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rafescolors · 18 hours ago

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you don't have to go home.

𖹭 pairing: rafe cameron x reader.

𖹭 summary: a visit to your parents house shows rafe something you've never told him about.

𖹭 tags: angst, hurt/comfort.

! warnings: allusions to past abuse, non-consensual touch (not from rafe). this one's sad and- well, heavy. be careful reading it pls<3

𖹭 other: she/her reader.

for the sake of the plot rafe has way better control on his violent impulses. this is 100% self indulgent.

Rafe has always known that your relationship with your father was strained at best.

But he had never seen how bad it was.

Your mom had insisted on inviting him to dinner, and at first you refused, and refused, and refused, because you didn't want your father anywhere near Rafe. Rafe was your safe place, your comfort, and you felt breathless just thinking of them in the same room. You didn't want your light anywhere near the darkness that consumed your life.

But eventually, you gave up, because your mom really wanted to get to know your boyfriend, and there was no way she'd agree to have dinner without your father.

So there you are, in Rafe's room, looking at him dress up for the occasion while you had one of his hoodies on and a pair of jeans. He had questioned you before, but the moment you shrugged him off, expression closed off and distant, he frowned and tried to distract you.

"Hey, baby," he says softly. You look up, startled. With a simple raise of your eyebrows, you encourage him to keep going. "Are you okay?"

He knows you aren't. But he still asks.

You shrug.

"Just don't feel like talking, sorry, Rafe."

He walks toward you and kneels before you, his hands gently laying on your thighs. You jump a bit but quickly relax.

"You've been like this since you came here. Do you wanna talk about it?"

His voice, soft and low and all sorts of comforting, makes your heart clench.

You shake your head.

"No, I don't want to."

You scratch his head, the feeling of the buzzcut still a bit foreign to you. He smiles, eyes doubtful.

"Okay. Well, I need your help looking good. I see you're not trying to impress anyone," he pinches the fabric of his hoodie, "but I am. You did say your brother was kind of overprotective for a little guy."

You giggle.

"Yeah, he is." The smile on your lips is the first you had since you woke up. "He thinks that 'cause he's a boy, he has to approve of my boyfriend." Tapping his nose gently, you snicker.

Rafe grabs your offending finger, giving a chaste kiss to the pad of it. You blush.

"Hmm, kinda like Wheez. You're lucky she adores you, baby, because if she didn't? She'd try to run you off."

With a snort, you roll your eyes.

"Oh, I know. She's told me all sort of stories about girls your dad tried to set you up with."

Rafe laughs, soft and rough.

"Yeah, they never came back here. Good for me, though, because I didn't like any of them."

You hum, eyes going a little distant, like you're lost in a memory. You straighten up before he can worry.

"Get this off, then." You grab his pastel pink polo shirt. "The jeans look good. But he'll think you're a snobby rich asshole if you use this."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you kinda are, but you don't wanna look it with him." You scrunch your nose and giggle.

He kisses the tip of your nose.

"What should I wear then?"

"Hm... That linen white button up, not snobby, a bit formal, but casual enough. And put on that brown leather jacket, mkay?"

He smirks.

"Oh, the one you made me buy?"

Blushing, you shove him lightly. "Shut up."

He grabs you by the jaw and gives you a soft, chaste kiss before standing up and changing his shirt. You simply look at him, all the love you feel shining through your eyes.

He smiles softly at you.

"You sure you wanna keep the hoodie?"

"Yeah, 's warm, and comfy and makes me feel safe." You don't say why you need to feel safe.

He doesn't question it, and as soon as he's done, he grabs your hand and you both walk out of his house, climbing on his truck.

The ride to your house is quiet, soft music playing lowly through the speakers, but you don't pay attention to it. You twist your hands and play with the string of Rafe's hoodie, looking out the window.

He's concerned. He really is. But he won't say a thing, not wanting to make you feel worse.

You swallow the moment you're in front of your parents house, a look in your eyes that makes you seem far away.

Rafe gently grabs your hand.

"We can still back out, go home. Get take out. Snuggle and watch one of those cheesy romcoms you love."

A small smile appears at his words, but it's still distant, still not completely honest. You squeeze his hand.

"We can't."

Opening your door, you jump out of his truck, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down, until they cover both your hands. He sneaks one of his inside a sleeve, wrapping his hand around yours, once you're both side by side.

When you're in front of your door, he knocks.

In a few seconds, your mom appears, hands straightening her button down, smile bright and eager.

Rafe looks at you, and it's like a switch has been flipped off –because it has. You have a bright, seemingly sincere smile on your face, and you let your mom hug you, a soft hi leaving your lips.

