#* You take the man out of the city not the city out the man for real!!!

[punkshort]

Just This Once: Part Two

Pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Your dad surprises you after work with a brand new bed as a late birthday present. The kicker? Joel is there to help assemble it, leading to a very tense afternoon.

Warnings: no outbreak au, language, smut (18+ MDNI), age gap, phone sex (alluded to), sexual tension, references to masturbation (both), reader's mom is dead, reader has hair (length unspecified), size kink, unprotected piv sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), dirty talk, sneaking around, mutual pining, takin' nudes

WC: 6.6K

Part One

Let me know when you get home safe

You smirk and collapse into bed.

I've been home for 20 min. What took you so long?

Then...

??

You roll your eyes and burrow deeper into your covers.

I thought you'd text me sooner. I left almost 40 min ago.

You wait anxiously for Joel to reply, staring at your screen for the words to appear. Truthfully, you have no idea what you even want him to say, just that you want to keep him talking.

I had no idea what to say

You grin and before you can reply, another text comes through.

Still don't

Butterflies bloom in your stomach as you type out your response.

Where are you?

It takes less than thirty seconds for him to answer: bed.

You're thinking about me in bed?

You can practically hear his heavy sigh from across the city.

We can't do that again, I told you

Do what?

Don't play dumb darlin - you know what

I just asked a question.

Your old man's got a shotgun in his basement, I've seen it

Your shoulders sag and you relent.

Ok ok.... it won't happen again and I won't breathe a word of it to anyone. Promise.

Good

And you think that's the end of it. After you don't reply to his last text and he doesn't add anything further, you roll over to switch off your lamp and you do your best to focus on falling asleep without thinking of Joel's deep brown eyes gazing up at you while you ride him, all hazy and filled with desire. You quickly find it's impossible not to and it has you tossing and turning while trying to ignore the fresh ache growing between your legs. You skirt your hand down past your sleep shorts with a frustrated huff when, to your delight, your phone lights up again.

What are you wearing?

---

It's Friday, fucking finally. Your entire week at work had been shit. You made one tiny mistake that ended up costing you three hours to fix, a mistake you don't normally make and you just know it's because you've been distracted.

It's been two weeks since you've gone to visit your dad, meaning it's been two weeks since you've laid eyes on Joel. That night you shared should have slowly become a distant memory, but instead you found yourself texting him every single day, making it impossible to forget. Sometimes it was innocent enough, but at one point or another the conversation always turned flirty, which then turned heated, which then evolved to one of you giving in and calling the other so you could whisper filth into the phone with your fingers stuffed inside your pussy, but no matter how much you try, you're never able to get as deep or make yourself feel as good as Joel did.

It's driving you crazy.

So when you arrive home from work Friday afternoon and throw your car into park, you're too distracted to notice a familiar pickup truck parked on the street. To be fair, you live above a restaurant, so there's often cars parked along the street. You've learned to block it out. But when you go to open your door only to find it already unlocked, your heart stutters in your chest and you glance around. That's when you spot your father's truck and you roll your eyes.

"Dad?" you call up the stairs from down below.

"Yeah, honey, up here!"

You close the door behind you and trudge up the stairs, dodging various pairs of shoes you store on the end of each step. Right when you turn to enter your kitchen, you hear your father talking and laughing with someone. You don't have much time to wonder who it is because then you hear his voice, all low and velvety smooth. The very same voice that just the night before was telling you through the phone how much he missed your perfect, soft pussy and then begged you for a picture.

It suddenly became impossible to breathe.

"Hey, Kiddo," your dad says when he steps out of your bedroom. He's carrying large cardboard pieces to the stairs and sweat coats his face. "Me 'n Joel are puttin' your new bed frame together. Almost done."

Him and Joel. Joel. Putting together your bed. Joel is in your bedroom.

Your skin feels like it's on fire and your blood is pumping so fast, it makes you lightheaded.

"Uh, w-what new bed frame?" you stammer, forcing yourself to move out of his way.

"The one I promised for your birthday," he calls over his shoulder from your stairwell. Your eyes rake across the kitchen towards your open bedroom door, but Joel is nowhere to be seen. "Sorry it took so long but I told ya I'd get to it."

"Oh," you say, "uh, t-thank you. You didn't - um - you didn't have to do that."

Your dad emerges from the stairs and your gaze sweeps back over to him.

"Sure I did. It's your birthday present. 'Sides..." He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and looks to the floor when he says, "felt bad 'bout our fight. Wanted to make things right, check in on ya. Miss seein' you 'round."

"Oh, Dad, it's fine. I'm not mad anymore, I've just been busy with work and stuff," you say. He looks down at your work clothes: a thin blouse half tucked into an off-white pencil skirt and heels.

"Look so grown up," he murmurs softly. You give him a small smile and shrug, temporarily forgetting Joel is just in the next room until your dad says, "Don't my little girl look all grown up, Joel?"

Joel's standing in the doorway to your bedroom, staring at you across the kitchen. You swallow and tighten your fingers around the edge of your counter and you fucking pray your father doesn't read the hungry look in Joel's eyes when he slowly and appreciatively sizes you up and down.

"Yeah," he finally says, voice only a little gravelly. It could be innocent, but you knew better. He clears his throat and tries again. "Look real grown up."

You give him a smile, one you hope looks natural. "Thanks, Joel."

Your dad snorts and crosses the kitchen, heading back towards your bedroom to finish your bed frame. "Callin' him Joel now? Since when?"

Joel locks eyes with you and you see it. You fucking see that heated look he gives you, letting you know exactly what he's thinking about: you, grinding down on his lap and whispering little teases in his ear while calling him Mr. Miller.

"Oh, uh, I-"

"I told her to," Joel says over his shoulder once your dad disappears into your bedroom. Joel's eyes remain firmly pinned on you when he adds, "She's grown now 'n all."

Your eyes widen and you shoot him a look, but Joel just grins and turns back around, back into your fucking bedroom, to help your dad finish up.

Your head spins. This is not the way you wanted Joel in your apartment for the first time. You tiptoe in your heels to peek inside your room, where your father is sprawled out on your carpet with a wrench and Joel is holding your new padded headboard in place. Your dad is murmuring to himself as he focuses on securing the headboard to the rest of the frame but all you can focus on are Joel's massive hands curling around the beige fabric. You bite your lip and lean casually against the doorframe, allowing yourself to fantasize about Joel's grip on that headboard while he's pounding into you over and over and-

"I'm gonna order some pizza!" you exclaim suddenly. Your dad pauses and looks at you curiously but Joel just smirks. There's no possible way he didn't see right through you. Not with that smile and the way his cheeks tinted.

"Alright," your dad says slowly before focusing back on his work. You hurry into the kitchen and place an order from the restaurant downstairs, then anxiously look around. You're lucky your place isn't messier. At least your laundry is put away and the only dishes in your sink are from breakfast.

Still in your work clothes, you wander over to check your fridge, delighted to find that you have a few cans of beer left over from your friends.

In your bedroom, you hear your dad tell Joel he's all done. You hear shuffling and you imagine they are putting your bed back against the wall because next, they pop out of your room and head towards your living room, where your mattress and boxspring are temporarily being stored.

Joel tosses you a wink as he trails after your dad and you have to turn around and do the dishes so they don't see how flustered you are.

Your legs press together when you hear Joel's familiar grunts from somewhere behind you while he and your father struggle to drag your boxspring and then your mattress back in place. You're scrubbing a plate so fucking hard, you're surprised it doesn't shatter in your hands because you can't stop thinking about Joel and all the things you'd let him do to you if your dad wasn't there at that very moment.

"- you listenin' to me?" your father's voice says, causing you to jump and drop your sponge.

"Huh?"

You look at him, trying to ignore Joel next to him as he sheds his flannel and plucks loosely at the black t-shirt underneath, unsticking it from his sweaty chest. Fuck.

"Said Joel's gonna take the trash out and I'm gonna go grab that pizza. How long they say it'll take?"

You blink, blood singing hot in your veins when you mumble should be ready soon, then slowly dry your hands on a towel while your father and Joel collect the trash from your bed frame to take down to the dumpster.

Your apartment is silent for a few minutes after they disappear outside, the only sound coming from your heart pounding steadily in your ears as you wait for the door downstairs to open again.

When you hear the squeaky hinges open and close, then the dull, slow thud of his footsteps climbing the stairs, you remain stock still at your sink. Your fingernails press so hard into the stainless steel, it's a wonder they don't break. You can't bring yourself to turn around when he steps through the door, back into your kitchen. He told you it couldn't happen again and you agreed, but your phone calls the last two weeks spoke otherwise.

Without saying a word, Joel's on you in an instant, spinning you around and crashing his mouth hungrily against yours, driving away that little voice in the back of your head that keeps reminding you just this once, just this once.

You nearly crumple in his arms, feeble fingers digging into his shoulders for something to hold onto. His tongue slips past your lips with a groan and his hands grab eagerly at your blouse, bunching up the fabric in his fists, too fucking crazed and desperate to feel you again.

You whimper and he swallows it down, big hands releasing your shirt to travel lower and grab at your ass confined in your tight skirt. His skin is slightly damp with sweat and he tastes so good and feels so warm that it has you guiding his hand to the zipper of your skirt, encouraging him to pull it down.

"Can't," he mumbles before latching his mouth onto your neck.

You're impatient. You rake your fingers through his tousled hair and he sighs against your throat.

"Y'smell so good," he says, body pressing against yours, pinning your back to the edge of the counter.

"Joel-" you beg, but he keeps talking and his hands keep searching, grabbing for any part of you he can find.

"Been half hard since I got here," he admits, the confession sending a shock of arousal straight through your stomach and down to your core. "Got any idea what it was like for me to be in that room, movin' that mattress, knowin' you were fuckin' yourself right there last night?"

You gasp and claw at his hair, his neck - anywhere - while his mouth drags down the column of your throat. He ruts his hips against your stomach and you squeak when you're reminded of just how fucking big and thick he is. You drop your hand and rub your palm against the soft denim, over his impossibly hard cock caged in his jeans, and you whine in his ear. A wordless plea.

"Can't," he says again, but his hips buck forward, chasing your hand. He pulls you closer, his teeth scrape your jaw, and then his lips are seared over yours once again, smearing whatever remains of your lipstick.

Joel gasps and breaks the kiss but keeps his hips firmly pressed into your palm. He looks down at you like he wants to swallow you whole, his brown eyes so dark they look nearly black. One hand lifts to get tangled in your hair as you both fight every impulse to tear each other apart right then and there.

"I'll ... I'll call you tonight-" he begins, voice sounding pained. You shake your head. His grip in your hair tightens.

"No, Joel, please," you beg. Not another phone call. If you didn't know any better, you sound as if you're on the verge of tears. He sighs and presses his forehead to yours, his wet lips hovering over your mouth when you say, "it's not enough. I need you. Please, Joel, I can't-"

The door downstairs swings open and you fucking fly apart. Joel's eyes, which were just filled with lust, now are wild with panic.

"Go to your bedroom, y-your hair and-" he waves his hand in front of his mouth and you hurry away as he's wiping the lipstick from his own mouth, closing the door behind you. A few seconds later, the door to your kitchen opens and you hear your father's voice. With trembling hands, you unbutton your blouse and unzip your skirt so you can change into more comfortable clothes while you hear plates being pulled from your cupboard. Your dad is telling Joel some story about the customer ahead of him in line who was asking every question under the sun about the ingredients in their sauce as you pull on a soft pair of leggings and an oversized shirt.

Before joining them for dinner, you tug a brush through your hair, taming the mess Joel's hand left behind, and wipe off the lipstick from your mouth and cheek. Once you think you look somewhat normal, although internally you might be on the verge of a fucking stroke, you take a shaky breath in and step out of your bedroom.

"Hey! There she is!"

You give your dad a weak smile and head for the fridge, avoiding Joel's eye but feeling his stare burning into your back.

"Here, I have a few of these," you say, grabbing the cans of beer and putting them on the table. "Some friend left them behind, I think."

Joel is sitting at your small, round kitchen table next to your father with an untouched piece of pizza on his plate. Meanwhile, your dad is nearly halfway through his first slice. You pull a glass from your cupboard and fill it at the sink, using the opportunity to take deep breaths and calm your nerves.

Unfortunately, when you turn around, Joel locks eyes with you and you feel as though you may melt into the floor. His fists clench tight on the table and you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for it, but his chest rises quicker than usual and there's a pink tint to his cheeks.

You sink into the chair across from him and shakily pick a piece of pizza from the box. You're hungry but you're so fucking turned on, it's hard to think about anything else. The pull between your legs is so uncomfortable, it has you shifting your weight in your seat while you take a few small bites of food. Joel must be feeling similarly because out of the corner of your eye, you finally see him slowly unfurl a fist and pick up his pizza.

"You seein' someone?"

Your eyes snap up to your father and you freeze. "What?" you ask breathlessly.

He points to the beers before grabbing one and cracking it open.

"You said a friend left 'em. You seein' someone new?"

Your throat closes up. You shake your head and take a bite of pizza so you can avoid elaborating. Across from you, Joel stiffens but remains silent. Your dad chuckles and he elbows Joel, snapping him out of his trance.

"'Member when we'd sit on the porch, waitin' for her dates to bring her home?"

"That only happened, like, twice," you mumble.

"Boys need'ta learn early on not to mess 'round and have some manners. Kept 'em in line," your dad continues, grabbing another piece of pizza. "Say the word and I can do it again-"

"How about you, Dad?" you ask, cutting him off. You can practically feel the tension radiating off Joel's shoulders from the direction the conversation was heading, and you need to put a stop to it. "Are you seeing anyone?"

The distraction is sufficient. Your dad launches into a ten minute monologue about his dry dating life while you and Joel do your best to act interested. The last fucking thing you want is for your dad to scare Joel off by reminding him of his fierce, protective side. Like he isn't already aware.

But perhaps you were too late because after they both finish eating and say their goodbyes, Joel can't look you in the eye. Something tells you that it isn't because he's trying to hide his attraction for you. You can't put your finger on it. Something about his body language and energy just seem... off. And then sure enough, hours later when you are distracting yourself with television after sending Joel multiple unanswered texts, you think your suspicion is correct.

---

A loud pounding on your door wakes you from a deep sleep. You startle awake with your heart in your throat. Your television is still on, forgotten, just like your phone buried somewhere in your sheets. You stumble out of bed after another knock that threatens to bring down the entire building and squint at the microwave to check the time.

Just past two in the morning. What the fuck?

You are about to go downstairs when logic prevails and you go to your window, instead.

The only car on the street is Joel's truck, right in front of your building.

Shit.

You fucking race to your bathroom and gargle with mouthwash for about three seconds. As you are hurrying down the stairs, you comb your fingers through your hair, hoping you look decent enough but knowing deep down it wouldn't really matter.

When you open the door, a shiver shoots down your spine.

"Joel," you barely get out before his crowding you, pushing you up against your stairs, mouth already devouring yours as he kicks the door shut behind him.

You curse, but it's muffled. His mouth is hard and insistent against yours, almost like he's angry, but not at you. His hands scan your body, over your pajamas, your face, your exposed skin, while his tongue explores your mouth. It's familiar now, for you both, under the cover of night once again, where your secret can remain safe.

It's a miracle you make it up the stairs without falling. You don't remember his mouth or hands ever leaving you as you stumble through your kitchen and into your room.

The television still plays in your otherwise dark room. Flickering lights dance across the walls, soft syndicated laughter is registered in the back of your brain. He untangles one hand from your hair and the other he pulls from underneath your shirt, then he takes a step back. You both drag in air, panting and studying each other's faces. His cheeks look flushed and your skin feels just as hot. Hair equally wild. The energy between you is palpable, crackling like electricity.

"Thought you got scared off," you say, breaking the silence. He blinks.

"Why?"

You shrug, already wishing you had waited til later to bring this up.

"You seemed weird when you left."

His throat bobs and he shakes his head, then his gaze shifts to your chest before finding your eyes again.

"Just needed to get the hell outta here 'fore he noticed somethin' was goin' on."

You nod slowly. Oh. So maybe you're a little paranoid. It doesn't explain the unanswered texts, but you don't feel much like talking anymore.

You dip down, crawling backwards onto your bed and whisper his name, dropping your head onto your pillows with a sigh, then fight back a smile at the greedy way his eyes rake up and down your body.

"Come here," you say quietly. You reach your arms out and wiggle your fingers. His dark eyes lock with yours and you grin.

His hands fall to his belt and warmth pools low in your stomach, deep between your legs. You squirm impatiently when he slowly slides the leather through his belt loops.

"Just..." he begins, pausing when you sit up to toss your shirt over your head, leaving your chest bare to him. He swallows hard and continues. "Just one more time."

You would have agreed to anything in that moment, so you nod while he pushes his jeans down to the floor before lowering himself to your bed. He crawls over you and your legs spread so his hips can settle there, pressing against your aching cunt. His arms tuck underneath your shoulders and just the weight of him pressing against your chest and pushing your legs apart is so fucking exquisite that it has your own hips circling for friction. You moan into his mouth when his lips find yours again and everything feels right, so fucking right, that tears burn the back of your eyes.

"Bad girl," he murmurs against your lips. Your fingers card through his thick, wavy hair and you smile. "Textin' me when I'm out with your old man. Coulda got me killed."

"You - what?" you breathe, tipping your head back so he could leave wet, open mouthed kisses along your throat. He sucks a little mark over your pulse point and then his lips find yours again before answering.

"Went out for a few beers after we left," he says while tilting his head to the opposite side. His tongue glides back inside your mouth and you taste it now, the remnants of the drinks he had earlier. Your fingers in his hair tighten. Relief washes over you.

You decide to ignore how obviously desperate you are for Joel's attention - something you know is a bad sign. Instead, you sigh and rut your hips upwards a little harder, pulling a low groan from his throat.

"Did you have fun?" you ask with a teasing grin. He picks up on it and growls, then palms your hip, squeezing the soft skin there, pulling you closer.

"Not as much fun as I'm havin' now."

You giggle when he pinches you and you try to squirm away, but you're still pinned helplessly underneath his broad frame.

Joel laughs, too, before leaving a trail of gentle kisses across your chest. It feels so loving and sweet that it has your breath catching in your throat even before his mouth latches onto your breast, tongue teasing your nipple with a satisfied hum before doing the same to the other.

"I missed you," you whisper boldly, pulse thrumming fast in your throat as you wait for his response. Is it too much? Maybe. But it's true.

"Was just here a few hours ago," he says. You roll your eyes.

"Not what I meant."

Joel sighs and rests the side of his head against your chest. You're absolutely certain he can hear how fast your heart is racing. He wraps his arms around you a little tighter when he admits, "Me, too."

And it's enough, for now, to know he craved you the same way you craved him.

His hand skids down your bare side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, until one finger hooks around the lace edge of your panties and gives them a playful tug. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and lift your hips so he can slide them and your shorts down your legs.

You become very aware you are stark naked underneath Joel Miller for the very first time while he somehow still has on his t-shirt and boxers. He pushes off the mattress and looks down to admire you all sprawled out for him and you feel a rush of embarrassment. That is, until he says-

"So fuckin' beautiful."

His voice is soft and filled with so much awe that you just might believe him. His gaze skims every inch of your exposed skin: your arms, your waist, your thighs. Like he's trying to memorize every little thing he sees.

"I want you," you gasp when his fingers delicately graze the inside of you leg. His deep brown eyes lift and he smirks when his fingers trail closer and closer to where you need him most.

"Yeah?" he asks. His voice sounds deeper and your legs begin to shake. His fingertips brush over your slit and you gasp again, body writhing on your bed - the bed he helped fucking build. You nod and lift your hips.

"Please."

Joel tuts and pushes one thick finger through your folds. He circles over your entrance but doesn't go any further. He just slowly slips his finger through your pussy, dragging it up, up, up until he's pressing down on your clit and you're moaning his name with your eyes squeezed shut.

"This what you want?" he breathes, arousal evident in his voice. You nod enthusiastically, chest heaving as he continues his slow, torturous route. Then he removes his finger and you whine in protest until your eyes reopen. He slips his finger into his mouth with a quiet groan, eyelids fluttering and you imagine his tongue swirling around, collecting your slick and swallowing it down.

You're afraid you may go insane if he doesn't fuck you soon.

"Joel-"

"I gotta- fuck," he moans before dropping onto his hands and settling his shoulders between your thighs. He pushes open your legs, spreading you wide so he can admire your glistening cunt up close. His teeth nip your inner thigh but his eyes remain glued to your center. "I gotta taste you, darlin'," he says, and it's amusing how he actually sounds filled with regret when he says it. You would have laughed if his lips didn't suction around your pussy a second later, tongue plunging through your folds just to flatten and circle your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to make your back arch off the mattress.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you moan his name. Your body is so wound tight, not only from earlier when he had you pinned against your kitchen counter with your father just downstairs, but from weeks without his touch.

"Can't believe how good this tight little pussy takes my cock," he mumbles, face buried between your legs, eyes closed.

Your thighs tremble underneath his hands, which are splayed wide, thumbs parting your lips to make way for his tongue. One of your hands snakes down to get lost in his messy hair, the other grips the sheets for dear life while Joel eats at your center with more enthusiasm than anyone else who has been in his position. By a mile.

His beard burns the inside of your thighs and in the back of your mind, you hope you'll still feel it in the morning. You're so desperate for any reminder of the way he tears you apart that you'll gladly embrace the discomfort.

Every time his warm tongue glides through your folds, he moans. Your face feels like it's on fire when you grind your hips onto his mouth, gasping and dragging in air like you're drowning. He seems to love it. Every roll of your hips causes him to squeeze the meat of your thighs, and when you whimper his name, all rough and needy, his tongue works even faster. He licks and sucks and moans into your cunt, and when he slides two thick fingers inside of you with ease, you curse and dig your heel into his back.

"Fuck," he whispers when he pulls his face away to catch his breath. He stares down at his fingers buried deep, watching the way you stretch for him, suck him in. His eyes go dark when a thick drop of your arousal slips down his fingers, pooling between his knuckles.

"Wish you could see the way this perfect pussy opens up f'me," he murmurs, still entranced.

You don't even think. Your mind is a hazy blur, heart thrashing in your chest at the way he holds you right on the brink of your release. So, you say, "Show me," and point to the Polaroid next to your bed.

Joel's eyes flicker, following your hand, and he grins.

You had been tinkering with it the past few days, trying to fix the blue marks that were showing up on all your photos. After cleaning the rollers and checking the expiration date on the film, you figured out a film shield was the answer and you had been taking test shots in your room since it had the best lighting.

Could he have taken pictures with his phone? Sure. But something about the way he handled the clunky camera with one hand was so fucking hot, you're eternally grateful you abandoned it on your end table.

He takes one picture, then two. The familiar whir of the rollers fills the air, drowning out the television behind him, then the photographs spit out, one at a time. You writhe a little when his attention gets drawn to the pictures and his hand between your legs stall. He waits about thirty seconds for them to develop, then without even showing them to you, he growls and drops them into the sheets. His mouth suctions over your pussy again and you gasp. He sucks and flicks his tongue over your clit while his hand pumps steadily into you, curling his fingers, making you nearly scream if it isn't for how fast and hard you're breathing.

"Joel-" you gasp, "Joel, I'm - I'm gonna -"

You struggle to finish your sentence but it doesn't matter. He knows. Joel hums between your thighs and works faster, devouring your cunt and dragging your orgasm out of you. Your body tenses and you cry out his name, but he doesn't let up. Not until your legs clamp the sides of his head does he remove his fingers to drink down every drop of your release, then he finally lets his jaw relax.

You're seeing stars. You have to be covered in sweat and you probably look insane, with your hair and eyes all wild while you lay there, completely fucked out.

He must enjoy it, though, because next thing you know he's covering you with his body once again. His lips are on yours and all you can taste and smell is you, but you aren't repulsed. In fact, you find you really fucking like it. When it's on him, when your taste and scent is mixed with Joel's, it's intoxicating.

"Shoulda done that last time," he rasps. He leans back to sit on his knees and tugs off his shirt, letting it fall somewhere on your floor. You blink and try to admire his bare chest while he's kicking his boxers off, but it's hard to focus. Then, just as fast as he sat up, he's back on you once again. His breath skips when he glides the tip of his cock through your folds, then rests against your opening. You're still struggling to come back to earth, body lax and sated and so fucking warm underneath him. He groans brokenly into your neck when he presses inside, reveling in how easily you welcome his cock now that he already worked you open with his mouth and fingers.

You make a soft noise and circle your arms loosely around his neck. There's no need to go as slowly as last time. You're so fucking soaked, you're more than ready for him, but he still takes his time. He holds your hip steady with one hand as he feeds you his cock, inch by inch, parting your walls and sighing against your dewy skin.

"Shit," he groans. His teeth pinch your throat when he bottoms out and you gasp. "This what you want? Needed my cock that bad?"

"Yes," you whimper, "Christ, Joel - yes."

He drags himself out and plunges back inside you with a rough grunt. Your legs fall open wider, giving yourself up to him entirely.

His beard is scratchy and it tickles your skin, making you shiver when his mouth traces the edge of your jaw. He fucks you slow and deep, like he wants to make it last, like he wants you to remember. Your lips find his shoulder and you leave a path of open mouthed kisses across his tanned skin. And when your tongue darts out to taste him properly, he groans and rolls his hips deeper.

It's perfect and intense and it's everything you could ever want.

"Jesus, look at you," he says. But you look up at him, instead. He looks how you feel - needy, wrecked, and desperate. Then his eyes fall between your bodies, where his cock slides in and out of you, coated in your arousal, and you groan when you see what he sees.

Look at us, you want to say, but you bite the words back. It feels like it's too much. But you think it. How could you not, when you seem to fit together so perfectly?

With his voice smooth and soft as velvet, he says, "Dirty girl... thinkin' 'bout me fuckin' you like this with your daddy in the room."

Your cheeks burn and you try to swallow, but your throat is too dry. When you meet his gaze, he looks different. He's worked up and his eyes are pitch black. His hips start to pound into you faster.

Your throat tightens.

"I- fuck," you choke out when he brushes up against a particularly sensitive spot. You try again. "Y-you're the one who kissed me whe-"

Joel chuckles and shakes his head, dark curls falling loose across his forehead.

"I saw the way you were lookin' at me 'fore all that," he goads, then leans down to nip at your earlobe before adding, "When we were puttin' together the bed. Tell me what you were thinkin' 'bout."

You whine and pitch your head back into your pillow. You can already feel your hips ache from how fast and hard he's fucking into you now. It has your breath stuttering and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

When you take too long to respond, his mouth suctions over your breast. His teeth leave a sharp bite on your nipple and you yelp.

"Tell me," he says again. You shudder, breath too shallow and quick to answer, so you grab one of his arms and lift it above your head. You press his hand around the padded headboard and he gets it. The smirk he gives you is deadly when plants his other hand into the mattress for leverage.

Your legs wrap around his waist and he starts to slam into you. Each thrust knocks the air from your lungs. He pushes you further and further up the bed until the top of your head hits the headboard. Joel sees it and he drops to his elbow. The hand that was pushing into the mattress is now cupping the top of your head and you think you might implode from the way his arm curls protectively around you while the other is gripping your headboard so tight, you can see the tendons twitching in his wrist.

"Like this?" he grits out. You nod, mouth agape and brows furrowed. Tears spring to your eyes as you teeter on the edge. He sees them and kisses them away when they fall. Ultimately, it's the hours and hours of pent up frustration that have you coming so hard, your vision goes white. But it's the combination of how rough he's fucking you and how sweet he's holding and kissing you that has your cunt pulsing around his cock, dragging out your orgasm for what feels like an eternity.

"Fuck," he gasps. His fingers tighten around the crown of your head and you feel his bicep flex along the side of your face. "W-where? Where, baby?"

His voice sounds urgent but you still take a second to soak in the word baby before murmuring inside, just like before.

He doesn't hesitate. He comes a moment later, yanking on your headboard for support with a loud groan. You hear it rattle and you plant kisses on the underside of his jaw, hoping to melt away some of the tension being held there.

His hips flex forward erratically, each push paired with a heavy grunt until he finally stills. His hand drops from the headboard and his face tucks into the crook of your neck.

You feel his breath fanning across your sweat soaked skin and you close your eyes. There's no rush, this time. There's no risk. So you lay there and catch your breath with Joel's massive body pinning you into the mattress and heavy cock softening inside you.

