat later, asked, “What made you end up in Gotham of all places?”

“Wayne Enterprises, actually,” Danny said. “The rep in the industry as place to work is unparalleled really, especially for what I want to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Help people,” Danny said, honestly and with a crooked little smile. “Which I know sounds cheesy, but I really wanted to create things that help people. It’s not like I mind making a better cellphone battery or anything, but it’s nice to know that I get to work on things that help not just with the little, everyday issues but also the big, life changing ones. The fact that those things get to help the city I live in too is a real plus.”

“Gotham has a way of getting to you like that,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” Danny replied softly, gaze in the direction of the Gotham sky line.

And then a scream split the air.

Not a human scream, thankfully, but a repeated screech that had both of them starting and looking around for the source. The screech turned to a warbling clucking as Jerry emerged from behind the landscaping. His tail was high and spread, his wing tips brushed the ground, and he was looking almost shockingly colorful.

“A turkey?”

“Damian’s.”

“Damian has a turkey,” Danny said slowly.

“And a cow,” Jason said. “Cat, dog, a few snakes. He tried to keep a rat but Alfred stopped that pretty quickly.”

Danny rubbed at his temple. “This is why he knew how to take care of wings, isn’t it?”

Jason tried not to smile. “That came up, huh?”

“He’s been sending Bruce information about it,” Danny answered.

Jerry made another loud warble and struck what Jason could only describe as a pose.

“So… does he do this often?”

“His name is Jerry, and nope,” Jason said and pulled out his phone.

Jerry strutted closer to Danny, tail feathers shaking.

“Oh… oh,” Danny said with the tone of someone for who horrible realization was dawning. “Can you, ah, talk him down?”

“I’m afraid I’m morally obligated to film this,” Jason said somberly. He couldn’t hold back his smirk any longer.

Danny shot him a withering look and started to back up towards the Manor. “Really.”

“Really. Good luck.”

“Well, fuck,” Danny said and then took off running.

Jerry followed at top speed with a scream.

Jason sent the video to Bruce. ‘You have competition.’

[ari-ana-bel-la]

could you maybe do something on the stuff p and new baby verstappen get up to together (toddler!reader)?

Maybe both coming in to mess with max on stream and some other stuff idk 💕

Royal Tea Party

Max adjusted his headset, a small smile playing on his lips as he read the chat scrolling rapidly on his screen. His fans were engaged, talking about the latest race, asking him about his setup, and making jokes at his expense. It was just another normal evening of streaming—until his daughters got involved.

Behind him, the soft murmuring of excited voices and the occasional giggle made his ears twitch. He didn’t need to turn around to know exactly what was happening.

Penelope was up to something.

Max had been a father for six years now, and if there was one thing he had learned, it was that silence was never a good sign. He kept glancing at his camera, making sure to interact with chat, but his attention was increasingly drawn to the sounds behind him.

Then, he heard it—tiny, determined footsteps followed by the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor.

“What is P up to?” he muttered under his breath, a small smirk appearing as he peeked over his shoulder.

There, right in the middle of the living room, was an elaborate tea party setup. Stuffed animals and dolls sat neatly around a tiny pink table covered in an assortment of fake pastries and little plastic cups filled with imaginary tea. Penelope, still in her pastel pink pajamas, was busy arranging the chairs, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.

And then, as if the scene couldn’t get any cuter, she carefully lifted her little sister into her arms.

Yn, with her soft blonde curls and chubby toddler cheeks, squealed in delight, wrapping her tiny arms around her big sister's shoulders. “Peee!” she giggled, kicking her little legs as Penelope carried her over to the tea party setup.

Max chuckled. “Oh, chat, I think I’m about to lose my stream to my daughters,” he announced, shaking his head fondly.

The chat immediately exploded.

Let them take over the stream!

Omg, look at them!

P is such a good big sister!

Yn is the princess of this household, confirmed.

Max turned slightly in his chair, watching as Penelope gently set Yn down in one of the little chairs. The toddler clapped her hands, delighted, as she looked at all the toys seated around the table.

“Okay, my little princess, are you ready for tea?” Penelope asked, her voice filled with exaggerated importance.

Yn nodded eagerly. “Tea!”

Max let out a quiet laugh before turning back to his stream. “This is what happens when you have two daughters. One minute you’re gaming, the next you’re watching a royal tea party unfold in your own living room.”

The chat was having a field day, spamming heart emojis and begging him to move his camera so they could see the tea party better.

"Alright, alright," he relented, picking up his webcam and adjusting it so the viewers could get a better look at the scene.

Penelope, noticing her father’s attention, waved dramatically. “Hello, people of Papa’s stream!” she announced. “Today, we are having a very special tea party with Princess Yn and all of our lovely guests.”

Yn clapped again. “Tea! Tea!”

Max shook his head, amused. “You two are stealing the show.”

Penelope beamed. “We are the stars, Papa. You’re just a guest.”

That made Max laugh. “Oh, is that so?”

“Mhmm,” she nodded seriously. Then, she turned back to Yn, adjusting the frilly pink tiara on her little sister’s head. “You need to look extra pretty, princess.”

Yn, patient as ever with her big sister, sat still as Penelope carefully brushed through her soft curls.

“There! Now you look beautiful,” P announced proudly before grabbing a tiny plastic plate with a toy cookie on it. “A special treat for you, Your Highness.”

Yn gasped in delight, taking the cookie and pretending to take a big bite. “Mmm! Yum yum!”

The chat was going absolutely wild now.

P is so gentle with Yn, I’m crying.

Max, you are not needed in this stream anymore.

Yn’s little ‘yum yum’ just ended me.

This is the content we signed up for.

Max rested his chin in his hand, watching his girls with pure adoration. He loved racing—he lived for it—but moments like these? They were his everything.

Then, out of nowhere, a new little guest arrived at the tea party.

Sassy, their grumpy, notoriously independent cat, padded over to where Yn sat. The toddler’s big green eyes widened as the feline hopped up onto her lap and curled up, purring softly.

Yn looked positively enchanted. “Kitty!” she squealed.

Penelope gasped dramatically. “Oh my gosh! Papa! Look! Sassy is sitting with Yn!”

Max turned, eyes widening slightly in shock. “No way.”

Sassy, the cat who barely tolerated anyone, was now snuggled up against his youngest daughter, purring as if she had never been a grumpy cat in her life.

The chat exploded again.

SASSY LOVES YN?!!

I have never seen that cat be affectionate before.

Yn is the chosen one.

Max, are you okay? Your world just turned upside down.

Max chuckled in disbelief. “Alright, I think I’ve seen it all now.”

Yn, meanwhile, was giggling uncontrollably, her little hands petting the soft fur. Sassy let out a long, content sigh but didn’t move, much to Max’s utter bewilderment.

“I give up,” he muttered. “Sassy officially loves Yn more than me.”

Penelope giggled. “Well, she is the princess.”

Max shook his head fondly. “I should just end my stream. No one cares about me anymore.”

As if on cue, both girls suddenly appeared at his side, Penelope holding a small pink tea cup and Yn carrying a tiny plastic plate with a cookie.

“Papa, it is time for your royal tea,” P declared, handing him the tea cup.

Yn held out the cookie proudly. “Eat!”

Max chuckled, playing along. He took the plastic cup, pretending to take a sip. “Mmm, this is the best tea I’ve ever had.”

Penelope beamed. “Of course it is! I made it.”

Then, he picked up the tiny cookie and took a fake bite. “Delicious.”

Yn giggled in delight before holding up her chubby little cheek. “Kiss!”

Max melted on the spot. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “Mwah.”

Yn giggled even more before pointing at her other cheek. “Again!”

Max chuckled, obliging her with another kiss. “Mwah!”

Then, Penelope grinned and pointed at her own cheek. “Me too, Papa!”

Max pulled her into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “There, my little tea party queen.”

Penelope giggled before taking Yn’s hand. “Come on, let’s go finish our tea party!”

Yn nodded excitedly. “Tea! Kitty!”

Max watched as his daughters ran back to their tea party, their laughter filling the room. He sighed happily, turning back to his stream with the biggest smile on his face.

“Alright, chat,” he said. “I think that was the best interruption I’ve ever had.”

Best. Stream. Ever.

Max’s daughters own this house.

Yn demanding kisses is the cutest thing I’ve seen.

I want P and Yn to have their own stream.

Max laughed. “Maybe one day, but for now, I think I’ll just enjoy my tea party.”

And with that, he ended the stream, leaving his fans with the sweetest, most heartwarming moment they had ever witnessed.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[rosemaryhoney27]

Danny: Leaning forward, excited No, no, hear me out! Dani is my clone, right? She’s technically my DNA, but she’s also her own person. So, in a way, she’s like my daughter.

Tim: Reluctantly nodding …That tracks more than I want to admit.

Danny: And then there’s Dan. He’s technically me but older and evil. If we follow comic book logic—

Duke: Holding up a hand And we always do.

Danny: —then he’s either my evil future self or my messed-up son who just happens to look exactly like me.

Dick: Shaking his head This is some time travel nonsense, and I hate it.

Jason: Pointing aggressively No. Just—no. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works!

Bruce: Still deep in thought If you follow that logic, then yes, you could have technically developed ‘dad strength’ in an unconventional way.

Jason: Gesturing wildly WHY ARE YOU ENTERTAINING THIS?!

Steph: Still laughing I mean, it makes sense. He has the ‘unexplained parental strength’ thing going on. That’s literally how Bruce works.

Cass: Nods Ghost dad.

Damian: Muttering I hate everything about this conversation.

Tim: Sipping his energy drink, resigned So what you’re saying is… Danny somehow has dad strength through sheer ghost nonsense?

Danny: Grinning smugly And you all doubted me.

Bruce: Looking at Danny, now determined We should train.

Danny: Nearly chokes on his burger Wait, what?

Duke: Cackling Oh, you messed up, dude.

Jason: Still distressed No, what’s messed up is that this twig is somehow stronger than me!

Danny: Still panicked No, seriously, what do you mean ‘train’?

Bruce: Serious Bat glare If you have dad strength, I need to test its limits.

Danny: Slowly realizing what he’s gotten himself into Oh, this was a mistake.

Danny: Eyes widening in realization Oh no.

Bruce: Cracks knuckles Oh yes.

Danny: Immediately tries to bolt Nope! I take it back, I don’t want to test my limits! My limits are good where they are!

Dick: Laughing Oh man, I’ve never seen someone run so fast.

Cass: Shrugs Not fast enough.

Before Danny could even make it three steps, Bruce effortlessly snatched him up like a sack of potatoes and slung him over his shoulder. Danny, who barely weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, didn’t even stand a chance.

Danny: Flailing weakly Noooo! Betrayal! Treachery! Someone help me!

Duke: Filming the entire thing Yeah, I’m helping by recording this.

Jason: Crossing his arms, still fuming You deserve this.

Tim: Nods Yeah, if you’re gonna claim dad strength, you gotta back it up.

Danny: Still squirming It was a joke! I take it back! I’ll admit I cheated or something! Let me goooo!

Bruce: Calmly walking toward the training room Too late. You’ve made a claim. Now we see if it holds up.

Damian: Smirking slightly If he survives, I may consider acknowledging him as competent.

Steph: Wiping away tears of laughter Oh man, I can’t believe Bruce just yeeted him like that.

Cass: Nods Effortless.

Danny: Kicking his legs uselessly I regret everything.

Jason: Watching them disappear down the hallway You know what? I hope Bruce does break him. Maybe that’ll make me feel better.

Duke: Still recording This is my new favorite video.

Dick: Grinning I can’t wait to see how this turns out.

Steph: Still giggling So… when do you think we’ll hear the first scream?

-Two minutes later-

Danny: OH GOD, WHY IS HE SO STRONG?!

Tim: Checks watch Huh. Faster than I expected.

Dad strength

Jason: Ugghhh, I can't believe I lost to an old man. Bruce is like 50 something. How is he so strong?

Bruce: I am 40.

Jason: Potato potato. Same shit.

Dick: To be fair, he beats all of us in arm wrestling. And I think he is putting his Batman face but he doesn't even twitch while wrestling with you.

Jason: Way to rub in the salt, dickhead. Do any of you wanna go?

Damian: And humiliate myself? I have self respect Todd.

Tim: Yeah, no. I'm already running low on my energy drink. I don't think I can even lift a finger right now.

Cass: I am agile, not strong. If Jason can't beat him, I probably can't too.

Steph: How are you so strong anyway?

Bruce: Dad strength.

Jason: Bullshit.

Dick: Dad strength is real?

Damian: Is that why you keep bringing in new children, father?

*Entering the living room*

Duke: Hey, guys. Danny's here. He has some burgers with him.

Danny: Way to rat out my lunch, dude.

Duke: You have like 2 dozen burgers there. Ain't no way you are eating all of that.

Danny: You don't know that. I could totally eat all of this.

Duke: Sure you can. What are all of you doing on the coffee table? And why does Jason look like he wants to shoot Bruce.

Steph: He lost to Bruce in arm wrestling.

Tim: And Bruce says the only reason he is strong is because of Dad strength.

Duke: You're exaggerating. Bruce can't be that strong.

-2 minutes later-

Duke: I take back what I say.

Danny: Oh I want to try. I've been lifting a lot recently. Look at this. *Flex almost nonexistent muscle*

Tim: Yeah, sure dude. Looks great.

Damian: Your sarcasm is dripping, Drake. And there is no way you are beating father, Fenton.

Danny: Oh just you wait.

-1 minute later-

Jason: What The Fuck.

Dick: You're joking, Bruce. Tell me you're joking.

Jason: There is no fucking way I am weaker than this twink. He looks more malnourished than when I was a street kid.

Damian:*Frowns heavily*

Steph and Cass: *Laughing at Jason's, Bruce's and Dick's shocked face*

Tim: How are you so strong?

Danny: Dad strength.

[starsinthesky5]

yail blurb idea maybe???

joe and reader trying to do literally anything and joe keeps making those jokes

like they could be working out and all hes thinking and saying is abt taking her back to the bedroom ( and he does )

here's a little something something since i couldn't get the fic up today for YAIL's one year anniversary ;)

perpetually horny joe below!

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

it happens all the time.

they’ll be working out together, both of them focused—her in the middle of a set, joe spotting her, watching the way she moves, the little scrunch of her nose as she powers through. her ponytail swings with every rep, sweat glistening on her skin, and she bites her lip, determined to finish strong. joe tells himself to focus—spot her, don’t stare at her ass, spot her—but it’s impossible when she looks that good.

and then it hits him. the way her body moves, the way she exhales in little, breathy huffs, the way sweat beads at her collarbone, slipping down between the curves he knows so well, and suddenly, he’s not thinking about working out at all.

"you know," he says, his voice low and rough as she racks her weights. we could take this back to the bedroom. work up a different kind of sweat,".

she shoots him a look as she reaches for her water. "you’re ridiculous,".

"am i?" he steps closer, fingers ghosting over her hip, his body heat making hers spike even more. "or are you just scared you won’t be able to keep up?".

the challenge in his voice sends a shiver down her spine. she rolls her eyes, shaking her head. "joe,".

he just smirks, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, voice like sin against her skin. "c’mon, baby, let’s see who’s got more stamina,".

she exhales through her nose, tilting her head just slightly as his lips graze the sensitive skin under her ear. she can feel the heat radiating off of him, the way his breath fans against her damp skin, the way his fingers skim along the waistband of her shorts.

"we’re supposed to be working out," she points out, but her voice is already softer, breathier.

joe hums, not convinced. "we are working out," he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear now. "i’m just suggesting we take it to a more…private setting,".

she scoffs, shoving at his chest, but he barely budges. "you have no self-control, joe. it's 10:30 a.m,".

he grins, reaching for her water bottle, unscrewing the cap and taking a slow sip before handing it back to her. "not when it comes to you,".

the way he says it—all raspy and quiet like it’s a simple fact—makes her stomach flip. but she holds her ground, tilting her head as she smirks up at him. "so, what? you can’t handle me doing a few reps without thinking about bending me over the weight bench?".

his smirk falters for a fraction of a second, and she knows she’s got him.

"jesus christ," he mutters under his breath, scrubbing a hand down his face.

she grins. "thought so,".

but she should know better than to challenge him, because in the next second, joe’s grabbing her wrist, pulling her flush against him, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"baby," he drawls, dragging his thumb over her pulse point. "don’t tempt me,".

her breath catches, heart hammering as she swallows.

he smirks. checkmate.

"now," he murmurs, fingers moving lower, gripping her hip. "are you gonna let me take you home? or do i have to throw you over my shoulder?".

her lips part, pulse racing. she hates how easily he gets to her. hates it, but loves it.

and, well—who is she to deny him?

"you’re paying for my post-workout smoothie," she finally mutters.

his grin is wolfish. "deal,".

--

or they’ll be out shopping—just running errands, nothing remotely suggestive about it—except joe still manages to find a way.

"you’d look real good in this," he muses, holding up some tiny little lace set he spotted while they were supposed to be picking up new sheets.

she lifts a brow, crossing her arms. "and what happened to being ‘smart with money’?".

"this is smart," he counters smoothly, holding the fabric between his fingers, eyes flicking between her and the delicate lace. "investment in our relationship. and we're like...mutli millionaires. this is hardly a dent in any of our pockets, even though i will be paying like usual,".

"you’re so full of shit," she laughed, eyeing the lacy red set.

"nah, baby." he leans in, voice dropping. "i just really wanna see you in it. and out of it,".

she smacks his arm, cheeks warming, but joe? oh, he just grins, because he knows exactly what he’s doing.

she rolls her eyes, shaking her head, but joe can see the tiny twitch at the corner of her lips. he steps closer, his free hand sliding around her waist, tugging her flush against him. "what?" he murmurs, all innocence, but his fingers are playing with the hem of her hoodie, slipping just beneath to brush against warm skin.

"we’re supposed to be buying sheets," she reminds him, though her voice is already softer, breathier.

"mm," joe hums, feigning thought. "and what if i want to get you something to wear on those sheets?".

her brows lift, unimpressed. "wear on the sheets?".

his lips twitch. "briefly,".

she snorts, pushing at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. doesn’t even wobble. just stays there, all tall and broad and warm, his hands staying, his breath spreading across her cheek.

"if i try it on," she says, tilting her chin up at him, "you’re not coming in the fitting room,".

his eyes flick down to her lips, then back up. "baby, i would never,".

she glares, knowing that's a damn lie, and he just grins.

she groans, snatching the lace set from his hands. "you are going to the register,".

he just smirks, watching her scurry off toward the fitting rooms, the little red number dangling from her fingers.

"gladly," he murmurs, already reaching for his wallet.

--

it happens at a friend’s house party—music playing, drinks flowing, bodies moving in easy conversation. she’s off chatting with some friends, her laughter ringing through the room, and joe? joe is leaning against the bar, nursing his drink, watching her with that look. the kind that makes her whole body tingle, like he’s already touching her from across the damn house.

he’s been patient. all night, he’s played it cool, nodded along to conversations, pretended like he wasn’t dying to have her closer. but now? now, with the way she keeps glancing at him, the way her dress clings to her like a second skin, the way she bites her lip around her straw—he’s about to lose it.

so when she finally makes her way back over to him, he doesn’t even give her a second to breathe before he leans in, lips brushing her ear, voice thick with heat.