Once you both separate, she looks at him. You reach out and take his hand, tugging him closer to both of you.

"Mom, this is Rafe. Rafe, this is my mom."

He smiles, all charm, and shakes your mom's hand.

"Good evening, ma'am. Thank you for having me."

You face palm, trying to hide your laugh. He's never been so polite, gosh.

Your mom, though, seems charmed.

"Hi, Rafe. I've been dying to meet the boy my daughter is practically living with."

Your face falls.

It's a not so subtle jab at the fact you've been avoiding going home.

Rafe, though, doesn't seem fazed. He either is being a pro at faking or didn't notice. You bet it's the first.

"Ah, so sorry, that's on me," he smiles apologetically. He slides his arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer, and you let yourself fall on him. "It's just that, well, community college is close to the university I attend. And I live closer to her job. I offered her to stay with me since it'd take her less time all those trips."

Your mom's smile softens.

"What a nice boy," she coos a bit.

You make a face. Rafe tugs softly on a strand of your hair, chuckling lowly. You pinch his arm over your shoulder.

Your mom's eyes catch it all, and she gives you a look. You try to ignore it, focusing on Rafe.

Your kind of peace doesn't last long, heavy footsteps making you stiffen and tense under Rafe's embrace, trying to hide in his hold.

He gives you a confused, concerned look. You ignore him.

Then he appears.

Your father is by no means a big man, barely taller than you are, way shorter and smaller than Rafe, yet you can't help but feel like vulnerable prey, his eyes zeroing on you with their usual intensity, making you shiver and your pulse quicken in fear.

Rafe's hand brushes gently against your arm, comfortingly, his eyes and mouth downturned in worry.

Your father's eyebrows furrow when he sees you two, a hardness and anger in his gaze that makes you swallow and make yourself smaller in Rafe's hold.

He pastes a fake small on his face, loudly saying something, but your ears buzz and you feel like you're underwater, not able to hear a thing, only seeing as if from out of your body how he grabs Rafe and harshly slaps his back before he turns to you, now Rafe a small distance away, not within touching distance anymore, your father between you two.

Frozen, you see him approach you with eyes open, and you clench your jaw when he wraps them around you, stiff and unmoving. He hugs you way too tightly, his hands brush way too intimately against your back, and you can already feel your eyes glaze over while you go somewhere far away inside your mind. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest and you hunch your shoulders, trying to push away from him, but he only tightens his arms, making you feel as if trapped by a boa, with no way out until it crushes the life out of you.

Your breath's shallow, panicked, and you can only hear your heartbeat loud in your ears.

Suddenly, you feel someone pull you out of his constricting hold, as if being pulled from underwater, and you breathe in relief, tears pickling your eyes. You lean into Rafe, his hands on both your arms, gently holding them, and his chest against your back. Instinctively, he seems to know you need space.

You look up at him, trying to ignore everything else. His eyes are cold, pinched at the corners, mouth a thin, serious line, and you can feel the way he's two seconds away from springing forward, muscles tense and ready to jump.

You feel dread fill your lungs and struggle to breathe.

He notices, his eyes lowering to you and softening, his body relaxing, and he slowly wraps his arms around your crossed ones, giving you the chance to break free, but you only hug yourself tighter and lean more into him.

You see the hurt in them, the way they're burning with the need to protect you. He's always been a bit protective over you, but you know this is nowhere near all the times before.

You don't hear a thing, only see the way he glares at your father, not glancing yourself in his direction for your own good, but when his eyes look a bit more apologetic, you see his gaze drifting towards your mother, who's completely oblivious to everything that just happened, her eyes only confused. Your eyes meet, but you quickly glance away from her, down at Rafe's hands wrapped around your elbows.

You know to the outside world, you're just serious, quiet, as you've always been, only Rafe noticing the subtle, hidden changes. So you don't worry about her noticing.

You've never done.

You catch Rafe looking at his phone, feigning surprise, and you start paying attention at the words leaving his moving lips. You catch the end.

"-so sorry, ma'am. My baby sister- she needs me, we really have to go. Oh, no, she can't stay. My sister adores her, asked specifically for her, you see."

He keeps talking, fake apologetic, making some excuse to get you out of diner. You look over your mom's shoulder and see your younger brother, a genuine smile appearing on your face, and you wave at him.

He waves back.

Rafe sees it all, and smiles at him, genuine too, before he turns around with you in his arms, his body a wall around you, protecting you from your father's touch and his gaze.

You've never been so fucking grateful for his height and broadness.

Without wasting a second, he slowly unwraps his arms from around you and grabs your upper arms, thumbs brushing against you, softly pushing you forward and guiding you towards his truck, all the way hiding you with his body.