"Goddamn," he murmurs in between light kisses to your collarbone. You hum and soothingly run your palms up and down his back with your eyes closed. He shivers when your nails graze his spine and he holds you a little tighter. You swear you could fall asleep, just like that.

Joel begrudgingly lifts himself up to slide out from between your legs. His eyes flicker with something dark when he sees his seed leaking out of your spent cunt, but he blinks it away and rolls onto his back with a tired groan.

"Just need a second and I'll get goin'," he assures you. His forearm is thrown over his closed eyes and you take the opportunity to study his broad chest and soft belly in the glow from your television. God, he's so handsome. How did you not see it before?

"Why don't you stay?" you ask, voice raspy and thick. He peeks at you in surprise and drops his arm to his side.

"Yeah?"

You remember his comment last time, about his house feeling lonely, and it pulls at your heart. "Yeah," you say, shifting onto your side and wrapping an arm around his middle. You nuzzle into his chest and he drapes an arm around your shoulders.

"Okay," he says softly. "But next time, we're figurin' out a way f'you to stay at mine. Want you wrapped up in my bed, feedin' you breakfast."

"Next time?" you repeat, unable to keep the eagerness from your voice. "What happened to just this once?"

The hand drawing aimless circles on your arm stills.

"It... I - uh -"

You lift your chin and shoot him a sly smirk.

He rolls his eyes but you see the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Just go to sleep," he mutters. He sounds annoyed but you know better.

You close your eyes with a smile and his hand resumes stroking your arm.

Deep down, you know what you're doing is so much more complicated than what you're willing to admit within your four walls. Maybe you'll figure it out, maybe you won't. But neither of you are willing to think about that tonight. Because tonight, away from familiar, judgmental eyes, you're just two people seeking comfort in each other.

And it's enough.

[delulustateofmind]

I fear my baby fever has taken over the past few days, so I present you with the JJK men as fathers headcanons.

TW: Babies, Fluff, mentions of pregnancy, slight yandere behaviors.

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna

WC: 3k

a/n: I won’t get into the actual pregnancy details just yet—saving that for a later date (a rather soon date). Also wasn't expecting to yap so much about this. Enjoy!

Gojo Satoru

Oh dear. This poor man.

There are very few things in the world that can shake Satoru Gojo to his core. He has stared down curses beyond comprehension, fought battles that could wipe out cities, and held the weight of the world on his shoulders without so much as flinching.

But when he holds his baby for the first time?

Oh, he crumbles. Practically has to bite his lip to stop himself from outright sobbing, whole body stiff, breath caught in his throat, because how the hell is something so small, so warm, so unbelievably perfect? They’re not even cleaned off yet, and this man is already kissing their tiny head, his lips soft against their damp skin, murmuring thank yous like a prayer. To you, to the universe, to whatever god decided that he—a man who has lost too much—was allowed to have something this precious.

Don’t you worry, there will be a celebration. A sushi boat is being delivered as soon as possible (as if you weren’t already expecting that).

However, here’s the thing, Satoru was already clingy before.

Now? Now he’s unbearable. Words cannot describe how this man refuses to let you leave his eyesight for more than a moment. He adored you before, but now you’re the mother of his child. The woman who carried a piece of him inside her, who gave him something he never thought he could have. If you so much as disappear into another room? Satoru is ready to Hollow Purple the air itself.

Following you around like some puppy with his spawn that resembles him a little too much: ("Dumpling? Where’d you go?" "Satoru, I’m in the bathroom." "...Can I come in?")

Oh, and he takes such good care of you too. Sure, he teases—makes his usual dumb jokes, smirks like an idiot—but when it comes to postpartum recovery? This man is all in. You have to make that infamous diaper concoction after birth? He’s right there, handing you an ice pack for your bits, whispering, “I have never loved you more.” If you ask, hell, if you even hint at needing help with anything? He’s already doing it. Witch hazel wash? No hesitation. Helping you in and out of the bath? He’s got you. Bringing you food, making sure you drink water, physically tucking you into bed because you refuse to rest? He does it all. Yes, he will absolutely pick you up and put you back in bed if you try to do too much: ("Satoru, I can walk." "Oh, I know you can, but should you?" Cue him plopping you onto the couch with a smug grin, a fluffy blanket, and a kiss to your forehead.)

Now, as much as he loves his baby, he is deeply afraid of the newborn phase. Like, undeniably so. The idea of rolling over and crushing them in his sleep? A recurring nightmare. (Yes, he believes in skin-to-skin contact. Yes, he read a bunch of articles about it while out on missions. Yes, he panicked about every single one.) Trimming their tiny fingernails? His worst nightmare. And trust, your house is baby-proofed to the maximum.

But once they hit the toddler phase? Oh, he thrives. They're curious! They tell him the craziest stories, and he eats up every single one. He loves feeding them sweets, spoiling them rotten. He definitely brings them to the school with him, letting them color all over his mission logs (that he’s been avoiding anyway).

And when they start walking? Oh, this is where things get real.

Satoru Gojo is undeniably, unapologetically, shamelessly a leash dad. The first time his little one wobbles too far from him in public? Leash acquired. Not just any leash, oh no, it’s cute. He makes sure it matches their little outfits, maybe even gets custom ones with their initials embroidered on them (never their name, that's how they get kidnapped!) Safety first!

If anyone dares to give him a weird look? He dares them to say something. His sunglasses drop down the bridge of his nose as he grins, voice sickly sweet: "You got a problem?"

Unfortunately, probably gets one for you too. Just to be a menace of a husband, loops it around your wrist with a teasing smirk, leaning in close, "Can’t have my favorite person running off, now can I?"

("Satoru, take this off me." "Make me.")

Geto Suguru

Oh, Suguru, who definitely acts more like a mother than a father.

This man embodies nurturing (and controlling, but hey, he’s going to therapy… maybe). Sure, he technically runs a cult, but you and your twins? You don’t really need to know that. (His poor assistant, though, absolutely running damage control while he’s busy doting on you.)

From the moment you give birth, Suguru is relentless in his care. He follows every superstitious belief—some of them might be outdated, but he does not care. You will be sitting for a month. No cold foods, no heavy lifting. Okay, he’ll allow you to wash your hair, but standing in the shower? Absolutely not. Baths only. He’s drawing them for you, making sure the temperature is just right, ensuring you’re as comfortable as possible.

If he weren’t a cult leader, he’d make the perfect stay-at-home dad.

Oh, the birth itself? He refuses to trust non-sorcerers with your pregnancy. No hospital, no epidurals, no way. It’s a birthing pool, at home, the natural way. And the second those babies are in his arms? He is devoted. Just like Satoru, you’re not leaving his sight. Neither are those babies.

But the baby phase? He hates it.

Not the babies themselves, of course, but dear god, two at once is a nightmare. They’re constantly tugging on his dark hair, they somehow manage to unlock baby-proofed cabinets (how are they that smart already?), and the mess? The sleepless nights? The chaos? It’s almost enough to drive him insane. But even through his exhaustion, he’s never anything but soft with them. Always the nurturing, coddling one. Because even though this phase is hell, he still loves them more than anything.

But once they hit the toddler years? That’s when he shines.

Suguru is the epitome of patience, his voice always gentle, his hands always steady as he guides them through their little tantrums and misadventures. He isn’t a leash dad, he simply doesn’t need to be. His twins are always either in his arms or holding his hands, their little fingers wrapped around his own as they toddle beside him.

Sure, some people might call him a helicopter parent. But he’s raising two little girls. The world is a dangerous place, and he’s not taking any chances. Let someone even think about looking at them the wrong way—his smile might be soft, but his presence is terrifying. No one is getting near his babies. And if anyone dares to question his overprotectiveness? He simply tilts his head, that ever-calm voice carrying something dangerous beneath the surface:

"Would you rather I let them run loose? Hm?"

Suguru is a morning person, but not in the “up at dawn” kind of way. No, he savors the mornings, stretches them out as long as possible, slow and quiet, just the way he likes it. He wakes before you do. Always. Most mornings, he watches you sleep for a little while, fingers tracing slow patterns along your hip, your back, wherever he can touch (loves your stretch marks). Something is intoxicating about these quiet moments, the way you breathe so softly, the warmth of your skin against his. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, presses the gentlest kiss to your temple.

You belong to him. It’s a dangerous thought, but one he doesn’t fight.

The twins usually wake up before you do, one always stirring the other, little giggles or babbling voices breaking the silence. Suguru moves without a hint of hesitation, careful not to wake you as he slips out of bed, padding softly toward their room. Suguru melts every single time. His girls, half-asleep, hair messy, rubbing their tiny fists against their eyes, reach for him instantly with little grabby hands. Lifts them with ease, one in each arm, pressing a kiss to both of their foreheads before settling them against his chest.

"Did my little princesses sleep well?"

Cue sleepy nods, little arms clinging to him as he carries them downstairs. He makes breakfast with one toddler perched on his hip, the other playing on the floor nearby. Feeds them, cleans them up, all before you even wake up. He wants you to rest, wants you to have the luxury of a slow morning. By the time you stir, he’s already setting a cup of tea on your bedside table, pressing a kiss to your forehead before murmuring, “Stay in bed. I’ll bring you breakfast.”

And if you dare try to get up? Oh, you better believe he’s scooping you back under the covers, lips ghosting against your ear as he hums, “You don’t want to upset me, do you?” Playful, teasing, but firm.

(Yeah, okay—maybe he’s a little possessive. But can you blame him? You gave him his whole world.)

Suguru is the definition of a doting husband. Not just in the classic ways. Sure, he makes sure you’re comfortable, that you’re taken care of, but it’s the smallest details that make it clear: this man worships you. He brushes your hair at night, fingers ghosting against your skin. “You’re so beautiful,” a soft murmur like it’s an afterthought. Like he just has to say it. Absolutely loves watching you with the twins. The way your voice softens when you talk to them, the way you hold them close. He lives for it. (It does something to him, something dangerous.) Insists on tucking you in every night. Even if you’re already comfortable, even if he’s exhausted, he needs to make sure you’re safe, warm, and content. It’s his job.

When it comes to you leaving his sight? Absolutely not. You get up to leave the room? He’s watching you (on the cameras in the house, that you definitely aren't aware of). Someone dares to ask for your attention when he’s near? His hand is on your lower back before you even notice, a soft smile on his lips, but the grip is tight. God help anyone who thinks they can come between him and his family.

Because Geto Suguru might be soft with you, but for everyone else?

He’s still a damn curse user.

Nanami Kento

If there’s any man built for family life, it’s Nanami. Sure, he’s stoic. Composed. A man of few words. But when it comes to his child? Dear god, he is so soft. He loves them in a way that feels fundamental, as natural as breathing. Loves you even more for giving him something so precious. He doesn’t say it often, but it’s in every glance, every touch, every sigh of appreciation when he looks at you holding his child.

And when he holds them? He feels whole.

He savors every little moment, tiny fingers reaching for his glasses, drooly kisses pressed against his cheeks as he spoon-feeds them baby food. And no matter how messy they get, no matter how much mashed-up fruit ends up on his tie (his good tie, at that), he never complains. He just exhales, wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, and murmurs, "You're a messy little thing, aren’t you?" before pressing a kiss to their forehead, regardless of the applesauce smeared across it.

Because for Nanami, this, his family, his home, the life he’s built with you, this is everything.

Nanami is an early riser. He always has been. But the difference now? He no longer rushes out the door and only lives for his work.

Instead, he takes his time.

Tends to wake up before you, slipping out of bed with careful movements so he doesn’t disturb you. The first thing he does is check on your little one—peering into their crib, watching their tiny chest rise and fall with soft, even breaths. It’s the only time he allows himself to just stand there, quietly admiring, drinking in the sight of the most important thing in his world.

If they stir, if they so much as whimper, he’s immediately reaching down, scooping them up with ease, holding them against his chest as he rubs slow circles on their back.

"It’s alright, little one. I’ve got you."

Mornings are meant to be spent slowly, feeding them breakfast (with a bib, he learned his lesson the hard way), wiping their tiny hands clean, and carrying them in one arm as he makes coffee with the other. If you’re still asleep, he lets you stay that way, keeping the house quiet, and making sure you get as much rest as possible. Because Nanami knows better than anyone, that being a parent is exhausting. And if he can shoulder some of the weight for you? He will.

Nanami isn’t possessive. Not in the way that Gojo or Geto might be.

But is he protective? Absolutely.

Taking his kid to the park is a mission. He doesn’t hover, per se, but he’s always watching. Sitting on a bench, arms crossed, eyes locked in. The second his child starts running a little too fast? He’s standing. Someone else’s kid gets a little too rough? He’s walking over. And if his child falls? He gives them a second—just one—to see if they’ll get up on their own. But the moment he hears a wobbly inhale, sees that little lip start to tremble—he’s already there. Kneeling beside them, checking them over with careful hands, murmuring, “You’re alright, sweetheart. Just a little scrape.” And then, with the gentlest look in his eyes:

"Do you want to keep playing, or do you need a hug first?"

(They always choose the hug.)

Nanami adores you. But not in a loud way. Not in the way that Gojo teases or the way Geto smothers. No, Nanami loves you in a way that feels steady. Like safety. Like home. Always makes sure you eat first, even if it means letting his food get cold. Takes care of the night feedings if you’re too exhausted. Rubs your shoulders when you look tense, presses a kiss to the back of your hand just because.

And when the baby’s asleep? That’s your time. Some nights, it’s just the two of you sitting in quiet conversation, his hand resting over yours, thumb rubbing absentmindedly against your skin. Other nights, he just holds you, silent, warm... present. When the exhaustion is heavy in your bones, when you sigh in a way that sounds just a little too much like overwhelmed, he cups your face, tilts your chin up so you meet his gaze.

"You’re doing an incredible job," he tells you, because if anyone deserves to be reassured, it’s you, and god help anyone who dares to make you doubt it.

Ryomen Sukuna

In a modern AU, if anything could fix Ryomen Sukuna, it would be a child. Not that the kid was planned, of course. But the moment he sees them—tiny, fragile, utterly defenseless—something inside him shifts. He won’t admit it, won’t say it outright, but watching his newborn slobber all over his hand while teething? Yeah, he crumples inside.

At first, he’s clueless. He’s never had to be gentle before. His hands, powerful and ruthless, were never meant for something so delicate. You have to show him how to hold them properly, how to support their head, how to not look at them like they’re a fragile piece of glass about to shatter.

And does he complain? Oh, absolutely. But he listens, he's trying.

Modern AU Sukuna is absolutely a CEO. And not just any CEO, a powerful, slightly (or very) corrupt one. The kind of man that has everyone terrified to breathe wrong in his presence. Yet, despite his intimidating reputation, there are certain days when his employees come to work to find something... unbelievable. Their ruthless, cutthroat boss—Ryomen Sukuna—sitting at the head of a massive conference table, looking utterly unbothered as his baby naps against his chest in a tiny carrier.

The first time it happened, his employees did not know how to react. The sight of their terrifying boss with a wobbly-headed infant suckling on his tie was so surreal that no one dared to acknowledge it. They just continued their meeting in absolute silence, stealing panicked glances at one another, unsure whether laughing would get them fired, killed, or both.

Sukuna however, oh, he knows what they’re thinking. He can feel the tension in the room, the way no one is making eye contact with him. So naturally, he makes it worse.

"If any of you wake them up," he drawls, voice dark and smooth, "I’ll fire you on the spot." Cue nervous sweating from every executive in the room. Despite his threats, you know he does this because he wants to give you a break. Of course, he acts like it’s no big deal, grumbling about how "You never shut up about needing rest, woman. If bringing the brat to work gives me some damn peace at home, then so be it."

(The truth is that he secretly enjoys it. The small weight of his child against him, the quiet little snores, the way their tiny fingers sometimes curl around his thumb mid-nap. Yeah… he might actually like this fatherhood thing.)

At home, Sukuna tries to maintain his usual cold, indifferent demeanor. But it’s hard when he’s got a wobbly toddler clinging to his leg, looking up at him with your eyes, babbling nonsense like he’s the most important person in the world.

Obviously, he can’t just ignore them. "Tch. What do you want, brat?" (Picks them up anyway)

You catch him napping on the couch with the baby on his chest, one hand protectively covering their back. If you so much as mention it, he glares at you like you’ve just committed treason. Bath time? He claims he hates it, but somehow, he’s always the one washing their hair, grumbling under his breath about how “You’re doing it wrong” as he takes over. If they cry? He’s terrible at comforting, but god forbid anyone else try to step in. That’s his kid, he’ll figure it out himself.

He’s not soft, he insists. Not in the way Nanami or Geto might be. But when he tucks them into bed at night, sitting on the edge of their tiny mattress, watching their little chest rise and fall…something inside him settles. Suddenly realized he’d burn the entire world to the ground for them.

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 20

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 19 | Series Masterlist | Part 21

Chapter Word Count: Over 4k

Chapter Summary: Things come to a head when Clark confronts you.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, break-in, physical assault, threat and fear of sexual assault, choking, fighting, reference to stalking and violence, inner turmoil, angst, comfort, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and this chapter is a little heavy. Thank you again for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The chilling smile on Clark’s face made you grip your phone tighter. How did he get in, and how long had he been waiting for you? Looking around, you were painfully aware that you were alone in the building lobby with him. Maybe you could head back outside and call Bucky.

Or the police.

“What are you doing here?” you asked again.

“I just wanted to see you.” He removed his glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. He stood taller, too. “Is that a problem?”

“If you want to see me, you can stop by the shop. You don't need to come here,” you pointed out. You had one stalker already and didn’t need to deal with another.

“But I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, taking one step closer. “You didn't come home last night, and I thought you’d be back a little earlier today.”

A roll of uneasiness moved through you. What the hell was he on about? “Who said I didn't come home last night?” you asked. And why did he expect you back at your building earlier? Unless…

He laughed, a cruel and bitter sound. “Don’t bullshit me. I know you were with him. And I know you went out with your friends today.” His smile was going to haunt you for days. “I'm sure you had a nice time, but you do look a little more alert than I expected.”

The unease quickly turned to dread. Bucky said he caught someone following you, but what if that guy wasn't the only one? Ray would've spotted Clark though if he followed you, right? “And how exactly do you know I was with my friends?” you asked, slowly backing away toward the door since he was blocking the elevator.

“I’m a journalist. It’s my job to get the inside scoop,” he joked. You weren't laughing.

“My life isn’t inside scoop and it isn't any of your business,” you said, making his smile fade away. “I think you should leave.”

His eye twitched. “But we just started talking.”

You took a deep breath. It was getting tiring being surrounded by men who didn’t listen. “Look, I’ve had a long day on top of a long week. If Bucky finds out-”

“Bucky,” he spat, like the name tasted horrible on his tongue. “You think he’s the only powerful man in this city? I have a powerful friend, too.”

You froze. “Does your friend happen to be Helmut Zemo?” you asked, trying not to show how afraid you were. Did he know him? Work for him?

“Why don't we grab that coffee and I can tell you more about it?” he asked, reaching for your arm.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you said, glancing behind you. You wished Bucky or Ray was there. One of them would be there soon, right?

“Looking for your little bodyguard friend?” he smirked like he knew something you didn't. “I don't think he’ll make it with a flat tire and all.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. “How did you-”

“Couldn't risk anyone interfering. You can thank the limo driver for that,” he said, darting around and blocking the main door when you tried to walk out. “Why do you look so scared? There's nothing to be scared of. We’re just going to talk.”

You had every reason to be frightened. You didn’t know what Clark’s intentions were, but you sensed enough that they weren’t good and he didn’t want to just have a conversation. Bucky for all of his sins wouldn’t raise a hand to you, but Clark? Zemo? You could really get hurt.

“I’m sorry, but I think you should go.”

“Do you even want to be with Bucky or are you just afraid of him?” You jumped when he grabbed your arm. “Or is it because he’s rich? You think he’ll spoil you if you spread your legs for him?”

The sudden onslaught of vitriol made you shake. “Let me go. Please.”

He ignored your wince when his fingers dug in. “He doesn't deserve you. He isn't good for you, but I am. Just let me help you,” he argued, trying to grab your phone with his other hand. “I have a car waiting out back. Just come with me and we’ll figure this out.”

“There's nothing to figure out and I don’t need your ‘help’,” you said, yanking your arm back. “Just go and leave me alone!”

“Leave you alone? You sound just like Lois,” he bitterly whispered. His ex. You remembered the name. “Either come with me or I’ll-”

You dashed to the building staircase, not waiting for him to finish his threat. It felt reminiscent of a scary movie, running up the stairs and spelling out your doom instead of running out the front door. But you’d be okay. You could call for help once you got to your apartment.

“Get back here!”

Your legs ached as you ran faster, but the adrenaline and the heavy sound of his footsteps helped you push through it. It wasn't long until you got to your floor and you didn't look back as you got your keys out. “Come on,” you whimpered, your hand shaking as you unlocked your door. You sensed Clark right behind you, but you slammed and locked the door before he could get in.

“Open the door!” he shouted, the door shaking as he slammed his fist against it.

“Go away!” you begged, swiping at your phone screen. “Please…”

The sound of your door being kicked in nearly made your heart burst from your chest. You spun around to find Clark just outside, his breathing heavy as he narrowed his eyes at you. Scrambling back as he stormed inside, you opened your mouth and did something you never thought you'd do since Bucky entered your life.

“Bucky, help!” you cried, hoping that whatever cameras Bucky had in your place had sound. “Help me, please!”

You tried to rush to your room, but Clark was faster. Stronger. He pulled you back so fast and so hard by your wrist that you fell backwards to the floor. Pain shot through your body and you felt like you couldn't draw your next breath when Clark’s shadow fell over you. Tears stung your eyes, your body temporarily paralyzed as he kicked your phone away.

“Look what you made me do,” he sighed, crouching over you. “Lois ran from me, too.”

“What…”

“She was stubborn. Headstrong. We had a big fight and, well…” He shook his head. “But you were always so kind to me, and I thought you’d make it all better.”

The night you came home and found Bucky waiting for you frightened you, but it paled in comparison to the pure terror you felt when Clark crouched over you. There was something dark and twisted in his eyes as he looked you over. Any trace of the nice guy you were used to seeing in the shop was nowhere to be found.

“Bucky,” you breathed, some of the pain subsiding as you tried to roll away. “P-Please, help me.”

Clark’s face twisted into a murderous scowl when he rolled you onto your back again and clamped a hand over your mouth. “Stop saying his name. Stop fighting me. I don't want to hurt you.”

Your eyes widened, barely able to breathe through your nose. Cark already hurt you. Pain bloomed everywhere he touched. There were sure to be marks or something with how hard he pressed against your mouth.

“You just need to understand,” he whispered.

You tensed up when his hand touched your thigh. You didn't know if it was to pry your legs open or to try to carry you out, but you wouldn't let him have you. And if he was going to have you, you wouldn't give it to him easily. So you struggled as much as you could and managed to move his hand away just enough for you to bite down.

He cried out and pulled his hand back, looking as shocked as you felt. “Why are you behaving like a petulant child? I’m trying to help you. Why don't you see that?!”

“Clark, you're hurting me. Please, stop.” Tears streamed down your cheeks when he wrapped a hand around your throat. “Bucky, HELP ME!” you tried to scream, the fingers around your neck cutting off your words along with your air supply.

Images flashed in your mind when you clawed at his hand. Putting together your first arrangement at your childhood home. Grabbing your favorite treat from the cafe. Finding a good book at Marc’s shop. The day Mrs. Crandle hired you. Laughing with your girlfriends. And waking up beside Bucky that morning, a soft smile on his face. Something you didn't expect to think about.

Were you going to die?

“Shut. Up.” he snarled, loosening his grip just a little. “Just let me-”

Neither of you saw the figure behind him until he was pulled off you and shoved across the room. It happened so fast you couldn't tell if it was Bucky or not. You held your throat as you coughed and greedily gulped the air, the sound of scuffling and objects breaking urging you to move away. Sitting up, you were vaguely aware of more footsteps entering your apartment, but couldn't see who they were. You just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

You didn't want anyone else to hurt you.

Before you could get out of the room, a large, imposing body suddenly cradled you against it and gently held you when you tried to fight back. Blinking your tears away, you realized the man had blue eyes, but it wasn't Bucky or Ray. You didn't recognize him at all. Was he a new tenant?

“W-Who…”

“It’s okay,” the man assured you, quickly assessing you as the shouting and fighting continued. He brushed a finger along a rip in your cardigan. When did Clark do that? “Are you hurt?”

“I don't know,” you whimpered. Your wrist throbbed from where Clark gripped it, and so did your throat.

The fighting only lasted a few more seconds, the sound of heavy breathing filling your apartment before you heard, “Kotyonok?”

“She’s right here.” The man holding you let you go, but stayed close. “She’s safe.”

Safe. You weren't safe. You would never be safe again in this lifetime, would you?

“B... Bucky?” your voice cracked. You trembled and you thought you were crying, too, but you couldn't be sure. It wasn't until you blinked and felt a pair of almost familiar arms around you that your vision began to become more clear again. “You're here?”

“It’s me. I'm here,” he tried to soothe you, tenderly wiping your tears away. His hair was a mess and his clothes were disheveled, a far cry from the put together man you were used to seeing. “I’ve got you.”

Glancing across the room, you spotted Clark laying on the ground with Ray and Steve standing over him. You let out a broken sob when you took in the rest of the scene. Your potted plants and vases were broken, your little trinkets and frames shattered, and everything felt terrifying. It was supposed to be your home and it was once again invaded and forever tainted.

“Steve, bring him to the club. Shut it down. No one touches him until I get there.” Bucky’s metal arm curled around you and lifted you before you could protest that you were too heavy, the heat radiating from him soothing you. “Ray, deal with any neighbors who saw or heard anything. No cops.”

“You sure you don't need me to drive you?” Ray asked, concern etched all over his face when he looked at you. He looked both hurt and furious.

“I’m sure. Just get to the club after you deal with the neighbors.”

Something covered your body. Was it a blanket? A jacket? “What do you need from me?” the stranger asked.

“Get the car. Take us home,” Bucky ordered, carrying you away.

You didn't lift your head as Bucky carried you to the elevator. Did your neighbors hear the commotion? “He was waiting for me. H… He kicked my door in.” You sniffled, your body shaking uncontrollably. “He grabbed me and…”

“He won't touch you again. Ever,” he whispered. He was holding his anger at bay. You could feel it.

“I told him to go,” you explained, seeing the clench in his jaw. “I didn't… I’m sorry…”

Bucky gently shushed you. “You don't need to apologize. This isn't your fault. And I’m taking you home and no one is going to lay a finger on you ever again.”

You nodded, but some voice in the back of your head said you caused this somehow. It may have been the shock you felt since you rationally knew you hadn't done anything. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Bucky paused to look at you. “You don't need to thank me.”

“But you saved me,” you said. Him and the man you didn't recognize. “If you hadn't…” Your stomach rolled as you trailed off, not wanting to imagine the worst.

He held you closer. “If you call for me, I’ll be there.”

How did he get there so quickly? And Ray? “How did you know something was… I mean…” You sniffled again. “Did you hear me?”

Bucky tensed up. “Steve and I weren't too far from your place, and I got an alert as soon as your door opened. I knew something was wrong because Ray wasn’t here yet and you were still supposed to be in the limo,” he said, stepping out of the elevator and heading right to the car. “I dispatched Curtis immediately and we were close behind. Ray ran to get here.”

Your brows pinched. “Curtis?” you asked. Was that the man you didn't recognize?

“He works for me. I’ve had him keep an eye on you. You weren't supposed to meet him…” He swallowed and looked down at you. “Like this.”

Another man watching you. When exactly were you supposed to meet him? “So you heard me call for you?” you asked.

He swallowed again and nodded. “Yes.”

Never in a million years did you think you’d call out to him for help. You didn't consider that the cameras would ever be anything more than an obsessive way for him to have control over you, but it may have saved you today. And you couldn't imagine what you looked like as he looked over you. Your makeup ruined, shaking like a leaf.

“Try not to move too much,” he urged when you shifted in his arms. “I’m going to have my doctor look you over to make sure nothing’s broken and… to make sure you're okay.”

“Okay.” Your face scrunched up before you began to cry again. You were hurt and so confused. Nothing made sense and you couldn't even go home. “Why did Clark-”

Bucky let out a low growl and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Never say his name again.”

You hid your face in his neck, wetting his skin with your tears. “I was so scared.”