"been thinkin’ about gettin’ you alone all night, baby,".

her breath catches, heat pooling in her stomach, but she refuses to give in so easily. she tilts her head, eyes flicking up at him, playful and knowing. "oh, yeah? that why you’re staring at me like that?".

his fingers find the small of her back, warm and insistent, slipping beneath the fabric of her top, skin to skin. his grip tightens, just slightly. "mhmm,".

she sips her drink, feigning nonchalance, though her pulse is hammering. "well, too bad," she teases. "i’m enjoying the party with our friends,".

joe just chuckles, quiet and knowing, his lips barely an inch from hers. "that’s cute, sweetheart," he murmurs, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against her spine, flashing her those irresistible bedroom eyes.

her breath catches, but she keeps her composure—barely. the way he’s looking at her, all heat and promise, like he already knows exactly how this night is going to end, sends a shiver down her spine.

"cute, huh?" she says, tilting her head, trying to keep her voice steady despite the way her body betrays her, leaning into his touch. "is that what you think?".

joe smirks slowly, fingers pressing just a little firmer against her back. "mm," he hums, dipping his head so his lips ghost along the shell of her ear. "think it’s cute you’re pretending you don’t wanna leave with me right now,".

her breath stutters. his voice is all gravel and honey, thick with something dark and knowing, and it’s doing dangerous things to her determination.

she could fight it—keep teasing, keep pretending like she’s not two seconds from giving in—but the way his fingertips trace absentminded circles against her lower back, the way his voice drips with something wicked and irresistible, the way he looks at her like he’s already imagining all the ways he’s going to ruin her—yeah, she’s toast.

so she exhales, lets her fingers trail down his arm before slipping into his hand, lacing their fingers together. "one drink," she tries, but it’s weak at best.

joe chuckles again, squeezing her hand, flashing her that smug, lopsided grin that tells her he already knows she’s full of shit.

"sure, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing a sluggish, lingering kiss just below her ear, his lips barely brushing her skin. "one drink,".

but they both know damn well she won’t be finishing it.

--

but the worst one—the one that really gets her?

the card game.

the air is stale with competition, both of them sitting cross-legged on the couch, knees brushing, a mess of playing cards scattered between them. her brows are furrowed, lips pursed in deep concentration as she studies her hand, determined to win. joe watches her, amused—she’s so damn focused, so convinced she’s got the upper hand. and honestly? she might.

but joe’s got a different kind of victory in mind.

he leans forward, elbows on his knees, his smirk mischievous, "you know," he drawls, voice dropping to that honeyed rasp that makes her shiver, "there’s a different kinda game we could be playing right now,".

she doesn’t look up, too focused. "joe, hush and pick a card,".

"nah," he shakes his head, grin widening as he tosses his card onto the pile. "i think i’d rather play strip poker,".

her head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "you are insufferable joseph lee burrow,".

"nah, baby," he counters smoothly, dragging his fingers along the curve of her thigh, slow, teasing, just enough to make her breath falter. "i just know how to have a little fun,".

she glares at him, but her body betrays her—the way her thighs clench slightly, the way her chest rises a little faster. joe notices everything.

"joe—,".

he leans in, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "bet i can make you fold real quick,".

his fingers trace higher, grazing the hem of her shorts, feather-light but willful. she swallows, heart hammering, heat pooling low in her stomach. she knows exactly what he’s doing—knows this is just another one of his games—but damn it, she’s already losing. "you're always horny," she mutters, but her voice wavers.

joe just smirks, slow and smug, eyes locked on hers as he pushes his luck, his palm spreading warm over her bare thigh. "mm, maybe," he murmurs, "but you love it,".

she exhales sharply, tossing her cards down. "you are the worst,".

joe chuckles, shifting closer, his lips grazing her jaw, his hands already slipping beneath her shirt, fingertips tracing along her ribs as he begins to move his hand to her back, inching towards her bra clasp. "nah, sweetheart," he breathes, his mouth finding the sensitive spot just below her ear, "pretty sure you love this,".

and she absolutely did. even if she put up a fight at first ;)

[woollypoison]

High-definition closure

Male reader x Itzy Chaeryeong a/n: a little mini-story I got challenged to in between bigger stories. I wanted to limit myself to 1k words. I failed. Word count: 1.1k

Chaeryeong's mascara was already ruined when she got here, but if she were to ask you, you'd say you preferred it this way. You only wish it were you that created the black streaks dragging down her cheeks. She hasn’t bothered to fix it. Maybe she thinks it completes the look—like she’s some princess that has just been cursed, like it's a sign for other men to ask her what's wrong before falling into her jaws. Hints of plum and chamomile stick to her, but the scent is mixed with the salt of dried tears and the faintest trace of vanilla vodka, her favorite alcohol.

She's wearing this loose off-shoulder sweater, just oversized enough to look careless, like she pulled it on without thinking, but you know better. The sleeves slip past her wrists, swallowing her hands when she lets them, but right now they’re bunched up, exposing the sharp angle of her collarbone. A short skirt clings to her waist, stopping high enough to show off soft, bare thighs—bare except for the black thigh-highs hugging her legs, the only thing about her outfit that looks deliberately put together.

She's a frantic storm of emotions, and there's nothing slow about it. Her hand around your wrist jams downwards, slipping underneath her skirt, sliding lace to the side, pressing your fingers against wet heat with a knowing little smirk. The first sensible thing she's done since getting here and screaming about her now ex.

"Feel that?" she purrs, voice silky, sultry and smokey bravado. "You should really take advantage of that while you still can."

You exhale through your nose, noncommittal, but you don't pull away. Instead, you press your fingers into her, feel the way she clenches around them, her walls hot and her smirk turning needy. Her whole body shivers at the touch as a breath gets forcefully ejected out of her. It's nice—good, even—until she ruins it all by opening her mouth again.

"God, he was such an asshole," she groans, head tipping back. "You know what he said when he dumped me? That I was too much. Too needy. Like, what the fuck does that even mean?"

You huff, pushing two fingers inside her, making her gasp, and not in surprise. "I don’t know. Sounds like he had a point."

Her eyes snap to yours, mouth parting in indignation. "Excuse me?"

"You’ve been talking about him for ten minutes," you say, tone flat. "While I’m literally inside you. He might’ve had a point."

She scoffs, lifting herself just enough to slam down against your hand, making a point of grinding into your palm. "Yeah? And yet here you are, knuckle-deep and not stopping."

"Doesn’t mean I wanna hear about him."

“Then shut me up,” she challenges you audaciously, the taunt accentuated by the rolling of her hips against your hand. “You’re man enough for that, aren’t you? Making one sad little girl shut the fuck up?” Your thumb presses into her clit with force like a warning. Her breath stutters at the figurative growl you gave her, fingers tightening against your shoulders. “Better?” you ask, bored. You keep working her, fingers curling, thumb circling, taking your time with it. Her thighs start to shake, her body pressing harder against yours. She’s wet, practically dripping, and you could push her over the edge right now if you wanted to. But she just does not know when to shut the fuck up. And maybe that is your fault.

“God,” she begins, but it’s not a moan. “I can’t believe how much time I wasted on that asshole,” she rambles on, frustrated herself and frustrating you. "Three years. Three years of listening to his bullshit, letting him act like I was the problem. Like I should’ve been grateful for the bare minimum."

“Uh-huh.” Your eyes roll back in annoyance, and you make another attempt at making hers do the same but in ecstasy. “Like, seriously, you wouldn’t believe—” she cuts herself off as a third finger of yours slips inside her, sucking in a breath as sharp as her complaints. “Fuck. Okay. That’s—okay.” “You were saying?” you prompt, but regret it the moment you do. Shouldn’t even give her a chance to talk about this bullshit. She glares back at you, the dark in her eyes meshing with the black of her messy make-up, but she doesn’t answer. She exhales, heaving, rising and falling on your fingers as she presses her chest against yours, finding her phone she tossed somewhere near you earlier. You feel her fingers tap at the screen before she grins down at you.

"I just had the best idea."

You already know it’s not. "Doubt it."

"We should send him a picture. You know, show him what he’s missing."

You blink. "You wanna send your ex a dick pic."

"No, no. A me-with-your-dick pic. Very different. Tasteful. Artistic. Guaranteed to make him angry."

You sigh, slipping your fingers out of her, resting your hand on her hip instead. "That’s fucking stupid."

"That’s closure."

"That’s unhinged."

She grins. “When a girl just got dumped, those two are basically the same thing.” There’s no energy left inside your soul to argue with her. She smirks like she’s won, then slides down, settling between your legs. You watch, half-lidded, as she presses a teasing kiss just above the tip of your cock, phone in one hand, camera pointed down.

"You’re serious about this?" you ask, amused despite yourself.

"Dead serious." She kisses the tip lightly, just enough to make your jaw tighten. "Think about it—he gets a notification, opens it up, sees me like this, working a cock that's at least twice his size. Tell me that wouldn’t ruin his fucking night."

"Or get you blocked immediately."“I can live with that as long as he sees it first. Besides, you’re doing a lot of complaining for someone who’s getting his dick kissed by a girl as pretty as me.”

She’s clearly using you, but the thought doesn’t upset you. You lean back against the couch, thinking this relationship should be a two way street, fingers gracing the side of her face, threading into her hair.

“If you’re sure about making him mad,” you murmur, grasping handfuls of her hair on the back of her head, “you should commit fully and do it properly.”

And then you push her down, the full length of your cock disappearing into the warmth of her throat just as the camera shutter clicks and her mouth sputters, gagging as you push her further than her ex ever reached.

[defnotriri]

"the man who can't be moved"

|| PRO!Katsuki B. x reader

UNEDITED / UNREVISED

It's been five years since you've graduated from UA high. You're now twenty three years old and ever since the war you saw everything differently. You realized the risks of being a hero, the fact that your life could be stripped from you at any moment. You weren't quite ready to take that risk. You dropped out the hero course and pursued your studies in general studies.

You never forgot about him though. How can you move on if you're still in love with him? You tried to forget him but it's hard when everything about him was perfect. His eyes were so unforgettable, his words that he never thinks through. The loud steps of his foot and the angry blasts of his hands.

You stay up at night thinking about what the two of you could've been if you didn't leave. Would he have ended it then? Would he stay? Maybe realized that you two were just too different to be with each other? But a little part of you hoped that maybe in another universe you two had a happy ending.

You never watched the news since you knew he'd be on. Until your curiosity takes over one day. You scroll through a hashtag of his name until you see a recent interview that's been going viral.

"Dynamight! How does it feel that you're getting married in a couple months to Uraravity?" The female reporter asks as she shoves the microphone in his face.

"I'm excited, I guess? Don't really know what I'm suppose to say" Bakugo says with a sigh and his gaze turns to the side. He's playing with his engagement ring that sits perfectly on his finger.

Your heart stings a bit but what were you hoping for? That he would still be hung up on a girl that he barely knew? Plus Uraraka was gorgeous. She was strong, kind and helpful. They even shared the same goals in life. Of course he would pick her instead of you. The weak willed girl who left his life after the war.

"And what about the significance of the ring on your necklace? You've had it way before the engagement, please enlighten us!" The reporter blasts him with a bunch of questions before stuffing the mic back into his face. His gaze comes back to the camera and he thinks for a bit. You looked at the necklace the reporter was talking about and your heart dropped.

"To let someone know that I'm still here waiting, that I'm still hers, forever and always. I want to let her know that whenever she's ready she can always come back if she wants." He says as if he's been waiting years to say this. Before he could get questioned more, Uraraka is walking up to him.

"Did you know about Dynamight's past lovers?" "Uravity, how does it feel to now know the real reason behind your fiancé's necklace?" "How will this affect your engagement?"

She gets questioned by the press and Bakugo takes this opportunity to walk away and into the hero gala. Leaving all of the interviewers to wonder about the girl he was talking about.

You exit out the app and close your phone. You lay it down on your chest and stare at the ceiling. That was the ring he gave you back when you two were dating. You left it back at his dorm with a note saying that you'd drop out. You couldn't face him in person. His hurt face would make you instantly regret it.

You turn to your side and wonder if he still kept the same number from your high school days. Should you even text him? He's already engaged. He deserved so much better than you. You're only a elementary teacher and he's a full time pro hero.

But, fuck did you miss him.

Maybe just this once you'll be selfish and give yourself what you truly want.

xxx-xxx-xxx

I'm sorry to bother but.. is this still Katsuki?

[stateissuedgf]

FACE IT, TIGER. YOU JUST HIT THE JACKPOT!

mark grayson x loislane!reader part 1

warning(s): none, just fluff <3

College was a smooth transition, as smooth as that transition could be while being a superhero. Keeping up with assignments has been hard, and the tests have been even harder, but Mark was determined to finish college, one of the only pieces of normalcy he had left; thankfully the newest student made it easier to deal with.

THE girl, the girl next door, (y/n) (l/n). She had started at college just a little bit after he did, but he didn’t notice her until she tore into some poor guy that had bumped into her and had her coffee spilling on her pristine white top down onto the floor, effectively embarrassing him in the middle of the hallways.

Mark had never been so turned on in his life. What wasn’t to like about her? Gorgeous, great smile, even better laugh, and a complete refusal to take shit from anyone, he had hit the jackpot. The only problem was there was no way she would ever be interested in him.

They were pursuing two different majors, her passion for telling the truth to keep people educated on what was really going on in the world leading her to journalism— and besides that, they were in two different worlds. She was surrounded by very few people, but those people were just as intellectually gifted, and Mark wasn’t exactly known for his smarts. She had men and women falling at her feet, Mark was still surprised he was able to pull Amber.

“Dude, you can’t just give up!” William exclaimed. Maybe opening up to him was a bad idea, he wasn’t being very secretive about what they were discussing at the lunch table. “Would you quiet down?” Mark hissed, William letting out a much quieter ‘Sorry’ in response. “And yes I can, she doesn’t even know who I am. How weird would it be to have a guy you’ve never interacted with before ask you on a date? She would have a field day with me.” Mark shuddered at the thought of (y/n) and her wrath. Watching it from the sidelines was hot, being at the receiving end? Not so much.

“Mark, you fight monsters and murderers literally on the daily, you're telling me asking out the hot journalist is where you cross the line?” William raised his eyebrow, his lip twitching on a barely contained smirk.

Mark thought for a second. He’s right I suppose, asking her out can’t be as bad as being beaten within an inch of my life, right?

—

There she was, her strawberry scented shampoo making its way to his nose, a scent he had all but memorized. She was on her phone texting, he assumed by the quick movement of her fingers, her face concentrated. Maybe now wasn’t the best time, and he was about to walk away, until he saw a guy two time her size approaching her; he watched as her eyes rolled and she attempted to look too busy to interact with him.

Clearly it didn’t work, because once he came within her vicinity he took no time at all placing his hand on her shoulder. She shoved it off, the man's face twisting in anger in response, and soon enough their argument became loud enough to make out what they were saying.

“What part of ‘We’re over’ don’t you understand, Xander?” She huffed. “We’re done when I say we’re done.” He then but his arm around her shoulders and tried to lead her away to god knows where, but she had already started fighting to get his arm off of her. “Get off me you creep!” She yelled, and before he could think mark found himself already going to stop him.

He grabbed him by his shoulder, pulling him away from her roughly. Maybe he was too rough, because the action had him falling to the ground, his eyes open in shock. “She said to leave her alone, man.” Mark’s voice was hard, a stoney look in his eyes.

“Who even are you? This is between me and her.” The man responded, on his feet and in Mark’s face. “You’d better get to running if you don’t want your ass kicked.” (y/n) had a enough. “Xander seriously stop, this is getting out of hand.” she sighed. “Shut up, (yn)—“ That set mark off.

In no time at all Mark threw his fist into the guy's jaw, a small crack that was only able to reach his ear’s resounding in the room. The man was sent to the floor again, but he clearly had no plans to get up anytime soon, too busy holding his jaw in pain. “Let’s go.” Mark took (y/n) by her hand and stomped away.

It took a second to snap her out of whatever daze she was in, but she eventually got out of it, yanking her hand out of his grip. “I didn’t need your help.” She hissed. “I had full control over that situation.”

“Really? Cause it looked like he was getting ready to kidnap you.”

“He was not about to kidnap me—“

“Whatever,” Mark cut her off. “There was no way I was gonna watch him put his hands on you and not do something.”

That successfully stunned her into silence, her eyes searching for something, it was honestly kind of awkward. She must have found whatever it was she was looking for, because her eyes softened, then looked to the ground, then back up to his face.

“Thank you.” She said simply, her voice much softer. “What’s your name?”

“Mark.” She raised her eyebrow. “Grayson, Mark Grayson.” She seemed satisfied with his answer, a barely noticeable smile on her face.

“Well Mark Grayson, I’m grateful for what you ddi for me today, truly.” She began to walk away. “I hope to see you around.” She called from behind her.

Mark was in a daze. She smiled, she actually smiled at—“Wait!” He called. She turned around, a questioning look on her face. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

She stares for a few seconds, before one of her beautiful smiles makes its way onto her face. “Okay.”

“Catch you later, Tiger.”

—

I’ll probably make this a series because i love Mark with a civilian gf, be on the lookout for a part 2 ! ( •̤ᴗ•̤ )♡

[vunblr]

Tangled (#4)

Pairing: Cecaelia! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. I don't know if there will be eventual teratophilia.

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Word Count: 6.5k.

Previous Chapter

He watched her as she leaned back, all smiles and soft laughter like she had any idea what she’d just done.

She didn’t know.

She couldn’t possibly know.

First, her scent. He hadn’t expected it to stick to him like that, to curl in his mind and get under his skin. He thought it would be like everything else human, unfamiliar and forgettable. But no. Hers was something he couldn’t quite name but wanted to drown in if he let himself.

Second, her offer. She offered herself to him, bearing her throat in a way that was both foolish and... intimate in a way she clearly didn’t understand. It wasn’t something you did unless you chose. And she had just done it without thinking like it was nothing.

Third, the effect. He clenched his jaw, still with his gaze locked on her, but not really seeing her. He was too busy feeling the way his body had responded to her and the way her scent tangled inside him like a hook he couldn’t pull out. His muscles were still too tight, his pulse pounded behind his ears, and deep in his gut, something hot and restless stirred. Something he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember.

And last… he let her. He let her come close, let her press her face to his neck, and breathe him in. Let her do something she shouldn’t have done. Something that, if she knew anything about his kind, she would realize was an unspoken claim, a dangerous dance they had just stepped into.

Now, she was sitting there, smiling like they had shared some simple, innocent exchange. Like she hadn’t just shifted the ground beneath him. His gaze drifted to her hands, still moving the yarn, oblivious to the storm she’d stirred. He exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp, trying to force down the heat crawling under his skin.