He opens the passenger door, letting you climb before he shuts the door as gently as he can, careful to not startle you.

He waves at your house, climbing to the driver seat and quickly starting the truck, driving for a few streets before he parks, his arms and hands tense on the steering wheel, veins showing from how hard he's holding back.

You're quiet, still a bit out of it, arms crossed and body as small as you can make it, hiding underneath his hoodie.

He exhales, harshly, hands twitching over the wheel, before he relaxes with a huff, harshly rubbing his hands over his face.

His voice is soft when he speaks.

"You never said it. Why didn't you tell me?" The hurt is evident in his voice, but you know it's not about being hurt because you didn't tell him.

It's another kind of hurt.

You shrug.

"Nothing ever happened," you say, voice monotone, emotionless.

He turns to you sharply, brows furrowed in concern and confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Another shrug.

"Exactly what it means. I've never been alone with him since I can remember. I can't say anything about any year before I was twelve, though. I can't remember most of my childhood."

His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring in what seems to be restraint.

"That doesn't make me feel better." His tone is serious, one second away from enraged. But you know it's not at you.

You shrug.

You know you'll shrug a lot during this conversation.

You're closed off. You're distant. Like everything happened to someone else.

It's not on purpose.

You know he knows it.

"It's the truth. I didn't say anything because nothing ever happened that I remember."

"Baby, the fact you keep saying remember makes me think there's more," he whispers, voice strained but soft.

You gulp.

"What's the point of saying stuff I suspect but I'm not sure it's real?," you ask in a small, broken voice.

His hands cup your cheeks, guiding you to look at him, his eyes so sad and hurt.

"What do you mean?," he asks, afraid.

Lips trembling, you blink rapidly to not cry.

"He's always looked at me weird. I've- I've seen him look at girls weird. He dated someone close to my age when him and my mom were broken up for a while. When he touches me, I want to fucking tear my skin off. After, I can't even look at myself in a mirror." Your voice breaks, tears escaping your eyes and trailing down your cheeks. He swiftly brushes his thumbs against them, but they just keep coming.

He looks at you, a hurricane of emotions going through his mind. But he has to keep it together. For you.

"Why are you so sure it's not real?"

Shrugging, you sniffle.

"'Cause I don't remember anything actually happening. They always tell me a lot of stuff is in my head. What would make this different?"

There's storms in his eyes.

"Everything?," he whispers lowly.

"They say I exaggerate. He's not so mean. He's not so violent. He's not this villain I made him in my head."

His nostrils flare.

"Who?"

"Him. My mom. My brother used to too."

He grits his teeth, hissing.

"Fuck them, baby. Fuck them," he growls. "You've never behaved like that. I've never seen you like that. That's not nothing." His voice is softer by the end. Full of tenderness and hurt for you.

You sniffle, tears making your vision blurry.

Scrambling, you jump into him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck and face hidden on his shoulder. You sob quietly, all those years of silence and feeling crazy falling over you. He shushes you gently, hugging you and tucking his nose in your hair, whispering comforting nonsense, sweet nothings that make you cry harder but feel better too.

It feels like hours passed before you slowly calm down, soft sniffles and hiccups the only thing left for you to give, face sticky with dried tears and nose runny.

He softly parts from you, cupping your face before grabbing your bag, taking a tissue and gently cleaning your face. You grab another one and blow your nose, cleaning afterwards.

"You're moving in with me," he says with finality.

You blink at him, shocked.

"What?"

"You're moving in with me. When the house's empty, we're taking all your shit. You'll never go back there. You'll never see him again."

You feel your heart flutter in your chest, hope flaring like crazy, unable to tame it down.

But for the first time in your life, you don't feel like you have to tame it down.

Swallowing, you nod. "Okay," you whisper in a small, hopeful voice.

He smiles gently at you, his hand reaching for your cheek and his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Good."

He kisses you softly, as if sealing the deal, and you sigh against his lips, relaxing for what feels like the first time in all your years lived.

You feel free.

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mejaemin · 2 days ago

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right here ₊˚⊹♡

wc: 1.2k summary: what seventeen’s love is like ♡ warnings: ot13 (separately), fluff, some members mention trauma/sadness but nothing overly explicit, a bunch of cuteness and love <3 an: happy one year to me and svt 🤍 they are so, so incredibly special to me. in many ways they’re my saviors, and i’m so grateful that i was able to find them. i wouldn’t be who i am today if it weren’t for their presence in my life, so here is a little something to celebrate this milestone

love with seungcheol is like a breath of fresh air. being with him feels like a weight is lifted off your shoulders, allowing you to finally breathe and rest easy. for him, too, both yours and his weight of responsibility evens out like it’s placed on a scale, and finally life is a little more manageable. there’s less time to worry and stress about life, or adulting, and more room to love each other fully, without anything weighing you down.