He slowly breathed out. “I was, too,” he admitted in a whisper. “But I’ve got you now.”

Bucky had you, but your tears didn't stop flowing and it didn't change what happened.

“I’m so sorry, Kotyonok,” Bucky whispered brokenly. He wasn't a helpless man by any means, but you were certain your sobs made him feel hopeless at the moment. “I can't fix what he did, but I’ll make him pay. He’ll fucking pay. I promise.”

You slumped against Bucky, exhausted from everything that transpired. You had no doubt he'd destroy Clark for hurting you. You just wished he never put his hands on you to begin with.

The partition lowered, but you kept your face hidden in Bucky's neck. “Nick got the driver,” Curtis announced.

“Make sure he’s brought to the club,” Bucky said, rubbing your back. “I need him to tell me exactly why he let you out of the limo before I beat him within an inch of his life.”

“He did it… The driver.” You sounded like you hadn't used your voice in days. “He did something to Ray's car.”

You hadn't been able to process what Clark said earlier, but you could now and it all made sense. The driver was at the winery the entire time you were and he would've had plenty of opportunities to mess with one of Ray's tires. Knowing that Ray wouldn't get to your building like normal, he let you get out of the limo and go into your building where Clark was waiting.

Clark also said you were more alert than he expected. Maybe you weren't paranoid by thinking something happened to the drinks. If you drank as much as your friends, you may have been more out of it and wouldn't have been able to put up any sort of fight against Clark.

Bucky tilted your head up and wiped a stray tear away. “He’ll pay, too,” he promised, not even questioning if what you said was true. He took you at your word. “There’s something else, isn't there?” he asked, grabbing a water from beside him and bringing it to your lips.

“He didn't confirm it, but…” You took a drink, the cool liquid making your throat feel a little better. “I think Zemo had something to do with this.”

Bucky’s mouth was set in a grim line and fury burned behind his eyes, but he softened his gaze for you. “Zemo knows you're my future wife. If he knowingly allowed someone to put their hands on you…” His metal fingers curled, but he pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead. “Did Jensen get that file like I asked?”

“He did,” Curtis confirmed, looking in the rearview mirror.

“Make sure he’s there, too,” he said, keeping his eyes on you. “Let's get you inside.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself lying in a guest bedroom with a blanket draped over you. Bucky didn't leave your side as he made a couple of calls, but you didn't pay attention to who he was talking to as you stared at the ceiling. You weren't sure if shock was wearing off or sinking in.

“Kotyonok? Dr. Cho’s almost here,” Bucky said, worried when you didn't look at him. “I can run you a bath after she looks you over and give you something for any pain you’re feeling. Or you can just rest.”

You made some sort of humming noise. Today was a day in your life that should've been fun, a day to remember a nice outing with your friends. The memories were tainted now, just like your home. It hurt so much. And you couldn't even message your friends because how would you start to explain what happened?

“What can I do?” he asked. He sounded desperate. This was something out of his control.

“I have to work tomorrow,” you said, testing your wrist and ignoring his question. Work was normal. You needed normalcy. “I have to…”

“What? No, you’re not working tomorrow. Mrs. Crandle will understand,” he said, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your wrist. You went rigid for a moment before you relaxed. He wouldn't hurt you. “You need to rest and stay here.”

You sniffled. What were you going to say if you called in? That a customer attacked you? “My stuff…” you said. There were things at your apartment you wanted, needed.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll make sure it's brought here. It isn't safe for you to go back there.”

“How long do I have to stay here?” you asked. Would you be a prisoner now as a means to keep you safe? He had every excuse in the world now to do so since his home was safer than yours ever was.

“We need to discuss some fail-safes, like getting you a panic button.”

“Kind of surprised you didn't make me carry one from the start,” you commented.

“You've been a bit skittish because of how I went about everything. If I gave you a panic button, it may have scared you into never leaving your place and I couldn't do that to you.”

He had a point, but you wouldn't say so. “But you could install cameras and have men like Ray and Curtis watch me?”

“Because I know I put you in danger, which is a reason why I did those things and why I wanted you here for good. I also wanted you here for selfish reasons, but your safety is the top priority,” he smiled sadly.

You almost laughed. He preached over and over about your safety and it turned out he was right in some way. “Looks like you got your wish,” you said, trying not to tear up again. “You’re moving me in before the month’s out.”

He looked stricken. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” he whispered.

You studied him with a careful eye. Part of you thought in the beginning that he was twisted enough to arrange a setup so he could step in and play the hero, but he would never do something like that to you. He’d never let anyone else touch you if he could help it. And he couldn't fake the pain in his eyes. It hurt him that you were hurt.

“I really am thankful that you showed up tonight,” you said.

“I go where you go,” he swore, curling up beside you. “Always.”

He’d follow you into hell if you asked him to do so. “Will you please do me a favor?” you asked.

“Anything,” he replied.

“Cl… He mentioned his ex-girlfriend. Lois,” you said. “Can you make sure she’s okay?”

You weren't certain if Clark attacked you on Zemo’s orders or if it had nothing to do with Zemo at all, but you were afraid for Lois. As obsessive as Bucky was, it was a saving grace tonight that you had someone looking out for you. Not an excuse, but a silver lining.

“You're hurt and you're thinking of someone else?” he asked in awe.

You bristled for no good reason at all. “You don't have to worry about me. I’m fine.” You inhaled and exhaled, trying to compartmentalize again. If you could just go to sleep and pretend everything was normal, that you were just a florist with an average life… “I’m fine.”

Bucky shook his head. “You're not fine.”

“Of course I’m not fine! Nothing is fine!” you snapped. He didn't flinch. Didn't move. “I was followed! I was attacked! I…”

You were living in a nightmare.

Your chest heaved before Bucky put your face in his chest. The dam built up inside you, all the turmoil and stress you tried desperately to keep from surfacing, finally broke and overflowed. Your fingers curled in his shirt and it all came out in heart wrenching sobs, as if a piece of you died. You cried until your head hurt and your throat felt raw. Until you didn't think you had any tears left to cry.

He held you through it all, being the calm in your emotional storm, your source of comfort instead of your tormentor. “It isn't fair,” you cried. It wasn't fair what you were going through, but life was never fair.

“It isn't,” he agreed, not letting you go when you stopped crying. “But I’ll make them pay and we’ll get through this together.”

“Together?”

“Together,” he whispered.

You had to believe he was telling the truth, that things would look up and you’d heal from the pain. You'd either hold your head high or Bucky would hold your head up for you. Like everything else in your life recently, you had no other choice but to grin and bear it. And no matter what, Bucky would be by your side through it all.

Because everything led back to him, the threads of fate weaved together by his very hands.

And breathe, lovelies. This was a heavy chapter for me to write, and I just want to give Kotyonok all the love and comfort and wine and money and everything. What is Bucky going to do to Clark? Do we think Zemo will be pleased when he finds out what Clark did? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[toruskiii]

BEEP BEEP! YOUR RIDE IS HERE!

"𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳."

Sypnosis: You ordered an Uber to get home— but something about your driver is… off. Not in a dangerous way, just weird. Genre: Fluff/Crack Characters: Blade, Boothill, Aventurine x gn!reader Warnings: NEVER let Boothill drive you around. Lots of reckless driving (keep your eyes on the road and follow traffic laws guys), Aventurine gambling addiction core, reader just gives up on Blade's part LMAO, a lot of cussing, this is pretty ooc😭 A/N: Heh...how long has it been since I last posted?! This has been rotting in my drafts for quite a while so take this as an apology [masterlist] [about me]

BOOTHILL

It’s well-known that Boothill has a reputation for stealing vehicles and disregarding traffic laws while he was in Penacony, so it’s safe to say he’s probably not the best Uber driver around.

But you were exhausted. Your feet were aching from walking around the city, and you were way too far from the train station. Besides, it was late, and at this point, calling an Uber seemed like your only option. You scroll through the app, frustration building as you realize there’s no one available to pick you up at this hour— except for one driver.

Boothill.

The name itself was odd, but you figured, why not give it a try?

That is, until you started reading the ratings and reviews. Now you’re regretting your decision and seriously considering texting your friends and family the car details, just in case.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 3 out of 5 stars. “A very odd fellow, and he almost got us both into a car crash!” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 2 out of 5 stars. “I was a drunk passenger, but honestly, I can’t tell if I was the one who was drunk or if it was him.” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 0 out of 5 stars. “Does this guy even have a license? He’s seriously reckless! But I’ll admit, he managed to speed across the streets and get me to my destination on time, even though I was running late.” >Cyborg69 replied: "Oi, don't cha think I should get at least 3 stars for that?"

You barely have time to read another review when a sharp honk pulls you out of your thoughts.

Beep!

"Hey, you the one who ordered an Uber?" A rough, almost drawling voice calls out, and you look up to see a man with black-tipped bangs leaning out of his car window. In all honesty, he looks pretty decent— well, as decent as someone can look when you realize they’re not exactly human. Penacony really does attract the strangest people.

His fingers tap against the car door, a playful grin spreading across his face as he gestures toward the vehicle. "Hop in! Front or back, your choice." he says with a casual shrug. You pick the back seat, deciding it’s the safest bet.

As you settle into the car, you’re immediately hit by the sharp, almost overpowering scent of gasoline. It catches you off guard, and you can’t help but wince. He notices your expression in the rearview mirror and lets out a low chuckle, rolling down all the windows with a flick of his hand. "Heh, sorry ‘bout the smell. Kinda rushed to... ya know, grab some fuel."

If his ratings didn’t already make you second-guess this ride, the way he spoke just sealed the deal.

“Oh! Uh, that’s fine.” You force a smile, nervously buckling your seatbelt as he starts driving. At first, everything seems normal. You keep glancing at him through the rearview mirror, your eyes meeting his for a few seconds before he quickly looks away, whistling casually.

"Don’t hafta keep lookin' at me, sweetheart. I ain’t no danger." He flashes a smile, but it doesn’t do much to ease your nerves. "So, headin’ home?" he asks, and you nod slowly, giving him an address near your place for him to drop you off.

As the drive continues, your gaze shifts to the interior of the car, and you can’t help but feel a little weirded out by some of the decor. A heart-shaped pillow? Really? That didn’t exactly match the vibe you’d expect. And a bottle of perfume— one that definitely looked like it belonged to a woman. Maybe he just liked the scent, but still, it felt… odd. After all, men’s perfumes could be strange sometimes. Who wants to smell like wolf shit and pig ass anyway?

Then again, he did kind of fit that description.

Maybe he liked the scent of blood— because suddenly, he floors the accelerator, speeding down the highway, earning a chorus of honks from terrified drivers.

“woAH!” you shriek, the force slamming you back into your seat. Your hands instinctively grab the handle above the door, knuckles white as the car swerves dangerously.

“Oops, sorry.” His voice comes out nonchalantly, but there’s no trace of remorse on his face— just that stupid grin. “Hold on tight! These folks on the road are way too slow.” With a wild yell, he floors the gas again, pushing the car even faster.

At this point, you’re just praying that if the car flips, you’ll go down with it. You didn’t want to survive whatever mess would follow if he really did manage to send the car tumbling. Your heart’s pounding in your chest, and you scream again in pure horror, watching him laugh as he skillfully dodges every car in his path.

“What the actual FUCK are you doing?!” you scream, feeling your life flash before your eyes.

“I’m driving! What else am I doing? Taking a dookie?” he retorts with a scoff, eyes flicking briefly to the rearview mirror. You glance back, and your stomach drops: blue and red lights. Are there cops behind you?

“Uh, ignore the cops, darlin’.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Pretend this is just some free clubbing lights for ya.”

You panic, a fresh wave of terror rushing over you. "I don't want to fucking club!"

"Woah there, panic at the disco, heheh."

You don’t find his joke funny at all when he suddenly misses the turn to your house, and for a brief moment, you actually consider choking him out from the backseat just to make him stop. But then, something heavy falling in the car catches your eye.

Wait. Was that a gun? Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

He must’ve noticed your body stiffen in horror, because his free hand quickly rummages through his pockets. With a groan, he mutters, “Oh my Aeons— sorry, that’s my gun.” He clears his throat, and you can only deadpan at him, your mind racing. The reviews on his profile had to be way too generous. He didn’t deserve 0 stars. Hell, he should be banned, his license revoked, and his profile deleted.

But of course, he tries to reassure you. “Don’t worry, that’s, uh… a toy gun. For unruly passengers, ya know? Get it?” His sharp teeth flash in a grin, and you swear, for a split second, you see a glint of something dangerous. Then he curses some censored version of a swear word under his breath. “Ah, crap…I missed your turn.”

Yeah, you’re never booking an Uber again.

The car screeches as he whips it into a sharp U-turn, sending a cloud of smoke from the tires. You glance over to the police officer in the next lane— his bright blue eyes reflecting dim streetlights, a black-haired guy with an unreadable expression. But it’s the person sitting in the backseat that catches your attention. Two glowing golden eyes peer out from the window, face pressed against the glass.

“What the heck do they want from you?!” you scream, your body drenched in sweat as you grip the seat, heart racing.

Boothill shrugs nonchalantly. “Ehh... I dunno.”

Oh, he definitely knows.

He suddenly slams the brakes, and you slam forward, your face colliding with the back of his seat. Before you even have a chance to recover, you scramble out of the car, your breath ragged. But something catches your eye— there’s a pair of black heels in the backseat.

Wait. What?

“Think of this ride as, uh— on the house, ‘kay?” Boothill calls out from the window, giving you a thumbs-up with his metal fingers. You can barely catch your breath as you clutch your chest, your heart still racing.

“I’m kinda in a sticky situation— er…” His voice trails off as the sirens grow louder. He grunts, pulling the handbrake, but not before shouting at you as he slams the gas and speeds off.

“Remember to give me 5 stars on the Uber app!”

You stand frozen, staring in disbelief as his car disappears into the distance. Your mind is still reeling, trying to process what just happened, when the police car whips past you in a blur of lights and sirens. And then, you hear it— a panicked scream.

“HE’S DRIVING AWAY WITH HIMEKO’S CAR—"

AVENTURINE

After a long night of clubbing, you called an Uber, eager to escape the blinding lights and noise and head home. But what you didn’t expect was stepping into what felt more like another club than a car ride.

This didn’t feel like an Uber at all. The backseat was spacious, plush even, with a basket full of snacks— gum, chips, candy, just about anything you could imagine.

“Feel free to take whatever you want, yeah? It’s an accommodation,” a smooth voice drawls, and damn, you did not expect your Uber driver to be someone so... dazzling. A pretty blonde guy with striking purple and blue eyes, his gaze cool and calm. His cologne was strong but intoxicating, a heady mix of something sweet yet fresh.

"Are you sure I can take the snacks? No extra charge?" You raise an eyebrow, hesitating as you reach for a packet of chips.

"No extra charge," he repeats with a smirk, his hands casually gripping the wheel. He taps his fingers on the leather-covered steering wheel as he waits patiently for the car in front of him to move.

You mumble a quiet thanks before grabbing a few packets of chips and stuffing them into your bag, quickly buckling up your seatbelt. As you settle in, you start taking in your surroundings. One look at this guy, and it’s pretty obvious he’s loaded. The seats are unbelievably comfortable, and the extra touches in the snack basket are a little surprising. Alongside the chips, there are bottles of mineral water and other beverages, perfect if you’re parched. And judging by the brand of the snacks and drinks, it’s clear— this is first-class treatment. Something you’d expect to find on a luxury flight.

Suddenly, a tiny dice clatters against your leg. You freeze, slowly picking it up, unsure of what to make of it. He doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation, his grin widening as he speaks.

“Roll the dice,” he says, his tone playful. “The number you land on will decide where you’re going.”

You blink, completely caught off guard. “I’m sorry— what?” you stare at him in disbelief. “I just wanna go home, dude.” You hand the dice back to him awkwardly, hoping he’ll drop it.

He tuts, the sound almost childlike. “Ah, no, no, no. I offered you some wonderful snack choices, the least you could do is play along with my game.” He whines, like a petulant child, and you’re starting to feel uneasy. But there’s something about him that doesn’t scream dangerous— just weird. Definitely weird, like the one Uber driver you met last month.

“…And what is this about?” You furrow your brow, a little frustrated. “You’re an Uber driver, shouldn’t you listen to your customer on where they want to go?” You toss the dice back toward him.

“Please,” he suddenly pleads, slumping in his seat dramatically. “I have a gambling addiction.”

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing him cautiously. “What does that have to do with me?” You glance down at the dice now sitting in your palms.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, his eyes glazed over with a mix of frustration and longing. “My job banned me from going to casinos for a week,” he mutters. “So, I took this Uber job to kill time. The only way to salvage my boredom is to have my customers gamble for me.”

This Uber driver is definitely fucking weird.

“And what is your job, besides being an Uber driver...?” you ask, gulping slightly as you glance around his car, trying to pick up on any clues. His outfit, the decor, anything that might give you an idea of what’s going on.

“Well… I work for the IPC—”

“Okay, I get it now,” you quickly cut him off, your face twisting into an expression of judgment and unease. Those three letters were all you needed to hear. Of course, he worked for the IPC. All the people you've met affiliated with the IPC were just off. Like that strange Uber driver from last month? He was a huge IPC hater— and, oh yeah, he robbed a car. Then there was that girl you ran into last week, the one who casually introduced herself as an IPC worker. And trailing behind her? This bizarre creature that looked like an anteater... or a dolphin— you’re not even sure. You overheard it was her pet, but you’ve never seen anything like that in your life.

"Hey," he sighs, sitting up straighter in the seat. You’re desperately hoping he’ll drop the dice nonsense and just start driving already, but he stays put, even though the car in front of you has been long gone.

"I know the IPC has a bad reputation," he says, "but I promise you I’m not that bad."

"Yeah... not that bad for a guy who has a price on the IPC’s head," you mutter under your breath, and you catch the flash of recognition in his eyes.

“Oh! Boothill?”

You instantly regret even saying anything.

“I bumped into that guy last week— well, more like he crashed into my car,” he continues, seemingly unphased by your discomfort. “At first, he apologized. Then, out of nowhere, he pulled a gun on me and—”

Without thinking, you hurl the dice somewhere in the car, scramble to get out, and bolt for the door, heart racing.

"No tip???"

BLADE

It hadn’t even been five minutes in the car, and your driver was already chastising you.

"You're breathing too loudly in my car."

You freeze, immediately holding your breath, your hands clutched tightly in your lap. "I apologize—"

"Don’t talk."

You bite your lip, feeling your patience slip. Let me just fucking die then, I guess, you think, staring blankly out the window.

You glance over at the drawer in the car and notice a piece of paper peeking out. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you tug it out, only to find the words written in... lipstick?

“𝒲𝒽𝑜𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝒾𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓴𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅, 𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒸𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓀𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝑒. 𝒟𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎, 𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒹𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑒!~"

What the hell? Why are all the drivers like this? You can't even begin to describe it anymore.

"If you're feeling afraid right now, I suggest you get off," his deep voice cuts through the silence, and without missing a beat, you nod— pushing open the door while he’s still driving and rolling out onto the pavement.

reader rn:

[venmondiese]

SOMETHIN' STUPID

-ˋˏ| summary: You have the biggest crush on Martin, and yet you have to watch how he falls for another girl. Even if it breaks your heart, you wish to be on his life rather than be nothing at all.

✧ | Pairing: Martin4Spider (It's Amazing to be Young) & Reader

✧ | word count: 5.1k

✧ | Warnings: Angst. Hurt/no comfort.

✧ | notes: baby's first angst omgg... anyways, i LOVE martin4spider but i also love angst and suffering and pain.

⋅˚₊‧ Based on Something Stupid by Frank Sinatra and I love you, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams ‧₊˚ ⋅

You waited in the car, most of the time you did. 

The night was quiet and Martin was taking an awful long time to buy the medicine for his wounds. You never complained, though, you liked being around him. He was different from most men you knew, interested in sex and leaving their lives as if it was their last day on earth. 

Martin was a great guy, you two met thanks to college, and you liked to think that two outcasts could understand each other perfectly fine. He dropped college after the first semester, but it didn’t stop you from hanging out with him. You texted him, and he’d pick you up with his car, buy some snacks and go to a city viewpoint to hang there. 

Martin was, probably, your dearest friend. He was not judgemental, he could hear and he always gave you those fraternal hugs, his arm on your shoulders as he squeezed you close to him. 

Even if he was bruised, you took the time to clean his wounds, disinfect them and heal them. You never complained or judged him. You’d often keep your thoughts to yourself, about how he was hurting his body to feel something. 

“You got it?” You ask when he gets into the car, and he has a wide smile on his face. 

“I met someone” he says softly, as if amazed by it. 

“Oh?”

You look at him, your heart clenching on your chest as if it would explode. It was no secret to anyone how head over heels you were for Martin, even if he was clueless about it. You were too afraid to mess it up; he was your friend, and you could live with not being his girlfriend, but not being friends… frightened you. 

You tried pathetic attempts of flirting, sometimes getting drunk so he could pick you up and take care of you, even if it was a lie, you did it as if trying to heal something in you. You didn’t know if he was clueless, or if he knew and ignored the fact. 

“Yeah, I even got her number… She’s… beautiful” 

You look at him, as you try to look inside the drug store. “You always have girls fawning over you and your bad boy look” you tease him. 

“Heh, I know, but this is… different” he says smiling, and finally he turns to see you. His black eyes, well, still red from the recent punches, find yours with certainty as you realize something, this was different. He has that glint that he had never had with you, or any other girl he was fooling around. 

“Okay, Romeo” you say smiling, as he rolls his eyes amused, with a smirk. 

“Romeo?” He asks, chuckling as he starts the car engine. “You are so weird sometimes” he says amused, and you smile softly. 

As he starts to drive away, you can see the feminine figure from inside the drug store, seeing him from the glass. Your heart ached, watching her and then Martin. This certainly would last only some weeks, like all the flings he had before. No girl can resist a bad boy facade, not even you. But, only a few girls know how to appreciate a man like Martin. 

You had forgotten about it after some days. You certainly had more things to your plate, some college stuff, and things at home. Well, that was a lie. You had thought about it, but you tried to push it away from your head, because nothing ever comes up when Martin meets a girl. He’d fool around, and then be all on his own again. 

It was a normalcy bias, as you were sure this wouldn’t last. 

“Your room is cleaner, but still a mess” You say disapprovingly, as you pick his dirty laundry, and he groans.

“Come on…” he said, laying shirtless on his bed. “I cleaned it, though”

You raise your eyebrows with a smile, and you leave the dirty clothes in the basket. You sit on the edge of bed, looking at him.

“To what we owe this miracle?” you ask, looking at him, and he chuckles, a bit shyly as he looks away. 

“Spider was here yesterday” he says softly. 

You are in silence for a few moments, as if trying to understand what he meant. 

“Spider? I don’t think a spider cares…”

“Not the spider.” He cuts you, looking at you. “The girl I met. Her name is Jennifer, but she prefers to be called Spider”

You blink softly, your insides turning around in a horrible feeling as you take in the information. A girl, this Jennifer-Spider, in his room. He never told you about the girls he brings here either, and so your stomach feels as if it had been punched.

“She was here”

“Yes” he says simply.

“Wait, Spider? Why would she prefer...” you ask curiously.

“She just does.” he says simply, but you can sense the defensiveness in his tone, as if he didn’t like you questioning her motives.

You blink, your mouth turns slightly downwards as you feel it trembling slightly. 

“Okay” you say simply, as if trying to soothe the conversation. 

“She’s just… different. She’s special, she gets me” He says as he just watches the ceiling, he has a slight smile on his lips when talking about her, and you wondered if this is how you looked when talking about him. “She is weird. She is so fucking weird, like me…”

The chuckle on his tone, how dreamily he says it, it is almost enough to make you cry. But you don’t, you stay there, thinking what to say. What to do. What can you even do? You can’t try to sabotage them, it would be cruel… and you aren’t like that, you couldn’t live with that. 

“Come on, say something” he says after a while, and you haven’t noticed how quiet you have been.

“That sounds great” you say, forcing yourself to smile. “She sounds great” you correct yourself, and Martin nods, not fully taking in your expression. You still hoped that this would go away. That everything will be like it was before.

Jennifer, or Spider, as Martin calls her, was more present in your life than ever. She had some strange aura around her, always somewhat quiet but she was almost glued to Martin, and he to her. 

The more the weeks passed, the less you saw him. Sure, you were busy with college, trying to finish some essays that were due close, but you missed him. You always tried to catch him, sometimes he would pick you up after classes, or at your home. Everytime you hoped to see him again, to see his rusty car outside and him waiting for you with his half smirk and bruises on his face. 

But you haven’t seen him, not much. He took forever to answer your texts, and you couldn't help but feel that you were losing him. It felt horrible, because you felt so selfish, you wanted him back. You didn’t want him with this girl, but again, who were you to keep him down? To force him to stay by your side? It wasn’t you to do something like that. 

Usually, you’d meet on friday, since it was a day that both of you agreed that was easy to meet, and you’d do the usual, go to the viewpoint and chat there. You liked hanging around Martin, because you didn’t have to speak, or do anything. 

After he doesn’t text you back, and seeing the time, you tried calling. You hated calling, because it was awfully awkward, but this was a bit more desperate. 

“Hi?”

You freeze at the sound of a feminine tone.

“Hi…” You are a bit surprised, as you curse inside your brain. Fuck, fuck, fuck… “Is Martin there?”

You could feel your heart being squeezed on your inside, as you tried to breathe calmly. 

“Yes, he is here. Who’s this?”

“I am his friend…” you tell her your name, and she doesn’t seem to recall. “You must be…” Jennifer, spider? What should you call her? You try to decide, but you just leave it hanging there.

“I am Spider, his girlfriend” she says softly. 

“I see. Yeah, just… tell him to text me back later” you say trying to sound normal, as you just end up the call abruptly. You see the words call ended and then your screen turns black, and you can see your horrified face reflected on it. 

You were never nothing with Martin, damn, you never even kissed, or held hands. You were just friends, and it hurts more than anything to know he is in love, having a proper girlfriend. You were all for guys who were loyal to their girlfriends above all, but you never thought you’d be at the other end, the dumped friend. You always pictured yourself as the one he’ll be devoted to, not otherwise. 

You cry, as your eyes were so watery you couldn’t keep them open. It was silly, because you aren’t the first nor the last woman to suffer from a heartbreak, of secretly yearning for him, for his embraces, his kisses, and his affections. 

You’ve played all your cards with him, being everything he wants and needs, to no avail. What does she have? Why is she so special? He had met her for maybe more than one month, and you know him from much more.  

You cannot see them together, you cannot bear the thought of seeing them together. The first time he picked you up, it took you by surprise. He always joked that he was your uber, since you couldn’t drive, no matter how much he teaches you. He waits for you outside the car, arms crossed and his usual clothes.

“Oh, hi…” you say as you walk closer to the car, and see that inside the car there was a girl. He never brought girls around you, he talked about them casually, but this was.. different. 

And it hits you just now how serious he is about it. If you tried to think that this won’t last, this was like a cold water bucket being thrown at you with the reality of it all.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks, murmuring in your ear as he opens the door for you. 

You look at him, big eyes and confusing feelings. It feels like an ambush, in a way, as you were not ready to encounter her… and him together. 

“It would have been nice to be notified” you murmur to him, the slight annoyance on your tone.

“Sorry” he says, giving you a half crooked smile, yet sympathetic to it all. 

You sit in the backseat, and she turns to see you. 

“Hi” she says softly.

“Hi”

Fuck, she was gorgeous.  

You smile weakly as you put on your seatbelt, and you watch through the window. 

“We came back from the forest, that’s why we are so….”

“Rusty?” Spider says back to him, with a lovesick smile, that Martin returns.

“Yeah” Martin says as he leans to kiss her cheek, and you try to look away. 

“Cool” you try to sound cheerful. 

You really wanted to be supportive, you really did. You wished you could be happy for him, he seems… happier. She makes him happier.

Which definitely was killing you, because no amount of time with you made him as happier as she did. But it was better to be his friend, than nothing. It would kill you to be nothing, even if it meant seeing Martin happy with her. 

“So… you going with friends?” She asks curiously.

“Oh, yeah, my friends… they live closer to Martin, so…” you say shrugging, a bit awkwardly. 

“That’s neat” she says softly, nodding. “You are nice for driving your friends” she says softly, leaning to give Martin’s cheek a kiss, to which he certainly enjoys.