"Enough," he muttered, though whether it was for her or himself, he didn’t know.

She looked up, blinking at him, a little surprised but not scared. "Oh... okay. Sorry, I didn’t mean to-"

He shook his head, glancing away toward the sea, needing to not look at her for a moment. "No sorry," he said, but his voice was rougher than he intended.

"Alright," she said quietly, returning to her crochet. "Just... tell me if I overstep, okay?"

His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

You already did, he thought bitterly. And I let you.

He shifted in place, twitching his tendrils around her, unsure whether to keep her close or flee.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure which one he wanted more.

----

She sat on her usual rock, but the yarn in her hands moved slower than usual, as she flicked her gaze toward the waves more often than her stitches.

He wasn’t there.

Not that she expected him to show up every day, but after everything that had happened -the exchange of names, the strange but oddly gentle "scent exchange," and the way he'd gotten so close- she thought maybe she’d see him again.

She let out a slow breath, fumbling on the next stitch.

What did you think, that you could befriend him? she scolded herself, narrowing her eyes as she yanked the yarn a little tighter than necessary. You’re lucky he didn’t drag you under the water. Maybe being near him makes you stupid.

Still, a small part of her countered: But he didn’t hurt you. He could have, but he didn’t. Her eyes wandered back to the sea, scanning the rolling waves out of habit. But there was nothing, no shadow, no flicker of movement between the rocks.

Gone.

Maybe it was better this way. Safer.

----

Far from the shore, beneath the churning sea, Bucky lingered in the colder, deeper waters, resting against a rock shelf that jutted from the ocean floor. The currents brushed along his skin and the slow sway of his tentacles, but he felt no comfort in them.

He had put distance between them, just like he told himself he should.

Because what had he been doing? Letting a human get so close. Acting like he could- like he wanted more.

His jaw clenched.

It wasn’t her, he told himself. It was about him. His isolation. His weakness. Years spent avoiding everyone and everything had fucked up his mind until even a scrap of befriending had felt like a hook through the ribs. And she had been kind.

She didn’t even know what she was doing, how close she had come to crossing other lines she didn’t understand. He had let her. He had wanted to let her. Bucky clenched a fist in his lap, rubbing over his face with the other as if he could scrub the thoughts away.

Stupid.

He should have never let it get that far. Never let her sit so close. Never let her touch him, scent him, look at him the way she did.

Still…

The image of her tilting her head, baring her neck to him, flickered behind his eyes like a brand. The soft curve of her throat. The warmth of her breath. The way she smiled at him like he was someone, not something.

His fingers dug into his palm. He didn’t trust himself around her. So for two days, he kept to deeper waters, pretending distance was what he wanted.

The third day, when the sun began to bleed its colors over the horizon and the cliffs stood sharp and silent against the sea, she still sat on her rock, waiting.

But Bucky wasn’t there.

Because he was far, far from that shore, swimming with relentless purpose along darkening waters, leaving the familiar cliffs behind as he cut through the waves like a shadow. His chest ached, more from what he felt than the strain of swimming so far.

It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. But still, he told himself, if anyone could make sense of this mess in his head... it would be him.

Steve.

The name echoed like an old wound, sharp and raw.

Steve, who had chosen -her- the humans over everything they were. Steve, who had left him to rot in the depths alone, abandoned with nothing but his anger and bitterness for company.

And yet, here he was. Seeking him out like a fool.

Just one talk, he told himself. Maybe that will set me straight again.

Because he shouldn't be thinking about her. Shouldn't be lingering near the shore like some lost thing, waiting to hear her voice, see her smile.

The first town passed under his gaze, and the lights of human dwellings glowed warm and bright through the dusk. He stayed out of reach, only his eyes above water, scanning, searching. Nothing. This wasn’t the one.

The second town, was the same.

By the time he reached the third, the sky had turned to deep velvet blue, with stars scattered across its surface. He lingered near the rocky inlet where the cliffs dropped steeply into the sea, where he knew Steve had once made his home. Or maybe still did, he hoped.

The place was quiet.

Still, Bucky waited until the moon was high, waves lapping against the shore with a soft hush. He called out, a low, resonant sound that vibrated in his chest and was meant to carry far beyond human ears. A call meant for one of his own. But the night swallowed it whole.

He waited, floating just beyond the rocks, with his eyes fixed on the empty shore, on the little lights far away in town.

Called again.

Nothing.

He stayed there for hours, watching, waiting. Each time he raised his voice, it felt smaller. Lonelier.

You really left me, didn’t you?

The thought burned sharper than he wanted to admit.

How long had it been since Steve left? Sixty Winters? More? He couldn’t remember anymore. Time slipped strange and fast when you were half in the world and half out of it. Maybe Steve had aged since he had taken a human life, and left behind all that they were. Maybe he was long gone.

He stayed until dawn streaked pale silver over the horizon, but no voice ever came back.

----

Instead, something else heard him. Ears in the deep, sharp, ancient, and angry. They heard his call and knew the voice that carried it.

Him.

The one who should have been gone.

The one who deserved to be gone.

As Bucky swam away, cutting a lonely path back toward familiar waters, he didn’t realize he was being followed. Shadows moved beneath him, sleek and fast, like knives slicing through the dark water. They had heard him.

He is alive, they whispered among themselves. Alive when others-

The thought didn’t need to be finished. They would fix that mistake.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t sense them at first. His mind was swirling with heavy memories, old wounds torn open by the empty place where Steve should have been.

Sixty Winters, maybe more. He’d lost count. Long enough to almost forget what it had felt like to trust.

To forget the time he had believed in a human once, believed enough to let them get close. Close enough to chain him up and cage him. He could still remember the sharp sting of iron on his wrists, the cold bite of hooks that pierced his flesh and held him up for human eyes to gawk at. The glass walls had kept him trapped while they poked, prodded, and tested.

But worse than the chains had been the magic. The dark, twisting spell that had turned him into a puppet, their creature to command.

He had been forced to do unspeakable things in their stupid wars sinking ships and artifacts in the depths. Things that had stained the waters with blood, but not only theirs, his own kind's too. He had been their monster, their nightmare pet unleashed in the depths.

Until Steve.

Steve had found him, broken and maddened, and dragged him back from that abyss. He had fought for him, and saved him when no one else would.

But their people?

They hadn’t seen a survivor, they had seen a traitor. A weapon turned against them. They hadn’t cared that he had been forced, that the magic had ripped his will away. They had only seen the carnage he left behind.

And they had wanted him dead for it.

Now his call had gone out into the sea… and it had been heard not precisely by Steve.

----

After a week of not seeing him, she told herself it was none of her business. But that didn’t stop her from thinking about him. Every time she sat on her rock since day one, working her yarn, her eyes would flick to the waves, searching for a glimpse of a blue tentacle or a pale, sharp gaze watching her from the shallows.

She wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or disappointed. By day five, she realized she was more of the second. By day seven, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

"Stupid," she muttered to herself as she shoved a container of strawberries into her bag, along with a flashlight -just in case- and tugged a jacket around her shoulders. "Absolutely stupid."

Still, her feet found the path toward the cliffs, leading her to the cave she swore she wouldn’t step into again.

But here she was.

The morning tide was still low, giving her enough room to slip inside. The sky outside was overcast, with heavy clouds dimming the sun, making the inside of the cave darker than before. She clicked on her flashlight as she moved deeper, and her steps echoed faintly against the stone walls. The place looked empty.

But she had learned her lesson, that didn’t mean it was.

Her fingers strengthened her grip around the flashlight as she stepped forward, and her eyes scanned every shadow. That’s when she saw it. Dark crimson smeared along the rock near the entrance.

Her heart gave a sharp thump.

"Okay," she whispered to herself, swallowing. "Maybe he had breakfast... fish? shark? Whatever he eats?" But as she moved deeper, more stains appeared.

Thicker. Darker.

Smeared across the walls, pooling faintly in crevices along the stone floor. And the farther in she went, the worse it got. Her fingers tightened again on the flashlight, and she swallowed hard. As she followed the trail farther into the cave, the nerves twisted her guts.

If this was his blood, he was probably badly hurt.

But if it wasn’t...

Her chest felt tighter at the thought.

If it wasn’t his, then someone else had been here. Someone who hadn’t walked out. And if he had done this…

Her heart thudded painfully at the realization. Had she been lucky? Had she just caught him on good days? The idea of those sharp teeth flashing in a smile -or a snarl- and those powerful tentacles coiled around her, not playfully but to crush...

"Shit..." she exhaled, taking a step back, darting the flashlight to every corner as if expecting to see a body.

She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. Still, she didn’t leave.

Because if he was hurt, if something had happened to him, she wanted to know. She needed to know, even if every instinct told her to turn around and never look back… as she should, if she had at least a pair of functioning brain cells.

She took another cautious step forward, sweeping the beam of her flashlight over the cave floor, when something sharp caught the light, glinting cold and wet. Slowly, she crouched, careful not to slip on the damp stone. The object lay half-hidden in a dark pool that was too thick to be water.

Reaching out, she used two fingers to nudge it closer into the light.

A broken blade. It was jagged at the end like it had snapped in a struggle. Strange metal, unlike anything she’d seen, and stained deep crimson.

Her stomach twisted painfully.

He didn’t carry weapons. She had never seen him with anything but his strong body and sharp teeth, and those had always been enough.

Which meant...

"Someone was here..." she whispered to herself, "Someone hurt him."

She rose slowly, closing her fingers around the broken blade before she could think better of it. It was heavier than she expected, and the dark blood was sticky and half-dried. Her gaze darted around the hollow space, half-expecting something -or someone- to leap from the shadows.

She shouldn’t be here. She knew that.

But the image of that fierce, watchful creature who had let her sit so close, who had taken strawberries from her hand and showed her how to greet in his custom, bleeding and alone somewhere, pushed her fear to the side.

She hesitated, then took a breath and called out, softly at first:

"...Bucky?" The sound of her voice bounced back to her, echoing around the cave.

She swallowed and tried again, louder this time, and her voice cracked slightly as it carried into the darkness. "Bucky?!"

Silence.

Her pulse quickened, but she pressed on, stepping over a slick smear of blood that made her stomach lurch.

"Hey! If you're here… say something! Please!" she called again.

The flashlight trembled slightly in her hand as she strained to hear anything beyond her own breathing.

----

The water around him was dark and heavy with blood and silt. His own blood. It clouded his senses, making his thoughts sluggish as they drifted like the slow sway of the current in the pool.

He had been there for... days? Maybe more. Time had slipped away from him in the haze of pain. Every breath burned. His body throbbed in a dull rhythm, like the ocean’s pull against the rocks.

But he was still alive.

Barely.

It had cost him, the fight. No weapons, only claws, teeth, and rage. Enough to take them down in the end, but with a price. His side was torn open, his arm half-numb from a deep gash, and one of his tendrils had been severed at the tip, curling uselessly beneath him.

He had dragged himself back to the safety of his cave, to the pools where the saltwater could at least try to mend what was left of him. But it wasn’t enough. Not fast enough.

He was drifting again, his mind slipping, when something shifted above him.

A light. Faint, but sharp enough to stab through the gloom. Moving, searching. He tensed in instinctive warning, but the motion sent a bolt of pain shooting through his battered body. His jaw clenched, holding in a groan. He wasn’t ready. Not for more. His skin prickled when he felt the faint thud of steps against the stone floor, distant but clear. Someone was there.

Had humans ventured again? It wouldn’t be the first time someone wandered too far, looking for something they shouldn’t. He tried to shift, to sink deeper, but his muscles spasmed in protest, too weak to obey.

Then her voice reached him. Muffled. Distant.

"Bucky...?"

He froze.

Not a stranger.

Her.

His mind swam, and confusion cut through the haze of pain. Why was she here?

She called again, closer this time. "Bucky?!"

He wanted to answer. He parted his lips and tried to force out something -anything- but underwater, all that escaped was a rough, broken sound that no human ear would catch.

His pulse thudded weakly.

As her steps echoed nearer, he forced his sluggish mind to think. She would walk right past him, and wouldn’t even see him in the murk. And part of him wanted that, wanted her gone before she saw what was left of him.

But another part, a part that had grown restless since meeting her, didn’t want her to leave. Gritting his teeth, he forced his tentacles to move, though every motion sent sharp jabs of pain radiating from torn flesh. Still, he pushed and stirred the water just enough to ripple across the pool’s surface.

Notice me, he thought. See that I'm here.

As her light wavered over the dark water, the surface trembled faintly, disturbed by the slow drag of a blood-slick tendril just beneath. He pressed a hand to his side again, as his vision narrowed from the effort.

Just as she was about to turn left, something flickered at the edge of her vision, a ripple across the pool’s surface. She froze and slowly, turned the flashlight until it landed on the water.

There.

A tendril.

Blue-black, slick and glistening, moving sluggishly, not with strength, but like it took effort to even float. It splashed weakly, sending tiny waves against a waterline that seemed darker than it should be.

Blood.

Her eyes darted to the stones surrounding the pool, and there, smeared across them in long streaks, was the same dark stain.

He’s here.

"God..." she whispered, with a trembling voice.

The flashlight’s beam trembled with her grip as she moved closer, careful not to slip on the damp rocks. She knelt by the pool's edge, and her jeans soaked through at the knees, but she barely noticed.

"Hey..." she breathed softly as if speaking too loud would make things worse. "I see you now..."

She tried to aim the light deeper into the pool, but the water was too murky -too dark- to see anything below. Only that single limp tendril breaking the surface, swaying with the slight motion of the water. Her heart ached at the sight.

Slowly, cautiously, she reached out a hand toward the appendage. "I'm here," she murmured, though she doubted he could hear her "You're not alone, okay? I'm right here." Her fingers hesitated a second above the cool, wet skin, then brushed against it in a light, careful touch. Just enough to let him know she was there.

----

The tendril, sensing her touch, went nearly limp now that the effort of moving was no longer needed. But before it fully stilled, it shifted -ever so slightly- curling weakly around her hand and wrist in a slow, instinctive motion.

Her breath hitched at the gesture, something in it was far too vulnerable, too human in its need for contact. She squeezed back gently, giving a reassuring hold, stroking her thumb along the smooth, cool skin in slow circles. "It's okay..." she whispered, again, not sure if the words reached him but needing to say them anyway. "I'm here."

They stayed like that for a long moment. Just her, kneeling at the edge of the pool, holding on to him as if her touch could imbue some life into him. But as the time stretched, her mind kept racing. What now? What could she do?

She had nothing, no medicine, no first aid kit that could help him. And as much as she wanted to jump in, to check on him properly, the water looked freezing, and she hadn’t brought anything to change into after diving. She wasn’t in any condition to risk getting soaked and sick. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she swallowed hard while looking at the dark water, feeling small and useless for the first time in a long while.

She stayed by the poolside longer than she meant to, with her hand still cradled by the weak tendril wrapped around her wrist. Her mind spun in circles, searching for a plan, for anything she could do.

Her eyes flicked toward the entrance of the cave. The tide wouldn't rise for a while yet, so she still had time to make it back home and return before the path was swallowed by water.

"Okay," she whispered to herself as her mind solidified the plan. "Okay, I need to go get some things. First aid stuff... maybe food? Towels..." She bit her lip, thinking. But when she shifted to pull her hand away, his grip around her wrist suddenly tightened, surprisingly strong for how weak he looked.

Her heart ached at the desperation in that small gesture.

"Hey, hey..." she murmured softly, reaching with her free hand to gently stroke over the tendril, moving her thumb in slow, calming motions. "I'm not leaving for good, I promise." She kept her voice low, soothing, "I’ll be back, alright? Just need to get you some help." Still, he clung to her for a long moment longer, as if weighing whether he could trust her to come back. "I promise," she said again, firmer this time. "I’ll be back. Just hold on a little longer."

Finally, the tendril loosened -reluctantly- slipping slowly from her wrist and resting against the rock once more.

She exhaled shakily, giving it one last gentle touch before getting to her feet.

----

As she made her way toward the entrance of the cave, she paused just long enough to glance back over her shoulder. The beam of her flashlight caught the faint glisten of his tendril as it slipped, slow and tired, back into the water.

Once her footsteps faded, the silence filled the space again. Left alone, Bucky let himself drift, too exhausted to hold himself upright in the water. The faint warmth of her hand still lingered like a ghost against his battered limb.

He let the darkness close in for a while, letting himself float just beneath the surface, with his mind foggy with pain and old memories that clawed their way through that limbo.

But then, ripples.

A soft disruption stirred the water above him, gentle but enough to break through his haze. His senses sharpened in a sluggish pulse and he turned his head weakly, blinking against the dim light filtering from above, trying to catch a glimpse, unsure if what he sensed was real or a trick of his mind.

----

Her footsteps echoed in the cave walls as she walked toward the pool, with her arms laden with a bag full of supplies, whatever she had been able to grab in a hurry. First aid kit, some frozen fish, also towels and clothes for herself… it had been all she could think of. Her heart was pounding harder than when she first left.

Her eyes flicked to the water as she set the bag down. There was no sign of movement. Just the glassy, dark surface, betraying nothing. She sighed, rolling her shoulders as if giving herself courage, and then began to peel off her jacket and shoes, already regretting the decision but knowing she had no other choice. The water would be freezing.

Fishing out a pair of old, ridiculous swimming goggles she found in a drawer, -probably left behind by whoever lived in the house before- she slipped them on, feeling a little absurd but too anxious to care. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the water, and a sharp gasp escaped her lips as the cold cut through her skin like a knife.

She paused, cursing, wrapping her arms around herself for a moment, and trembling as she forced herself to adjust to the temperature. The flashlight shook slightly in her grip, casting shivering beams of light into the gloomy space. The beam cut through the dark, but the water was too thick with the disturbed silt, swirling lazily in the ray of light. She couldn’t see a thing.

But he could.

From the depths, Bucky watched. Or rather, what was left of him did. He was barely clinging to consciousness, but the light was impossible to miss. It cut through the dark like a lifeline. And her shape above, haloed and wavering, made his chest ache.

She had really come back.

Slowly, almost without willing it, his body drifted upward, following the light like some deep-sea creature drawn to the surface. His battered limbs didn’t want to cooperate, but the instinct of survival was stronger.

She didn’t see him until he was closer, just flickers of something big moving just beyond the reach of her flashlight. The vague outline of his body, the dark shimmer of his tentacles, almost blended with the black of the pool. She didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward, grabbing under one of his arms and tried to pull him upward.

"God, you're heavy..." she inwardly thought, straining to lift him enough to bring him closer to the surface. Her muscles burned almost instantly with the effort, and her grip slipped slightly on his wet skin.

Her chest ached.

She broke the surface with a loud gasp, and the cold air burned her lungs as she coughed, trying to get her breath back. Damn it. The asthma was not helping. She braced herself on the rocky edge, breathing fast, with the flashlight still clutched tightly in one hand.

When she glanced sideways, she saw his body float up beside her, half-limp. “You helped yourself up, huh?" she murmured, with a shaky voice.