You can help but feel sick. You hated it, seeing him so in love with someone else. You had hoped that, with time, he would look at you like that. Hold you gently, and talk to you the way he does with Spider. 

“You have a boyfriend?” she asks, eyes wide as she turns to see you and chat.

“...no” you say almost bitterly. 

She nods softly, and Martin says.

“When you get one, we should do things, like the four of us. That’s still a thing?” 

“I think so,” Spider says naturally to him. “They can carve their names alongside ours” 

“Oh? How so?” You ask, frowning slightly as they speak so nonchalant about this. 

“We carved our names into a tree” Martin says almost too proudly. 

You feel your eyes too dry all of the sudden, and the back of your head, just behind your ears, hurts slightly. He sounds more than proud, he seems… in love. He was in love. 

“I am not… into anybody these days” You lie, your voice a bit shaky as you feel your blood running almost coldly into your limbs. You pinch the skin of the back of your hand, as if trying to soothe yourself, or to wake you up from this nightmare. 

Spider has those deep eyes that stare at you. She doesn’t say much, just watching you closely. Since she was in the copilot seat, she turned to see you. You squirm slightly uncomfortable, as if she could read your thoughts. Could she possibly know that you fancy her boyfriend? Could she know how much you envy her? How much you would give, how much you wish, how much you crave to be her?

You don’t know anything about her. Martin doesn’t particularly go off about her life the occasions he is with you. These days, they are almost glued together, doing everything together. You know it, and it didn’t bother you if Martin was just a friend. But he wasn’t just a friend to you, he wasn’t just a guy. 

You look at her and she at you, and you can’t deny how pretty she was. She had soft features, and you couldn’t help but remember Martin by the way her expression changes. It’s as if he’s all over her. 

You turn to look out the window, as if trying to ignore Spider’s eyes on you. What if she sees you cry? She doesn’t look scary, you’d probably have a fair fight if it came to it. But you aren’t that type of girl. And she was so pretty, you don’t want to ruin her beautiful face,

“I don’t have friends to introduce you to” she says softly, after a thought. Her tone is calm, and you turn to see her. Martin has his hand intertwined with hers, as if he couldn’t be without touching her. 

“It’s okay, you are so very kind”

“Do you?” She turns to Martin, quietly, and he shakes his head.

“Nope.”

“Well, if you-”

“It’s truly okay, I do not mind it.” you cut the quick chat. “Martin, leave me at the intersection” you say, grabbing your purse from the floor. The lipstick has fallen, and rolled under Martin’s driving seat. Spider leans closer to the back to search for it with her eyes as if to help you locate it.

“I can really drive you to there”

“It’s okay” you say exasperated, extending your hand to grab your lipstick, but between the metal you fear that your hand will be stuck. 

“Do you want help?” She asks, leaning curiously.

“No, it’s fine”

“Truly, I can drive you to your friend’s house, it’s on our way and I don’t mind”

You feel the lipstick with the tip of your fingers, you try to roll it closer to you, but it doesn’t work. It is stuck between some metals, and you lean closer to grab it, without really thinking how you will get your hand out. 

“Do you need light?” She asks turning on the backseat lights for you to see, but it only serves as a small blindment to you. 

“I can’t leave you here, it is too dark and…” Martin starts rambling off as he drives.

“You will hurt yourself if you do it blindly,” Spider says, trying to help.

“You asked me to do this…”

“For God’s sake, just drop me off here” You say a bit too loud, overwhelmed and just… exploded. You give up on the bloody lipstick, and anyways, it was almost empty. 

You take off your seatbelt, and you get off the car, seeing the couple inside as you close the door, and you just walk behind the car, not minding this isn’t a pedestrian crossing, and probably any car that crosses there, will mostly make you at danger of being rolled over.

You just walk crying, pathetically and recklessly walking in the dark streets, holding your purse with your hand, not minding how it drags on the pavement. You always asked for a ride because walking exposed you to avoidable danger, but in truth… You prefer it over seeing how Martin was head over heels for another woman. 

And the worst is that you can’t even hate her. She doesn’t know about your feelings about him, fuck, he doesn’t even know. And even so, he was not in any way with you, so he didn’t owe you anything. She didn't do anything wrong about it, she didn’t steal your man, she didn’t keep him from you, she wasn’t jealous or condescending to you, she was… she was good. She was nice, and obviously very weird, but it only seems to fit with Martin. 

You sit on a bench, in the middle of the street with a flickering light. Your makeup was probably ruined, by how you have rubbed your tears off your eyes, and the worst part? You also lost your lipstick.

And probably she’d keep your lipstick as well. You cried harder at that. How could she? She would keep everything you wanted, and you felt hopeless. 

You have that tendency. Your friend had said that you always subconsciously choose something unreachable, as if self sabotaging yourself. It was true, in a way, you had always been one for yearning in a distance, and never acted on your feelings. It won't either be the first time you have felt these emotions, but the other guys were crushes, too far away from your reach. But Martin? You were so close.

Was it so wrong to feel so much?

The next couple days you feel miserable, but again, not contacting him was better, at least for now. You truly wanted to get rid of your feelings, to just feel platonic love for him. To be happy for his relationship, to be glad he found someone who complements him so well. 

Maybe getting the ick would make it easier, but you knew Martin, and nothing that he did was horrible in your eyes. You cured his wounds, no matter how bloody or swollen they were. Never complained, and had a tender hand to cure it. It also helped with the proximity, and you enjoyed every second of it. 

You don’t reach to him, too afraid to have messed it up. He texts you once or twice, but again, he never was one to be really into his phone. You were rude, and you were ashamed of it, of making it about yourself and your feelings. It was a bit selfish, but they were your genuine feelings. 

Instead, he reaches to you after a while. His texts aren't usually long or descriptive,

i am in the usual spot.  can i see u?

Against your better judgement, and ignoring your mixed feelings, you take the bus, and walk to the parking lot where he usually did his car jujutsu stuff. The ‘usual spot’ always meant that, the place where he felt things in his flesh, as if he was self flagellating himself. 

You find him, by his car, sitting with a whiskey at hand. He looked even worse as if he would when fighting, and he was drunk. You could see it in his movements.

“Hi, you” you say, slightly glad he called you. “Another lost fight?” You ask amused, kneeling to help him to get up, and he grumbles.

“No…”

“Look, I wanted to apologise...” You start, as his hand was around his shoulders and your hand gripped his torso to help him up. He was bigger than you, and also heavier. You take the chance to apologise, to make things right, hoping he would forgive you. You are always sincere in your apologies, and even if your heart is happy to see him, you have to set things right “Because the last time, I was…”

“She left” He cuts you off. 

You freeze for a moment, surprised. It’s as if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, as if a cold breeze came. You look at him, not even realising how you didn’t finish your apology.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer, too drunk and trying not to fall as he grips your shoulder tightly. 

“When did she leave you?” You ask, surprised. You don’t want to say you feel glad, because you don’t. You didn't even know what you felt.

“She didn’t leave me. She left… the place. Her mum sent her off…”

You think for a few moments. You bite your lip, as you try to cheer him up. You still fancied him, and you knew you had to keep your distance, for everyone’s  well being, but he was hurting. He was your Martin still, somehow. 

“You want to go to our place?” You ask softly, looking at him. “I’ll drive”

He’d usually stop you, he’d raise the keys with his hand and make you jump to get them, and he never trusted you to drive so carefree when you had no idea of traffic signs. 

Instead, he handles you the keys as he opens the backseat and leans on it. 

You might even get your lipstick back. 

You drive carefully, even if at this time of the night almost everything is quite dead, even when the car ride up to the viewpoint is quite hard to you, you do it, and even manage to park in a great spot. After you use the hand brake, you turn off the engine. 

“Tell me you didn’t die back there”

“No” he murmurs bitterly.

“You threw up?”

“No”

“Good” you say, as you help him out of the car, pulling him to take some fresh air, and maybe the city lights could provide some comfort. You see the spot where your lipstick was left, and you decide to get it later. There was a lot of time now. 

You two settle in the car hood, laying on the glass as you sigh. 

“The night is nice” you say softly, looking at the sky, trying to break off the awkward silence. You turn your head to look at him, all puppy-like. It almost clenches your heart to see him like this. “Wanna talk about it?”

He lays on the window for some moments. 

“I loved her” it’s the first thing he says, totally heartbroken. 

“I…” you say, not sure what to say. I could see it. I know. She seems like she loves you too. I love you as well. 

“She didn’t want to leave” he keeps on going. “She… we didn’t fit, okay. But we do fit together” he murmurs, his words blurry as he is drunk and just rambling. 

“Then why did she?”

“Her mum” He says simply, looking at the sky. 

“She didn't… approve?”

“Ha, you bet” he says in a chuckle. “We were in her room, hanging out, we were… making out and her mum just got inside and kicked me out” he says leaning back, as he recalls the scene. “Tried to be polite and all, I wanted to be polite, y’know. Maybe lose the damn piercing when doing so and…”

He lays for some moments on the window, his jacket a bit too uncomfortable to do so. 

“She sent her off. Saying she was a disgrace.”

You nod softly, as you hear him. You thought you’d feel good about it, but.. you don’t. 

“Her mum hated me. She didn’t even.. know me, and I really… Me and Spider understood each other”

“To be fair, my mum doesn’t like you either” you try to cheer him up. 

“Well, I do not care what your fucking mum thinks of me. It’s not the same” he cuts you with his tone rough. “It’s not like that. She doesn’t send you away because of it.”

You bite your tongue as you watch your hands. You didn’t mean it like that, you guessed. You didn’t think too much about it,  never did around him. 

“Sorry." He says after a while. "She left. I couldn’t even say goodbye, I was too much of a coward not to go back”

You can hear the hurt in his tone, as he moves a hand to pass it on his face. He is bitter, he is confused. 

“I’m sorry too” you murmur, as your eyes are teary. “To be fair… she was nice. She seemed nice and she made you happy”

“How can I even… go on…” Martin says, rambling off.  He lights up a cigarette, as he sighs.

You two are quiet for a while as the night was awfully dead. How could you try to comfort him? You can still feel your heart long for him, even when it was already broken. Even when it was rejected, how pathetic can it get? Going back to him, hoping for him to notice you? 

The muscles of your cheek feel heavy as you hold tears, and your lips turn down on that horrible expression you hate. You rub your forehead, as if trying to relax.

“When was the last time we came here?” He asks softly, as his head turns to look at the starlights. He takes a drag and smokes blows out of his mouth.

You think for a few moments, and shake your head.

“I don’t really remember.”

He had discovered this place, and he picked you up to show it to you. Nothing fancy, but something unique. You usually bought the snacks, and he drove. 

Had he brought her too, you wondered? The tree where they carved their names was near? Had they made out in the car as well?

“I am not that drunk, you know” he says after he chuckles, as he takes the last smoke out of the cigarette, before pressing the cigarette down on his palm. “I am just…”

“... Heartbroken” you say for him. It isn’t as if you didn’t understand the feeling. How were you supposed to comfort him when you felt the same? You couldn’t even show it, or tell him about it. 

“I am taking care of her lizard.” he says after a while. You can smell the faint scent of his cheap cologne, the faint smell of liquor and the strong scent of cigarette, and you feel somewhat stupid “And I got an spider too, obviously…”

“I love you” 

Your words come spilling out of your mouth, you do not even think about saying them outloud. He never knew how much you liked him. He’d never choose you over her, and you aren’t even asking him to do so. You know he won’t. 

“I’m sorry” you add quickly, cursing yourself. It was the truth, was it wrong to say it? You can’t think of an answer, because it was done.

He doesn’t say anything, as he turns his head to see the sky as well. 

Perhaps you had been settling the nails for your own coffin, doing this. Being around him, as if nothing was happening. 

“This isn’t about you” Martin murmurs bitterly.

“I am sorry I am not her” 

“I do not want to hear about it.”

“I love you, I am sorry” You say, as you start crying, you couldn’t even fight for your feelings without crying. 

“I don’t… What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know” you cry out, as you press the heel of your hand against your eyes, almost too hard as if to dry tears out. “I am sorry, I am sorry, don’t hate me”

“Why would you tell me this kind of shit?” He asks frustrated, as he sits up straight. You shake your head, as you try to keep your tears from coming out. 

“It’s stupid, I was stupid, I am sorry!”

“Were you always like this?”

“I said I am sorry” you begged him, shaking your head.

“You know I don’t love you back. I can’t love anyone but Spider”

“I know you love her, okay, I know!” You say exasperated, as you feel frustrated as well. You had no reason to, but it wasn’t as if you could rationalize your feelings in the moment. “And I know I am not her”

You always thought love didn’t make you stupid. It was kind of weird to think about it, how could people do stupid things? How could people forgive cheating, have a blind eye when it came to crimes or stay when it hurted their mental health?

“Martin, please… I didn’t mean to” you say as he gets off the car hood, and you slide to follow him. “I won’t say it again”

“I don’t want you around”

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t… I never meant ill on you, or her… she is so nice… and she makes you happy…”

“Don’t talk about her” he says opening the copilot door to hand you your jacket, and your purse.

“Hear me out” You cry out trying to take his wrist to hold him back, begging him to hear you. 

He shakes your grip, as he looks at you with… disappointment? You don’t want to decipher his expression. 

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to” you repeat again. “I can't lose you, Martin. I can't... Please”

“Don’t” he says as he walks over to the driver seat. “Just… don’t”

The least of your worries is how you are going back home, or how you will freeze to death. Damn, you barely remember your forgotten lipstick.

You know that it was a massive screw up. But it felt right to say it in the moment, and were words you truly meant, with all your heart. And he was rightfully mad, you also understood that.

But again, you aren’t truly thinking. It’s as if the muscle that beats in your chest has truly taken over you, making rash decisions in your careful life. You had never confessed to anyone, you never said your true feelings, and you never ever would risk a friendship as valuable as the one with Martin. 

But you love him. You love him so much, it hurts, it makes you sob uncontrollably in the middle of the viewpoint, as your jacket and purse fall from your grip and fall on the pavement. You wished you could be like her, and make him happy. You wish he’d let you into his world, into his heart. At the same time, you wish he could get back at her, and be happy once again. She wasn’t a bad girlfriend as much as you would like, she was actually great, and nice. 

Perhaps it was indeed selfish, you had spoiled all by saying those three words. But deep in your heart, you know it was true. 

[eclipse-msoul]

FAMILY, FAMILY DEAR BATS 🦇

synopsis : What happens when a normal reader enters Batfamily. Not by getting orphaned or saved but rather just visiting her uncle for the first time ( it's Bruce ). Now somehow she's become the unofficial therapist of this family and for unknown reasons the only one with enough common sense.Also why is everyone so Overprotective?

Or

Normal reader X Platonic yandere Batfamily

Chapter 2 :-

Your eyes twinkled open all while you took your surroundings into view. This most definitely wasn't your room. It was too large yet had a tiny elegance to it. Your mind raked where you were -- seconds passed before you realised you were indeed at your uncle's place. 

Getting off the bed, you made your way to the bathroom and freshened yourself up. Your eyes which were in a daze snap open sharply. You smile at your reflection before coming out. 

Walking out you passed through the large and bright hallways and made your way to the kitchen. Mr. Alfred, you remember, was busy making breakfast. " Good morning, Mr Alfred." He greeted you with a smile. The man had a stern yet soft look in his eyes when he glanced in your direction. 

Passing you an eloquent smile he pushed the seat back for you. " Good morning, Miss Julia. You've woken quite early. " You nodded, " I'm an early wake. Also-" You said turning your head left and right. " Where are my parents?"

" They informed me they had to leave early due to an emergency at work. I was told to inform you when you woke.. " 

Wow, your parents really just left you. What happened to spending a few days there? Really- still you couldn't blame them, they always made time for you but sometimes the work got too heavy or an emergency arrived. " Seems like them. " You sighed while taking a seat. 

Mr. Alfred placed breakfast in front of you. You gasped at the amount, it looked like it could feed ten people. Looking back and forth you asked, " Will my cousins or someone else be joining us? "

Mr. Alfred blinked before a smile found its way on his lips. " Master Duke will be joining us." You had a hard time believing he could eat this much. But hey! It's not like you were familiar with how much a young adult ate. 

As if on que you heard a voice from behind, failing to prevent himself from yawning. " Good morning Alfred. What's for breakfast?” Alfred motioned him to look at the table. You heard a gasp, “ Wow, you really prepared a lot! Is everyone coming back already?”

“ They should arrive by evening. Also-” Alfred coughed, his eyes pointing to you. “ You ought to greet our guest.” The boy's eyes finally scan and spot you. 

You slightly turned your head and looked at him. He was really handsome you thought. His skin was practically glowing but the dark circle near his eyes told you he barely slept. 

He came closer and took a seat next to you. Extending his hand and a smile bright on his lips, he greeted you. “ Sorry about that. I was kind of sleepy. Nice to meet you uhh-.” You shake his hand and smile right back. “ Julia..” You reply, “ A pleasure to meet you too.”

“ Duke.” He says and takes a seat. You don't notice him examining you while you eat. He follows your movements and begins to eat. 

So this is Y/n Julia. 

You look so ordinary, practically so small. He scans you with his eyes and powers and finds you to not be a threat. You turn to him confused as to why he's been staring at you for the past five minutes. 

He places some more eggs on your plate. “ Eat more.” You nodded. “ You have some more too.” You passed him some ham. Both of you chatted with each other and despite him being at least six years older, you were able to enjoy yourself. 

Duke was really good at talking. 

“ Do you want me to give you a tour through the city? We can visit the hospitals too!” Wow he really was nice. You practically grinned, “ I would really like that!” Duke smiled back. 

He was feeling like a big brother right now. A real one. 

He's always wanted a little sibling he could take care of and spend time with. He remembers begging his parents for some. They laughed nervously and told him maybe in the future. 

Then they died and he lost every chance of it. 

When he got adopted by Bruce, he was scared. His new siblings were nice but they all kept their distance. Though with time he'd gotten closer to them all. Even Damien. But his relationship with them all was nothing more than a convenience. To each of them, every single one of them was but a teammate. Just a small part in their great mission. 

Duke had changed in the eight years he was under Bruce's roof. He got more cruel, more efficient and more…emotionless. He had lost any desire for love and care. He couldn't even be brothered anymore. 

Now talking to you, he felt hope brimming. Bruce had already told them all about your family's existence. When he read your file, after it was passed around among his siblings who for some reason just love to mess with each other. He remembers not caring. 

He wants to hit his past self right now. Even if it was him from an hour ago. 

Also

Your picture did not do you justice. 

You look lots more livelier than the picture shows. His eyes have gotten soft in just an hour. That's something none of his siblings would ever believe. Him being kind and smiling with someone? That's practically unheard off! They'll probably try to run some rest on him later. He can already feel a headache coming. 

But he feels they would understand him. They're all the same kind of monsters after all. He can already see you meeting them and them taking a liking to you instantly, just like he has. 

“ Duke, are you listening?” 

He turns his attention back to you. Your bright eyes stare at him with full attention and kindness. He smiles. 

“ I am..” you go right back in for your live of medicine. 

 This is perhaps his first time talking to someone normal. Someone who isn't a vigilante, someone who isn't traumatized. 

Just a normal, bright kid. 

His ears sharpen in edge and his eyes slightly flicker when he hears the footsteps. Bruce is doing it on purpose to not freak you out. He sees Bruce make way to the living room, where you both have taken a seat and are talking. You of course see him and greet him with a smile. 

“ Good morning, Uncle Bruce.”

Bruce pauses before smiling. “ Good morning Julia.” He takes a seat next to you. “ You're quite an early riser. I've never seen any of my children ever wake so early.” He sighs under a smile. 

“ Really?”

“ Yes. They all love to sleep late, when they are home that is.” You wouldn't know but his last bit is meant for someone else.Duke inwardly scoffs. “ They must be home often then.” Bruce freezes and you feel his smile falter before returning to his face. “ They come when they wish.”

You nod. 

Duke already wants to leave. Despite all that Bruce has done for him, he can't make himself stay in his presence for long. Especially if it's not related to vigilante work. He gets up and your attention turns to him. “ Duke?” You ask. 

He smiles and pinches your cheeks. “ I've got some work to do. Let's hang out later, ‘kay?” You nod. Duke shoots Bruce a stare before leaving. You don't notice since it's very quick and subtle

Once Duke disappears, Bruce turns your attention back to him. 

“ It's nice to see you get along with him.”

“ Duke's nice so I wouldn't take the credit.” You reply. You have no idea how cruel and emotionless he is. Bruce would say he was surprised when he saw you both chatting and smiling earlier. Duke has never been this open in front of anyone. Not even his siblings. 

“ I wouldn't put myself down there. You're good at socializing.” you blush. “ Thanks…” 

He smiles. “ So I heard you love medicine. Are you planning on pursuing it?” 

“ I am. It's been a dream for me forever!”

“ That's nice.” He doesn't realise when his hand moves closer and ruffles your hair. He starts and pulls back quickly. “ Sorry.. I didn't realize-”

“ It's fine uncle. You can do it again.” You allow him to pat your head. He smiles at the warmth you give. 

“ So uncle Bruce, when are the others coming? I would love to meet them!” especially if they are nice like Duke. 

“ Right ! They should arrive right-wing” suddenly there is a loud bang and the ground shakes. You about to fall is steadied by Bruce and he helps you get stable. “ You alright?” Bruce asks seriously. “ I'm… fine.”

“ What was that!” Bruce says nothing, just points at the direction of the sound.

“ Master Damien and Master Jason. What are you both doing?” You hear Alfred's voice. He's scolding someone. Bruce and you walk out and you see two men getting scolded by Alfred. 

“ It was Todd's fault, Pennyworth. I have done nothing wrong. “ You see the shorter one trying to defend himself. His face has a big blue spot forming. Probably due to a punch. 

“ Don't put the blame on me Demon brat! Alfie I'm telling you! It was all him. “ The taller one argues back. You see blood falling down his arms. 

Your glance at Alfred who looks like a tired dad ready to bamg his head on the wall. Bruce takes his place next to you and pats your head again. 

“ Here they are.” You hear Bruce sigh holding his nose bridge like a tired parent. “ Welcome to our Mansion Julia.” 

Damn-

TBC…

Coming chapters will be uploaded slowly, also if anyone wants to be added to the tag list, kindly message or comment.

All our batfam has a dark and cute side. So look forward to it ^⁠_⁠^ Also to everyone wondering why I gave reader the name Julia. It's a Nickname I thought would be cute. ( I don't know what it means but it kind of rhyme with jewel. So I wrote it in that context, since she's going to be like a jewel to them.)

Still if everyone wants I'll use y/n or name ( tell me what u all prefer) in the coming chapters ≧﹏≦

Thanks for reading 🩷

[moody-alcoholic]

This but things go wrong

CW: stalking behaviour, overprotective 141, fluff, alcohol.

___

“See her coming out now.” Ghost says over the radio.

“Afirm.” Soap’s voice comes back almost instantly. Ghost watches as you stumble over the pavement, pulling your jacket over your shoulders. It’s almost 3am, and most clubs are closing. The friend you came out with left an hour ago. Now you’re alone, drunk, swaying through the streets of London on a busy Saturday night.

“Watch your distance Soap, no need to spook her.” Price says.

“Copy.” Soap says as he weaves his way through the crowd of clubbers spilling out of the various nightclubs and bars. He keeps his head low, making sure to keep a safe distance from you. They’re not going to lose sight of you though. That’s what Ghost is for.

He slips between the crowds on the other side of the street, slipping into the shadows every opportunity he gets.

“She’ll take the next right. Don’t lose her.” Price says as you pick up your pace slightly. He’ll be driving to the next location, ready to pick you up at a moment's notice. You pull your phone out, typing while you struggle to keep your balance. Ghost lost track of how many drinks you had.

It was a celebration after all, your friend getting a big promotion, she took you to one of the fanciest bars in the city. Even though she left early you still seemed to be having fun, helping yourself to another drink before finally deciding to call it a night.

The streets off the main road are darker, quieter. Less room for error.

Ghost watches as Soap gets slowed down by a group of girls cat-calling him. He plays it off in that annoying way that makes Ghost feel possessive of him. Hie eyes linger on the hen party fussing around him, gritting his teeth as Soap pushes through them.

Ghost looks back to were you were. Shit. He’s lost visual.

“Ghost?” Soap’s voice comes through, concerned.

“Lost visual Soap. Keep walking I’ll push ahead.” Ghost says picking up his pace to make it to the next corner.

“You lost her?” Price’s voice comes through. “Need me to move?”

“Stand-by.” Ghost says. He’s holding his breath as he jogs up the street, when he turns the corner his stomach drops. Fuck. He still can’t see you. The street is quiet though.

“Soap, double time, need you to check your side of the street.”

“Copy.” Soap says, Ghost waits until Soap makes it to the top of the street. They move together in sync checking each alley way, each garden, every nook and cranny.

“Sitrep Ghost.” Price asks after a few minutes of silence. Ghost sighs before replying, swallowing the lump in his throat. He opens his mouth to reply but he doesn’t get time.

“I see her.” He breathes out a breath of relief, it doesn’t last long.

“Got two guys on her.”

Ghost’s steps pick up, he spots you leaning against a stranger, you’re swaying in the street. He hears you laugh as the second man’s arm wraps round your waist.

“Price, get to the next rendezvous. Well bring her to you.” Ghost says already crossing the street. “Soap get her attention. I’ll deal with the guys.”

“Need me to call Gaz?” Price asks.

“Negative, we’ve got this.” Ghost says as Soap calls out for you. You turn in the strangers arms, your face lights up when you see him.

“Johnny!” You call reaching out for him. The stranger keeps his grip on you, it makes Soap’s stomach turn. “What are you doing here?”

You’re unsteady on your feet trying to pull yourself off the man his friend looks around. The street is dark, there are no streetlamps on down here, it’s easy to slip into an ally, who knows what could have happened.

“I was having a drink saw you leave the bar.” He says with a smile, his eyes keeping track of the shadows. Ghost will already be on the move. The second guy has taken a step back, he only needs to worry about the stranger with his hands on you.

“Do you know him?” He asks, his fingers digging into your waist, Soap wants to tear him off you. You’re drunk, he’s taking advantage of you.

Knight in shining armor, it almost makes Soap laugh.

“Yeah! He’s my boyfriend.” You say still trying to rangel yourself out of his grip, Soap looks in your eyes, it’s almost like you have a second of clarity. The stranger loosens his grip on you.

“Boyfriend?” He asks. The other stranger has taken another step back.

Things happen quickly. It’s like Ghost comes from deep within the shadows, his hand grips the shoulder of the second man, Soap watches the colour drain from his face. Soap reaches forward gripping your wrists and pulling you out the first mans grip and into his arms.

“Hey!” He the man calls reaching out to try and grab you back. Soap ignores him wrapping his own arm round your waist. You lean against him as he walks you back down the road.

“Heading to rendezvous.” Soap says.

“Huh?” You ask turning up to look at him.

“How was your night?” He asks kissing you on the top of your head.

“Great! We celebrated and I remember what you said watch my drinks. I made sure I could always see them.” You say, Soap smiles as you turn the corner back to the main road.

“Good girl. Did you have fun?” He asks.

“Yeah, I got to meet her boss, he’s a really nice guy for a bank manager.” You chuckle. Soap spots Price parked in a taxi bay. You don’t seem to notice though talking about your friend and her promotion.

“Ghost, sitrep?” Price asks.

“All good here Cap. Should be finished up soon, don’t wait for me.” Soap smiles as he helps you into the back of the car.

“John!” You call reaching round the drivers seat to hug him. He smiles his eyes flicking up to Soap who helps you put your seat belt on.

“Seems like you’ve had an eventful night.” John says as he drives off.

“Yeah, it was fun.” You say leaning up against Soap who wraps his arms round you.

…

When they make it back to the house you’re asleep. Kyle is already waiting at the front door as John pulls up into the drive. John opens the back door of the car, you don’t wake as Johnny undoes your seat belt. You murmur as John scoops you up in his arms. He shushes you carrying you into the house.

Kyle’s hand comes to brush hair out your face as John walks through the doorway.

“Is she okay?” He asks looking up at John.

“She’s fine, too much to drink.” John says transferring you into Kyle's arms.

“Make sure Simon gets home safe.” Kyle asks turning into the house. John smiles kissing Kyle’s forehead.

“Of course. Make sure she’s okay.” John asks his hand coming to brush you cheek.

“Always.” Kyle smiles.

___

[frostedfragments]

the nanny ✧.* sylus x reader ✧.* 1.1k words ✧.* dad!sylus x nanny reader summary: sylus fucks the nanny warnings!: oral (fem receiving), shower sex note: i'm so back

divider cred. @cyberangel-graphics

When you first took the job, you’re almost bashful to admit that it wasn’t your endless love of children and the joy they bring that motivated you. Working through college at the time was life-draining, soul-destroying, but it had all been worth it when you secured an unpaid, part time internship with an editor you’d admired since you were a young preteen collecting stacks of fashion magazines under your bed. But, unpaid was…well, unpaid, so you had to make money elsewhere.

The part time hours were an advantage, meaning you could easily find work in the city, but it was the peak of Fall, students arriving from all over to go to classes at the city school, and that meant a severe lack of available part time jobs.

Nannying hadn’t been on your radar, and it was only when your old roommate Yara had pointed out an ad in the newspaper that almost sounded good to be true. A man named Sylus living in a penthouse deep in the classy district of the city needed a nanny for his three year old, and well, since Yara was moving in with her boyfriend, you also needed a place to stay. You weren’t gonna make rent on your own, so you took the job.

You’d never imagined it would lead you here.

Here being naked, propped on Sylus’s ensuite vanity, legs spread as his blonde head works hard between them. The steam from the shower is thick and cloying, coating your body in a dew that mingles with the sweat from the last twenty minutes that Sylus has been eating you out like a man starved.

“F-fuck, I can’t…n-not again,”

His grip tightens on your thigh, the other hand smoothing up over the damp skin of your stomach to cup your breast, squeezing in warning. His eyes are piercing as they stare up at you, dark and deep, blood red, hungry even as he pauses to lick his shiny lips, “You can and you will. One more, baby,”

He said that ten minutes ago, and now you’re five orgasms deep, legs shaking on his broad, naked shoulders. It’s almost painful the way his tongue drags along your swollen, abused clit, your throat dry despite the humidity of the bathroom. With the shower running, the two of you don’t have to worry about waking Kira, though you had expected to be standing under the spray with Sylus by now, wrapped up in his embrace.

Instead, he pinches your nipple hard enough for you to yelp, the sound bouncing off the tile.

“Quiet, baby,” He murmurs, slurring as he takes another long lick up your drenched slit, “Fuck, you always taste so good when I’ve been missing you,”

Sylus got back from his business trip this morning, doing what? You don’t really know, or care to ask. Whatever it is, it’s important, and requires him to be away at least once every other week. Hence the need for you to be here for Kira.

His words, preluding a sharp bite to your inner thigh that has you gasping, leaves a warmth spreading through your middle. He stays true to his word, licking and finger fucking you through another slow, rolling orgasm that has your thighs trembling when Sylus finally stands, tall and imposing. You don’t know if you can stand, but it doesn’t matter, Sylus picks you up and checks the water before carrying you under the spray. You gasp when your back hits the tile, not quite warmed by the water yet, and you loop your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a long kiss you both groan into.

Hair two shades darker than it was a moment ago falls into his eyes, and you reach up, brushing it off his forehead as he gazes down at you with an unreadable look. Things have changed a lot since the two of you first began this somewhat inappropriate relationship, and for a while it was just fucking. Sylus was newly-divorced, hardly interested in dating, and you just didn’t have the time. The attraction between the two of you had been palpable since the first meeting when you interviewed for the job, and it only took two weeks before you were pulled into the driver’s seat of his Audi one evening after dropping Kira off at her mom’s, your legs bracketing his hips and his hand rough and impatient under your skirt.

It had been the best sex of your life, and since then, you hadn’t stopped. But now, you weren’t sure you could even if you wanted to, and your heart thuds in agreement as Sylus’s eyes soften, his lips parting on an exhale as he positions his cock where you need him, thrusting into you in one slow roll of his hips.

“Feels so fucking good,” You groan, voice breaking slightly when he nudges that spot inside you he just spent almost a half hour stroking with his fingers, “Harder, please,”

He grunts, large hands reaching round to cup your ass and pull you down onto his rigid length, forcing a moan from deep within your chest, “Yeah? Like that?” he asks in that voice that always gets you wet between the legs. He gives you another hard thrust, picking up speed as he fixes his mouth to your breast, suckling and biting at your nipple.

“J-just like that -” You groan, eyes rolling back when you feel that familiar heat between your hips, breasts swaying as Sylus pulls back, watching your body with an insatiable hunger in his gaze, flitting between your tits and your face as he keeps fucking into you, so hard your back slaps against the tile, “Yeah…oh, fuck, yes. Sylus -”

He doesn’t need you to ask, he already knows you’re close by the way your pussy wraps around him like a fist. He moans softly, calling your name while he strums at your clit with his thumb. You last for two more powerful drives of his hips, convulsing on his cock as if you hadn’t had his head between your legs damn near all night.

Your climax sets him off, as always, his eyes watching, enraptured as you tighten up on him like a dream, face relaxed and mouth open on a silent moan. He fucks into you with a couple more sloppy thrusts, burying his head in your neck before he wakes up the entire damn building, roaring into your neck a muffled cry of your name.

The shower is quiet after that, soft touches and lingering gazes as Sylus grins down at you, his face wearing a look that both terrifies and exhilarates you. He washes you as if you’re something to be cherished, and it almost brings tears to your eyes. You hiccup softly before Sylus wraps his arms around your middle, his lips pressed to your jaw.

“I know, baby,”

You both don’t have to say it, but you know.

[bigtreefest]

Cinnamon Rolls

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve has to decide which is the lesser of two evils: waking you up from your nap, or letting the cinnamon rolls in the oven burn.

Word count: 1,686

Content/warnings: fluff! Kissing, cooking, Steve being too perfect and sweet, tickling

A/N: hehehe, thanks to @thezombieprostitute for always indulging my thots and whims, especially regarding my love for cinnamon rolls and cinnamon roll-like men.

Comments, reblogs, and asks are especially appreciated!

Dividers by @mikeykuns

Main Masterlist

You looked over the back of the couch and towards the kitchen in the open living area of the cabin you and Steve were staying in for the weekend. Tony had insisted, of course, that the two of you take some time off and away from the city, which at this point, didn’t take much convincing, even for two people who worked themselves to the bone as much as you and Steve.

The past three weeks had been grueling, as you guided Steve and the rest of the Avengers through a mission in a South American city via coms. It was a series of sleepless nights and food rations, but worth it for the safety of the world. Both you and Steve were willing to pay that price, but afterwards, somehow Tony talked you into taking him up on his offer for alone time in his remote property upstate.

It was nice, but cold, which you would’ve complained about if you hadn’t had a personal heater in the form of your super soldier husband. The same man who was bent over the oven right now, sliding in a tray of something that he wasn’t letting you see. What you were happy to look at in the meantime, though, was that ass, somehow still so plump and prominent in a pair of flannel pajama pants that you’d hardly seen him take off since you’d gotten here. One of your favorite sights, that probably would be until the end of time, was Steve when he was relaxed and comfy. And you knew he loved to see you the same way, wearing a pair of old sweats and his Army hoodie that he’d gotten soon after joining this century.

The view earned him a cat call whistle, and when he stood and closed the oven door, you were sure the blush on his cheeks wasn’t just from the heat in the kitchen. It was nice how much you could still make him a little bashful after all this time.

You watched his eyes, full of amusement and affection as he rounded the corner of the couch to move towards where you were curled up in a blanket by the fire.

“You gonna tell me what you and those buns have got cooking, good looking?”

Steve let out a lighthearted chuckle and the corners of his eyes creased, still as beautiful as ever. He shrugged as he lifted the soft throw blanket and settled in against the armrest before gesturing for you to snuggle up to him.

“No way. It’s a surprise. You can guess once it’s done, though.”

You sighed as you laid a hand and your head on his chest, adjusting until you were comfortably laying with him, legs tangled. Steve reached for the book you had turned upside down on the coffee table to keep your page and looked over a few lines.

“The Hobbit, huh?”

You nodded, the rustling sound of his threadbare hoodie on your ear just covering his faint heartbeat.

“Yeah, Bucky lent it to me.”

Steve exhaled a laugh through his nose, a boyish grin rising on his face. “That’s the least he could do. Punk stole my copy back in the day, then gave it to some girl he never saw again after he was done.”

You smiled in response to the way he reminisced about the old days. You absolutely loved when Steve would bring up his childhood memories. They were so different from yours, yet so full of parallels. Kids will be kids, after all.

You put your chin on his chest to look up at him, met with sparkling blue eyes, reflecting the bright light that bounced off the snow outside the windows.

“Of course he did. He was a charmer, wasn’t he?”

Steve leaned down for a kiss as you stretched to meet him.

“For sure. Not as much as me, though, of course.”

You playfully rolled your eyes along with him. “Right, of course. I’m sure you were a real heartbreaker back in the day.”

Steve’s eyebrows lowered and the corners of his lips turned upward in a sarcastic smile. “Left and right.”

You placed a reverent kiss on his sternum before resettling yourself on his pec, squishier than usual from not having been to the gym in a few days. It was perfect.

You smiled to yourself. “Well, I’m glad those days are behind you.”

Steve brushed a hand up and down your back. “I’d never break your heart, you know, I’d rather work to fill it with love every day. Forever if I can.”

Steve always knew exactly what to say to have you blushing, too, even if it was unintentional. The words that spilled out of his mouth warmed you from the inside out with how sincere they always were. You patted his belly gently, “and I hope to do the same for you.”

Steve hummed before he held the book back up in his line of sight.

“Glad we’re on the same page. Speaking of which, you want me to read for you?”

You nodded again, tucking a hand up under his hoodie, warming your cold fingers against his abs. “Mmmhmmm.”

Steve cleared his throat and began, his voice a smooth, deep rumble conducted through his chest and across your body. It was one of the best sounds, one of the best feelings, to be curled up close to him and taken care of. Cherished.

The gentle cadence of his voice carried in the cozy air around the couch as your breaths began to even out. Steve sensed it as your body relaxed into his, fully softened in a light slumber. He finished the page he was on just to make sure you were fully out before marking where he stopped and placing your book back on the table. He continued lulling you to sleep gently, his blunt fingertips drawing circles between your shoulder blades. Steve basked in the sunshine of enjoyment that came from how safe he knew he made you feel.

He sat there for a second, satisfied with everything in his life. With you, everything hard he’d gone through before was worth it. Nothing could break the feeling of fullness in his heart.

And then he smelled it. The cinnamon rolls. How long ago had he put them in? He craned his neck to look at the timer on the stove. They were just past halfway done. And Steve would rather die than move you right now when you were so peaceful. He considered his options and pulled out his phone.

Tony, can you remotely turn off an oven up here?

No. What part of ‘everything’s off the network except whatever you bring up there’ did you not understand?

Steve sighed to himself. He thought Tony was joking. Could he actually have a place somewhere so disconnected? He knew there was at least a Wi-Fi router, but really? Nothing else? Tony Stark has changed.

Why? Doing something else that’s keeping you from the oven?😏

Yes. But not like that. Steve rolled his eyes and opened up a different text conversation.

Sam, can redwing open doors?

Yeah, but the door probably won’t close again. He’s got lasers. You need help?

Steve sighed again. That wouldn’t work either.

No, I’ll figure it out.

One more try. Maybe Bucky and Nat?

Hey. Either one of you close to Tony’s place in the mountains? I got a favor to ask.

No. We’re at dinner in the city. Why? Everything ok?

Steve bit his lip in contemplation.

Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle. Thanks anyway.

He locked his phone and set it on the coffee table next to your book, running a hand over his face. He could do this. Maybe he could carefully carry you to the kitchen, just to take them out, then go back to the couch? But would that disturb you too much?

Maybe he could stuff pillows into his spot and you wouldn’t even realize you were clinging to something else. Yeah. That could work.

He looked back over at the timer on the oven. It had just reached two minutes left. Okay, he was gonna do it. Just move carefully and quietly and quickly to hit the button so the timer didn’t startle you awake.

But it was too late. Before he could even move a muscle, you were stirring. Eyes still closed, your nose rose to the air, taking a deep breath of the scent that had permeated the cabin. A smile took over your face and your eyes finally fluttered open, landing on Steve. Your voice held a light rasp to it.

“Cinnamon rolls. My favorite.”

Steve nodded. “Uh huh.”

You shifted to straddle his waist, arms clinging around his torso. “Cinnamon rolls made by my favorite cinnamon roll.”

Steve laughed at the long running joke of what you always called him, moving to sit up, big hands holding you steady against him. He stood with your body wrapped around his and made it to the oven before the loud beeping started, shutting everything off and setting the tray on the counter.

“Of course, darling.”

He set you on the granite beside the stove, kissing your nose at your whine at the loss of his touch. He opened the fridge and pulled out a container of cream cheese icing he had made, setting it in your hands as he sifted through the drawers for a knife.

You took off the lid, swiping a finger through the frosting and sucking it off with a moan.

“Dang, that’s good.”

You scooped up another bit, holding it out for Steve, but when he opened his mouth, you booped it onto his nose. With a giggle, you went to kiss it off but Steve was too quick, whisking you away back to the couch.

“Ohhh, you’re gonna get it.”

Before you knew it, you were kicking and laughing so hard that your stomach hurt, surrounded in a world of love and warmth with your husband. Even though this was a short trip, every day with him felt like this on the inside.

Bonus A/N: ohhhh sweet Steeb. Gimme this cinnamon roll🥺

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles @steviebbboi @thiquefunlover63

[xanneeeyyyy]

Pt. 2 Is It Too Late For Us?

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ .⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹°ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugou x Female Reader

Synopsis: Katsuki Bakugou was the one who let you go—only to realize too late that some mistakes can’t be undone.

Part 1

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ .⊹°ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹°ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹

Pro-Hero Dynamight was never the type to get distracted.

Patrolling the city was routine by now—watch, observe, handle trouble when needed. It was supposed to be just another night, another shift alongside Kirishima, walking the familiar streets as civilians passed them by.

And then he saw you.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

You were walking just a few feet away, head tilted back in laughter, eyes sparkling under the glow of the city lights. But it wasn’t just you. Some extra was beside you—close, too close.

Katsuki’s steps faltered for half a second. His breath hitched.

No way.

He should’ve looked away. He should’ve kept walking, should’ve ignored the sharp pang in his chest. But his gaze stayed locked on you, taking in every little detail—your smile, the way your hand lightly brushed against the guy’s arm, the effortless way you leaned into him.

Like you trusted him. Like you cared for him.

His jaw clenched.

That smile used to be his.

“Oi, Bakugou,” Kirishima’s voice broke through his thoughts. A nudge to his side, concerned. “You good, man? You kinda spaced out there.”

Katsuki snapped out of it, inhaling sharply. His grip tightened around the gloves of his hero costume.

“Tch. Don’t mind me,” he muttered, voice gruff. “I’m fine.”

Liar

But even as he forced himself to keep walking, his head turned involuntarily, eyes trailing after you. Watching as you disappeared down the street with that guy. His stomach twisted, something heavy pressing against his ribs.

You looked happy. Really happy.

And it wasn’t because of him.

A fish out of water, huh?

What a fitting metaphor.

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ .⊹°ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹°ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹

The days blurred into weeks, and somehow, fate kept throwing them into each other’s orbit.

You never spoke, never even got close enough to, but Katsuki always saw you—across the street, in passing crowds, at a distance that felt both too far and painfully close.

But today was different.

You were alone.

Sitting on a park bench, staring off into the distance. No fucking extra by your side. No easy laughter or soft smiles. Just you, lost in thought.

He hesitated.

He should walk away. Pretend he hadn’t seen you. But his feet moved before his brain could stop them. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of you.

"Can I?" His voice wasn’t as firm as he wanted it to be.

You blinked up at him, startled. And for a moment, their eyes met. Then you looked away.

"...Sure."

He sat down, leaving just enough space between them. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant laughter of children and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that before he spoke.

"How are you?,” His voice was quieter than he intended.

You gave him a small, almost absentminded smile. "I’m good."

He knew that smile. It was the same one you used when you were hurting but didn’t want anyone to worry.

He swallowed. "How 'bout you?"

Her gaze flickered to him, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Same as you too,"

Liar.

A heavy exhale left him before he admitted, "I'm glad you're talking to me again."

You hesitated, then let out a soft chuckle. "There was never a reason for me not to,"

But before he could fully take in your words, his chest tightened, and the question he’d been trying to ignore for months slipped past his lips.

His voice dropped lower, rawer. "Y’know, about what happened four mon—"

"Bakugou," she cut him off gently. Her voice wasn’t cold, wasn’t angry—just calm. Resigned. "It’s okay,"

He stared at you, feeling something in him sink.

"It’s all in the past now."

"I mean it," you continued, voice soft but steady. "I’m not mad. I don’t hate you. You don’t have to explain anything."

Katsuki stared at you, something heavy settling in his chest.  "But—"

"I’ve moved on," you cut him off gently. "You should too"

His fingers curled into fists. "You’re just gonna act like it didn’t matter? Like—"

"Of course it mattered," you interrupted again, your voice barely above a whisper. "But what good does talking about it do now?"

He swallowed hard, looking away.

You stood up, brushing off your clothes like this was just another ordinary conversation. Like this didn’t feel like a knife twisting deeper into his chest.

"I should get going," you said, offering him one last sweet smile. "Take care, Bakugou"

And then you walked away.

His body felt cemented to the bench.

It’s okay.

It’s all in the past now.

Then why the hell did it still feel like he was the only one who couldn't move on?

Why can't he still accept the fact that they're gone?

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ .⊹°ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹°ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹

"I CAN'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND!"

The sharp crack of glass meeting wood echoed through the dimly lit bar as Katsuki slammed his beer bottle down. His grip was tight, knuckles white with frustration. Across from him, Kirishima watched, exhaling heavily as he debated between knocking some sense into his best friend or just letting him self-destruct.

In the end, his patience won.

"Bakugou," Kirishima started, voice firm but calm. "Weren't you the one who broke up with her? The one who cut off all contact? The one who turned cold? Who backed away first? Hell, you even changed your damn number."

He met Bakugou’s glare head-on. "Now, tell me—are you even asking the right question?"

Katsuki's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "What the fuck are you trying to say?" He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck in irritation. "I’m sick of your damn mind games, shitty hair."

Kirishima scoffed, shaking his head. "You." He pointed at him. "Why are you so affected? What do you want? For her to be miserable? For her to crawl back to you, crying over something you ended?" His voice was steady but edged with frustration.

"She loved you. You loved her. You fell out of love—or at least that’s what you told yourself. You left. She moved on. That’s it, Bakubro. That’s the story."

But the weight of those words felt unbearable. Katsuki swallowed, his throat dry, the ache in his chest growing heavier. His voice wavered, quieter this time.

"Then why… does our ending look like this?"

His fingers twitched as he stared down at the table, his pride and pain warring inside him.

"Wouldn't there be… a part two?"

Silence stretched between them. Kirishima’s expression softened, his frustration fading into something more understanding.

"Bakugou..." Kirishima calmly said. "I'm not the one that you should ask."

Katsuki stared blankly at the condensation dripping from his beer bottle, his grip loosening as Kirishima’s words sank in.

"That’s not a question I can answer for you."

Then who the hell could?

His chest felt too tight, like he couldn’t breathe.

“Tch.” He scoffed, pushing the bottle aside. “Fuck this.”

Kirishima sighed, leaning forward. “Bakugou—”

“Shut up.” Katsuki stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. His movements were stiff, tense, like he was barely holding himself together. “I need some fucking air.”

Kirishima didn’t stop him. He just watched as his best friend stormed out of the bar, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, and heart heavier than he’d ever admit.

The night air was cold against his flushed skin, but Katsuki barely felt it. His mind was spinning, replaying everything over and over again.

Your smile.

The way you laughed with that extra.

That guy—whoever the fuck he was—walking beside you like he belonged there.

He ran a hand through his hair, gripping it tight, frustration bubbling up inside him like an explosion waiting to happen.

"Why does it fucking hurt?" He muttered to himself, voice hoarse.

He was the one who let her go.

He was the one who walked away.

So why did it feel like she was the one who left him behind?

Before he even realized it, his feet were already moving, his body acting on instinct. He wasn’t thinking—he just needed to do something.

He needed to see her.

Even if it was a mistake.

Even if it was already too late.

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒ .⊹°ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹°ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹

A/N: I hope you enjoy this new update! Let me know your thoughts in the comments. Also, thank you for all the love and support—it truly warms my heart to see you reading my work.

© 2025 CODE:BKRX — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[fidesvirtusobsession]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖂𝖔𝖑𝖋

Yandere prince x AFAB single mother reader

Chapter 1

Y/N’s life revolves around one thing—her daughter, Isabelle. Working tirelessly to make ends meet, she’s used to long hours, small joys, and the quiet strength it takes to raise a child on her own. The last thing she expects is for their ordinary trip to the mall to catch the attention of Lucien Laurent—the cold, calculating crown prince known for his sharp tongue and colder heart. But something about Y/N and her daughter cracks through the prince’s icy facade. Lucien has never been one to want a family, yet he finds himself drawn to the warmth Y/N radiates—the laughter she shares with Isabelle, the way she faces life’s hardships without flinching. For the first time, the crown prince, feared by many and admired by all, wants something more. What starts as curiosity spirals into obsession. Lucien doesn’t ask for things—he takes them. And now, he’s set his sights on Y/N and Isabelle, determined to claim them as his own, no matter the cost. But love born from power is a dangerous thing. Y/N must navigate the delicate balance between protecting her daughter, keeping her freedom, and surviving the suffocating luxury of palace walls. Because when a prince decides you belong to him… escape is never simple. How far would you go to protect the ones you love when the most powerful man in the kingdom refuses to let you go?

The crisp morning air hung heavy with the weight of duty and expectation. Outside the grand palace gates, reporters jostled for position, cameras flashing like restless fireflies. Royal appearances were rare, and when the crown prince himself was involved, the media swarmed like vultures scenting fresh prey.

Lucien Reinhardt stepped out of the towering marble archway, the sunlight catching on the gold trim of his tailored charcoal suit. He moved with the precision of a man who owned the ground beneath his feet—calculated, unyielding, and wholly uninterested in the spectacle before him. His face, carved from cold stone, betrayed nothing. No warmth. No irritation. Just a sculpted mask of aloof indifference.

Where his father, King Aldric, waved to the crowd with the practiced charm of a seasoned ruler, and his mother, Queen Victoria, smiled gracefully for the cameras, Lucien barely spared them a glance. The weight of the crown, though not yet upon his head, had long since shaped his demeanor into one of quiet, domineering authority.

“Lucien, at least pretend to be approachable,” murmured his younger sister, Adrielle, adjusting the lapel of her silk blazer as she stepped beside him. Her tone was light, teasing, but there was an edge of nervousness. No one truly relaxed around Lucien—not even family.

He didn’t respond. He never did when the conversation was trivial.

The sleek, obsidian-black car pulled up to the curb, polished to a mirror shine. The royal crest glinted on the hood, subtle yet unmistakable. A uniformed driver rushed to open the door, bowing his head respectfully. Lucien stepped forward without acknowledgment, his strides purposeful, each movement economical and restrained.

Inside the car, the air was hushed, thick with unspoken tension. King Aldric slid in beside him, adjusting his cufflinks with the slow, deliberate movements of a man who valued appearances above all else. Across from them, Queen Victoria and Adrielle exchanged glances.

“You could smile once in a while,” the queen ventured, her voice soft but pointed.

Lucien’s sharp, emerald-green eyes flicked toward her, unreadable. “Smiling doesn’t win wars. It breeds familiarity. Familiarity breeds complacency.”

His father chuckled dryly, though there was little humor in it. “Always the strategist. But today isn’t a battle, Lucien. It’s a charity event. Kissing babies, shaking hands—the usual charade.”

Lucien turned his gaze toward the tinted window, watching the city blur past. Even the bustling streets of the capital, with their vibrant storefronts and bustling crowds, seemed muted through his detached lens.

“A charade,” he echoed, voice devoid of inflection. “That’s exactly what it is.”

It wasn’t disdain, exactly, that colored his words. It was something colder. Lucien Reinhardt didn’t waste emotions on things he couldn’t control, and the theater of royalty was one of them. His focus remained where it had always been: securing power, eliminating threats, and ensuring nothing and no one could ever undermine the empire his family had built.

To the world, he was the perfect crown prince—distant, composed, and ruthlessly efficient. To those who dared to know him beyond the polished surface, he was something far more dangerous: a man who didn’t need warmth to command loyalty, only results.

As the car glided through the palace gates and toward the city center, Lucien folded his hands in his lap, thumb brushing the crest embroidered into his glove.

He was already calculating the day’s itinerary. Meetings. Photographs. Public appearances.

The bustling mall echoed with cheerful chatter, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods lingering in the air. It was an event carefully crafted for good publicity—royalty mingling with commoners under the guise of generosity. Bright banners hung from the railings, boasting the royal crest alongside slogans of unity and charity.

Lucien Reinhardt stood at the edge of it all, a silent storm amid a sea of smiles.

His father, King Aldric, moved through the crowd with the ease of a man born into power, shaking hands and flashing a politician's smile. His mother, Queen Victoria, laughed softly as she crouched down to accept a bouquet from a wide-eyed little girl, her golden crown catching the light. Even Adrielle, ever the perfect royal daughter, posed for selfies with teenagers who squealed as they pressed close.

Lucien, on the other hand, stood near the marble fountain in the center of the atrium, arms crossed over the immaculate cut of his charcoal-gray suit. His emerald gaze swept the scene without interest, calculating and cold.

"Sir," a frazzled event coordinator approached, nervously adjusting her headset. "The children’s charity booth would love a photo with you. It would mean a lot to them."

Lucien didn’t move. His expression didn’t flicker.

"No."

The woman blinked, clearly thrown off by the blunt refusal. "B-But it’s for the press, Your Highness. It would—"

"I said no." His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute authority.

The coordinator stammered an apology before scurrying away, leaving Lucien in the company of his own disinterest. He wasn’t here for pleasantries. He was here because the crown demanded it, and the crown always demanded sacrifice—time, autonomy, humanity.

"Do try not to look like you're plotting a coup, brother," Adrielle teased as she strolled past, her designer heels clicking against the marble floor. She waved to a group of college students snapping photos. "At least pretend you enjoy being adored."

Lucien didn’t spare her a glance. "Adoration is fleeting. Power is not."

"Gods, you're insufferable," she muttered, rolling her eyes before rejoining the crowd.

The event dragged on. Speeches, handshakes, forced laughter. Lucien fulfilled only the bare minimum of his duties—standing silently during his father’s address, posing stiffly for official photographs, ignoring the hopeful eyes of children who didn’t understand that royalty was nothing more than polished chains.

His mind drifted elsewhere—to reports awaiting his review, to negotiations that actually mattered. The world beyond this glittering facade.

But then, a glimpse of something—someone—caught his eye near the far end of the atrium. A woman, balancing a toddler on her hip while juggling grocery bags, standing just outside the cordoned-off VIP area. She wasn’t watching the royal family like everyone else. She was too busy adjusting the strap of her worn purse and wiping a sticky hand off her shirt.

Ordinary. Unremarkable. Yet, for the first time that day, Lucien’s gaze lingered.

He couldn't explain why.

And, as quickly as the moment came, he dismissed it. Just another face in the crowd.

Turning away, Lucien adjusted his cufflinks and waited for the day to end, unaware that the very life he found so mundane would soon entangle itself irreversibly with his own.

Lucien exhaled slowly, the forced smiles and rehearsed conversations grating on his patience. He stood at the edge of the bustling event, perfectly poised and yet entirely detached. His family, ever the picture of regal warmth, continued to charm the crowd. The cameras loved them.

No one was paying attention to him.

Perfect.

With practiced ease, Lucien stepped back, slipping past the velvet ropes and into the quieter, less glamorous corridors of the mall. These were the arteries of the building, where staff bustled with carts of supplies and cleaning crews worked unnoticed.

His polished shoes echoed softly against the tiled floor, the sound swallowed by the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Here, away from prying eyes and expectations, Lucien found a sliver of peace.

He adjusted the cufflinks of his charcoal-gray suit, the crest of his family glinting in the dim light. His emerald gaze flickered over the rows of plain service doors and unremarkable signage. The world behind the scenes was stripped of pretense—functional, efficient, and refreshingly honest.