She pressed her palm gently to his shoulder, reassuring him as he drifted closer. His eyes were closed, and she couldn’t tell how aware of her presence or his surroundings he really was. But now that he was at the surface, she could try to do something.

"Okay, okay," she whispered, swallowing hard as she glanced at the rocky edges of the pool. "We’re getting you out. One way or another."

But looking at him -at his size, at the way his body looked so heavy even floating- she doubted she could do it alone. “Think you can help me out here?" she asked softly, knowing there might be no answer.

She tried to haul him up with all the strength she had left, but his body was just too heavy and uncooperative. Her fingers ached from the effort, and her muscles shook as she tried to get enough leverage, but it was like trying to drag a waterlogged tree. "Come on, help me out here," she muttered through gritted teeth, as her breath came out in sharp puffs that misted in the chilly air.

Finally, gasping and shivering, she let him slip back into the water for a moment as she crawled her way out of the pool, trembling from the cold and effort. The water streamed from her clothes, and her hair was plastered to her face as she wiped it back roughly, trying to think.

"Alright," she panted, sinking to her knees on the rocky edge, and leaning over him again. "Different approach." She grabbed one of his forearms and just pulled. The moment she tugged, a low, pained groan escaped from his throat. A sound full of agony and weakness that she hadn’t heard before.

"Shit," she whispered, swallowing hard. His arm, now that she was close, was lined with defensive cuts, raw and ugly, some shallow, others dangerously deep. "Sorry, big guy..." she breathed out, almost guilty, smoothing down his forearm briefly in an apologetic gesture before she gripped tighter. "I can't do more than this. You gotta help me, just a little. Please."

Then, a sharp intake of breath -pained and hissing- and his body stirred. She felt it, the muscles working under her hand, trembling as he gathered what little strength he had left. "That’s it," she encouraged, watching as he moved sluggishly, planting his free hand against the rock, trying to help her pull.

It was a slow, agonizing process. Every inch he moved closer to the edge was won through stubbornness on both of their parts. She leaned back, pulling as he tried to push, using whatever strength his battered body still had. When they finally got half of him out of the water, she let out a shaky laugh that died in her throat the moment she got a proper look at him.

"Oh... god," she breathed, and her eyes went wide as she took in the extent of the damage on his body. His pale skin was marred by deep, bleeding gashes. Jagged slices that could only have been made by blades, just like the broken piece she’d found earlier. But worse, so much worse, was the wound at his side, ragged, torn, and still leaking sluggish streams of dark blood that smeared over the rocks beneath him. It looked bad. Bad enough that her stomach twisted violently and her throat felt tight.

Her eyes flicked to her bag, to the first aid kit that suddenly seemed like a child’s plaything. "Shit... shit," she whispered again, pressing her hand briefly to her forehead as if that could help her think faster. She stared down at him, at the blood pooling around his torn body, mixing with the shallow water beneath them. It was worse than anything she could’ve imagined.

Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, as panic crawled up her brain until something surfaced in her mind. The stories. The old tales whispered by the locals -the ones she always dismissed as nonsense. Sirens, creatures similar to him, who lured sailors to their deaths, yes, but not only as entertainment but also to feed on them. Devoured them to survive.

She swallowed. Her eyes darted down to him again. He was starting to drift, his eyes fluttering shut, shallow breaths, and too weak to even hold himself up.

"No no no, hey, hey! Stay with me!" she stammered, moving closer. Without thinking, she raised a hand and slapped his cheek, not enough to hurt, but just enough to keep him there, to force his attention back on her. "Look at me!"

His eyes cracked open, glassy and unfocused.

"I think..." she hesitated, swallowing down her fear. "I think I know something that could help. But you need to listen."

He blinked slowly, breathing harshly, and gave the slightest tilt of his head.

"You-" she licked her lips, and her heart raced so fast it felt like it would burst. "Your kind eat humans, yes? And if injured, that's a way to heal?"

At that, something flickered in his eyes. A dark glint -wary, conflicted- but beneath it, a flicker of recognition. Like a secret, she'd guessed too close to the truth.

She took a deep, trembling breath. "What if it was just... blood? Not- not all of me, not-" She faltered, and the words caught in her throat, but she forced herself to keep going. "Would that help you? Just enough to keep you alive?"

At her words, something dark flared again in his eyes. Not anger, more like a deep, ancient instinct stirring, something he was fighting hard to keep buried. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t deny it. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "Enough... to mend," he rasped.

She exhaled slowly, some tension leaving her shoulders, just enough to move again. "Okay," she nodded, "okay. Then that's what we're gonna do."

But as she rolled up her drenched sleeve, exposing her forearm to him, she caught the way his gaze fixed on her skin, how his pupils widened, black almost swallowing blue. His body tensed, and his fingers twitched against the rock as if holding himself back.

The look on his face made her pause. He looked hungry. And more than that, conflicted. Like part of him wanted to pull away and hide, but the other part, the wounded, desperate part, was fighting to stay in control. "Hey..." she whispered, softer now, reaching out with her free hand to gently touch his cheek, drawing his gaze up to meet hers. "I trust you."

His brows knit together, and the muscles in his jaw worked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

"I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it," she added, brushing her thumb gently against his skin, as a reassurance.

His eyes closed tight like her words cut deeper than any blade. When he opened them again, the hunger was still there, -sharp and primal- but there was something softer, too. A flicker of control. Of gratitude. "I... will not take all," he said hoarsely,

Slowly, carefully, she offered her arm closer to him. "Come on, big guy. Let's get you through this."

His hand, cold and rough, trembled as he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, guiding her closer. His eyes never left hers, searching for any hint of fear that might make him stop.

But she held it, giving a small nod. "I got you."

His lips pressed to her skin, and for a long, excruciating second, he just hovered there, with his breath shaking against her wrist. The instinct to bite down, to take, was overwhelming. It screamed through his body like a tidal wave, loud and deafening. His jaw ached from holding himself back, and his teeth clenched so tight they could've cracked. His kind was not gentle. When offered prey, they took, tearing flesh and bone until there was nothing left but silence.

But she wasn’t prey.

She offered part of herself, freely, trustingly.

Finally, he moved -carefully, deliberately- opening his mouth and letting his teeth pierce her skin with a precision that cost him all his focus.

The first sharp prick of his teeth made her inhale sharply. A faint, involuntary tremor ran through her arm as the initial sting bloomed into something warmer, deeper. She wasn’t sure if it was pain or something else entirely.

The taste of her blood, gods, it was like fire and life all at once. Sweet and warm, pouring over his tongue in a way that made his muscles coil tight and loose at the same time. His hands twitched, sharp nails grazing over her skin as his body screamed to hold her down, to drink deeper, faster, to take everything she had to offer and more.

But he didn’t.

Her breath came uneven as she watched him, locking her gaze on the way his lips sealed over her skin, on the way his throat worked as he swallowed. The sight, the feel of it, it was like she had fallen into some trance. Her limbs were heavy, and her mind sluggish, and she felt her body responding to the pull of his feeding. Was he doing this to her? Was this some kind of lure, some instinctual trick his kind possessed?

His eyes squeezed shut, and his whole body trembled with the effort it took to limit himself. He drank greedily -because he was starving, because every drop seemed to breathe strength back into his dying body- but still measured, still trying to keep some line between what he wanted and what he needed.

As the warm blood filled his mouth, he could feel the deeper wounds beginning to close from the inside, feel his body mending in a way that brought him back from that cliff’s edge of death. His lungs felt like they could take a full breath again. His mind was clearer, and his strength slowly unfurled like waking limbs.

But the hunger was still there.

Even when he knew it was enough -even if he knew that if he stopped now, and rested for a day or two, he would survive- his grip on her wrist strengthened, and his fingers curled possessively on her flesh. His jaw worked against her skin like he was trying to force himself to let go but couldn’t.

A small sound slipped from her throat -a barely-there whimper- when his grip briefly tightened, and his nails pressed just a little harder against her skin. His breath hitched against her wrist, and something in his chest rumbled, a deep, desperate sound that made her shiver.

Part of him wanted to drag her into the water, pull her close, and drink until there was nothing left in her but stillness, and then let the ocean to wash her away. The other part, the one that had pressed his nose against her neck and inhaled her scent wanted to…

A soft sound broke from his throat, something between a groan and a growl, muffled against her skin. His tendrils stirred weakly, shifting across the damp rock, aching to curl around her and keep her there, to not let her slip away.

But then her fingers threaded gently through his hair, and she whispered something he barely caught over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

"Hey... you're okay. You can stop now." Her voice, tender but strained, cut through the haze in his mind.

He swallowed thickly, still sensing her blood heavy on his tongue, and forced his teeth to release her wrist, leaving behind the dull ache of punctures and the slow, sluggish warmth of blood welling to the surface. He made a rough sound, part groan, part growl, as he slumped forward, pressing his forehead against her arm as if drained by his own restraint.

"Okay," she whispered again, as her other hand gently stroked along his shoulder as if soothing some wild creature. "That's enough, you’re okay."

He let out a breath, part relief, part remaining hunger that clouded the edges of his mind. But he didn’t move to bite again.

Didn’t dare.

Because whatever he was -monster, predator, or something in between- he didn’t want to be that to her.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @civilbucky @thatesqcrush @lonelyghosts-stuff @x-press-it @the-voice-beckons-below @angelilacsworld @dollface-xoxo @mcira @lazyneonrabbitt @vxllys @namjoohnie @sebastians-love @misspendragonsworld @thewriters64 @escapefromrealitylol @hi172826

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[sports-on-sundays]

Hello hello, I am back with another request! It's with Oscar again but friends to lovers. Hear me out, the most cliche thing ever. Oscar loves her, she loves him but both too dense to realise it. They are out and about and another dude corners her and tries to make out with her, Oscar saves the day (make him protective and violent pls, make him punch the guy (side note: I would pay money to see Oscar actually punch someone, don't ask me why idk🙈)). So then he comforts her, takes her home and she asks him to stay. I will leave the rest of the convo to you���. Let there be a first kiss and cuddle I beg I am the biggest sucker for those bcs Oscar seems like the best guy to have your firsts with.

Holy hell that's a long ass request haha. Thank you for reading all that🤣 have fun with it and feel free to change things up a little bit if you want to!

be / OP81

Summary: Oscar x female!best childhood friend!Australian!reader - You and Oscar are finally forced to realize your feelings for each other.

Warnings: panicking, someone forcing himself onto another person, blood, crying, i did change up the request a little bit 🤏, feeling sick

Requested: Yes! And don't worry about the long request, I really liked it, and thanks so much for requesting! Long requests are better sometimes anyway.

Author's Note: Guys I'm starting to think I seriously need my very own Oscar Piastri....

"It wasn't even that funny-"

"It wasn't even that funny!"

Both you and Oscar look up to who it was mockingly imitating Oscar's friendly teasing, and your eyes set themselves upon Lando Norris, smirking obnoxiously.

"What's your problem?" you demand, crossing your arms, most of the laughter from Oscar's joke that he made fives minutes ago (yes, you were still laughing your head off at it) gone.

"What do you mean? I'm just kidding. It's just funny how your boyfriend can make the most dumb joke, and send you both into a ten minute laughing fit-"

"Boyfriend?" you and Oscar seem to ask incredulously in sink.

The smile falls off of Lando's face this time, and is replaced by a look of surprise and confusion. "Waaaait... So you're trying to tell me you guys aren't dating?"

Oscar blinks a few times in confusion. "Y/n and I are just friends. We always have been."

"Yeah," you add quickly, nodding. "I don't know why everyone thinks differently."

Lando's eyebrows raise in amusement. "Maybe because you guys act like you're mad in love...? Like, all the time? Or maybe the fact that you come to every single one of our races? Or maybe it's the way you look at each other with heart eyes, like the other one is the only one in the room? I mean, I don't know. It could be the way you're always giggling and talking and yapping to each other... But, oh, what do I and everybody else know?"

"Good question," Oscar deadpans. "What do you know?"

Lando shrugs, rollings his eyes, and struts away. As soon as he's gone, Oscar turns back to you with a little shrug and says, "Sorry about that. I guess nobody gets that two people can love each other as friends without feeling romantic feelings..."

You nod, shrugging. It makes sense to you, simply because that's how it's always been with you and Oscar, forever. The two of you practically slept in the same crib (not literally!). You always just assumed he's like a brother or something, and it doesn't pay to consider anything else. So you haven't. Too risky, and besides- that's not worth it to waste your time thinking about. You like things just the way they are, no need to change them.

"-Y/n?"

"Hm?!" you look up, snapping out of your pondering.

Oscar smiles at you, his brown eyes soft, like they always are when he looks at you. You smile back, eyes equally as warm as he says, "Did you hear me?" in amusement.

You chuckle, "No, sorry."

He nods, giving your shoulder a little pat as he stands up. "I've got to go now get ready for the race. First of the season. Wish me luck!"

"Luck isn't needed," you say with a little grin. "You've got enough skill alone to win it."

He grins. "I guess. But luck never hurts, does it?"

"Not at all." You stand up with him and give him a quick half-hug, saying gentler, "Drive safe, and bring it home. I'll be cheering you on."

"Like always?"

"Like always."

"Hey, Y/n?"

You look up from your phone, shutting it off. You're sitting alone, long after the 2025 season opening race, the Australian Grand Prix, has ended. You haven't seen Oscar since the race ended, and have just been sitting around, not wanting to go home until you have a chance to talk with him. And there he is, standing there, back in his regular clothes: a black sweatshirt, sweatpants, and sneakers, looking thoroughly sleepy.

You immediately stand up, smiling, saying simply, "It was a great drive."

"Well, I-"

"Hush. You scored points after what happened, and that's enough, for goodness' sake."

He smiles softly, and though his eyes say a lot more, he just nods and says simply, "Yeah, yeah, you're right. As always."

You nod promptly and say teasingly, "I know!"

He just rolls his eyes and says, already in a better mood just by talking to you, "Mum wanted you over tonight for dinner."

You grin, "She did, did she?"

"You know she always does, whenever I'm around, want me to bring you over. She adores you."

"She's the sweetest," you chuckle. "Well, I wouldn't mind one of your mum's home cooked meals."

Oscar nods, grabbing his coat, and saying, "I agree; that would hit the spot right now. C'mon."

You two make it to the car and get in, before you start heading to Oscar's mother's home. The car ride is mostly silent, but neither of you really mind. It's a comfortable, good kind of silence.

Towards the end of it, though, you ask simply, "So, that's the end of the first race week of the season. How're you feeling?"

Oscar shrugs, thinking for a few moments, before saying, "Hmm... I guess I'd have to say tired, but very hopeful."

You smile. "Good. You just need your beauty rest, huh?"

He glances at you with a cute little smile. "Right."

Dinner is nice. Warm, and reminds you of home, and your childhood, and everything good. And it's perfect for a rainy day like today.

Once he's finished eating, though, Oscar stands up, stretching, from the table, and says, "Well, I should be off to bed..."

"Oh, Oscar, you will give poor Y/n a ride home won't you?" Oscar's mother asks.

He looks over at you with a little smile and nods, saying, "Oh, right, of course."

You walk to the door together, but before Oscar opens the front door to leave, you gently grab his arm and say simply, "Osc."

He looks up from unlocking the door, meeting your eyes. "Hm?" he asks gently.

"You don't need to drive me home. I could get a cab or take the bus or whatever. It's all good. You've had a crazy week, as it is, much crazier than mine-"

"I mean, I was thinking maybe it'd be fine if I didn't drive you home, too, but you don't have to get a cab. I'm sure if I asked, my mum would be fine with you just staying the night or something."

You blink in surprise, but smile at the suggestion. "Oh. Well, I'd hate to bud in-"

He smiles. "You're family, Y/n. Don't worry." He takes your hand, tugging you back towards the dining room, calling, "Mum! Would it be fine if Y/n just stayed the night? We've both had a long day!"

"Oh, of course, honey! Tell her she can make herself just all nice and comfy and at home! Y/n's such a sweetheart, anyways. She's always welcome!"

Oscar smiles, looking at you. "You heard that, right?"

You smile back up at him with a little laugh. "Yeah, I heard that."

He nods, saying, "C'mon, let's go to my room."

The two of you head there, both of you knowing the way to Oscar's childhood bedroom from all the years you used to spend in there together. When you walk in, seeing all the dressers in the same place they always were, and all Oscar's old decorations from his karting days, memories seem to flood back, just like that, and both you and Oscar feel it. You crawl onto his bed, just like you always used to do, flopping down against his pillows, making yourself at home.

Oscar smiles and crawls in next to you. Just like he always used to do, too. "Last time we were both here was..."

"...right after you joined McLaren, right?" you smile at the memory.

"I guess so." He smiles down at you.

"I remember distinctly, one time, you had been gone so, so long, and I asked your mum if I could surprise you when you got home..."

Oscar starts laughing, clearly remembering it to. "Ohhh yeah. I threw open the bedroom door and flopped on my bed, even though you were on it. By the time I saw you and yelped, it was too late."

"Yeah, and I wrapped my arms around you and started tickling you," you say giggling.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. "I remember. By the end of it, I was gasping and near tears. God, Y/n, you know I was tired."

"I know. But I made you laugh and smile, didn't I? And I made you feel better, didn't I?"

"I mean, I was just happy to see you," he says, his gaze comfortably resting on yours.

"I was happy to see you. Do you know how much I missed you those months?"

"You miss me if you don't see me for a week, Y/n, still."

"Why do you think I come to every race that I can?"

"Because I pay for you to?"

You roll your eyes at that, crossing your arms, "I mean, yeah, but that's not the sentiment I was going for!"

He laughs, giving your shoulder a little playful tap. "I know, I know."

You sigh deeply, the sweet silence settling between the two of your for a little while, before murmuring, "And I hope you remember after that tickle attack, when your face was red and you were nearly crying from laughing, I gave you the biggest hug of all time..."

Oscar's face warms at that as he leans a bit closer to you. "Yeah... Yeah, I remember. You wanna know why that moment was special to me?"

"Why?"

"Because that was the moment I realized that there are some people in my life that never truly will leave me. Even if I leave them. And you're one of the best of them. That was when I learned what family is."

You nod slowly, thinking about that for a few moments, before saying, "That's... so sweet. I like it."

Oscar smiles. "Me, too. I like it too. I'm so lucky to have a best friend like you."

"And I so lucky to have a best friend like you."

Oscar smiles at that, nodding, satisfied, before letting out a big yawn, reminding you if a sleepy cat, before folding his hands up into fists and rubbing his watery eyes.

And, as if it's contagious, you let your own yawn, a few moments later.

Oscar smiles, this time more sleepily at you, before slipping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you a little closer to himself. You flop your head to lean against his shoulder, and murmur, "Time for us both to get the much-needed rest our bodies are begging us for?"

"Mmm-hm. Yeah. Whatever you said," Oscar murmurs as he drifts off, the hint of a smile still lingering on his mostly relaxed face.

And you both drift off, surrounded by that perfect warmth and tranquility that feels just like home.