If only the rest of life could be so simple.

A janitor passed by, barely sparing him a glance. Lucien preferred it that way. Invisibility suited him far more than the hollow adoration of the public.

He turned a corner, pausing by a vending machine as his phone vibrated in his pocket. A message from Adrielle flashed across the screen:

"Where the hell did you go? Dad's looking for you. Stop brooding and smile for the cameras like a good prince."

Lucien scoffed, slipping the phone back into his pocket without replying. Let them look. Let them wonder. He didn’t owe them his presence.

As he moved farther down the corridor, the sounds of the event faded into a distant murmur. It was in moments like this, away from the weight of the crown, that Lucien could almost believe he was just a man. Not a prince. Not an heir. Just… himself.

But peace never lasted long.

A soft laugh echoed from around the corner, pulling his attention. It was light, unguarded—the kind of sound that didn’t belong in a place like this. Curious despite himself, Lucien rounded the bend and found the source.

A woman.

She was crouched down, balancing a toddler on her hip while fumbling with a reusable shopping bag that had clearly seen better days. The child, a little girl with dark curls and wide brown eyes, clutched a half-eaten cookie in one hand while the other tugged at her mother’s hair.

The woman muttered something under her breath, clearly exasperated but smiling nonetheless.

“Isabelle,” she sighed, adjusting the child on her hip. “If you get crumbs in my hair again, I’m selling you to the highest bidder.”

The toddler giggled, utterly unbothered by the empty threat.

Lucien froze.

There was nothing remarkable about them, not in the traditional sense. No designer clothes, no polished facade. Just a mother and child, navigating life with the kind of ease forged through routine struggle.

And yet, he found himself rooted to the spot, watching the scene unfold like it was something precious.

Lucien leaned against the cold concrete wall of the service corridor, half-hidden behind the arch leading back into the bustling heart of the mall. The polished marble floors reflected the overhead lights, and the hum of idle chatter drifted through the air.

He had no real reason to linger. His family was still caught up in the fanfare of the charity event, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, and smiling for the cameras. Lucien had long mastered the art of disappearing without notice—silent footsteps, a sharp turn, and he was gone.

Now, he stood in the quiet hallway between storefronts, watching.

Her.

The woman stood near the entrance of a small clothing boutique, balancing two shopping bags in one hand and a lukewarm coffee in the other. Her clothes were practical, worn but clean, the kind chosen by someone who had little room for luxury in her budget.

Y/N.

He didn’t know her name yet, but he’d heard one of her friends call out something that sounded like it.

Her daughter, a whirlwind of brown curls and boundless energy, darted between clothing racks with an infectious kind of joy. The little girl clutched a worn plush bunny in one hand, its fabric faded from too many hugs and washes.

Lucien’s gaze lingered on the woman’s face. There was a calmness to her, the kind of patience born from necessity rather than nature. She didn’t scold the child for running around, didn’t look irritated or rushed.

She simply waited.

One of her friends, a woman with a fussy toddler on her hip, chuckled. “Isabelle’s got energy for days.”

Y/N smiled, tired but warm. “She always does. I figure she’ll tire herself out eventually. It’s just a matter of waiting for her out.”

Waiting for her out.

Lucien tilted his head, intrigued by the quiet strength in her words. Most people—his family included—had no patience for waiting. Everything was rushed, scheduled, calculated. But this woman? She stood in the middle of a crowded mall, sipping cold coffee and watching her daughter spin in circles, as if she had all the time in the world.

Isabelle eventually slowed, cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. She toddled back toward her mother, who crouched down, brushing curls from the child’s face and handing her a water bottle.

“Thirsty now, huh?” Y/N teased gently.

The little girl nodded, sipping noisily.

Lucien’s eyes flicked between them, sharp and calculating. They weren’t remarkable by societal standards—no designer labels, no glittering jewelry, no signs of wealth. Just a mother and daughter, living life quietly and without pretense.

It was… grounding.

The kind of life he’d never known.

Y/N stood, waving off her friends as they drifted toward the food court. “We’ll catch up later. I promised this one we’d check out the sale racks.”

Lucien followed, steps silent as he trailed them from a distance. He didn’t know why he was so drawn to the scene. Curiosity? Fascination?

Possession?

Y/N flipped through the clearance section with practiced ease, fingers brushing over price tags as if mentally calculating which pieces would stretch her budget the furthest.

Nearby, Isabelle tugged at her mother’s sleeve, pointing excitedly at a rack of costume jewelry. Tiny, sparkling charms dangled from the display, each priced low enough for a child’s allowance.

Y/N chuckled. “We’ll see, Isa. Clothes first, remember?”

Lucien leaned against the edge of a column, half-hidden in shadow.

He could leave. Should leave.

But he didn’t.

He stayed, watching as Y/N found a lavender dress tucked between mismatched tops. She held it up, smiling faintly before glancing at the price tag. Her smile dimmed.

Too much, even at a discount.

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

He’d seen his mother drop more money on a single glass of champagne at last night’s gala. Yet here stood this woman, weighing the worth of a child’s dress against her next grocery run.

It wasn’t pity that rooted him in place.

It was something colder.

Sharper.

I could fix that.

The thought slid into his mind unbidden, smooth as silk and just as dangerous.

Y/N placed the dress back on the rack with a resigned sigh and turned her attention to more practical finds—plain shirts, sturdy jeans, nothing frivolous.

Isabelle didn’t seem to mind. She had already moved on to inspecting tiaras, giggling as she tried one on and admired herself in the mirror.

Lucien stayed there for a long while, unmoving.

Watching.

Waiting.

And when they finally left the store, arms full of carefully chosen bargains and cheap trinkets, Lucien followed—not close enough to be noticed, but near enough to keep them within his sights.

He didn’t know what he was planning.

But he knew one thing with certainty.

He wasn’t done watching them.

Lucien's footsteps were silent as he trailed behind the mother and daughter, weaving through the bustling crowd without drawing attention. Years of carefully cultivated discipline ensured that no one spared him a second glance. His family’s presence at the charity event had drawn enough focus to the main atrium of the mall—no one would expect the crown prince to slip away unnoticed.

And yet, here he was.

Y/N walked ahead, one hand clutching her shopping bags while the other kept a gentle hold on Isabelle's wrist, guiding her through the throng of shoppers. The little girl bounced with each step, practically skipping as she chattered about the sparkly tiara she’d admired.

“Maybe next time,” Y/N promised, voice soft and patient. “We’ve already got plenty today, Isa.”

Lucien’s gaze flicked down to the bags in her grasp—practical clothes, sturdy fabrics, and a small bag from the discount jewelry stand.

Nothing extravagant.

Nothing unnecessary.

Efficient. Responsible.

He shouldn’t have cared. Shouldn’t have been intrigued by the way she balanced indulgence and practicality so effortlessly.

And yet…

They reached the heart of the mall—an extravagant, multi-level playground built to entertain restless children while parents lingered nearby. Vibrant slides twisted around faux tree trunks, rope bridges connected platforms painted like canopies, and a soft, cushioned floor mimicked grassy terrain.

Isabelle squealed with delight and tugged at her mother’s hand.

“Go on,” Y/N laughed, letting her daughter go. “I’ll be right here.”

Lucien drifted to the shadows beneath the second-floor balcony, leaning against the cool glass railing. From here, he had a clear view of everything—the child scaling a plastic rock wall, the mother finding a spot near the coffee cart, and the clusters of other women exchanging quiet conversation.

The mothers gathered in loose circles, sipping overpriced lattes and sharing stories in the universal language of parenthood—sleep schedules, picky eaters, school gossip.

Y/N, however, didn’t isolate herself.

She approached the group with an easy smile, seamlessly slipping into the conversation without hesitation. One of the other women, balancing a fussy toddler on her hip, gestured toward Isabelle, who was now chasing another child across the padded floor.

“She’s got energy for days, huh?”

Y/N chuckled, brushing loose hair from her face. “Like a wind-up toy that never runs out. I keep thinking she’ll crash, but she just keeps going.”

Another mother sighed dramatically. “I’d kill for that energy. Meanwhile, mine starts whining the second we hit the parking lot.”

There was laughter—soft, tired, but genuine.

Lucien watched, arms folded across his chest, expression unreadable.

This was a world foreign to him. He’d seen mothers before, of course—at charity events, galas, carefully staged photo ops for magazines. Polished, perfect, children dressed like porcelain dolls and just as fragile.

But Y/N?

There was nothing curated about her. She stood there, coffee in hand, nodding along as another woman offered tips for getting grass stains out of jeans.

“White vinegar,” Y/N added when the conversation lulled. “Works better than half the expensive stuff, and it’s cheaper.”

The woman beside her nodded approvingly. “See, that’s what I need—practical advice. Not ‘buy this $20 stain remover’ nonsense.”

Lucien’s gaze drifted back to Isabelle, who was now sprawled at the top of a slide, chatting animatedly with another child. Carefree. Safe.

Because her mother made it safe.

That realization settled uncomfortably in his chest.

He shouldn’t care.

He shouldn’t find himself intrigued by the way Y/N stood with one eye always on her daughter, attention never fully leaving the playground no matter how engrossed she became in conversation.

And yet, as the minutes ticked by and the coffee cart emptied, Lucien remained in place. Watching.

Waiting.

Calculating.

Y/N didn’t notice him. She laughed with the other mothers, called out gentle warnings to Isabelle when the little girl climbed too high, and shifted her shopping bags from one hand to the other with practiced ease.

It was a simple scene. Ordinary.

But to Lucien, it was captivating.

Because it was real.

And real was something he’d never had.

Not truly.

His hand drifted to the sleek phone in his coat pocket, thumb brushing the power button. He could call the driver, return to the polished facade of royalty and duty waiting for him in the atrium.

Or he could stay.

And watch a little longer.

He chose the latter.

Lucien lingered in the shadows of the mall’s upper level, his sharp gaze fixed on the playground below. Children dashed between jungle gyms and foam obstacles, their laughter rising like a chorus above the bustling shoppers. But his focus never wavered from one child in particular—her child.

Isabelle.

She flitted through the play structure like a butterfly, light on her feet, brown hair bouncing with each hop. Every few moments, she’d glance toward her mother—Y/N—who stood near a coffee cart, chatting with other mothers. The sight of Y/N’s soft smile, her easy laughter, stirred something unfamiliar in Lucien’s chest.

He didn’t belong here, surrounded by noise and warmth. Yet, he couldn’t look away.

Then it happened.

Isabelle, spinning in a circle with a plastic tiara askew on her head, suddenly froze. Her eyes swept the area—and landed directly on him.

Lucien stiffened. He expected her to look past him, like most children did when confronted by someone with his cold, commanding presence.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her face lit up with a mischievous grin.

Before Lucien could step back into the crowd, Isabelle darted toward him, weaving through chatting adults and strollers with practiced ease.

“Hi!” she chirped, stopping right in front of him, tiara now completely sideways.

Lucien blinked. He hadn’t been caught off guard in years.

“Hello,” he replied, voice cool and measured.

Isabelle tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle. “Why are you just standing there?”

Lucien glanced past her. Y/N was still unaware, laughing with another woman, coffee cup in hand.

“I’m watching,” he said simply.

“Watching’s boring.” She wrinkled her nose. “Come play with us!”

He opened his mouth to decline, but Isabelle was already tugging his hand, far too determined for someone so small.

“We’re playing Princess Rescue! I’m the princess, duh,” she declared, flipping her tiara back into place. “But we need a villain. You can be the evil king!”

Lucien blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. Him? The cold, calculating prince, playing make-believe?

“No,” he said flatly, trying to withdraw his hand.

Isabelle giggled, entirely unbothered. “But you look like an evil king! All serious and grumpy.”

From across the playground, other children noticed the interaction. A boy with a plastic sword ran up, eyes wide. “Yeah! He’d be perfect!”

Another girl, dressed in a sparkly tutu, nodded enthusiastically. “He can kidnap Princess Isabelle, and we’ll save her!”

Lucien exhaled slowly, realizing escape was no longer an option. The children had formed a semi-circle around him, their eyes shining with excitement.

“Fine,” he muttered, more to end the conversation than out of any real willingness.

“Yay!” Isabelle cheered, grabbing his hand again. “Okay, Evil King, you have to steal me away!”

Before Lucien could protest, she dramatically threw herself into his arms, like a damsel from a fairytale.

Lucien froze, unsure what to do with the tiny, giggling princess clinging to his coat.

“Run!” one of the children yelled. “Take her to your castle!”

Lucien sighed. He cast one last glance toward Y/N, who was blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding.

And then, with the resigned grace of a man who’d lost control of the situation, he adjusted Isabelle in his arms and took a single, deliberate step back.

The children shrieked with laughter, already giving chase.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Lucien—the cold, untouchable prince—found himself playing along.

An evil king, indeed.

“Wait… is that…?”

Y/N frowned and turned to look, her breath catching in her throat.

There, among the bright plastic slides and scattered foam blocks, stood Lucien.

The Lucien.

The man known for his cold demeanor, untouchable presence, and calculating gaze. The same man who could silence an entire room with a single glance.

And he was currently holding Isabelle in his arms, pretending to be some kind of evil king, judging by the dramatic scowl on his face.

The children shrieked in delight, brandishing foam swords and plastic wands as they chased him. Isabelle, tiara slightly askew, was giggling so hard she could barely catch her breath.

“Is that… Prince Lucien?” another mother, Clara, whispered, nearly dropping her coffee.

“No way,” Leah muttered, her jaw practically on the floor. “He looks like he’s… playing.”

Y/N blinked, unable to reconcile the image in front of her with the man she’d only ever seen in stern photographs and fleeting news clips. There was no coldness in his expression now—just reluctant amusement and an almost imperceptible softness as he carefully dodged foam projectiles.

“Mommy!” Isabelle called, waving excitedly as Lucien swung her around like a sack of potatoes. “The evil king kidnapped me!”

Lucien caught Y/N’s gaze for the briefest moment. His usual sharp eyes held something different—something warmer, more alive.

Y/N swallowed thickly.

“Well,” she muttered, voice tinged with disbelief, “I guess even evil kings have their soft spots.”

The other mothers exchanged stunned glances, but no one dared interrupt the surreal moment.

After all, how often did you see a man like Lucien willingly wear a foam crown and accept defeat at the hands of a tutu-wearing army?

The murmurs started almost immediately.

“I knew he had a soft spot,” Leah whispered, her eyes practically sparkling as she watched Lucien stumble back, hands raised in mock surrender as the tiny army of princesses and knights swarmed him.

Clara, still clutching her half-forgotten coffee, chuckled. “You don’t carry yourself like that without hiding a heart somewhere under all that cold exterior. It’s always the stoic ones who melt for kids.”

Another mother, arms crossed and smiling, added, “He’s surprisingly patient. Look at how he’s letting them ‘capture’ him.”

Y/N sipped her coffee quietly, eyes fixed on the scene. Isabelle sat proudly on Lucien’s shoulders, waving her foam sword like a banner. Lucien, for all his usual aloofness, stood perfectly still, allowing the little girl to declare victory while the other kids cheered around them.

The sight tugged at something deep in Y/N’s chest.

“Excuse me,” she murmured with a soft smile, stepping away from the group.

Y/N moved gracefully across the playground, weaving between the running children with practiced ease. The chatter of the other mothers faded behind her as she approached the scene of Lucien’s “defeat.”

“Alright, little conquerors,” she called out, her voice light but firm. “I think the evil king has learned his lesson. How about we let him go before he turns into a grumpy dragon?”

Lucien shot her a glance, sharp eyes softening the moment they met hers.

Isabelle gasped dramatically. “A dragon?”

Y/N nodded, crouching down to eye level with the kids. “Oh, yes. Evil kings turn into grumpy dragons if they stay captured for too long. And grumpy dragons don’t like sharing snacks.”

That did the trick.

One by one, the kids released their hold on Lucien, already chattering about their next game.

“Let’s play explorers!” one shouted.

“No, pirates!” another countered.

Lucien exhaled quietly, adjusting Isabelle on his hip as Y/N stood beside him.

“Saved by the queen herself,” he murmured, voice dry but amused.

Y/N glanced up at him, lips curling into a faint smile. “Well, someone had to rescue you from the tiny terrors.”

Lucien didn’t respond immediately. He just stood there, watching as Isabelle joined her friends in their new adventure, her laughter ringing through the air.

For a moment, the cold, brooding prince looked almost… content.

Lucien adjusted his cuffs, an almost sheepish look flickering across his otherwise composed face. "I didn’t think I’d spend my afternoon being dethroned by toddlers."

Y/N smirked, crossing her arms as she watched Isabelle rally her troops for their next grand quest. “Well, that’s what you get for standing too close to a playground. Rookie mistake.”

He arched a brow, the sharpness of his usual demeanor softened by the faint curve of his lips. “And you just let it happen?”

“I thought it was character-building,” she teased. “Besides, it’s not every day you see the Lucien practically begging for mercy from a five-year-old princess.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, something rare and almost boyish. “Mercy was never granted, in case you missed that detail.”

“I saw.” Y/N leaned in slightly, mock-serious. “You’re lucky I intervened. I’m pretty sure they were about to knight Isabelle and name her ruler of the mall.”

Lucien tilted his head, eyes narrowing in exaggerated consideration. “Better her than some of the leaders I’ve had to work with.”

The two stood there for a moment, caught in an unexpected pocket of peace amid the chaos of the bustling mall. Y/N found herself studying him—the way the harsh lines of his face softened when he wasn’t wearing the weight of his title, the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly in the presence of innocent laughter.

Before she could dwell on it, the crisp shuffle of polished shoes on tile broke the moment.

“Your Highness,” one of Lucien’s guards approached, looking equal parts apologetic and exasperated. “The car is ready. Your parents are waiting.”

Lucien’s jaw ticked, the easy warmth in his eyes cooling back into something more familiar—detached, aloof. He nodded once before glancing back at Y/N.

“Looks like my reign in the playground has officially ended.”

Y/N smiled, tilting her head toward Isabelle, who was now trying to convince her friends to build a “princess fortress” out of foam blocks. “I think the new queen will manage just fine without you.”

Lucien hesitated, something unreadable passing across his face. Then, with an almost reluctant step backward, he gave a slight nod.

“Until next time, then.”

Y/N, ever the survivor of chaotic playdates and endless errands, grinned. “Don’t get kidnapped by tiny rebels on your way out.”

The faintest chuckle escaped him as he turned, the guard falling into step beside him.

And just like that, the cold prince was gone, swallowed by duty once more.

Lucien slid into the sleek black car, the door closing with a soft thud that sealed him away from the noise of the bustling mall. The air inside was cool, sterile—just the way he usually liked it. His guards settled into the front, murmuring into their radios, confirming his departure.

But Lucien barely registered it.

He leaned back against the leather seat, hands resting loosely on his thighs, eyes half-lidded as the car pulled away from the curb. Yet, instead of turning his mind toward the usual mental checklist of meetings, policies, and diplomatic nonsense, his thoughts betrayed him.

“You’re lucky I intervened.”

Y/N’s teasing smile flickered in his mind, brighter and warmer than the sun filtering through the tinted windows. There was an ease to her presence, something entirely foreign to the carefully curated world he navigated. She’d stepped into the chaos of children like it was second nature, effortlessly redirecting their boundless energy, saving him from further humiliation without so much as a second thought.

And Isabelle—Princess Isabelle, self-proclaimed ruler of the playground. Her tiny hands tugging at his sleeve, her wide-eyed insistence that he play the role of the villain. How had he let that happen? Him. Lucien. The man is known for his ruthless efficiency and unshakable demeanor, pretending to cackle as he was “banished” by a band of toddlers.

He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing at his reflection in the window.

“Sir?” One of the guards glanced back, clearly noticing the rare moment of distraction etched into Lucien’s otherwise impassive face.

“Nothing,” Lucien muttered, gaze flickering to the passing scenery. Yet, the city streets blurred as his mind betrayed him once more.

The way Y/N had crouched to Isabelle’s level, brushing a stray curl from her daughter’s forehead as they admired discounted jewelry together. The warmth in her laughter when another mother had joked about kids having more energy than world leaders.

Lucien’s fingers tapped absently against his knee. Effortless. Natural. He’d spent years surrounded by people trained to charm, to navigate social intricacies like it was a battlefield. Yet none of them held a candle to the quiet authenticity he’d witnessed that afternoon.

“Shall we head to the palace, Your Highness?” the driver asked, eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror.

Lucien hesitated.

“... Take the long route.”

The driver blinked but didn’t question it. The car veered slightly, merging onto a less direct path.

Lucien leaned his head back against the seat, eyes slipping shut. He could still hear the faint echoes of children’s laughter, the soft cadence of Y/N’s voice cutting through the noise.

For the first time in what felt like years, Lucien allowed himself to indulge in the memory. Just a little longer.

The car hummed softly as it sped along the winding road toward the palace, the city lights blurring into golden streaks against the evening sky. Lucien sat in silence, his posture rigid, hands clasped tightly together. Normally, the quiet drive would be a welcome reprieve—a chance to reset, refocus, and push aside distractions.

But not tonight.

His mind betrayed him, looping the same images over and over. Y/N’s patient smile as she crouched beside Isabelle, holding up a glittering tiara that was clearly made of cheap plastic but treated like it was a crown fit for royalty. The way her eyes softened when Isabelle twirled, the little girl’s laughter ringing like bells in the air.

Lucien exhaled sharply, frustrated with himself. What the hell is wrong with me?

Yet, the traitorous thought crept in, unbidden but relentless: What if that was his family?

He could almost see it—the cold, cavernous halls of the palace warmed by childish giggles. Isabelle ran down the grand staircase, arms outstretched, her tiny feet thudding against polished marble as she darted toward him. Y/N trailing behind, breathless but laughing, telling Isabelle to slow down before she tripped.

Would Y/N still smile at him like she had at the mall? Would she stand at his side during tedious diplomatic gatherings, her presence a quiet anchor amidst the meaningless chatter?

The thought twisted something deep in his chest. Lucien had always dismissed the idea of family as frivolous—an obligation for duty's sake, not something to desire.

But this… this wasn’t duty. It was longing.

“Your Highness?” the driver’s voice cut through the fog of his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. “We’ll arrive at the palace in ten minutes.”

Lucien grunted in acknowledgment, his gaze drifting to the city lights beyond the window. They flickered like stars—beautiful, distant, untouchable.

Just like her, he thought bitterly.

But the image remained, stubborn and vivid. Y/N curled up on the couch beside him, Isabelle asleep in her lap, the soft glow of a forgotten lamp illuminating the room. Peaceful. Domestic. Real.

Lucien closed his eyes, jaw tightening.

He’d never been one to chase fantasies. But this?

This felt dangerously close to something he needed.

The moment Lucien stepped out of the sleek black car, the entire palace seemed to still. The guards standing at attention faltered for just a second. The maids exchanging hushed whispers in the hallway fell silent. Even the ever-stoic butler, who had served the royal family for years, blinked in surprise.

Because Lucien wasn’t scowling.

In fact, there was a distinct lightness in his expression, his usual brooding aura noticeably softened. It wasn’t quite a smile—no, that would be too much—but the sharp edge of his usual cold demeanor had dulled, replaced by something dangerously close to contentment.

His best friend and most trusted guard, Elias, stepped forward, eyeing him warily. “Rough evening?” he asked, expecting the usual grumble about dull conversations and suffocating royal obligations.

Lucien merely hummed, shrugging off his coat with an unusual ease. “Not at all.”

Elias narrowed his eyes. “Did someone die?”

That earned him a sharp glance, but the usual bite behind it was absent. “No.”

“…Did you kill someone?”

Lucien exhaled, shaking his head as he handed his coat to a maid. “I simply had an unexpectedly tolerable day.”

That did nothing to reassure Elias. In fact, it only made his suspicion deepen. The Crown Prince did not have tolerable evenings—especially not at public events.

As Lucien strode through the grand halls, the palace staff cautiously peered from their stations, whispering amongst themselves. The murmurs reached his siblings, who had gathered in the lounge. His eldest sister, Celeste, arched a brow when she saw him pass by, wine glass in hand.

“Lucien,” she called out, stopping him. “You look…” She tilted her head, scrutinizing him like one would examine a rare specimen. “Uncharacteristically… pleasant.”

His younger brother, Adrian, leaned forward on the couch, grinning. “Oh, this is concerning. Did you finally find a hobby other than terrorizing foreign diplomats?”

Lucien shot him a flat look. “Hardly.”

Celeste exchanged a knowing glance with Adrian before smirking. “Ah. So it's someone, not something.”

Lucien didn’t answer, but the faint flicker of something in his gaze was all the confirmation they needed.

“Well, whoever they are,” Celeste mused, taking a sip of wine, “keep them around. It’s nice to see you not looking like you’re planning someone’s assassination for once.”

Lucien scoffed, turning away, but even as he walked off, their words lingered.

Keep them around.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because Lucien already knew—he had no intention of letting Y/N slip away.

[chlmtsdoll]

BORN TO BE SEEN

Timothée Chalamet x female reader

☆ summary: dating an A-list movie star isn’t cut out for everyone, your exhaustingly in love and devoted to Timothée — but with his full schedule of press, interviews, and events it’s a non stop challenge to get your man alone.

☆ word count: 7.7k

☆ warnings: 18 +, smut, teasing, edging, mostly exhibitionism, oral (m) reviving, lots of pda, praise kink, pet names, dirty talk, heavy fluff, angst, obsession/worship

☆ A/N: I cannot believe this is my first ever Timmy fic after stanning him for years. I really let my fangirl flag fly so I hope this is well loved. Part two soon. 💋

There wasn’t anything but the landscape of a few stars scattered around the dark blues and grey of the night sky when your jet had finally landed. You hadn’t slept the whole flight. Not due to the anticipation of when you could finally lay eyes on your star boy after weeks of only getting as much as a couple late night calls and red carpet photos all over the internet from every journalist, high society article, or press outlet that could exist. You were proud. Maybe the proudest girlfriend out there, but there were times you could see how he fought the balance of it all not getting to his head.

The lights in the space that was exactly comforting to you were rising and you click your phone to check the time. Half after 3am.

You were tired, hell, only just pushing. But you couldn’t have been more awake with the adrenaline of getting your man for a whole three weeks that was starting to rush in.

“Okay, hotel is secured. They have your chauffeur waiting to take you straight there so you can rest, I’ll get your bags- -” your shared assistant that your boyfriend always kept around to take care of you when flying you out, was ready to go as she gently assured your stay. You already pictured it would be the most glamorous in-crowd hotel you could fathom. (Picked by him) you assumed there would be bodyguards with champagne even waiting for you outside this jet knowing your boyfriend.

But, you shook your head gently, with a smile. Already grabbing your designer purse to exit and get to fresh air finally. “No, no. I want to see him first.” You told your assistant and she only looked a tad stressed as she had already gotten out her phone to text a schedule change to the chauffeur.

“No problem, it’s already taken care of. I know he’s dying to see you.” Her voice had a flow of newfound tenderness to it — that made your blush heighten just a second before you and your bags were being escorted from the jet. Sure, there wasn’t a squander of sun out and lucky no paps to be found. But the moment your heel touched the gravel you pushed on your sunglasses (mainly to hide your tired eyes from your driver who was greeting you and taking your things in order.)

Scatter brained, you watched the lights of the new city you’d get used to for the next couple of weeks. Thinking and sorting out the plans you and your boyfriend would make in the wist of his tumultuous schedule. You knew he was a busy man. Maybe the busiest in the industry as we speak, all the promotion, press conferences and red carpets… with awards season creeping around the corner there was but so much time and attention he could give to you, his girl, in between.

The exhaustion, the flights back and forth. You did it all for him. And he made sure you’d be there to experience the bliss of having such a life so young. As much as possible.

His sweet reminders of just how much your hard working man adored you even through the chaos of it all. The world at his finger tips — you were always on his mind.

Even if the moments in between could be the sweetest you’d maybe ever experience, your love and his fame, it was a rollercoaster time to time. And the media wasn’t a first grade class, the pressure of it could be a thing of its own.

Everyone knew that you were the movie stars supporting and to put it as they say ‘almost annoyingly visually perfect’ girlfriend. They all were obsessed with the bond you shared. The it-couple factor you have. Your all too well, put together clothing that possessed the it-girl factor they all feed off of right beside your boyfriend. And you’d seen how his fans could nearly feel how obsessed with each other you are, through every snap of a camera shot that was published of the two of you.

And of course, that came with struggles, the public isn’t known for always being nice. But that’s what pushed the two of you even closer. He was there to protect you from it all, never making you feel like a burden in his limelight.

The idea of seeing him in just a few had your teeth bearing into your bottom lip, with a crooked smile and a soft squeeze to the hem of your skirt, you’d been pulling up to the dimly lit back entrance of the venue. You remembered him saying he’d be working late for a last minute photoshoot for his upcoming snl performance. He’s been over the moon about it and you hadn’t complained once every time you’d been a giggling mess when he’d run with his excitement of being back over the phone with you, no matter how late or early.

You missed him.

Before the driver could come to a halt, you’d already been grabbing your purse to jump out of the car.

“This way,” your assistant, right behind, had voiced to you — but as you go close to the door, the driver was peaking at your absence of the back seat.

“I can wait out here, ms. I know you had a long flight, there’s no problem.”

“Oh.. no, it’s fine, take a lap. I won’t be quick.” You flashed him a small thankful smile as your assistant braced your back gently to lead you inside the venue.

There wasn’t much to it. A long hallway, an elevator, and another long hallway. You knew he’d definitely not be expecting you to have came straight to see him, probably not wanting to bother you with texts thinking you’d be fast asleep under the warmth of luxury hotel sheets at this hour.

You hadn’t told him you landed anyways after all.

So you hoped the click of your heels against the floors as your assistant guided you to the back green rooms wouldn’t ruin the surprise.

Soon just hearing him made the tightness in your stomach come escalating when you sought out the sound of his voice. A few doors down. You could tell he’d been conversing in a way that he’d sure been smiling ear to ear. And your favorite tune there is, his follow up laughter that echoed as you got closer. Your favorite sound. Your obsession. Your home after another lonely flight.

There wasn’t another man out there like Timothee.

Stopping to watch him from the doorway first, your arms folded as your heart melted. You watch him take up the space in the room like second nature.

He’d been goofing around with his photographer Aidan. His hair an untamed state that looked dreamy as is, standing lean and stature in some ridiculously colorful outfit that he made look effortlessly cool. He moved his hands expressive as ever as he laughs in a humble tune. And his smile, oh, his smile in your opinion, could save lives if the right people were in charge.

Your assistant walked ahead, but Timothée hadn’t noticed you just yet — he’d been pretending to create some kind of silly music video with his photographer trailing around him, as undeniably impressed in a way you had no doubt was a reaction your boyfriend had no issue bringing out of anyone who’s around him. His fingers blaze through his hair quickly, trying his best not to laugh too much at his own radiance.

He was perfect like this. In his element. So beautiful in a star-like way that for a moment your smile was so large to the point your face began to hurt. You forgot you’re not just watching him on a tiny screen anymore — but right now. In real time. Your angel boy being right in front of you.

And then there’s something unspoken, after a mere few minutes of conversation, something in his expression shifts like he already aware of your presence, like he feels you there. When he does finally turns around, with that soft boyish grin creeping up on his lips, eyes full of something playful, and that damn charm — you barely have time to sink in how good he looks before,

“You flew all this way just to stare ?”

You giggle out a soft squeal and there was not much to say before you were springing to be swept up in his arms. Heels once against the floor now being lifted as Timmy held you to him like it’s been more than a couple weeks, like centuries. Your lips mesh on instant, unhesitatingly taking it in with a little “mmm” of satisfaction. You wrapped your arms over his shoulders and his grip around you was firm with warmth. He smirked into the kiss, you could feel it even with your eyes closed, the tickle of his mustache — new yet familiar, you let out giggles in between the perfectly timed and soft yet daring kisses he left that said ‘fuck I missed you.’

Days of distance melting away and the two of you were completely unbothered by anyone around watching, already swooning and playfully shaking their heads knowing the magnitude you shared as a couple. Even as your boyfriend set you back to your feet, you’d still been trying to grasps a leg around him, feel the roots of his hair through your fingers. And he couldn’t let up on you either as he kissed on your face till you were a mess of laughter.

It felt like highschool. Timmy’s team, his photographer, your assistants — they didn’t exist in your reality. It’s just you and him.

“I missed you.. what are you doing here, baby ? I thought you'd be at the suite by now,” Timothee voiced softly as he pushed a few of your locks out of your face to see you. Eyes sparking up at him like it was the first time. Your smile beaming, and you held his wrists.

“I couldn’t wait to see you.. I had to see you ! It’s been three weeks, Timmy.”

“I know,” He laughs and leaned in to peck your cheek, your hands ghost over his rhinestone necklace with admiration and your eyes inch down his body of intermixed clothing of colors and brands, you grin.

“This is.. a look.”

“You like ?” His grin was back and you bit your lip just enough to bring the pride to his expression. Your eyes flicker over his studded belt.

“You know I love everything on you,” Your voice was humming of flirtatious notes towards your man, you drape your arms over his shoulders again and Timothee managed to keep his cordial manner but slightly licked over his bottom lip and scanned just over your head to check for the attention of the room, and to your luck, his team members had gone about what they’d been doing before your arrival. So, Timothee’s hands gracefully on your waist, flow a bit lower as he kept you close and under the gaze of his hooded green eyes. You were stuck there.

His fingers graze over the tight fitted mini skirt you had been flaunting. A light grey cashmere. You could tell he was holding back from the three weeks weight of not being close enough to feel the heat of your skin — trying to fight it’s way through him. Your hands now gently drifting his arms and the look in your eyes stricken by the man you got to call yours, Timmy just pulled you a little closer so you’d been hovering his chest. And he’d been able to lower his voice to whisper in your ear,

"This skirt… you really didn’t want me to focus on work tonight, did you?" He was trying to keep a normal embrace of you, but he’d had that sly look of course. His fingers brushing against your thigh again and he was massaging the right of your hip with tenderness — just enough to make you shiver and heave a small little gasp. Pulling back to look up at him with doting eyes and a small sideways smile of mischief on your lips.

“I just wanted to give you a little surprise,” Your tone sweet, but laced with a hidden, lustrous, message behind it you knew your boyfriend could only take in doses. He scoffed with a chuckle and looked over to a corner of the room, noticing the time had been slipping as you’d already stolen his attention from his shoot. Quite the distracting treat.

“Uh huh.. we’ll talk about it later..” he started and he leaned back in to leave another slow, tasteful and greedy kiss on your lips. It had you closing your eyes and lingering for more. “Go get some rest, chéri, I love you.” Timmy slowly inched away with a soft chuckle as your intertwined hands stay locked although drifted between the two of you for a moment. The firm grasp of just not wanting to let your boyfriend out of your reach consuming you while the playful pout-like smile you gave him was what had him probably now staying till around five am.

When your fingers do slip, and your dragging your feet to walk away, instead biting your lip like a love stuck school girl — you watch him part. With the same restraint and grin upon his lips as he mouths a little “go” to your gone essence. And you were holding down your miss, your need, your want for him and to stay in his world the entire ride to your suite. The ravishing room with a view of the city, towering buildings, an outlook from an enormous glass wall. It all made you feel a little less distant knowing you’d finally been in the same city as your man. That’s what you needed. Close enough to your Timothee. At least for you.

With a soft smile, your bags became your last priority when you dropped them to reach what was left on the king sized bed for you. Pink peonies and red roses. Your absolute favorite, left next to a box of Pierre Hermé chocolates. Elegantly wrapped in ribbon.

Your heart was going mad. And your face flustered as you plopped on the bed to find the pint note left on top of the candy, “Un cadeau pour la femme que j’aime. Tu me manquais trop, bébé.” You read instantly with the sound of Timmy’s voice in mind, you were rubbing your bitten lip to hide your obvious blush from the empty room of course. A girlish titter leaving you as you lay back and stare over the sweet words your boyfriend had written.

It was things like this. Dating an international superstar could be a deal breaker for most, but you weren’t like most. And neither your boyfriend — he made you feel loved.

No matter how far.

So even being as hard to pin down as he was, between filming and touring, meetings and flights. When it came to you. He did whatever he could to make time.

Eventually, you had fallen asleep with a quarter of the box of chocolates gone delightfully, and sunken between the silk sheets as the low sunlight of the day crept in. You slept so heavily you didn’t even wake when Timothee snuck in somewhere between five thirty and six am. Probably only letting himself sleep for a few hours before he was up, dressed and ready — but not to start promotion or press.

“Mon amour..” you heard a tender note into your ear as you’d been half in a dream and also waking up, feeling a gentle kiss being left on your neck, and hands through your hair. “Baby.. -wake up.” You sigh a tired-some little hum before shifting from your side to your back. A sleepy grin takes upon your lips when you feel another kiss embrace your jaw. Soon opening your eyes to not just Timmy, but the keys to his BMW dangling from his fingers.

“Brian won’t be on my neck for a few hours.. wanna take her out to go shopping ?”

Something along the lines of a squeal and a yawn was your answer as you jump up from your comfort almost immediately. Not taking your time at all before you’d been out the door, Timothee hardly got any real free time away from his work and it wasn’t even a question that you’d take it for granted. A quick fur coat, your heels, and a mini skirt would do. It was a shock to you both how fast you were out that door, hand in hand of course, for the first time ever.

While your plans were to shop. Something the two of you shared an overwhelming desire and bond for, it couldn’t have been less about clothes and more about when you could get them off. Timothee eyeing through some Chanel sunglasses, and you on him, caressing your finger tips over the loops of his belt like the clock was ticking before he’d get a text or call from his manager.

It was excruciating but he showed less resistant than you expected. Leaning over tiers of shoes to kiss you, rest his hand on the small of your back, even grip your side time to time. Pulling you in close so he could whisper a “I see paps starting to line up outside.. let’s give them a show, yeah ?”

And that was like ecstasy for you. One thing you both were good at, was not minding a little attention from the cameras. So when you and your boyfriend had been with your purses, shoes, pretty patted wallets and all, you two went into pda overdrive.

It was between you and the check out counter who’d get to Timmy first. And had simply won.

Your man was reaching into his back pocket to pay. But you didn’t make it that easy as you’d been standing on your tip toes, leaving kisses, soft pecks and smooches all over his face. His lips and his collar. “Baby..” Timothee chuckled as you’d cupped his jaw. He’d lifted his chin playfully higher so you’d struggle to reach and he could attend to getting his credit card out. But that was the last thing on your mind when you couldn’t even get yourself off his sent now. So you only followed, reaching for his lips anyway,

“What ?” Your giggle is soft with your reply, hands lowering to his neck with a small sound of pleasure leaving you when your boyfriend couldn’t help but lean into your kiss unapologetically. Even as he had passed off his card to the the cashier behind you, whom was truly trying to look away from your affection on display.

But completely distracted and without a care of who’d been in there, even possibly a fan being at a lost for words of the actors drift right now — Timmy was too lost in you.

“You’re something else, you know that ?” the corner of his lips curled to a grin when his hands rested on your waist, you pulled back to look at him. Eyes staying on his sweet lips that were yours to tease only with a devious smile.

“You can’t tell me to put on a show and expect it not to be good…” you hum and your boyfriend was in a painful field not to let his fixation on you over take him. Making himself as collected as possible, take you by the hand, and your bags of course— out of there quickly. You titter as you trail behind him in that moment which was caught in hundreds of snaps from the paparazzi outside. It would be published everywhere in approximately twenty minutes.

"Did you have fun spending all my money, bébé?"

Your smile achingly sweet. "You love spoiling me."

To which he chuckles and mutters, “Way too much.”

When you two got back to your hotel, standing in the elevator with the somberly slow pace it’s going, it’s light music being a bore when you’d rather hear your name being purred from Timmy’s lips, you needed to get him up to that suite immediately.

And to only make it tougher — Timothee was leaning against the wall, watching you with that lazy yet seductive little grin. The corner of your lips tugging on a smile and you’re trying not to look at him as you shift your weight on your heels. Gripping the ribbon handle of the bag holding the freshly bought designer accessories.

“Stop staring at me and pull up your pants.” You direct your need to be pushed against this elevator wall to teasing your man as your eyes flicker to his jeans that were sagging off of his ass.

He just smirked, and annoyingly tugged them down a little farther so you could see the hem of his Calvin Klines. “Ma chérie, you love it. Don’t lie.” He beckoned and you breathed out some pent up air. Biting your lip.

“I do… I love that shit,” was mumbled from you, and your man heard with a cocky chuckle as he ran his tongue over his teeth and sure enough, he was backing you against the elevator wall.

A proud sense of glee was washing over as you’d claim to be a master at manifestation. How quickly Timmy’s hands find your hips, leaning down to put his mouth on to yours in a crash, like he’d been starving for this — because he has.

“You really did come all this way just to tease me ?” your boyfriend’s voice sets lower, teasing, but there’s a raw need behind it. Your barely getting the chance to respond because he’s excellently taking away your ability too. You softly groan into the way his lips move on yours like a dream. One hand gripping your hip, the other tilting your chin up as he kisses you —deep, slow, like he’s savoring the taste. Your fingers tangle in his short curls, pulling just enough to make him groan.

"I missed you," you breathe between kisses that are growing sloppier, needier. More urgent as the floors escalate. And your risk driven man smiles against your mouth. "Yeah?" He feels out the metal handle bar against your back, hands trail lower, gripping your thighs, as if he’s about to lift you against the wall, you giggle into the urgent kisses.

Elevator sex ? Fuck yes.

Was your fantastical thought before you heard a ding.

The doors slide open and a stranger steps in. The core shatter of feeling Timothee pull back from you on instant washes over and completely fucks up your vibe.

His jaw clenched, eyes dark with frustration as your face was flaming as your smoothed out your skirt.

Your terrified they could hear the way your heart was nearly pounding out of your chest. And Timothee, charming as always, gives them a polite nod. His hands stuffed into his pockets like he wasn’t just about to have you trembling against an elevator wall.

The seconds stretch painfully.

Could the door just fucking open ?

You tap your foot. He sucks in his breath.

And when you shift, still feeling the ghost of Timothee’s touch on you, you peak up at your boyfriend, he’s smirking.

Finally another ding hits.

The stranger steps out and the second the doors close, your boyfriend pounces. “I’m not done with you.” His tone deeper, rougher, as he now grabs your wrist. Pins them above your head and you gasp with half shock and half excitement.

“Timmy-”

“Shh.”

He’s looking up at the numbers on the top of the confined space going once again painfully slow, the camera beside it — then he’s looking back down at you. Fuck it. He’s pressing his body against yours slow. Intertwining his fingers within yours at a toe curling pace. He’s trailing torturous, sweet kisses down your collarbone. Breathing on to your skin and suctioning his lips on a final place. You whimper something hard to tell. You let your eyes close and feel it. Feel his large hands, exploring and groping your body, your thighs, your ass. Moving you against that wall like a trophy. His lips move to over your chest where your cleavage is just perfectly on display. Licking over the top your breast, taking his time. Running you through.

Your watching. Watching carefully every ounce of longing over the last couple of weeks he’s putting into tasting you. Feeling his want and need as he just keeps getting lower. Pressing a kiss to your abdomen till he’s on his knees. Hiking your mini skirt up a little just for him to see. Carving your leg over his shoulder and kissing on your inner thighs with a soft hum,

“Timothee..” you pant as you view with hands going to his hair, running through his scalp and your skirt up just enough to see green orbs staring up at you as his lips grace your skin. With hunger, and a small grin on display. His lips kiss, peck and smooch on your thighs till he’s breathing out near the thin layer of fabric over your cunt. He pressed a careful kiss there,

He’s really going to tear into you in this fucking elevator.

But that came crashing down when the elevator dings again. And before you both can even think about getting your shit together, in walks Brian. Timothee’s manager. Someone who’s probably seen it all with him, but this ? This was something else.

He clears his throat, “Seriously ?”

You were breathless as you gasps before covering your mouth. You hit Timothee in the shoulder who was gripping you and had no intention of stopping. Your face turned into the sun. You tried to fix your skirt that was slightly askew, straightening up like you weren’t pinned against the wall about to get eaten out.

Brian had his arms crossed and was staring deadpan at Timothee who was reluctantly rising from his knees with more of a sense of frustration that he’d been interrupted from his girl over anything else. Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. Timothee had a stupid grin on his face. Like he didn’t care. “What ? She just got here.” His voice was unbothered and smug. Like it was the most normal thing to get caught like this in a luxury hotel elevator.

"Right,” his manager sighs, running a hand down his face. "And in five hours, you have a live audience watching you host SNL. You wanna explain to Lorne Michaels why you’re showing up looking like you just had—“

"Okay!" You interrupt, eyes wide, face burning.

Timothée laughs under his breath, and he’s still got his hands looped around your waist.

Brian just shakes head. "I don’t care what you do. Just... at least make it to rehearsal on time." Then, without another word, he step out of the elevator when the floor hits.

The second the doors shut again—

"Where were we?" Timmy is tugging you back in, and you’re pushing him away with a bashful snicker.

“You’re crazy.”

☆

Due to your own gentle encouragement, and firmness to keep your clothes on — Timothee did end up making it to rehearsals on time. With as much energy it took to restrain yourself from making anymore risqué moves with your boyfriend, keeping your hands to yourself until after the show was necessity for such a huge night.

In all his greatest, you had no doubt he would blow the world away once again with his presence, his performance, his aura. It’s a feeling — the one where he doesn’t have to try to be amazing at everything he does.

So when your in a crowd of cheers, watching your man from side stage, overseeing him kill his opponents this awards season, the hug you had when meeting him back stage, was as authentic as could be. You threw your entire body into him the moment your bodyguards brought you back.

“You killed it, baby! You were amazing!” Your feet were off the floor again as he held you in his arms, his laughter closest to your ear, and the cast and crew around all came in hot with the excitement of the environment. You think back when you were out there, cheering for him. And his eyes matched yours for a moment, sparkle and all through the lights. A beam of ‘all for you’ like a subliminal message that only you caught.

He was setting you down with a brief kiss and you’d been smiling up at him after hanging on to it for a moment more.

“Are you ready to catch dinner with everyone? Change into that pretty dress we got earlier?” Timmy kissed your cheek with a grin, knowing you’d been thinking about that dress all day. Almost as much as him really.

“Wouldn’t you like a treat..”

“C’mon, don’t tease me. Where’s my reward for tonight ?”

Your eyes trail his figure with a little smirk, “Later.” You used his own game on him, and Timmy was putting his front back on not to draw attention to the way he’d ran a hand over his neck in primal repression, just before accepting your claim. He draped an arm over your shoulder, you blush.

Timothee got his team to take care of you as quick as possible. Not caring much for himself to do another outfit change when the ones he’s been in for back to back red carpet events were taking over every news outlet as we speak. His Yankees bomber jacket was his choice for the night. But you. You’d been dripping in drapes, rhinestones, and dollars by the time you’d been out of your suite again.

One thing about Timothee was that he was going to have you looking the prettiest, decked out for whatever event it was, on his arm. The Louboutins he gifted you the other night, along with simplistic jewelry that was not only blitzing with bling but had a message —

A chain around your neck with his initial.

So when he caught you in the suv to take you both to dinner, it was his unhinged jaw that did it for you.

“Holy fuck,” he didn’t even try to stutter when you sat extra close to him in that car. He kissed your shoulder. Diving in your florally vanilla sent.

Your smile proud, “this is all you, y’know.” You gesture to your dress, your diamonds, your Prada lipstick — but actually meaning all the heart you would put into being their for your man a million times again for what it’s worth. He was giving you a full dreamy grin as he looked over how chalant you’d been alongside his casualness. Reaching over to shut the door behind you, but getting extra close. So close his heat was emerged with yours, and his lips lingered your gloss for just a second.

And thank god the ride was short.

When you two got to the after party, it had been all flashes from the cameras the moment you stepped foot out of the car. So much so it was hard to see, hard to take shape of anything around you, but Timmy was the perfect gentleman — your hand locked in his as he lead you to your destination so you wouldn’t go blind by the lights. All those cameras, on him all the time. He was a pro at navigating it. So soon, the room was buzzing with Hollywood’s elite. Timothee effortlessly moving through the crowd, not giving quotes to reporters on purpose yet flashing that captivating and all knowing smile.

All that as you we’re seated with him at a dimly lit table in the corner. Just how you liked, even with the chaos of all the stars around.

But Timothee’s mind ? Completely on you.

Instead of sitting across, he’d moved his chair to sit right beside you. Taking your hand in his again and pressing it to his lips. After only an hour, when he’s sipping on a beverage and taking glimpses of you in, the way your dress clings to your body, how your toying with the ‘T’ chain around your neck, shining against your collarbone. All while you’re taking about him. It makes his jaw clench.

“Oh my god,” you titter as you lift your phone that’s blowing up from messages from all your friends. Banging on about how iconic Timmy was tonight. “Everyone’s saying that Oscar is yours. And they’re totally right.”

He let’s out a humble chuckle and reaches out for his straw to stir around his drink, mumbling a soft “no, no.” He shakes his head, neat yet disheveled curls falling with.

“What do you mean no ? Yes !” You laugh more cordially so no cameras catch a bad shot of you looking insane.

Timothee gives you a fond smile, he watches your reaction to all his accomplishments and aways notices you might be a tad bit more excited — adorable and endearing, than he could ever imagine for himself. And you noticed that underneath his cool, the nervy jitter of his fingers would start up, so you set your phone down, you take his hand in yours, holding it under your chin with a sweet little smile.

“It’s already yours baby, you’re a prize.”

“You’re a prize,” he replied, green eyes never moving away from your shine.

You can’t help but blush, you were both so locked on one another. So into each other. Timmy let his thumb brush against your cheek, leaning in close and you felt a camera flash somewhere ahead of you — but it didn’t matter. You’re zoned in on the man beyond you.

“Can we get out of here ?” You suggested quite, but voice filled with a dazed kind of essence because your eyes flicker over his fit again. Saying so much without saying anything. He gets the hint and tenses up again.

“Are you suggesting we get away, mon belle?”

“Mhm” you nod as his thumb covers your bottom lip, almost slipping through before he catches himself in the act of being too taken by you. Your looking at him, pure yet seductive, and the corner of his lips curl upwards as he takes your breath away again in a gentle kiss. Before you knew it, Timmy was standing to his feet and taking both of your hands with him. He alerted Brian, his bodyguard and said his goodbyes to his peers before resting a hand on the deep of your back to meet your driver somewhere outside of the venue.

Of course, a hurd of fans, paparazzi and journalists all caught the two of you leaving that after party early and the sounds of screams mixed with paps trying to get to where your car was could be heard from the airport. Cameras were snapping photos of you, your it-girl physique, in the hard earned dazzle your boyfriend had been responsible for. And you had a polished expression. Waving to your audience, you didn’t mind at all having this dress in the press.

“Over here!” “Beautiful!” “Is that necklace in honor of your boyfriend?”

You were biting your lip and being an absolute doll for the paparazzi, giving a prideful beam over your shoulder at flashes — that being before Timothee took you by the hip. And pulled you into hiding with him in the car, you only giggled playfully when you’d been grabbed by him suddenly. He pretended to be annoyed by the paps asking him “Timothée, how does it feel to have the most stylish girlfriend in Hollywood?” But, he held a small grin on his lips by the time you two were secured in the backseat of your ride. Because in the morning, you’d look stunning as ever. Posing for the cameras, hand in hand with him and it would be all over every social media platform in existence.

Everyone would go insane. His fans. The world. Obsessing over how you’d headed out early. Obsessed with how obsessed you were with one another.

Still on the high of his SNL performance, The absolute magnitude of his fame, the way he’s being swallowed by it— fans sobbing, cameras flashing, people begging just to touch him. The chase and drive of award season and all, the praise, the status; you couldn’t have made the climax of his stardom feel like anything other than pure paradise. Solidifying his high paced lifestyle is all worth it when It’s only been a couple minutes since the driver pulled off, and you two had shut the window peek on sight.

City lights gleaming outside, the hum of the car engine was tough, the faint sound of people still screaming Timothée’s name in the distance while your all over him. Your glazed nails running down his chest, slow like you want to drive him insane. Your eyes were now dark, practically devouring him immediately. Your lips parted and meshing with his like you’d been starving. Timothee pulled you into his lap without anymore hesitation and you’d let out a little hum when the trace of his hands over your hips came in. Gripping on you like you’d get taken away if he didn’t grasp on long enough. Your hands go to his hair — Kissing deep, slow yet at a rushed pace, recklessly in that back seat.

Timmy’s Cartier ring, cold and sliding up your thigh, inching all over the way you sat on his lap and making sure to pull you in, keep you boarderline close. “Mmm.. mhm- -” was the only thing coming from you. Topping up so your knees were on the leather seats, on either side of his hips. And you deepen your smooches a little more and a soft groan comes from Timmy’s end. Your body drives him crazy. The way you arch your back ever so slightly. The way the fabric of your dress hugs your curves, clinging in all the right places.

And your flaunting it, teasing, pushing on him — hard.

So he grips your ass with a little shake and you squeal with excitement. “You should have seen yourself up there tonight. You looked fucking incredible.” You murmur against his skin, punctuating it with an open mouthed kiss.

Timothee smirks, “Yeah ? You liked that, huh ?”

“Yeah.. you’re so famous baby, and you work so hard. Everyone loves you.” You huff out a desperate little sound, pressing your lips to the sharp line of his jaw, dragging your mouth against the slight scruff of his mustache, down to the heat of his neck. Your hands grazed there along with your kisses. “Never shave this okay ? It’s so hot.”

Timmy gives you that damn cocky grin, closing his eyes as he tilts back, giving you space to ruin him. “Mm, you're really gassin' me up right now.” His voice smug and heavy, hands ghosting over your inner thighs, daring to squeeze your ass some more which makes the dampness between your thighs rush in. You felt the stretch of his Adam’s apple along with a soft sigh that comes from his lips when you lick over his skin. His fingers tighten around your waist and he starts rocking you down against him.

Your touch traveling, slipping under the loose hem of his jacket, fingertips skating over his stomach, feeling the way his muscles twitch at your touch. And you suck on the bottom of your lip a little as he exhales sharply, a laugh slipping through, “You're unreal.”

Your eyes go intense and lost in his, your lips hover over his ear, caressing him at a subtle pace, feeding up his ego.

“You love it.”

His breath catches when your fingers trace lower, teasing over the waistband of his jeans. You sincerely couldn’t sit with the temptation for another minute. So you lean up, find your balance within the bumpy ride pushing you only closer into your man, and speed to get his belt undone.

Just what he needs after all of it. The weeks that went by, the tiresome press and events. Alone with the love of his life, feeling him this way and getting him like this. That mix of devotion and sensuality. Gold. The voice of his girl right now, telling him everything he needs to hear “you’re taking home that Oscar, baby” — that’s exactly what he craves. He wants the world’s love, but yours? Yours is the most addictive. It makes him feral.

So as your eyes grow with hunger, your hands working quick to get his fly open and to embrace his boxers, sitting pretty with a nice tent. You’re watching the way he breathes when your fingers trace over his cock, teasing, hiking your dress up and getting on your knees in front of him.

There was only one way to finish what he started earlier.

Timothee stretched as much as he could in the fine spaced car as your nails trail the tops of his thighs and he’s man spreading for you. So heavenly, his jaw flexes,his eyes darkening in the low glow of the passing city lights.

He’s viewing you with so much hunger, lips parted, chest rising and falling as you sit up to tug his jeans farther away from his hips. “You gonna be good f’me ?” Timmy’s voice softened but assertive as he was already holding your chin in his grasps. Hooded eyes only on the beauty that you were as you’d been starring up at him, with a lust filled little smile and nod. Too sweet, too much for him to handle as your hands were doing a job of their own — reaching to stroke him once. Slow. Painfully slow. And as he curses, you try not to giggle but your lips grave the tip of his cock. Not looking away from his expression for a second as you let your tongue dart out to taste, lick a stripe on him dutifully.

Your boyfriends brows knit upwards and his tongue darts out to wet his lip as he watched you repeat that a couple more times. Then your mouth is on him completely,

“Oh.. shit,” one of his hands is reaching out to the arm rest across the seating, and the other going to search through your hair.

A low whimper could be heard from you as you didn’t hesitate to have your mouth filled with his dick the moment you’d fit him in. Sucking nice, then more brazen. Hallowing your cheeks and making him groan for it. You could hear his grunts, feel his veins pulse as you pick up the speed. And your sitting in your own pool uncomfortably when you let your hand glide and flow up his abdomen another time to grip his studded chain. Playing and toying with it as he moaned through the wet noises you made on him. You’re moving your mouth up and down on him in sequence with moans drawn out sharply as Timmy grips the back of your neck to move you how he wants.