A little under a week later, you're sleeping against Oscar in a very similar position, feeling like you're just as at home in China than you are in Australia, simply because of the person you're resting against, when you're awakened by the painful claims, "I ship it, the mechanics ship it, the other teams' drivers ship it, the fans ship it. My God, even my mum ships it! Literally everyone can see you're mad in love except you and her!"

You stretch, your eyes fluttering open, and murmur before you're even sure it's Lando's unwanted yapping torturing your ears, "Landooo shut uppp..."

Oscar gives your shoulder a squeeze, groaning to Lando in his perfectly alert awake state (contrary to yours), "Look at that, Lando, you made her wake up!"

"Oh, yeah, 'cause you'd hate for her to stop sleeping against y-"

"Lando, stop, it's not like that."

"How come every time a girl and a guy are friends, everyone ships them? I think that's society's problem," you comment as you rub your tired eyes.

Lando snorts, saying, "It's not every time. You guys are just obvious. And oblivious. You just need to admit it to each other."

"There's nothing to admit to each other, Lando," Oscar comments as he watches you slowly lean off of him, slipping his arm off your shoulders.

"Yeah, we're, like, brother and sister."

"Well, I wouldn't say that-" Oscar begins quickly.

"I mean, yeah, like-"

"We're more like just really close friends," Oscar finishes confidently.

"Yes, that's true, I agree," you say quickly, looking up at him. "We're family, but not brother and sister."

"Ah, so you're family, but it's not like siblings. What else could you be other than mad in love but just too dense to realize it?" Lando asks.

You just glare, crossing your arms, and Oscar comments, "I don't know, but it's not like that."

"Maybe it's just not like that simply because you both refuse to admit what you really want."

"Lando, I don't need you of all people being my psychologist. Could you just leave it?" you comment, feeling Oscar's eyes watching you.

Lando sighs (overdramatically), shrugs, and says, "Suit yourself. I'm just saying, you guys have got to get together soon, or else you'll drive yourselves and everyone else insane. We can all tell you guys just need to kiss already." And with that, he once again struts away.

As soon as he's gone, you whine, leaning your head into Oscar's shoulder, "I hate Lando!"

"Don't say that. He's just kidding," Oscar says gently.

You sigh. "I know... it's just..."

"Hm?" Oscar prompts gently.

"I don't want people thinking something that's not true."

"Who cares what they think? We both know how we feel about each other, and that's all that matters." But do we? Oscar's brain echoes.

"Yeah, you're right," you murmur, nodding, comforted by his words, not even picking up the way he stares forward, eyebrows knitted together, deep in thought.

You've heard what you think you want to hear, and that's all that matters to you.

The moment you see Oscar after his podium, after he stood on the first step, winning such a solid race as that, you run into his arms, causing him to laugh as he hugs you back, saying, "Hey, Y/n."

"I'm so proud of you!" you say excitedly. "Amazing drive- amazing!"

"Thank you, Y/n. It means a lot. I'm so happy you were here to cheer me on."

You grin up at him. "Me, too, Oscar. Me too."

He celebrated with his team after the race, you staying in your hotel, since Oscar promised you he'd like to bring you home with him to Monaco, and have a more low key celebration, without as many people. Besides, you'd like it that way better anyway. And this way, you can get some extra sleep and try to avoid some of the jet lag from the long flight to Monaco.

Now you stand in Oscar's bathroom back in Monaco, gazing at yourself in the mirror in your white crop top and silver skirt, knowing that when you step out of the bathroom, all you need is for Oscar to tell you it looks nice, and then all your worries will vanish.

And once you do, of course, he stands up from the living couch and says, "You look really pretty. Ready to go?"

You smile softly, sighing in relief, and nod. "Yes. I'm ready to go celebrate with the winner of the 2025 Chinese Grand Prix." You laugh a bit, and add as you head out to the car, "Oscar, you know I'm so incredibly proud of you."

He grins. "I know, I know." You know he loves your lavishing, even if he wouldn't admit it. He's never gotten enough of it; you're one of the people that appreciate him the most, you think, at least. You appreciate him a whole lot, anyways.

Soon you get to your destination, and the night starts off really fun, you and Oscar just sticking with each other, laughing, singing, drinking, and dancing. But after too long, the air becomes stale, the noise becomes too loud, and the drinks turn bitter. You're tired, and Oscar's off somewhere, swept away with his other friends. You sigh deeply, leaning against the wall, running a hand through your hair.

It's then that you feel a hand on your shoulder, and it makes you flinch. It's unfamiliar.

It's not Oscar's hand.

You look up to see a man around your age with tangled overgrown curly brown hair and dark, cold eyes. He's wearing a gold chain around his neck and a football jersey. It's then that he shows you his unflattering smirk and says in a thick French accent, "I'm Jordan."

You just kind of nod, showing a fake smile and crossing your arms, not really in the mood for any antics with any strange guys.

His eyebrows raise as he says, "Do you have a name, or am I going to have to give you one?"

Your lip immediately curls up as you look at him from the corner of your eye, still not tilting your face directly towards him. "You're not smooth. My name is Y/n."

"Pretty name for a pretty girl. A sassy girl, too, at that. I like that."

You bite your lip, rolling your eyes in utter annoyance at this guy 'Jordan.' "Good for you..." you murmur, trying to send him the message that you really don't want to talk with him.

Jordan just hums and steps closer to you. You glance up at him for the first time, really, feeling a bit sick from how close he is to you. You murmur awkwardly, "Could you please step away?"

"No, I don't think I will. I'm enjoying your reaction too much."

"Please, stop."

He roughly grabs your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. You swallow deeply.

"I really like your skirt..." he purrs, leaning in closer to you, completely ignoring your protests. His hand slips onto your thigh and grips it tightly.

"Stop... I don't care-"

"You don't, don't you? Well, what a shame... I reckon there's not much you can do about that..."

"St-"

He lips meet yours in a nasty, rough kiss. Your head pounds and spins as your knees begin to shake, panic of what's happening sinking in, your thoughts raging with anxious thoughts at the same time as your head being completely empty. You push at his chest, but he pushes his whole body up against yours, pinning you to the wall, further into a shadow.

You gasp, the panic sinking in deeper, and hardly register what happens next.

Oscar's familiar voice in all the chaos says in one of the angriest, coldest tones you've ever heard from his mouth, "Get your fucking nasty hands away from her."

Jordan tears his lips away from your mouth as Oscar grabs him, Jordan turning his head to look behind him, but before he has a chance to react, you watch as a fist comes flying across and hits him square across the face. He stumbles back and as blood begins gushing from his nose. For a moment, his eyes meet yours in shock, as if he expects you to help a dog like him, but it's then that you watch Oscar grab him by the collar and murmur in the darkest of tones to him, "I told you to get your nasty hands away from her, and you didn't. That's my girl, and no one dares to touch her like that. You better not think you can go on like this, and I hope this can be a reminder for you not to." And with that, Oscar throws another punch, hitting the guy in his eye. You slowly slip down the wall, still watching in shock as Oscar finishes him off by handing one more punch to him on his bloody jaw, before letting go of his collar, letting him fall to the floor, finishing with a yell, "The pain you're feeling right now is nothing compared to the pain you deserve!"

You watch as Jordan scampers up and, just like that, without even considering a fight, stumbles off, out of sight.

And then, everything hushed, Oscar turns, and his eyes meet yours. His hair is a little sweaty and messed up, falling over his forehead. For a moment, you see that remaining burning anger, but as soon as he takes you in, that vanishes, and is replace by the familiar warmth he seems to always look at you with.

And the moment your eyes lock, the tears start coming, and you break down.

Oscar is immediately by your side, pulling you into his arms, sitting on the floor next to you and holding you in his lap, gently stroking your hair. After a while, you hiccup, slowly leaning away, your body still shaking, and murmur, mopping up your eyes with your hands, "Os- Oscar... That was scary. I'm scared."

He gently takes your hand. "You don't have to be. I'm here. Are you ready to go home?"

You nod slowly, and Oscar helps you up, leading you out back to his car, his arm around your back protectively the entire time.

Once back in the car, as the events of what just happened replay through your head, you hiccup, more tears threatening to flow. Oscar gently takes your hand, murmuring in the dark of the parked car, "Tell me what I can do for you, and I'll do it. I hope you know I'll do anything for you to feel better."

You sigh shakily and just lean into him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you for a few minutes, before you lean away again and murmur, "Let's just get home..."

Oscar nods. "Good idea." He turns the car on and begins driving, and as soon as he does holds his hand that he's not using to drive out to you. You put your hand in his, letting the warmth from it fill you and comfort you.

As he drives, you suddenly say in the empty silence, "'That's my girl.' That's what you said."

Oscar just nods a little. "I know. I did mean to say that, you know."

You swallow, thinking for a few moments, before murmuring the simple question, "Why?"

"Because you've always been mine and I've always been yours, haven't I?"

You swallow. "I don't know what that means."

"Forget what it means. You're the most important girl- the most important person- to me. You're my girl, and I'm not going to let anyone be messing with you."

That feels right to you, and good to you, to hear that. And you're glad, in a way, that he's so confidently figured that out. It frees you to say back, "Well, yeah, then... I guess that makes you my boy, then..."

Oscar smiles very softly, giving your hand a little squeeze as you arrive at his home. Once you're both inside, before you have a chance to start worrying, Oscar says gently, putting a hand on your shoulder, "I want you to be comfortable. What do you need? I could get you something to eat, run a bath for you, get a change of clothes, all three, whatever else you need-"

"Oh, uh, don't worry about it-"

"Hush," Oscar suddenly interrupts, shaking his head. He moves to stand right in front of you, before gazing down into your eyes, and saying in all sincerity, "Look, I want you to be honest. I want to take care of you if that's what you need. I want you to be comfortable."

You swallow, nodding a bit, before murmuring, "A bath and a change of clothes might be nice... I'm not hungry, though."

Oscar nods, putting his hand on your back, leading you to his room. He opens his closet and says, "You can wear whatever you can find. I'm going to go run that bath for you; I'll call you when it's ready. I'll get a towel for you in the bathroom, too."

You nod, find one of his bigger McLaren T-shirts and a pair of black sweatpants, and head to the bathroom just as Oscar is calling for you.

Oscar smiles at you gently when you walk in and say simply, "Anything else you need?"

You shake your head 'no,' saying, "Thank you."

He nods. "Of course. I'll just be in the living room, you can come there when you're done. Call me if you need anything. And take your time, too."

You smile weakly, nodding. "Alright. Thanks, Osc."

He nods, leaving you to have your bath. You peel off your clothes and sink into the water, feeling its warmth surround you like an embrace. You let out a long sigh of relief as the water touches your sore, tense muscles, soothing them. After the night you've had, it feels good to just be. To just experience something genuinely good and calming, knowing Oscar is just in the next room.

Oscar. The way he stood up for you, was so protective of you, and beyond that, has been taking such good care of you... You know Oscar a good man... He was always a really sweet boy, and he's grown up to be a really very upright and sweet man. It was crazy- crazy- to see him go off on that stranger, and beat him up the way he did.

But somehow, it felt right. It was just proving he's good. That he cares so much about and for you, he won't let anyone hurt you without knowing the consequences of it from him.

How much does he really care about me?

The question almost feels good to ask, because you have a feeling the answer is one you like.

And then the way he so confidently called you his girl.

'That's my girl.'

Just looking back on it, for some reason, it makes your heart skip a beat. It's that chest-tightening nervous affectionate feeling you get often when Oscar does or says little things. Although this time, it's not little, and every new thing he does seems to make your stomach flutter a little more. It's a familiar feeling that you're sure you've gotten hundreds of times before with Oscar, but for some reason, you're only realising it now. Why, you have no idea, and what the strange feelings could mean, you have even less of an idea.

Soon, you finish your bath, and after drying yourself put on Oscar soft, comfortable clothes, no matter how over sized they are on you. Besides, you don't care in the slightest about that as soon as you inhale his familiar, comforting scent when you put them on. You go to the living room and see Oscar laying on the couch on his phone, now in a T-shirt and sweatpants, just relaxing. As soon as you walk in, though, he looks up.

"Osc...? Do you have a brush I could use for my hair?"

He nods, hopping up from the couch, and says, "Yeah, I do. Wait here, I'll be right back. Just get yourself comfy."

He leaves, and you shrug, taking his advice, and curl up on the couch, waiting for him to come back. He takes longer than you expect him to, but soon enough, he walks back in and sits next to you, saying, "Why don't you just relax, and I can brush it for you?"

"Seriously? You don't have to," you say immediately, secretly wanting badly for him to brush your hair for you. You love the feeling of other people playing with your hair- and if it's Oscar, even better.

He smiles at you. "I know, but I want to." And with that, to both of your delight apparently, begins gently brushing through your hair. When he's done, he slowly start running his fingers through it, starting from the bottom and going up to the top. You sigh, leaning back into him, and Oscar just simply loves it. After a while he says, softly amused, "You just seem to melt when my hands are in your hair."

You shrug, smiling a little, and say, "What can I say? It feels really good."

He chuckles that low comforting chuckle that feels just like home. "I can tell." After a few more minutes he says, "I found a hair tie I think you must've left here at one point. Do want me to braid your hair or something?"

You smile, glancing back at him, and say, "You can do that? I don't know if I can trust you."

He just smiles back at you. "You should. I'm good at it. Remember, I grew up with three sisters."

You shrug again before saying, "Well, alright..."

He chuckles softly again, before he gently begins braiding your hair, his fingers gently weaving through your locks, slowly, until he finally finishes and ties it on the end. Once he's finished, you turn around to face him.

He smiles at you.

You smile back, taking his hands in both of yours.

"You're beautiful," he suddenly says, looking right into your eyes. "I don't think I've told you that enough. Because I think it all the time, whenever I look at you."

For some reason, your friend saying that makes you blush. There are a few moments of silence, before you look down at your joined hands and murmur, "Crazy that the hands that beat up that guy are the same hands that just gently braided my hair."

Oscar shrugs, smiling a little. "They have different uses in different moments. And I don't regret what I did for a moment, not any of it. I would do the exact same thing if I had to do it all again. In fact, just thinking about it makes me really angry. But what matters most is that you're okay."

You sigh slowly, nodding, your head a bit dizzy at the thought of it all. "I'm just so thankful for you, throughout it all. You, like, saved the day..." you chuckle wryly.

He shrugs, nodding a bit. "I guess." A little laugh.

More silence.

You stare down once more at your joined hands. "But Oscar..." you begin hesitantly.

"Yes?" he prompts gently.

"...I'm sorry."

"Y/n... for what? You did nothing wrong-!" Oscar begins somewhat incredulously.

"It's just... You were celebrating your win..."

"Oh, Y/n..." Oscar begins, his tone softening. "Come on, now. Look up at me, will you?"

You sigh, doing so.

"It's not your fault, what happened," Oscar says. "It's that idiot's fault, and we both know that. What happened happened, and there was no preventing it. And if you're worried about me, don't be. I had a perfectly good time celebrating in China with my team. This was more that I wanted to do something with you, for you. But look at this right now. Here we are, sitting together, anyway. Isn't that what matters the most anyway; isn't that the point? So why don't we just make the most of this moment, right now, hm?"

You sigh again, nodding slowly, before saying, you heart almost feeling like it's being squeezed, "Okay."

"Hey," Oscar murmurs, his hand touching the bottom of your chin. "You're looking down again. Talk to me." He gently raises your chin.

You swallow, and suddenly, words that you hardly knew you even thought start coming from your mouth, and only now as you hear them in your voice do they even begin to make sense: "I guess it's just that... You're so caring and gentle with me, and protective. And we like each other so much and get along so well and we've known each other for years and... I guess sometimes I wonder about us... You know, our relationship, like, what even is it? I mean, I think we'd both readily admit we most definitely love each other, but I guess... well, I don't know..."

Oscar nods slowly, before whispering, as if it's some long kept secret, "You guess you just wonder in what way we love each other?"

You swallow, nodding. "Well, yes, exactly. Because... well, I don't know."

"Can I tell you how I feel about you?"

You study his face for a few moments- his handsome face- and nod.

"I feel about you the most deep feeling I've ever known, deeper than I ever thought I could experience. The love I have for you is beyond anything I could describe in a physical sense- it's beyond a romantic love or and family love or the strongest kind of named love I could think of. All I know is that when I look at you, I see fulfillment, and happiness. I see everything I've ever needed, plus everything I've ever wanted. I see a priceless jewel- the sort of thing that anyone would honor and protect with their life. I see beauty herself, on the inside and out. I see my best friend, my favorite person, the one I would spend any and every moment with, if I could. I see comfort, I see love. I look at you and know the great lengths I would go for you. I know it's all so cliche, but it is a love beyond words. It is. I just..." he trails off, before leaning in and whispering, "Are you crying?"

You sniff, looking away, your heart pounding. "No..."

He smiles gently, his hand leaving yours to reach up and wipe a tear away off your cheek with his thumb, "Don't cry."

"That's just so... sweet... and... everything I exactly feel, too, put into words..."

"Y/n..." he hums gently with a little chuckle. "I don't want you to cry, though."

"Don't worry," you say with a little hiccupy laugh. "They're good tears."

He smiles a bit, grabbing your hand again and giving it a squeeze. "Okay."

You swallow, before daring to ask, "What would the difference be, if you were my boyfriend instead of my best friend?"

Oscar eyes seem to light slightly at the question, and he says simply, "Nothing at all, except for one thing: we would be able to express that deep love for each other in different ways."

You nod slowly, swallowing.

Oscar leans in closer to you. "How does that sound to you?"

"I... I think it could be just what I need."

Oscar smiles softly. "I mean, I feel like... it would be nice to not just have to use my words to tell you how much I love you. You know, to be able to kiss you, or something, instead."

You find yourself smile a little at the words, nodding as pinkness gets to your cheeks. "Yeah... that doesn't sound so bad."

Oscar smiles, just gazing into your eyes. "Yeah?"

"It's just that... with tonight, with what happened..."

"Oh, I wasn't meaning we had to do anything tonight- just to think about. You know...?"

You nod slowly, before muttering, "But maybe... Just maybe tonight is the night to do it." You pause, before continuing, "You know, with all that happened, maybe if we just decided... tonight, let's just take a little step... it would help me to leave that. You know, it wasn't my fault... and I have someone who really does love me."

Oscar smiles. "And I really do."

You smile back, looking back up into his sweet brown eyes.

He slips his hand out of yours and gently brings it to your cheek, muttering, "Well, is it okay if I kiss you? Just a little kiss?"

You smile wider, feeling your stomach flutter at the sincere question. Nodding, you reply, "Yes, I reckon that is okay."

Oscar nods, his thumb stroking your cheek a bit as he leans in, his other hand gently touching your waist. His hand on your cheek shifts to cup the side of your neck, and he whispers, his warm breath on your ear, "You still okay?"

You nod.

And with that, he leans in, and, pulling you closer to himself, kisses you in the most perfect way. His adoration and love for you flows through the kiss, while still keeping it short and gentle. When he leans away, he whispers, "How was that?" with a little adorable smile.

You just sigh shakily and murmur, "I think you should do it again."

And he does without a second more of hesitation. His lips meet yours as he pulls your body closer to himself, lost in the kiss, lost in his emotions. When he pulls away again, he's pulled you onto his lap, but neither of you seem to care, both too swept up in each other's gazing eyes.

"I didn't realize for how long I needed to do that..." he whispers gently.

You smile a little. "I didn't realize how long I needed that from you."

He smiles back. "We'll call that both of our first kisses, okay?"

You nod. "Does this mean I'm your girlfriend now?"

"I like the sound of that."

You smile and throw your arms around him in an embrace. He pulls you closer to him, leaning back so that you can lay your head on him, and rubs your back, whispering, "I love you so much, Y/n. So, so much. To the moon and the stars and all the way back."

You smile up at him. "I don't know about the moon and the stars for me Oscar, but I'll tell you this: I love you enough to want to spend my life with you. I love you enough to want to grow old with you."

At those words, Oscar's arms tighten around you, and he chuckles, "See how sappy we suddenly get as soon as we decide to just give it up and kiss? My God."

You grin into his chest. "Yeahhh... But I don't mind it."

"Oh, trust me, I don't either." He shifts, moving you with him, making you both comfortable, so that you're laying together, cuddling.

"I really like this."

He hums. "Me too."

"You know we'll never hear the end of it from Lando if he finds out."

You feel the vibration of his laugh in his chest. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let's just relax. I just want to be. Be with you."

"I think that sounds like exactly what I was made for. To be with you."

He smiles, and you shut your eyes, content to listen to his heartbeat and just be.

Just be with him.

[chappellrroan]

you got a fast car i want a ticket to anywhere maybe we make a deal maybe together we can get somewhere any place is better starting from zero got nothing to lose maybe we'll make something me myself i got nothing to prove you got a fast car i got a plan to get us outta here i been working at the convenience store managed to save just a little bit of money won't have to drive too far just 'cross the border and into the city you & i can both get job & finally see what it means to be living see my old man's got a problem he live with the bottle that's the way it is he says his body's too old for working his body's too young to look like his my mama went off & left him she wanted more from life than he could give i said somebody's got to take care of him so i quit school & that's what i did you got a fast car is it fast enough so we can fly away? we gotta make a decision leave tonight or live & die this way so i remember when we were driving, driving in your car speed so fast it felt like i was drunk city lights lay out before us & your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder & i i had a feeling that i belonged i i had a feeling i could be someone be someone be someone you got a fast car we go cruising, entertain ourselves you still ain't got a job & i work in the market as a checkout girl i know things will get better you'll find work and i'll get promoted we'll move out of the shelter buy a bigger house & live in the suburbs so i remember when we were driving, driving in your car speed so fast it felt like i was drunk city lights lay out before us & your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder & i i had a feeling that i belonged i i had a feeling i could be someone be someone be someone you got a fast car i got a job that pays all our bills you stay out drinking late at the bar see more of your friends than you do of your kids i'd always hoped for better thought maybe together you & me'd find it i got no plans, i ain't going nowhere take your fast car & keep on driving so i remember when we were driving, driving in your car speed so fast it felt like i was drunk city lights lay out before us & your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder & i i had a feeling that I belonged i i had a feeling I could be someone be someone be someone you got a fast car is it fast enough so you can fly away? you gotta make a decision leave tonight or live and die this way

[red-in-the-ledger]

Where’s My Love; Part I.

joaquin torresxreader, angst

You weren’t supposed to be here.

“Y/N…?” His voice cracked through the comms, laced with disbelief. His eyes, wide beneath his headgear, locked onto you like he’d seen a ghost.

“What—what are you doing here?”

You didn’t answer.

Your stare was unwavering—empty. Cold. A shadow of who you used to be. That’s when it hit him like a punch to the gut. You weren’t in control.

Your warm, honeyed eyes—the ones that once held nothing but light and love when they looked at him—were hollow now. Glazed over. Stripped of everything that made them yours.

“Y/N! Hey!” he called out, louder this time, as he watched you smash the back window of the black SUV in front of you with a precision that didn’t feel human.

The sound of shattering glass echoed like gunfire.

He barely had time to register it before you reached in, pulled out the silver canister—the one filled with enough adamantium to tip the scales of global power—and tucked it beneath your arm like it was nothing more than a grocery bag.

“Joaquin, you need to do something. Now!” Sam’s voice crackled through the earpiece, urgent and sharp, snapping him out of his daze.

“What—what do I do!?” he asked, but he already knew. He just couldn’t make himself say it. Couldn’t even let the thought fully settle.

“Stop her.” Sam’s voice softened now, as if he knew the weight of what he was asking. “I know what she means to you. But if she gets away with that canister, the war begins. And a lot of people—millions—are going to die.”

Joaquin’s feet felt like they were bolted to the pavement. His breath caught in his throat. This couldn’t be real. Not you. Not like this.

But then you turned to him.

Still silent. Still watching.

And you ran.

Joaquin didn’t think. He moved, his instincts taking over.

“Target is mobile!” he barked into the comms, already sprinting after you. “I’m going after her!”

His chest ached with every step—not from the running, but from the heartbreak. Because deep down, he wasn’t chasing a threat.

He was chasing the ghost of the woman he loved.

You moved like a shadow, cutting through the dimly lit alleyways with practiced speed. Every twist and turn seemed premeditated, like you knew this city better than he ever could.

And maybe you did now.

Joaquin’s boots pounded the pavement behind you, breath ragged as he tried to close the distance. “Y/N!” he shouted, voice cracking with desperation.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch.

Up ahead, a fire escape ladder dropped from a brick wall. You leapt, scaling it effortlessly, one hand still securing the canister. Joaquin followed, slower, heart hammering with dread.

You were trained, sure. But this wasn’t training.

This was weaponization.

“Sam, I can’t get close to her!” Joaquin gasped, climbing two rungs at a time.

“Buy time. We’ve got backup rerouting to your position.”

“Great. I was hoping to have an audience when I get my ass kicked.”

You reached the rooftop and kept moving, your silhouette framed by the low city lights, wind whipping your hair around like wild strands of warpaint. Joaquin finally hauled himself up after you, stumbling slightly as he landed—but you were already near the ledge.

“Y/N, stop!”

You did. For just a second.

He saw the smallest flicker in your eyes. A hesitation. A crack in the ice.

Joaquin was nervous to move. Scared even the smallest movement would scare you off. His hands were raised, voice gentler now.

“I know you’re still in there,” he gulped. “Whatever they did to you, whatever they’re making you feel right now—it’s not real.”

Your grip tightened on the canister.

“Please,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

The wind howled between you, loud and merciless. Then—your body jerked. A shudder passed through you like a system overload. You staggered back a step.

“Y/N?”

A glitch.

You dropped the canister.

It clanged against the rooftop.

And then—your hands flew to your head as a scream ripped from your throat, raw and agonized, your knees buckling under you. Joaquin’s heart stopped. He dropped to his knees beside you, but kept his distance.

“Hey, I’ve got you. I’m right here, okay?”

More than anything, he wished he could pull you into his arms and erase the world around you.

Your breathing was shallow. Broken. And when your eyes finally met his, something familiar shimmered there—something real.

“J?” You mumbled. Your voice barely above a whisper. But he heard it. Clear as day.

Before he could respond, or even take a breath, a dart embedded in your neck with a hiss.

Your body slumped forward and collapsed into his arms.

“No—no, no, no!” Joaquin cradled you as your body began seizing.

His eyes scanned the shadows around them. A rooftop away, he caught the glimpse of a figure vanishing into the dark.

Whoever did this… they were smart, calculated.

And now?

Now it was personal.

—

Everything was heavy. Your limbs, your head—your heart.

The world came back in fragments. A dull, aching hum beneath your skin. A low beeping somewhere close. The sterile sting of antiseptic in the air. And the soft pull of fabric sheets beneath your fingers.

You were lying down.

Alive.

You blinked against the blurry overhead lights, your throat dry. A groan escaped before you could stop it.

“Y/N?”

The voice was soft, but immediate. Familiar.

You turned your head, slow and sluggish, and there he was—Joaquin. Sitting beside you, still in tactical gear, dried blood on his temple. His eyes looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

You stared at him. Confused. Dazed.

“What…?” Your voice came out hoarse.

He leaned forward, hands shaking just slightly. “You’re safe. You’re—back.”

Back?

You frowned, trying to piece together the fog in your mind. There were flashes—brief, violent snippets like broken glass.

A black SUV.

A canister.

The rooftop.

“I…” You paused, something inside you flinching. “I - I wasn’t…”

“I know.” He reached for your hand, hesitating just long enough for you to pull away—but you didn’t. You let him take it. His touch was warm, grounding. Real.

But they couldn’t stop the vicious attacks of memories flashing behind your eyes.

Images—sharp and jarring—struck like lightning. The SUV. The glass shattering. The cold weight of the canister in your hands. The scream of civilians. The sound of Joaquin’s voice—begging you to stop, to look at him, to remember.

You flinched.

Your fingers twitched in his grasp, breath catching as another wave surged forward. You saw blood on your hands—someone’s blood. You weren’t sure whose. You didn’t even know if it was real. But it felt real. Too real.

“Hey,” Joaquin said gently, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. “It’s over. You’re safe.”

You shook your head. “It’s not,” you replied, voice low, cracking. “I can still feel them. In my head.”

He didn’t pull away. Just leaned a little closer, like he could shoulder the weight for you if he tried hard enough.

I’m not letting them get to you again.” His voice was quiet, but deadly sure. “We’re gonna find out who did this. And we’re gonna end it.”

You wished you could believe that was enough.

But the truth was—it wasn’t just manipulation. It was invasion. They’d crawled into your head, rewired your instincts, buried commands under your skin.

And worse?

Part of you followed them. Willingly.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. “I could’ve killed you, Joaquin.”

“But you didn’t,” he said, without hesitation. “You came back.”

You looked down at your hands—calloused, bruised, unfamiliar.

Did I?

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, “Do you remember the first time we trained together?”

You blinked, confused by the shift. “What?”

“You disarmed me in under four seconds and laughed in my face.”

Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched. “You tripped over your own foot.”

“Exactly,” he said, a tiny smile playing at his lips. “That’s the Y/N I know. Smart. Fast. A little cocky. A lot terrifying.”

You let out a shaky breath.

He leaned in, his eyes boring into yours. “She’s still in there. I see her.”

“And I’m not letting them get to you again.” His voice was quiet, but deadly sure. “We’re gonna find out who did this. And we’re gonna end it.”

You stared at him. At the pain etched deep behind his eyes. And something inside you cracked—something you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

Before you could answer, the door opened. Sam stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“We need to talk,” he said. “All of us. Now.”

You exhaled slowly and sat up, ignoring the dizziness.

You’d just come back from the edge.

Now it was time to face what waited beyond it.

[hello-gloomy]

HI! I love your works for Dr Stone they're awesome!

If its no problem could you please write a Stanley Snyder x reader (Gender neutral if you can) where reader and Stanley start dating after being revived (for the first time-so before senku and the others came to North America). But the twist being that Charlotte Bony (you know the pilot that is obsessed with Stanley) kind of gets in the way and is really jealous of reader and makes reader think that Stanley isn't interested in them.? And then Stanley kind of makes it very clear to everyone that he loves reader after finding out what happened??

I hope that isn't too overwhelming!! Please take your time and feel free to change it up! Thank you.

I hope this one doesn't suck ass, I wrote this before I had to go to work so I apologize if it sucks.

-------------------

Make it Known

Stanley Snyder x Gender neutral!Reader

Description: Being nonconfrontational bites you in the ass, but Stanley doesn't help until the end to confront the issue the best way he knows how.

Warnings: Jealousy, bouts of anger, lack of communication, weird female coworker.

A/N: my bad if this sucks ass I'll make up for it later istg

-------------------

Hearing a slight chatter at the shooting range you round the corner and hope to find Stanley and Xeno testing out a new gun prototype and instead see Charlotte standing way to close to Stanley; shes practically on top of him and he doesnt even seem to notice. You lean up on the wall and watch them for a while, at some point Charlotte notices you and narrows her eyes before leaning on Stanley even more. You sigh out and decide that enough is enough and walk away; Xeno and Brody would propbably be better company anyway.

Stanley Tells Charlotte to ease up on his arm, and she backs on with a slight pout before pretending like nothing happened. He shakes his head and glances over to where he thought he heard some noise, but he only catches a flash of fabric. He sighs through his nose and goes back to practicing with Charlotte; he'll come and find you after he gets her off his back. Maybe you'll do some target practice instead.

------

You knock on the iron door and then poke your head in and find Xeno writing notes, when you get a bit closer he glances up for a quick second and gives you a small greeting and motions for you to have a seat with him. You lay your head on your arms watching him work and starting to relax, you huff quietly thinking about Stan and how he didnt even seem to care at how on top of him she was; you bury your head further in your jacket; the writing noises stop and the sound of a chair sliding against the floor is made.

"When you normally come into the lab, you ask what I'm doing thirty seconds after observing your surroundings." He sets down a mug of coffee and holds his own; you sit up and mess with the 'x' mark on the cup before taking a sip; you look up from the mug to the doctor in front of you and see him watching you intently. He raises an eyebrow, and you finally break and tell him everything; he nods along, and before he can give you any advice, there's a knock at the door again, and the man of the hour comes in.

"Hey, I was looking for you," Stanley tells you while petting your hair; you shy away from his touch and pretend it's not on purpose. He watches you for a moment and then talks to Xeno about the gun while still trying to hold you close without upsetting you further. You spend most of the conversation spaced out and only perk up when Stan wraps his arm around your waist.

"Why don't we get lunch?" He offers to both of you, but Xeno declines while giving you a pointed look, and you try your best not to smile at his subtle encouragement. Both of you say goodbye and promise to bring him a snack later and trek to the meal hall. During the walk, you build up the courage to hold his hand, but before you can, you get interrupted by the same problem from earlier.

"Captain, on the way to lunch?" Her butting in is starting to piss you off now. Stan gives her a polite yes, and she glances over at you.

"Would you like some company?" she offers to him while stepping closer, and of course, this idiot agrees, not seeing anything wrong with it; the rest of the walk there, she places herself right in between the two of you. You're currently trying to decide whether to flip out or pull out your hair. You walk away from them and grab your own food, and at the last minute, grab Stanley some. Charlotte can get her food herself. You set down his meal and sit across from him since she has to be beside him.

"You gonna get some food, Charlotte?" He asks while taking note of you only grabbing him and yourself a meal. She shrugs before looking at his plate and then giving him a little bump.

"Won't you share a bit of yours, captain?" She asks while giving herself the go-ahead to eat some of his bread; he doesn't react, so you do so for both of them.

"Here have mine, Ms. Bony. I lost my appetite." You shove the tray over to her and walk off. You hear a call of your name but ignore it and continue to walk, picking up your pace a bit so he doesn't catch up. You end up in your shared room with him and sit down on the bed for a bit; an intense flash of rage overtakes you, and you grab a bag and start shoving stuff inside of it. 'Just because she has known him longer doesn't mean she can treat you like that, and he shouldn't let her do that.' You grumble out, so wrapped up in yourself you don't hear the door open and close behind you. A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your thoughts, and you scream out. Stanley puts his hands up in an apology for scaring you; you calm your heart and go back to packing.

"Going somewhere?" He sits on the bed by your half-full bag.

"I'm staying with Luna for a few days." You harshly offer him, and he sighs and lights a smoke. He grabs your hands and pulls you into his lap, resting his head on top of yours. He lets you struggle against him until you relax.

" 'm sorry, doll," he whispers in your hair, and you scoff. He takes the smoke out of his mouth and offers it to you, and you snatch it angrily.

"I told her off." That makes you look up at him,

"I should have made her stop sooner; I was just used to her oddness about me. But that's no excuse, so I apologize." You nod along while shoving your face in his chest; he starts to put his hands up your clothes and then removes your shirt, leaving purple lips on your bare skin.

"Let me make it up to you."

"YOU DIDN'T TELL US YOU AND STANLEY WERE DATING!" She shouts while shaking you.

"Luna, my ears."

"Why is your neck purple?"

[maevedoodle]

𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬

Pairing-Bucky Barnes x Drunk F!Reader

Summary-Inspired by the lyrics of Video Games by Lana Del Rey. “He holds me in his big arms, drunk, and I am seeing stars.”

Tags-Fluff,Drunk reader,Protective Bucky Barnes,Soft Bucky Barnes,Caretaking,Established Relationship,Friends with benefits,at a bar,Caring Bucky Barnes

Word count-2.9k

A/n- TWO IN ONE DAY?!? IM HUSTLING (making this one cause the other one wasn’t really long)

The night had started with a simple plan.

Everyone needed a break. You and the team had been cooped up in the Tower for too long, tension running high from endless missions and late night debriefs. So, for once, you all agreed on the same thing, a night out.

The decision had been quick, no fancy restaurants or quiet lounges. A club was the obvious choice, a place where you could all drown out the stress with pounding music and flashing lights.

No mission talk, no strategy planning, just a night to let loose. You were just as eager as the rest, excitement buzzing in your chest as you got ready.

Dressed for the occasion, you'd picked out something that made you feel confident something that hugged your figure just right, the black fabric smooth against your skin.

Natasha had taken it upon herself to do your makeup, her skilled hands steady as she swiped a brush across your cheekbone. "Hold still," she murmured, eyes narrowed in concentration as she perfected the sharp wing of your eyeliner.

She was always precise, making sure every detail was flawless. In the background, Wanda was multitasking, her magic flickering through the room as she shuffled through songs, the volume rising and falling with each new track.

She was halfway into her outfit, hopping on one foot as she pulled on her heels, grinning as she caught your reflection in the mirror. "You're gonna turn heads tonight," she teased, adjusting the straps of her dress before spinning back toward her phone.

She shot you a knowing glance through the mirror, her grin widening. "Especially Bucky's," she teased, her tone dripping with amusement.

Natasha leaned back, tilting her head as she admired her work. "There," she said, satisfied. "Perfect."

You glanced at yourself in the mirror, turning your head slightly to take in the sharp liner, the flawless blend of colors, the way everything came together just right.

A pleased smile tugged at your lips before you turned back to Wanda. "Bucky is a friend, Wanda."

"With benefits," Natasha added smoothly, arms crossing over her chest. "Nope, just a friend," you murmured under your breath, giving her a pointed look. But you knew better than that. You and Bucky just hadn't put a label on it yet.

There was something unspoken between you and Bucky, a line you both danced around but never fully crossed. He was there when you needed him steady, unwavering, always within reach. And you were the same for him.

Late night conversations that stretched until dawn, lingering touches that never quite felt accidental, the way he always pulled you just a little closer than necessary.

It wasn't just friendship, but it wasn't something either of you had defined, either. Maybe you were both too stubborn. Maybe you were both too scared. But whatever it was, it existed in that space between, waiting for one of you to acknowledge it.