Your hand was pumping him at the same time as he was dropping his head against the seat with a deep groan and you wish you could see it. Like all the tension, and the noise around Oscar’s buzz being washed away from him. He’s letting you take him away. “Fuck, you make me feel so good, pretty girl.” Although you were flattered, you couldn’t be more focused on trying to get him off. His skin just feeling right against your tongue and you only stop for air just to smile and calmly run your thumb over his tip with a sly grin. It makes him have to restrain from kicking the drivers seat ahead.

“Easy..” you murmur with a soft giggle as you watch your man fight it from above, sucking in his bottom lip and gripping his jeans as your hand jerks him clean. He was hissing a string of curses before you go back to licking and kissing on his shaft, moaning like you just needed to be fucked by the movie star right here. Right now.

And in all perfect timing, he pulls you off of him even as his cock twitched hungrily.

“Oh my god,” he huffs, chest rising and falling, “slide your panties down for me..”

Not only does your stomach drop, and heat flashes through your body like an electric current. You stop to take in Timmy’s disheveled state with utter contempt but urgency. Your image of a quicky in this car could go so many ways.

He’s amused at your hesitation. Even from the race of all day — trying to pin him down for this to be it. The fire throughout you was at an all time high. Timothee was getting you off the car floor and making sure you were properly on his lap again. “Now, chérie.” his voice a low, a commanding whisper, reminding you exactly the kind of night you were about to have.

So when you complied, taking part of the very thin panties you’d been wearing under your dress, and pulling them over your heat, it was just for him, as he leaned back and watched you move. Licking over his lip for a brief moment till you were bare.

That tiny obedient action drives him absolutely wild.

“Good girl, You’re always so perfect for me.. yeah?” your boyfriend grins, hand going to your hips again and your now soaked cunt lingers right over his dick. Wanting, starving for you. And you feel it everywhere. Without him even being in, your legs go weak, your breath hitches, and his fingers are already toying with your folds as your nails prime his shoulder and you slip him a soft kiss that has you both moaning. Then again, yet this time his lips only skim the corner of your mouth, but he doesn’t kiss you.

He loves watching you fall apart first. Loves the anticipation. Loves knowing that you’d let him stretch you crazy right now.

You have a frustrated groan as your head releases. He huffs out a chuckle. Holding back from rewarding you for just another second, as the tension being so thick it could snap — all came with the consequence of the car jerking to a stop. Easily throwing the two of you into each other.

Timothée blinks, his head dropping back against the seat, huffing dramatically. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

The driver clears his throat over the speaker. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Chalamet.”

Your boyfriend was breathless, at a loss for words and running his hands down his face. All you could do was shake your head with a light hearted chuckle and start fixing your dress.

“Better hurry before you get recognized.” Your tone sweet enough just to get him hard again, but vexing enough to piss him off farther.

He glares at you. Eyes still blown with need. But he kisses your neck, tender and poised anyways as he quickly buttons his jeans. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for this.”

You both practically stumble out of the suv, Timothée tugs his hoodie up to avoid cameras, but your hands never leave each other.

And the second your through the lobby, past security, past the elevator doors — It’s on again.

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

MAKE THE MYDEI x READER INTO A FULL FANFIC NOW BUDDY! what if u made mydei x reader X phainon …. heh

Ohhh I see where this is going, Phainons curiosity about Mydei's friend turning into adoration and maybe more 😉

Mydei x(fem) reader x Phainon

Mydei's secret friend (phainon taking a liking to reader)

Mydei had never been the type to let things get under his skin so easily. Annoyance, yes. Irritation, constantly. But this? This was something else. Ever since the Chrysos heirs found out about Y/N, there had been no peace.

It started with Phainon. Mydei should have expected it. The man was a relentless force of nature, a golden retriever in human form, always shoving his way into things with that damnable grin. Mydei could handle his usual antics, but this was different.

Phainon had taken an interest in Y/N. A keen, persistent interest.

“Mydei, you never told us she was so fun to be around!” Phainon had said just the other day, nudging him in the ribs with a knowing smirk.

“I didn’t tell you anything,” Mydei shot back, arms crossed as he watched Phainon and Y/N talk a short distance away. Y/N had laughed at something Phainon said, a sound Mydei was familiar with, but suddenly, it irked him in a way he couldn’t place.

And it didn’t stop there. Phainon kept showing up whenever Y/N was around. If she was out at the market, Phainon was there, carrying her bags, grinning ear to ear. If she was training, Phainon somehow found a way to join in. If she was simply walking through the city, there he was, chatting her up, acting far too familiar.

It gnawed at Mydei, deep and unrelenting. It was beyond irritation now. He felt something tight coil in his chest whenever he saw them together. It made no sense. He wasn’t possessive. Y/N was her own person. And yet, every time he saw Phainon getting closer to her, making her laugh, watching her smile at him, something in Mydei burned.

One evening, after yet another instance of Phainon keeping Y/N occupied with his relentless charm, Mydei had had enough. When she finally managed to break away and approached him, he let out an annoyed huff.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice laced with irritation.

Y/N raised a brow. “Are you upset?”

“No,” he snapped too quickly. “I just didn’t think you’d enjoy being around an idiot that much.”

Y/N smirked knowingly. “Phainon’s nice. He’s easy to talk to.”

“Talk to someone else,” he muttered under his breath, turning away before she could see the rare flash of something vulnerable in his eyes.

And as much as he wanted to ignore it, the feeling refused to go away.

It started small. Mydei didn’t even realize what he was doing at first. It was just... instinct. A need to assert his superiority over Phainon, though he would never admit it.

The first instance was at the training grounds. Y/N had stopped by to observe, completely unaware of the sudden shift in atmosphere. Mydei—normally one to fight with controlled, efficient movements—suddenly found himself putting extra effort into each strike, his golden armor gleaming in the sunlight.

Phainon, of course, caught on immediately.

“Oh? So we’re showing off today?” he grinned, rolling his shoulders before stepping forward. “Alright then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

What followed was an all-out display of strength, skill, and pure stubbornness. Mydei’s fists clashed against Phainon’s blade in a flurry of strikes, neither willing to back down. When Mydei created a crimson crystal barrier mid-fight to block an incoming attack, Phainon laughed and responded by amplifying his own blows with radiant energy.

Y/N clapped when the spar ended in a near-draw, completely unaware of the competitive tension. “That was impressive,” she admitted with a smile.

Mydei crossed his arms, smugly glancing at Phainon. “Of course it was.”

The next instance was in the marketplace. Y/N was carrying a bag filled with supplies, humming softly as she browsed. Before she could even ask for help, Mydei took it from her with an effortless scoff. “You shouldn’t carry heavy things,” he muttered.

Phainon, who had been watching, quickly grabbed another bag before Mydei could stop him. “You’re right, she shouldn’t. That’s why I’ll take the rest,” he said, grinning as he loaded up more bags onto his arms.

Y/N blinked between them before sighing with a small smile. “Oh, thanks! That was nice of you both.”

Neither of them acknowledged that comment.

Later, at a casual meal with Y/N, Mydei—who normally didn’t care for cooking—suddenly found himself making something for her. He placed a perfectly prepared dish in front of her and crossed his arms expectantly.

Phainon, not one to be outdone, immediately grabbed ingredients and threw together his own creation. “Try mine next!” he grinned, setting the plate down with a wink.

Y/N chuckled, unaware of their true intentions. “Wow, you both made something? That’s great! I love free food.”

Mydei scoffed. “No big deal.”

Phainon beamed. “Absolutely.”

Y/N happily ate, completely missing the pointed glances and competitive tension between the two. If they wanted to keep doing nice things for her, who was she to stop them?

Another moment happened while walking through the city. Y/N had been admiring a small trinket at a market stall, but before she could even decide if she wanted it, Mydei had already handed the merchant a coin. “Take it,” he said, handing it to her.

Phainon huffed and immediately bought another, holding it out. “Or you could take this one! It’s even better.”

Y/N, confused but amused, took them both with a laugh. “I didn’t even ask for these, but thank you!”

And then there was the time Y/N was struggling to reach a book on a high shelf at the library. Mydei casually plucked it down and handed it to her before Phainon could react. Not to be outdone, Phainon grabbed another book and said, “This one looks even more interesting, you should read it too!”

She simply smiled and accepted both, once again oblivious to their antics.

The rivalry continued in different ways—offering to train with her first, stepping ahead of each other to hold doors open, even subtly trying to one-up each other in casual conversations.

Y/N, blissfully unaware, simply enjoyed the attention, having no idea of the silent battle for her favor that raged around her.

[captain039]

PART 9 The Meaning of Flowers

Viktor x reader

Bridgerton AU

Warnings: olden times, sexism, light swearing, plus size reader, older Viktor, age gap, fat shaming, sexual, smut, oral F and M receiving, innocent reader, corruption kink, reader in her 20s, long-haired Viktor, possessive Viktor, obsessive Viktor, angst

I LIVE

Previous part <-

Dearest reader, though the city may not see I do. Something is amiss with our duke and the wallflower lady. Has something happened? Is it a true love match leading to a happy marriage? Or is there something scandalous amidst our fine city?

It’s all maddening the fleeting touches, the long looks and the taste of his lips ever present in your mind. You hear people talk, whispers, and rumours that make your jaw clench and shift into the shadows. You can’t do this anymore, on the verge of ruin, you need a husband, the duke won’t marry you, he isn’t one for marriage, he’s one for corruption and taking. Your mama is yelling at you, the rumours reaching her, her face red with anger, your cheek sore from where she slapped it. The rumours though not entirely untruthful have been wrong, some range from you sneaking out in the middle of the night to see him to your visits with the councilwoman actually a coverup to spend time with the duke doing things no one dares to say. It’s like a numbness when you don’t see him at balls like he’s disappeared off the planet without a care for your wellbeing and the rumours surrounding you. An older lords have been sent to your home, your mama saying she will pay them well. They examine you like livestock, check your teeth, and your body, and ask about your purity, it’s diminishing, and humiliating. You have no one to blame but yourself, falling into scandal with a duke has its repercussions. You figure him being so well in society he’s made it smooth over so his image doesn’t look back, disappearing from balls so he isn’t seen like a coward.

You stand like a prized cow, you’re checked over by an older lord you don’t remember the name of. He feels your hips and squeezes them making you bite your inner cheek. Anytime you show discomfort your mother scoffs as if the rumours of you engaging so heavily with the duke were true. It was one time his hands were on you, twice his lips were, hardly anything like this, he hasn’t even touched your hips before.

“Aye, promised price?” The lord asks and your mother nods. You feel yourself die a little, your heart clenching.

“I’ll marry her” he nods. Your heart falls you don’t show it though the disgusting churn in your stomach. Once the lord leaves you go to your room, you throw up in the toilet tears down your face. Two weeks you haven’t seen the duke, it makes you angry, makes you hate him for everything he did, makes you hate yourself for ever falling into his trap.

A week later after the engagement agreement, things are being prepared, a swift marriage to get you out of society and into the security of a man’s home, no matter how old or disgusting the gentleman may be. You sit in the drawing room your mind blank as you stare at the book page you’re trying to read. You hear a knock, listen to the doorman greet whoever it is before you hear shuffling steps. You frown a bit, hardly the sound of the old lord's steps. You freeze when you see him, weak, hunched over, pale. Your mama looks just as shocked as she greets the duke with fake smiles and fake niceness.

“Move,” he says to your mother's voice hoarse. Your mother stutters before moving out of the way and he walks over to you. He’s slower, his limp more pronounced.

“Get out” he snaps at your mother and she flinches but leaves. You stare at him and he stares at you. His eyes are dull, he has deep eye bags, his cheekbones a little hollower, and his hair messy but not in the normal tamed way. His suit is crinkled and he smells like the hospital. You don’t know what to say, he looks weaker, what happened to him? No words come out as you swallow.

“I am engaged” isn’t what you wanted to say but it comes out anyway. Something flashes in his eyes and you watch his hand grip his cane tighter.

“Mrs Medarda told me,” he says his jaw clenched.

“It is better this way” You nod though the words feel like bile.

“Better?” He frowns.

“Yes, the rumours will die down and I will have a husband, I will be content” You speak in a monotone, there’s no emotion, like a voice on repeat.

“Content” he murmurs.

“You shouldn’t be here Duke Viktor” your papa’s voice comes from the door. You look at him noticing his angry look.

“Haven’t you ruined her enough?!” He spits and you flinch. Viktor frowns his back still to your father.

“Like how you ruin your name already by going to the black rose brothel every Friday night?” Viktor’s words are venom and you gasp hand covering your mouth. Your papa stutters and his cheeks go red and you stare at him confused, he doesn’t deny it.

“Or how about the gambling problem that has left you in debt?” Viktor spits again.

“How dare you-“ Viktor cuts your papa off turning around shakily.

“You’ve sold your daughter to a man older than you, how do you plan to pay him? Is she expected to pop out a few heirs for him huh?!” Viktor’s voice raises.

“You ruined her in the first place!” Your father yells.

“I did” Viktor murmurs and you feel tears in your eyes as he looks back at you.

“And I left her alone when she needed me most” he adds his honeyed eyes locked on yours.

“I let rumours rot her name while I was-“ he stops his jaw clenching again. You take a small step forward hands shaking tears rolling slowly down your face.

“My illness flared up, I was in a coma for a week” he explains and now it makes sense for his disappearance. You wish he would’ve said something, or Councilman Talis said something, Mel even.

“I was unable to stop the rumours from spiralling and protect you, and for that I am sorry” He speaks quietly, softly, so strange from what he usually talks like.

“I won’t let you marry that man” he says his eyes narrowing again.

“Then you will marry her!” Your papa snaps and you flinch.

“I will” his words make you freeze, you stare at him trying to find the lie and deceit but find none.

“Duke-“ you trail off swallowing. He walks closer a shaky pale band coming up to wipe your tears.

“I will marry you,” he says whispered.

[cillians-sweetheart]

Secret Boyfriend - Thomas Shelby

Thomas Shelby(39) x Fem!Reader(18)

Plot: Y/N has a new, secret boyfriend who she meets up with late in the night to avoid judgement from her parents as he is not quite what they would want, but perfect for Y/N in pleasing all her needs.

Content: Smut, age-gap, pet names, secrecy, oral (m), rubbing (m & f), car sex, riding, dirty talk (m & f), huge daddy kink, no protection, Tommy sounds kinda pervy but romantic too

(Modern day Thomas Shelby in this story)

Laying in my little white bed, I kick my feet and grin at my screen while I text my new boyfriend, Thomas. I’ve met him through the internet and have met with a few times late at night when my parents were asleep. 

I couldn’t have them find out I had been seeing a man almost 3 times my age. I was freshly 18, and still a child to them. They’d never understand what Tommy and I have. He was tall, and fit. And each time I’d see him he’d wear the type of suits he wore to work. Perfectly tailored to his figure, and always smelling rich and manly. There was no way I could keep my hands to myself when I was with him.

Most nights I’d run out to his car in the dark and we’d drive around the city to an empty road where he'd kiss, and caress me until the sun rose. His lips were always so gentle. And during the day I’d sneak away from everyone to text him. 

{“I miss you”}, I texted while smiling and giggling like a high school girl. I mean technically I was, so it made sense.

Just seconds after a new message pops up on my screen. {“I miss you too my girl ;)”}

{“how was work?”}

{“Ah, it was fine, just boring office stuff. Nothing interesting.”} Thomas sent while sitting alone in his house, still in his work clothes and also grinning to himself.

{“Can I see you tonight?”}

{“Won’t your parents be home, baby?”}

{“Please daddy… I need you”}

Thomas chuckled to himself, {“Haha baby, don’t do this to me. I really want to come and touch you but I don’t want you getting caught”}

{“When my parents go to sleep I can sneak out and come meet you. No one will see me”}

{“Oh baby, you’re just tempting me. You know I can’t resist feeling you… I’ll be there tonight.”}

{“Ok thank you daddy, I’ll see you soon”} 

I sent the message with my cheeks a flustered shade of pink. I quickly jumped up from my bed and changed into nicer clothing and quickly applied makeup on my smooth face. It was getting late anyway so I’d get ready now. 

Thomas too got up and grabbed his car keys. He loved how I begged for him, and how I’d do anything just to see him. And soon enough he arrived outside my house. He was nervous for me, but couldn’t wait another second longer to touch me. 

{“I’m here love. Whenever you’re ready”}

{“Coming daddy”} I quickly replied and quickly ran down the stairs to the front door. 

When I came outside, Thomas was leaning against his expensive car with that handsome smirk he always got when he saw me. I quickly ran to him with my short dress flowing in the wind and brushing against my thighs. I wrapped my body around him in a tight hug, and inhaled deeply his rich scent and felt his toned chest through his shirt.

“Oh my princess…” He smiled and kissed the top of my head. “Come on baby.” He led me to the passenger seat and opened the door for me. 

We drove around through the dark empty roads. His big hand lightly rubbed my bare thigh with intimate caresses. Slowly I began to slide down in the seat making his hand go higher and higher between my legs. He got the hint and trailed his hand up my dress to gently tickle me through my thin, lacy pantries. 

I couldn’t take my eyes off him from beside me as he rubbed me with his finger. I bit my lip and whimpered at his touch. He looked over to me, his eyes scanning from my shivering legs up to my baby doll face. 

“You’re such a cute girl… couldn’t wait to see daddy, couldn’t you?” He asked with his voice so smooth, and silky on my ears. 

“Mhm,” I nodded, looking down between my legs at my growing wetness for him. 

Eventually after several minutes driving through the quiet streets, Thomas parked at the end of a dead road. There was nothing but trees and darkness all around us. Thomas turned off the car and turned to me. 

“Give daddy a kiss.” He leaned in closer to me, moving his hands up to hold my face. I instantly fell into him and my lips latched onto his hungrily. Sweet little moans escaped my lips each time they’d separate even the slightest. 

Thomas pulled back to look closely at my face. With his thumb he traced my bottom lip, and in return I kissed his skin lovingly like a little puppy. “Such a good girl… you know exactly how to please your daddy, hm?” 

I nodded, continuing to kiss his thumb and over his whole hand. My submission was more than obvious for him. There’s nothing I’d not do for him. 

I pulled my lips away from his hand and Thomas leaned back to get out of the car. I watched him outside just briefly before he got back into the car in the backseat. He sat right in the middle with his legs spread and his bulge showing through his dress pants. 

“Come here.” He sat back, watching me with amusement as I crawled to him. “Good girl… Crawl to daddy.” His voice was low and sensual, making my legs shiver. 

In the backseat I straddled Thomas’s lap and looked into his blue eyes that I could barely see in the dark, but I could feel the lust in them. 

My hands felt around on his muscular chest and unbuttoned his shirt as my hands travelled lower and lower down his torso. His skin beneath was hot, and smooth and the hair on his chest, and below his belly button made my panties wet as I touched it. His legs spread wider, and his pants grew tighter. I felt as his hardening cock poked and rubbed me through my pantries. It made my mouth water.

I moved to the side on the leather seat next to him and looked up into his eyes while I eagerly undid his pants. His hips moved lower into the seat and his head laid back against the leather. He felt his cock just aching to be touched, and sucked. 

“That’s good baby, keep going.” He groaned under his breath while I pulled his big, needy cock from his pants. My eyes glared up into his while my face and lips slowly lowered to his hot, wet skin. I kissed and licked at his pink tip like a little kitten while making eye contact the whole time.

Thomas petted my silky hair while looking down at me with admiration, “My good baby… pleasing your daddy so well,” He groaned to the feeling of my lips hungrily sucking and kissing on his tip. His hand gripped in my hair and he tilted my face up to look at him while he pushed my mouth down the length of his thick cock. He groaned and cursed while I loved on his sweet, sensitive skin. I needed to give daddy more and slowly bobbed my head and sucked in my cheeks around him. “Hmh… god… just like that baby, just like that.” 

I sucked and swallowed him like it was the last thing I’d ever do. I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to. He tasted so good, and making my daddy feel good was all that I lived for. 

I pulled my mouth up from his dripping cock with a pop when he tugged on my hair. “Come.” He patted his thigh and I obediently sat up and straddled his lap. “Let daddy see that little pussy…” He was voice rough and hot in my neck and he lifted the straps of my pantries off and down my hips. I leaned back and let him strip me until I was completely naked on his lap, sitting and waiting for the attention I craved. 

“So cute,” He whispered glaring down my body and between my legs. His fingers slipped between my legs and slowly he rubbed my wet clit in gentle circles.

I was so sensitive from my growing arousal, and my sweet sounds and whimpering just encouraged him more. 

His fingers felt so perfect, rubbing faster and harder. I grind against his fingers eagerly spreading my wetness all over his hand. “You wanna cum?” He asked with his breath hot in my neck. 

“Mhm… Mhm daddy, please” 

“Cum on my cock… rub it.” He turned to lay back onto the seats and I sat on his cock against his lower stomach. My wet lips stroked his length, and my clit rubbed against his smooth veiny skin. I moaned and whimpered all sweet and desperate while I rubbed my pussy on him. 

Tommy gripped my hips, “fuck…,” he groaned with his head falling back. My soft lips were practically milking him and filling his stomach with precum. And eventually, I came with loud needy moans, and my fingers digging into his chest. His cock was absolutely throbbing by now and was bigger than it's ever been. 

“Oh, that’s such a good girl…” he praised sitting back up on the seat, me still on his lap. Tommy’s hands reached up into my hair holding my face close to his. We kissed sloppily while I sat and lowered myself down onto his aching cock. It filled my little hole so perfectly. Made purely just for him, as he’s the only one who’s ever used it. 

My hands held onto Tommy’s bulky shoulders, and he lifted his hips to forcefully thrust. My high pitched moans were in sync with his quick movements, and echoed throughout the car. The windows fogged and the air around us got hot and humid. 

Tommy’s lips sucked and kissed at my neck leaving his mark of property. My fingernails dug into his back and shoulders while trying to muffle my pleasurable whines in his hot neck. 

“Yes… Yes!” I yelled pounding my hips down onto him. “Daddy!” My body trembled and grew weak. Thomas took control using all his strength to buck his hips up against mine, his cock reaching deep inside. 

Thomas’s hand held tightly onto my plump butt, moving me up and down. Both of our skin grew damp with sweat and arousal. The movement between us got sloppy the closer we got. Neither of us had a proper thought but the feelings in our bodies. Everything between us with our bodies and lips, it went so fast like time hadn’t existed. Nothing existed when he and I were together, nothing but each other. 

And eventually over those last few, sloppy thrusts, Thomas’s cock shot his hot cum deeply into my cervix. His hips bucked up into mine forcefully which broke me into spilling my fluids onto his lap. I held onto him tightly as the sensitivity grew and faded and as our bodies began to slow down to a stop. 

I breathed heavily with little whimpers escaping with my exhale. I could feel Tommy relax and soften while still inside me. And before we moved we took the time just holding each other and gently kissing with the little energy we had left. 

I could feel the love Thomas had for me from the way he’d caress my bare hip and kiss me ever so gently. There was always a difference between him -in the way he acted-  before and after sex, but I loved both sides equally. He was rough and dominant but also gentle and romantic. And in the end he’d drive me home and kiss every inch of my face before I’d go back inside to sleep peacefully. 

“I love you my sweet girl,” He’d say each time. 

And from me, “I love you too, daddy.” With a kiss on his cheek. 

[hotties4gojo]

how would the yakuza au characters react to user getting hurt :3

IS THIS 🦊 ANON COS THIS WAS SENT BEFORE I TALKED ABOUT EMOJI ASSIGNMENTS… hi if it’s u 😁 but also hi regardless TEHE

I’m assuming u mean Someone harming us right… I’ll roll with that

• oyabun gojo is unfortunately a little toooo used to having to hurt/kill those that have wronged you (secretary!reader), but when you get hurt? whoever put their hands on you is getting their hands chopped off. then their feet. and then and then and then—

he will 100% crash out. nuclear level. you and nanami and choso have to hold him back from killing entire bloodlines for your sake… and then he gets you to a doctor if needed. still, though, nobody can hold back gojo fucking satoru for long. this isn’t simple dirty work so he doesn’t send anyone out to take care of the issue; he personally handles it and comes back with a borderline manic smile and blood staining his pristine white hair. “honeyyyy, I’m home! what’s for dinner?”

even when You give yourself accidental paper cuts gojo’s acting like it’s the end of the world. he falls to his knees and everything

• informant shoko is dead silent when you (stripper!reader) show her bruises from some yakuza scum that got a little too drunk and a little too handsy. her eye is twitching and her mole twists with it. “evade my questions all you want and make excuses for them, but best believe I’m finding out who did this, princess,” she murmurs as she gets you an ice pack.

shoko gives you personal self-defense lessons because you never know when something worse could happen to you. on a day that you’re busy, she seeks out gojo and choso with the intel she’s gathered on some sleazy man and gives them the file she collected. “say less,” both men mutter, already plotting.

but if you simply injured yourself while taking a fall or from standing and dancing in heels for too long, shoko sighs as she forces you to sit down. “silly girl. i’m gonna have to wrap you in bubble wrap,” she teases as she makes you rest while she plays caretaker, babying you more than she should.

• wakagashira-hosa choso has the biggest frown on his face when he spots injuries on your (teacher!reader) precious body. “who? where? why? tell me everything, darling. don’t leave anything out.” he and gojo pay off the police to scour security footage to find the fucker who dared to mug you or target you for simply being close to choso because he has wayyyy too many enemies that would do anything to get at him.

he makes sure you’re patched up and safe at his apartment with yuuji before he goes out on the hunt, hands steadier than they’ve ever been as he gives hell to the fucker in question. choso comes back with dried blood flaking off of his hands and even more blending in with the dark fabric of his suit, waves off your concerns, and showers before sitting with you and yuuji on the couch. choso angsts over the fact that you got hurt for days longer than he should.

• oyabun geto’s mind is ten steps ahead the second he finds out you (angels!reader & yuki’s younger sibling) got fucked up in some garuda’s angels related scuffle. you can of course handle yourself (he’s literally played witness to you beating the breaks off of people) and don’t need his help… but he’s still gonna intervene. if he had a little less restraint, he’d probably burn down the entire city.

you’re used to his protectiveness and you have no plans on stopping him from going on a mini warpath so you either stay home or accompany him. people hate to see THIS couple coming. especially when geto is smiling as if he’s not about to break their ribs and you’re a few steps behind, whistling the whole while and spinning your weapon of choice. both of you have fun with your prey before letting heads roll.

other times you’re scraped up from a motorcycle accident and geto tsks as he treats your wounds. “and you wonder why I refuse to get on that motorcycle of yours with you,” he’s muttering, shaking his head when you laugh it off. what is he gonna do with you?

• oyabun sukuna finds out about the incident before you (civilian!reader) even get the chance to tell him yourself. his nostrils flare like a bull’s as he corners you, demanding that you corroborate what he heard and tell him any extra information, and frowns when you’re like ‘it’s not a big deal, I thought it was funny that they’d even try to target me.’ “nobody is fucking laughing except for you,” sukuna grouches. “there’s something so fucking wrong with you. anyways, I’ll handle it. sit tight.”

he has way too many enemies so people from the gojo-gumi, the sutoraifu-gumi, and even the garuda’s angels trying to kill you is practically a weekly occurrence. as much as he’d like to dump you into one of his warehouses and keep you safe there forever, whooping ass on your behalf is good enough. no weapons, no underlings doing the work for him— sukuna snaps necks or beats whoever that hurt you to death.

• garuda’s angels leader yuki has toji on the line the second you (orphanageworker!reader) finish speaking. “tojiiii, i need you to track some people down for me. I’ll have utahime come babysit megumi for you,” she sings into the phone, all cheery even though her eyes are colder than ice. bodies are about to stop dropping like flies. not that she tells you this.

if she goes out to handle it herself, you catch on as she’s sliding on her jacket and putting on her boots and you scold her, telling her that people don’t deserve to be hurt on your behalf. she strongly disagrees, but she’ll sigh softly and pull you into her arms. “you’re too merciful, angel,” yuki murmurs as she steers you to bed. watching movies with you will be enough to distract you from considering the fact that toji could be out there guns blazing in yuki’s stead, right?