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

The club was alive with energy, the bass thrumming through the floor, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and perfume, laughter and conversation blending into the music.

You were already a few drinks in, the warmth spreading through your limbs as you moved through the sea of people. You all had claimed a booth near the back, drinks scattered across the table, everyone unwinding in their own way.

Clint and Tony were at the bar, both arguing with the bartender over some ridiculous question, their voices rising in exaggerated disbelief. Clint was leaning over the counter, shaking his head dramatically as he laughed.

Attempting to get the bartender to admit that the cocktail they ordered was just 'too complicated for a regular guy to understand.' Tony, on the other hand, was insisting that the bartender wasn't making the right choice of adorn for his drink, which had clearly left Clint irritated but still amused.

Thor, Bruce, and Steve were huddled around a chess table in the corner of the club, engrossed in a match with a few older guys who were getting increasingly frustrated with their moves. Thor, loud and boisterous, kept insisting his pieces were better than the opponents.

Bruce was quietly analyzing every move with a small, knowing smile. Steve, ever the patient one, was carefully strategizing, giving his opponents a fair challenge while keeping the conversation going about the history of chess. The older guys were having trouble keeping up.

The unmistakable beat of "Champagne Coast" began to pulse through the club, and in an instant, Natasha grabbed two shots from the table, downing hers in a quick motion. She passed one to you and Wanda, who eagerly followed suit, the burn of the alcohol creeping down your throats.

"It's our song!" Natasha screamed over the thumping bass, her eyes wide with excitement. Without waiting for any kind of response, she yanked you both by the arms, pulling you toward the dance floor.

The alcohol hit faster now, the warmth spreading through your limbs, giving everything a hazy, electric feeling. You couldn't help but laugh as Natasha's infectious energy took over, her body moving effortlessly to the rhythm as you tried to catch up.

Wanda was right beside you, her smile matching Natasha's enthusiasm. Together, the three of you became a whirlwind of movement, swaying and bouncing to the beat.

You could barely focus on anything else except the music, the flashing lights, and the rush of joy that came with being completely lost in the moment.

The alcohol continued through your veins faster than expected, the warmth beginning to spread from your stomach out to your limbs again making everything feel just a little bit lighter, a little bit fuzzier.

Your steps became a bit less steady, but the rhythm of the music carried you, and you couldn't help but laugh at how carefree you felt.

The world around you blurred, the flashing lights bouncing off your skin, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Natasha twirled you around with ease, and you stumbled slightly, your vision doing a quick spin before you regained your balance.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered right now but the music, the laughter, and the way Natasha and Wanda's energy seemed to feed into yours.

Lost in the energy of the night, you couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching you. It was a subtle thing at first, just the faintest prickling sensation on the back of your neck.

But then, you caught it Bucky's gaze, locked on you from across the room. He was sitting at the booth with a cup of whiskey in his hand, his eyes dark and focused, following your every move.

There was a hunger in his stare, something that made the hairs on your arms stand up. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze was undeniable. It was like he couldn't look away, even as he took a slow sip of his drink.

You felt a shiver run through you, the alcohol in your system making you more aware of his presence than usual.

The song eventually came to an end, the last beat echoing in your chest as the energy on the dance floor started to end.

Natasha, still full of excitement, tugged at your arm with a grin. "Come on, let's get more shots!" she called, practically dragging you and Wanda toward the bar.

You stumbled slightly, the alcohol already buzzing in your veins, and followed her to the stools where the three of you could catch your breath.

The club was louder now, the chatter of the crowd mixing with the heavy bass, but it didn't matter. The only thing you were focused on was the next round of shots, and the rush they'd bring.

You sat down on one of the barstools, your legs feeling just a little too wobbly as you steadied yourself, trying to shake off the slight dizziness.

Wanda slid onto the stool beside you, while Natasha quickly flagged down the bartender for more drinks, her voice carrying over the noise of the club. The three of you leaned in, laughing and joking.

As the bartender set down the new shots in front of you, you couldn't help but grin, the alcohol making everything seem funnier than it probably was.

After finishing your shot, you slumped slightly against the counter, your head spinning, but not in a bad way. The club around you felt like it was spinning too, a whirlwind of lights and music. You tilted your head, staring off into the distance for a second, and then suddenly, a thought popped into your head.

"You know, I think Bucky might actually be a human sized puppy," you said loudly, your words coming out more sluggish than you realized. "Like one of those big fluffy ones that sits in your lap but has no idea how strong his legs are."

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a glance, both bursting out into laughter as they processed what you'd just said. You continued, blissfully unaware pointing at Bucky across the room.

"Like, he's probably the type to—uh—like, be all quiet and brooding until you scratch behind his ears," you added with a goofy smile, completely convinced of your brilliance.

Natasha snorted, shaking her head. "I don't know if Bucky's ever been compared to a puppy, but you're onto something." You grinned, nodding sagely as if you had unlocked a great truth. "Right?! Like—he's just all—silent and then BAM here's my big soft side!'"

Wanda laughed so hard, she nearly spilled her drink. "You've had enough shots for tonight, haven't you?" You waved her off with a big, sloppy grin. "Noooo—I'm just—I'm just right."

You gave them both a confident thumbs up, then took another shot like it was going to make everything even out.

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

You didn't know how you ended up on the table, but there you were, swaying to the beat with a carefree smile plastered on your face. The lights from the club spun around you, flashing like a strobe as the music pulsed in your chest.

You could hear the laughter from your Nat and Wanda, the sounds of phones clicking and flashes going off as everyone recorded your own little dance party.

You sat down on one of the barstools, your legs feeling just a little too wobbly as you steadied yourself, trying to shake off the slight dizziness.

The laughter filled the air, everyone enjoying the ridiculousness of it all. Everyone was laughing except for Bucky. His eyes locked onto you from across the room, his jaw slightly clenched as he made his way toward you.

He was heading over with a determined stride, and you couldn't shake the feeling that his gaze had shifted from amusement to something else.

"Here comes the fun police," Natasha teased, tugging at your skirt to get your attention. You groaned, suddenly aware of how tipsy and carefree you were.

You quickly turned the other way, hoping Bucky would just walk away and leave you to your antics. You knew he wouldn't approve, but in that moment, you didn't care. You were having fun, and nothing else mattered.

"Maybe if I pretend I don't see him, he'll go away," you mumbled to Natasha, your words slurring slightly.

As you continued to sway, you heard the shuffle of footsteps growing closer. The next thing you knew, Bucky had shifted around to the other side of the table, standing right in front of you now. His eyes locked onto yours. The intensity of his stare making your stomach flip.

"Having fun?" he asked, his voice low but amused, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. You nodded, grinning widely, the alcohol making everything feel lighter, easier.

"You gonna join me?" you asked, your words a little slurred but full of mischief. The idea of him joining you on the table made you giggle, but you could tell by the way his gaze sharpened that he wasn't so sure about your dumb idea.

As you continued to sway to the music, your foot caught awkwardly on the edge of the table, and for a split second, it felt like you were about to lose your balance.

But you managed to catch yourself just in time, your hands shooting out to steady yourself. Bucky, watching intently, didn't seem as relieved as you. His expression shifted to one of concern.

"Get off the table," he said firmly, his voice laced with a protective tone. His eyes never left you, his body still tense as if ready to step in if needed.

You shook your head with a grin, still not willing to give up the fun just yet. "Nope," you replied, swaying slightly but standing firm. "I'm having fun."

Bucky's expression hardened, his patience clearly running thin. "Get off the table," he repeated, voice now tinged with authority.

Your eyes narrow as you still face him, your grin still in place despite the tipsy fuzziness clouding your thoughts. "No, you're not my dad," you shot back with a playful, drunken slur. "And you certainly aren't my boyfriend."

Bucky's expression dropped, the playful tension in his face melting into something more brooding and moody. His jaw tightened, eyes flickering with something deeper something unreadable, but it was enough to make you pause, even in your tipsy state.

"Fine," he muttered, voice darker now, with a finality that left no room for debate. Before you could react, Bucky stepped forward, his hand gripping your waist with surprising firmness. Without any more words, he threw you effortlessly over his shoulder.

"Bucky, what the hell?" you snapped, your voice sharp despite the fuzziness in your head. "Why are you doing this? Why can't I just have fun?"

You could feel the tension in your body, your frustration rising. "I'm fine, Bucky. I'm not falling off the table, let me have some fun!" you argued, struggling a little against his hold, but the alcohol in your system made it harder than you expected.

Bucky didn't falter, his grip on you unyielding as he moved with purpose. "You almost fell off the table." he stated voice calm but firm. "You're drunk and you need to eat before you go to bed. This isn't fun anymore; it's dangerous."

You seethed, not used to being treated like this. But there was no way around it Bucky wasn't backing down. He was right, but that didn't make it any easier to accept.

Bucky nodded at Tony, a silent gesture that made Tony give him a small, knowing look. Bucky didn't need to say anything more. He was taking you back to the tower, and that was final.

As he started walking toward the car, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. The alcohol in your system made everything feel hazy and distant, but at the same time, everything felt lighter.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "The sky is spinning," you said, your words slurring slightly as you gazed up at the night sky. "Look at the stars Bucky. They're so beautiful tonight." Your voice was soft.

Bucky didn't say anything, but you could feel his arm tighten around your waist, you couldn't help but let your gaze drop to his arm, the muscles flexing under his shirt with every step.

You blinked a couple of times, trying to focus. Everything seemed so much more vivid now, even though you were dizzy from the alcohol.

"Bucky..." you murmured, your voice drifting as you reached up to run your fingers over his bicep, the muscle firm and unyielding beneath your touch. "Damn, your huge." Your fingers squeezed gently, fascinated by the strength in his arm. "Is this like all from training?"

Bucky's body tensed a little at your touch, but he didn't pull away. He just gave a soft, amused sigh. "Yeah all from training." he said, though there was a faint edge to his voice that almost sounded like he was trying to hide the amusement in his tone.

You nodded, still mesmerized by the strength you could feel just under the surface of his skin. "No way—I need to start training," you said dreamily, giving his arm one last squeeze before your eyes drifted to the stars again, but then it shifted to Bucky again, his solid frame holding you securely.

You felt a sudden wave of affection, the alcohol making everything seem warmer, more intimate. "I feel like a princess," you whispered, your voice soft and sincere. "You should hold me like this all the time." You let out a content sigh, nuzzling into his chest a little as you relaxed in his hold.

Bucky looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before his lips quirked slightly. "You're drunk," he said, his tone gentle but firm.

You shook your head, your eyes locking onto his with surprising seriousness for someone in your state. "No," you murmured, your voice steady, "I mean it. I really mean it."

Bucky's expression softened, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes met yours with a hint of amusement, though his grip on you remained steady.

"Well, in that case," he said, his voice low and slightly teasing, "let me know when you need holding." His words, though light, felt oddly sincere as he continued to carry you back to the car.

As Bucky continued walking, his pace steady and focused, you couldn't shake the thought in your head. The alcohol still had its grip on you, but something in the air felt different, more intense. You looked up at him, swaying slightly in his arms, and your voice, soft and unsure, broke the silence.

"Bucky, can I have a kiss?" you asked, your words slow, a little slurred but full of a quiet longing. Bucky faltered for a moment, his brows furrowing as he looked down at you. "Take it back," he muttered, shaking his head. "You're drunk."

You frowned slightly, your lips pouting a little, but then you gathered your thoughts, looking at him with determination. "But my feelings the ones I'm feeling now for you, aren't confused."

Bucky's gaze softened, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with the pull between his protective instincts and whatever else was flickering behind his eyes.

But before he could respond, you'd reached the car. Bucky opened the passenger side door, carefully placing you in the seat and buckling you up with the utmost care.

When he finished, he gave you a quick peck on the lips. It was soft, a fleeting brush of his lips against yours. You immediately smiled, a satisfied look on your face, but then you couldn't resist.

"One more," you murmured, a playful glint in your eyes. Bucky chuckled, the sound light but full of warmth. He leaned in again, pressing another kiss to your lips, this one lingering a little longer. But you weren't done yet.

"One more," you insisted, your voice teasing.

This time, Bucky laughed outright, his chest rumbling with the sound. "You're relentless," he teased, shaking his head. But he gave in, leaning in once more for a final kiss. When he pulled back, he smiled down at you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and something deeper.

"Alright, alright," he said, his voice warm and soft, "One more. You happy now?" You smiled contentedly, leaning back in the seat as the car's engine roared to life, the night feeling a little more magical than it had just moments before.

[kagaintheskywithdiamonds]

omggggg Ford joining a parenting group (that's basically all women aside from him) because he wants to be the best dad for Stan. I hadn't even thought of that. But he would though. Being a single parent is HARD, he needs all the help he can get.

Which brings me to one of the things I didn't mention in the other post cuz it was already getting so long, but like, as the years go on, Stan's gonna have questions about his mother. I think any child in his situation would wonder the same thing. And even if he's still too young at this point to understand the specifics of where babies come from, he's probably aware that it takes two to tango. Surely he has a biological mother, right? Like, how could he exist without one? But Dad never talks about her, doesn't have any pictures of her, doesn't wear a wedding ring. Something weird is going on

And Ford tries to come up with believable stories to tell Stan but we all know he's a terrible liar. The only reason he's able to keep Stan's real origins a secret is because "hey dad, are you actually my twin brother?" is a question Stanley would never think to ask. but he WOULD think to ask about his mom, and it still catches Ford off-guard every time and he never has a good answer ready.

At one point he considers telling Stan what is technically the truth and saying his mother was a woman named Caryn, until Ford realizes that would put himself in sort of an Oedipus situation and it makes him sick to his stomach. So he thinks up a generic female name (a name that Ford isn't able to keep consistent, Stan notices) and comes up with stories that also don't stay consistent. "She died when you were a baby," "she broke up with me and didn't want to raise you and just left us," "I grew you in my lab" (that last one Ford says half-jokingly, though he realizes in hindsight that it might be the lie he's best able to maintain out of the lot)

And this creates some tension in their relationship as Stanley gets older, the fact that Ford is definitely hiding secrets. But then there's the undeniable fact that Ford still loves him, and that breeds some cognitive dissonance. I'm thinking it plays out a bit like the scene from NWHS where the mystery twins are down in the lab and they have every reason at this point to believe that Stan is a villain, but Mabel points out that photo of her and Dipper and says "but he still loves us". It's a bit like that. Except that the vilification of Stan's parent figure happens much more gradually (as opposed to the mystery twins finding all that incriminating shit about stan over the course of one day lol)

BUT ANYWAY I can't see that causing real tension between them until Stan is like 15 or so. Let's go back to him being younger

YES I was also thinking about Ford working to make sure Stanley's needs are met in school. and ok yeah this version of Stan still isn't a straight-A student, more like a straight-C student, but he still does a lot better than the Stan that Ford grew up with because who'da thunk it, kids perform better in school when they're actually given some encouragement now and then instead of being constantly told that they're a good-for-nothing idiot. I'm picturing Stan coming home from school all excited to show Ford the B- that he worked so hard to get and Ford picks him up and hugs him and ajsdklfjsdkl

and YES the love of sailing. the first time Stan mentions, even in passing, how cool it would be to sail around the world on a boat, Ford has to turn his face away and mutters something about allergy season.

And I hadn't even thought about Ford low-key spoiling Stan but it makes sense, having grown up with such a stingy father himself. I might have to disagree with you on the shark thing though. Like I said I picture this Ford being maybe a biiiiit overprotective. Think Marlin from Finding Nemo. No matter how much you try to convince him that the shark thing is safe, and no matter how much his logic-based brain wants to believe you, you know how parents are with their worrying. No way Ford's letting his child swim with sharks

And that becomes another point of tension as Stan gets older. Ford turns into a bit of a helicopter parent. And while this version of Stan actually makes friends with some kids from school, he has a hard time hanging out with his friends and just being a kid without Ford trying to involve himself somehow. And as much as Stan loves Ford, he does find it a bit stifling. One might even say... suffocating (my, how the tables have turned)

On a lighter note, imagine Ford trying so hard to butt in on Stan's circle of friends that he tries pulling the "cool dad" routine (much to hilarious failure). Imagine Stan hanging out with some friends after school and Dr. Pines comes rolling up on a skateboard (while wearing a helmet and elbow and knee pads, of course, gotta set a good example) and is so distracted trying to correctly use kid slang in a sentence that he ends up falling off a curb wrong and eating shit on the asphalt.

Dr. Pines (if you call him "Mr", Stan will correct you and brag about his dad's 12 PhDs) ends up being a bit more well-known among the student body than most other kids' parents, if only because of his embarrassing attempts to worm his way into Stan's life. And, ok, for that you can call Ford a dork, or a weirdo, but you better not call him a freak, and don't you DARE make fun of his fingers. Stanley will throw hands

Ford gets a call from Stan's school one day informing him that Stan got in trouble for fighting, apparently even gave another kid a black eye, and Ford is shocked and disappointed at this news. But when he learns that what instigated this fight was the same sort of "six-fingered freak" comments that followed him through childhood... Well, he's not sure what he feels anymore. Proud? He probably shouldn't be proud that his son is picking fights, even if it's on his behalf. Logically he knows that he shouldn't encourage this behavior and that he'll have to discipline Stanley somehow, but... goddammit, it really is the same Stan who constantly placed himself between Ford and their childhood bullies. How can he scold him for that?

(I should probably start putting these under a read more if I'm gonna have this much to say each time ^^')

Stanley has an important role in the grand scheme of things, specifically saving the universe. His role is so crucial that if anything were to happen to him it could lead to not only the destruction of his universe, but also lead the destruction of others. So what would happen if Ford had lost Stanley somewhere during the ten years they spent apart, only for Ford to be met face to face with the time police and what appears to be 2 years old Stanley.

His ears feel muffled as he’s handed the toddler.

Death by asphyxiation

Trunk of the car

Far too late

Paradox

The child’s timeline was already gone

The fate of the universe

His hands

The baby coos in his arms babbling as he grabs Ford’s pinky.

[lizardho]

The Halloween Story

As with most of my life stories, I have to clarify beforehand: Yes, this is real, and it is real because (and ONLY because) I am stupid. This is not something that happens to normal people because they wouldn't ever get close enough to a situation like this for it to happen. That being said, without estrogen my brain's "keep this idiot alive" switch was not turned on and I was, I think, biologically incapable of making good decisions.

Another thing to know is that I did not have a lot of friends as a kid because I'm terminally awkward; additionally, most of the friends I did have were maybe better described as "people who tolerated me but who I would take a bullet for." This is important for later.

Anyways, I was like 9 or 10 when this happened, and my littlest brother was like...5 or 6? This was his first Halloween where he was allowed to Trick-or-Treat past the end of our block, and he HAD to be accompanied by me or another older kid so he had begged me for DAYS to take him. And while I held the title of oldest brother, I feel like I put my whole pussy into being a good oldest brother, so I of course took the family's babiest of babies for his first ever trick-or-treat adventure!

I went dressed as Dartanian because I've been gay for a while, and he went dressed as a skeleton because he's adorable. We went trick-or-treating only in areas I knew, so mostly within the boundaries of our l'il Mormon ward, and we had fun. About a half-mile away from home, he started saying he was getting tired, so I told him we were gonna turn back and watch "Scary" movies, which was actually just two old VHS Scooby Doo episodes my mom let us watch because she only let us watch episodes where the monsters were fake because if they were real we'd get nightmares. So we start walking back. It's not too far and we know the way so it's going great. Littlest bro's first trick-or-treat adventure went swimmingly, we've got pillow cases full of candy, and we're about to watch scooby doo and eat skittles until we pass out. Life, for us, literally could not have been better.

BUT

As I walk around the corner of my old street, the far end of it, by a bush, I hear my best friend whisper-shout at me from a bush:

"Lizard, Lizard, stop, hide, quick!"

In most cases, my thoughts can be summarized by a humble: "Bwuh?" and in this case I'm pretty sure I said something like that out loud. I look into the bush, and I see it is JAM-FUCKING-PACKED with kids my age. Like 6 of them hiding behind this tall oleander bush shaking like they just saw a ghost. I wave to them, because I don't know what's going on, and tell them that Littlest Brother is tired so I'm going home. That's when one of them angrily grabbed me and littlest brother and tugged us into the oleander with them.

I think they thought we were hidden, but this was one shrub currently occupied by like 7 kids and despite how small we all were that was still more shrub-per-kid than the shrub could hide so me and littlest brother didn't actually fit. And I was squirming trying to get away because it was poky and scratchy and smelled bad and also I didn't know why I was being pulled into a shrub to begin with.

The ruckus of my squirming was freaking my friends out, who were all telling me to shut up and hide, and I was telling them I wasn't playing hide-n-seek and Littlest Brother was REALLY getting tuckered out so PLEASE let go so I can go home, when around the corner came three Big Kids on bikes.

These kids seemed HUGE and SCARY to me at the time, although realistically they were like in 8th grade and also dork-ass losers. They were on bikes with handlebar breaks, though, and they were wearing costumes ironically under hoodies, so they seemed scary at the time. They see me thrashing in a bush and correctly deduced that the kids they had been hunting down were in the bush too. This is when I learned that my friends were all scared because they'd been being hunted for sport by older boys. Like, actually, for real, we were being bullied on Halloween by kids who called us "dweebs" and shit, I cannot explain how that was actually happening in the early 2000s, that was a worn-out trope in the 80s, but it for real, actually, swearsy-realsies, happened to me.

They're bigger than us and have at least started puberty so they're a lot stronger than us. They fished us all out of the bush pretty easily and made us all line up. This was all happening on a well-lit suburban street in a Mostly Mormon neighborhood so again, I don't know how it all got this far, but it did.

Once we were lined up, they start quipping about our costumes and harassing us a little bit. Again, this is like STRAIGHT out of a shitty campy overdone 80s sitcom so I get that this sounds fake, but we were literally getting pushed around and called dweebs and nerds by some fuckass 8th graders who were all smoking a cigarette one of them stole from their mom. Finally they were getting bored so they told us that their terms to releasing us were that we give them our candy.

My friends, who are smart and wanted to be alive, immediately started grabbing fistfuls of candy from their buckets or bags to hand them. But I am stupid, and was trying to be a good older brother, and didn't understand the concept of mortality because HRT had not yet flipped that switch in my brain, and I saw littlest brother getting scared. His lips were trembling like he was about to cry, he was clinging onto me for dear life, and one of these kids comes over and is being all mean and calling him a baby (which he basically was, so like what even is the point?) and I got mad. So I took my prop rapier from it's sheath and started jabbing his ribs and head until he rips it out of my hand.

"Jesus Christ, you little faggot. I'm keeping this, you're not getting your sword back."

"K, fine, just leave my brother alone."

"I leave him alone if you give me ALL your candy."

He says it with this shit-eating grin, like he's got the upper hand. But I'm mad and suicidal in the same way a horse is suicidal, which is to say I don't care if I die as long as this fucker dies too, so I tell him if he wants my candy he can have it, and I wallop him with the candy sack. Hard. I put all 70 lbs of 9-year-old rage into that whump, and to my credit it caught him off guard. He steps back and rubs his face and the biggest kid in the group steps into his place.

"You wanna fight?" He's trying to act tough but he's also trying to square up with an unquestionably faggy 9-year-old Dartanian so it's tough. It's also a stupid, stupid question to ask, since I literally DID want to fight and he was just posturing.

So I hit him too. Again, all the rage my 9-year-old body possessed channeled into a pillow case filled with Dum Dums and skittles slaps into his face. I move to smack him again, because he's looking at me all incredulous like he doesn't think I'm serious. He tries to grab the bag but I kick his shin and he has to step back for a second because he was on his bike with only one leg on the ground and I had just kicked it so he was trying to keep balance. I took advantage of the momentary distraction and whapped him in the belly. That, I think, was the final straw for him, because he (seriously, yes, for real) took out an actual knife.

It was a real folding knife, I could hear the little mechanical click as he flicked the blade out and the locking mechanism secured it in place. He looks at me with murderous intent for like a tenth of a second before one of my other friends asks,

"Dude, are you serious?"

And it clicks that he just threatened someone with a real weapon. He takes a step back and tells me, trying to sound brave but now far enough out of his own comfort zone that he's starting to wonder what happened in his life to bring him here (which is dangerous, confused people do confusing shit).

But I'm horse-style suicidal and I honestly didn't think it was real, so I swing at him again. Full-body swing right for the face, and he slashes at the candy pouch and it tears. And I'm like "Oh shit, that's a real knife!" and he's like, "Oh shit, this kid is gonna beat me until I stab her or run!'' And that's when my Knight-in-Emo-Armor arrived!

The kid was like the archetypal "Bad Boy" of my childhood. He wore black hoodies to church and said "damn" instead of "dang" and "shit" instead of "shoot." He listened to metal music and told his grandma (who adopted him after his mom lost custody for drug use stuff) to shut up sometimes. He smoked. He was a moody goth/emo/scene/whatever enigma of rage from his shitty family life. He was also known for being actually real-life dangerous. The kid in front of me was contemplating stabbing me, but my Knight had actually broken someone's jaw in a fight before.

The whole time we were getting held up, he was just walking down the street listening to an honest-to-God MP3 player, stoned as all hell, angry at the world, and watching this all unfold. And he recognized a bunch of kids from church he barely gave a shit about, but then he recognized *me* and although he didn't know *me* super well, he fucking LOVED my dad because my dad was super nice to him at church, and he knew I was my dad's kid. And he knows the kids talking to us are bad news because he's friends with some of their friends and he knows they're all wannabe tough guys. And he makes a decision.

This guy, my knight, was tall, mean, scary, and crabby, and EVERYONE knew that, not just the Mormons in my life. And in all black, with black hair and black nail polish, he had remained almost perfectly hidden as he walked in the middle of the road on the tar-black Arizona asphalt until he suddenly emerged from the shadows right behind the kid with the knife.

"Bruh, what the fuck are you doing?"

This kid whips around and sees my knight and just blanches. Like, all-the-way white-as-a-sheet scared.

"Oh, Knight, h-h-hey, I didn't see you. You know these kids? We're just teasing them!"

"Hilarious joke, cocksucker. That's a real knife. Fuck off."

They almost left a cartoon dust cloud in the shape of their bodies as they left. My friend and "friends" from church all followed suit - Knightboy was BAD news with a capital B-A-D and they were probably more scared of him than the original trio. But I knew Knightboy because he teased me a lot in his last year elementary school and sometimes came over to talk with my dad so I knew he wasn't a bad kid. He bends down and picks up the plastic sword the first kid dropped and gives it back to me.

"This is yours, I think."

I took it, sheathed it, and said, "Thanks! You shouldn't swear."

"Man, I'm too stoned for this shit, just get out of here."

"Ok, thanks Knight! See you at church tomorrow!"

And I toddle off with Littlest Brother. I take him to some of the best houses on our street for a second round of trick-or-treating so he can calm down, and we go home. My mom puts Scooby Doo on and asks me how everything went - I tell her it was fine, it was fun. She said that Littlest Brother said something scary happened, and I said "Oh, I think he got spooked by Knight is all." And she just shrugged and walked off. By the end of the night, I honestly forgot it even happened. I was more invested in trying to figure out how to grow up to be like Velma and lining my skittles up by color so I fully did not even remember.

BUT.

My mom is friends with all the other moms at church - she has to be because she has a master's degree in a church that teaches that employed women are failing God and their families so she ended up as a high-achieving woman working as a stay-at-home mom and if she didn't make friends at church she would fully go insane.

And at church the next day, my mom is approached by a tiny pack of mothers all saying "Wow, Lizard is so brave, aren't you so proud of her?"

And because she's a Good Mom who Loves Me So Much, she says, "Yeah, totally, why do you ask?"

And they say, "Because she tried to fight off some muggers last night! She hit them with her candy bag!"

And my mom says, "Haha, Yeah, she's fierc-wait what in the fresh hell did you say?"

And they all tell her the story, and my mom is PISSED that I didn't mention, but she also knows I am capital-D Dumb, so she pulls me out of Sunday school and asks me,

"Lizard, baby, did you scare off some muggers last night?"

And I said, "Oh yeah, kinda! Knight was the one that actually scared them though."

And she says, "Lizard, baby, why did you not tell me?"

And I said, "Oh, I forgot."

And she just nodded and tried unsuccessfully to push my little "Alfalfa sprout" strand of hair down, and gave up, and then pushed me back into class. And later that day she made like 3 lbs of chocolate chip cookies and drove them all over to Knight's house to thank him. And basically ever since then I was in Knight-in-shining-armor's good books (although he wasn't very good at showing it for a bit), and I had an undeserved reputation among the kids in my church as a badass for like a year, which I felt pretty good about.

Anyways, the Halloween Story is so weird that sometimes I question my own memory of it, but I am telling it now based on my memory as best as I can recall and after fact-checking it with my mom a few times.

[novaursa]

hey nova, could you make sandor x reader or tywin x reader (what came naturally for you). the reader is princess of dorne. maybe the reader heard they don't want to marry her, saying she's plain, etc. maybe angst hehehe. but if i also want them to grovel at the reader, like regret everything as they falling in love, but the reader has trust issues so doesnt want to give in.

You Who Tried

- Summary: Some of the greatest tragedies never had a chance to be mourned.

- Pairing: martell!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: I've made this little more serious. I hope you don't mind.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, its warm glow dancing against the dark wood-paneled walls of the solar. Tywin Lannister sat behind his carved desk, a half-empty goblet of Arbor gold in his hand, untouched correspondence splayed before him and ignored. The candlelight cast shades across his face, aging him more than the years ever could. He stared into the wine as though it might whisper answers, his expression grim, eyes dark with something unspoken. It had been a year. One year since that night, the night of his wedding to the Princess of Dorne. One year since her hand had trembled within his own as they danced before the court. One year since her eyes, wide and bright like twin suns, had searched his face with a reverence that had startled him more than he had ever let on. He had been a conqueror that day, a lion who had claimed not just a bride but a realm of southern alliances and future security. Yet now, as he sat alone in silence, that night lingered like a ghost, pressing cold fingers against his spine.

He remembered her chambers clearly—fragrant with orange blossoms and lemons, the silk of the Martell banners swaying slightly from the windows cracked open to the cool night air. She had waited for him on the bed, not yet unclothed, her posture straight despite her bare feet and the loosened braid that draped over her shoulder. She looked regal even then, even young and untouched, like someone carved of ivory and sunlight. He remembered the color of her eyes—amber ringed in deeper gold—and how they lifted to meet his as he entered the room. There had been no fear in her, only that dangerous thing he now knew better than to underestimate: hope.

"You came," you said softly, as though you hadn’t expected him to. Your voice was calm but your hands were clasped tightly in your lap, knuckles pale against the fabric of your nightdress.

"It is our wedding night," Tywin had replied, his tone clipped, precise. Duty had always come easily to him—whether steel or oaths or flesh. He had not come to wound you. He had come because it was expected, because alliances were forged not just in ink but in blood and consummation. He had steeled himself against softness, as he always did. He had not meant to be cruel.

You had not shied from his touch. You had looked up at him as he approached, your eyes searching—questioning, yes, but trusting too. Your breath hitched when he took your face in his hand, tilting it slightly so he could study you better. You were beautiful, undeniably, and you smelled of sun-warmed citrus and spices he’d only ever encountered in war campaigns. Your skin was gold-touched, your lips parted in anticipation, and your gaze so open it unsettled him. No one looked at him like that. Not even Joanna had looked at him like that—not with such innocent belief. You had looked at him like he might be more than a lion in a cage of stone and obligation. You looked at him as though he could be tender.

"Will it hurt?" you had asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For a moment," he replied. "But you will be fine."

You had nodded, trusting him. Trusting him.

Tywin downed the rest of his wine in one swallow, the memory burning hotter than the alcohol. He could still feel the silken glide of your skin beneath his hands, the way your body arched hesitantly beneath him, and how you whispered his name the first time he entered you. Not my lord, not Lion of the Rock. You said Tywin like it was something precious. And he, in turn, had been careful—perhaps not gentle, but measured. Efficient. He had kissed you once, more out of necessity than affection, and when it was over, he had remained long enough to see the blood staining the sheets, a grim satisfaction curling in his chest. The seal was done. The alliance had been made. The honor of both houses preserved.

You had turned your face toward him as he dressed again, still beneath the sheets, your lashes damp and cheeks flushed. “Will you stay?” you asked, your voice soft but not pleading. “Just for a little while.”

He had fastened the last of his buttons, adjusted his belt, and replied, “There is much to see to in the morning.” He had turned without looking back and left your chambers in silence, his boots loud against the cold stone. He had not seen your face fall—only imagined it later, after the door had closed. But the image had haunted him nonetheless. A flicker of something had dimmed in you that night, not extinguished, but altered. He had seen it the next morning when you entered the Great Hall, clothed in Lannister crimson rather than Martell orange. You had smiled, performed your duties flawlessly, but your eyes had changed. There had been a shadow where before there was fire.

That was the beginning. Or perhaps it was the end. He had not touched you again.

Tywin poured more wine with an unsteady hand and leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. A year had passed, and you had been the perfect wife in every way—dutiful, gracious, political where required. But never again had you looked at him like you had that night. You had stopped asking him to stay. Stopped meeting him in the gardens. Stopped waiting up for him. You had grown cold—not in anger, but in quiet, resigned indifference. And he had let you. Gods forgive him, he had let you.

He stared into the fire and thought of the girl who once looked at him like he could be more than the sum of his titles. Tywin Lannister felt something unfamiliar curdle inside his chest. Regret.

The halls of Casterly Rock echoed with silence at this hour, the keep heavy with the stillness that only came after the lords had gone to bed and the servants had stilled their steps. Tywin sat again in his solar, though this time the goblet in his hand had long gone cold. He wasn’t drinking tonight. He didn’t need wine to summon the memories that plagued him now—not when they came so easily, like ghosts waiting only for him to be alone. His mind wandered once more, against his will, to her voice, to the lilting cadence of it, full of music and color, always vibrant even when it grated against his composure. She had tried, gods forgive him, she had tried so very hard.

In the weeks that followed their wedding, you had not been content to merely exist beside him. You had sought him out—in the garden walks, in the solar, even in the corridor outside the council chamber, always with that same determined grace. You had come to him like sun rising over red dunes, warm and brilliant and strange. He had not known what to do with that. He had not been taught to receive warmth. His world had been forged in steel and stone, not sand and sunlight.

“Do you know how the first Martell prince took his throne?” you had asked him once, seated across from him in the solar after supper, a book open in your lap, your eyes glinting with curiosity rather than pride. You were not boasting—never boasting. You simply wanted to share a story.

“I imagine it involved blood,” Tywin had said dryly, not looking up from the document he was reviewing.

You had laughed softly. “All thrones do. But he did it through marriage. He wed the warrior-queen Nymeria. She brought ten thousand ships and a whole people with her. He gave her equal rule and took her name instead of forcing her to take his.”

Tywin had looked up then, faintly irritated. “And what lesson am I to take from this, my lady?”

You tilted your head, considering. “That strength does not always look like conquest, my lord. Sometimes, it is in yielding without being defeated.”

He had said nothing after that. He had returned to his writing, and you had closed your book, the light in your eyes flickering but not extinguished. Not yet.

There were more nights like that. You brought him fruits he did not eat, books he did not read, stories he did not ask to hear. You told him of the Red Mountains, of the basilisk-infested ruins of Yeen, of your mother who once rode a white sand steed faster than the Dornish wind. You spoke of your eldest brother with reverence and mischief, how he used to carry you across the hot stones of the palace barefoot, so you wouldn’t burn your feet. You told these things with a softness that was never self-serving—always a hope that he might say something back, that he might offer a sliver of his world in return.

But Tywin had never learned to speak in the language of affection. His tongue knew the taste of order, of correction, of decree—but not of warmth. He had not asked about your brother. He had not touched the slices of blood orange you left on a silver plate beside his wine. He did not turn when you stood behind his chair with a hesitant hand near his shoulder, waiting to be invited closer.

And yet, you tried.

You tried still when you invited him to walk the gardens with you under the moonlight, and he refused. You tried when you sat beside him with parchment and ink, hoping to write to Sunspear together. You tried when you sang beneath your breath, old Dornish songs with melodies so foreign they ached in his ears. You tried when you sat across from him at meals and smiled, always smiled, even when he didn’t look up.

And then—then, one day, you stopped.

He hadn’t noticed it at first. He was a busy man. The day-to-day demands of rule did not leave time for frivolous thoughts of wives and gardens and stories from far-off deserts. But the silence grew. The tray of untouched fruit no longer appeared. The space beside him at supper became filled with cold conversation and absent eyes. You sat like a statue now, your face perfectly arranged, your voice no longer lit with curiosity, only civility. You ceased to seek him. You ceased to speak of Nymeria, of old songs, of the brother who carried you barefoot. You ceased to try.

It was then that Tywin had looked up from his writing one evening, a line of ink drying crooked on the page, and realized the solar was too quiet. No footsteps approached. No voice asked if he needed anything, if he had eaten, if he would walk with you. There was no scent of citrus or sun-warmed spices lingering near his desk. The absence struck him like a blade between the ribs.

He rose without thought and went to your chambers that night. He had not been there since the wedding. He expected—he didn’t know what he expected. Perhaps the old you, the hopeful you, sitting in your chair by the window. Instead, he found the fire burned low and you asleep already, turned away from the door. You had drawn the curtains around your bed. He could only see the shape of you beneath the coverlets—still, unmoving, far away.

He stood there for longer than he should have, a shadow among shadows, before turning and leaving in silence.

It was too late.

And Tywin Lannister, who had bent kingdoms to his will and never wept for anything—not for his father, not for his wife, not for his pride—realized that for the first time in his life, he had lost something not because it had been taken from him, but because he had let it die.