loving jeonghan is never tiring. there’s countless people in your life who can’t read you right, or are always pushing boundaries in ways that irk you. people are a lot to handle, and you often find yourself pulling away to avoid dealing with that. jeonghan is different. he listens, observes, far beyond the surface that is what most people are seeing. he makes it so there’s nothing that makes you want to create distance. he knows you, and always shows the side of him that you may need in the moment.

love with joshua feels safe. there’s no room for fear with him! his patience is so healing, he’ll always make sure you live with no regrets, helping you live your life to the fullest. he encourages you to step out of your shell with the sweetest smile, standing by your side like a grounding pillar to help you along the way. you feel safe with him, because you know he’ll be there to guide you through any big feelings, or scary situations, like a crutch. or a warm hug, he’s there to make you feel safe and comfortable all the time.

love with junhui makes you feel special. he pays attention to you, makes you feel seen in ways you never have before. he knows all your little habits and your fears, and always makes a note of them so he can tend to you how you need. being with him means someone’s always looking out for you, ready to pull you from a situation or help you through it without even asking for help. he sees you, and makes you feel like someone actually cares enough to notice you, and he does.

loving soonyoung heals every part of your being. not just your inner child, but every stage of your life that wasn’t able to fully flourish. his bold, childish personality makes it easy to feel comfortable in your skin. he encourages you to be yourself, letting those hidden parts of you come out so you can finally let loose and enjoy your life. looking in the mirror will always bring you to tears, but they’ve evolved into something happier. everything you disliked about yourself, inside and out, has turned to something beautiful with soonyoung’s kind words and loving energy helping to heal your mind.

love with wonwoo is liberating. he has a sort of emotional intelligence that cleanses your mind, relieving it of negativity and pulling away any insecurities the same way your comb rids your hair of knots. your emotions, your thoughts, they all felt so muddy, so negative, until wonwoo gave you his thoughts and showed you his way of viewing life. he’s changed your ideals, helped you find a healthier way of thinking, and for that you’re so grateful, because life feels easy, and more free.

love with jihoon is like speaking your own language. there’s only one person who gets him, and it’s you. people on the outside may think he’s the worst boyfriend ever, but it’s because they don’t know him. you understand how he works, how he loves, and sometimes it’s in silence. sometimes his love comes in the form of a glass of water being wordlessly passed your way, in the form of a song, or a hand on your thigh. his love is often given to you in silence, and not many people understand that except for you.

love with seokmin is like flowing water. free, moving how it likes, unaffected by things around it. he’s not afraid to love you loudly, and neither are you. there’s no need to be anyone else but yourself with him, and vice versa. some people might see it as cringy, or too much, but between the two of you, it’s everything you’ve ever needed. all the weird, silly, chaotic love is what fills your heart abundantly. it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, being weird and authentic with seokmin is what makes you happy.

loving mingyu never leaves you feeling lonely. he has a clinginess that isn’t too much, but just enough for you to feel loved all the time. when you’re apart, even if it’s just for a few hours, there isn’t a second where he isn’t thinking about you. he’ll send a million text messages of little life updates. anyone he’s spending time with will hear your name at least a hundred times, and you’ll definitely hear a complaint from them. it’s okay though, you know he has so much love to give you, and it’s always welcome.

minghao’s love makes you feel worthy. he always takes care of you, never lets you lift a finger, carrying all the weight of responsibility with a smile. of course, he never lets it overwhelm him, not that it ever does, because he enjoys caring for you. he’s always there to do the hard stuff, and the easy. you’re his whole world, and for as long as you’re together, he’ll spend the entirety of that time serving you. he pays attention to you so well, and it feels so good to know that you’re worth someone’s time in such a way.

love with seungkwan is healing. you’re both not very vocal in your emotions, and it was something you quickly bonded over. it’s still not that often that you open, but when you need to, seungkwan stepped up to be that person for you. you help him in the same way, and with someone to help dissect all your thoughts and feelings, it ultimately helped heal you. loving seungkwan helped you become more in tune with your emotions, as it did for him, and it feels so amazing to have a love like that.

vernon’s love is unconditional. not that the others’ aren’t, but it’s something incredibly special with him. he’s a simple guy, he likes what he likes, and that’s that. your interests may be different, extremely different at that, yet he doesn’t care. you could be polar opposites, nearly incompatible, and he’ll still love you. he might learn to like your interests, and you might learn to like his, but know that he’ll always love you with his all. it doesn’t matter if you love something he hates. he’ll learn to love it, because knowing you enjoy it is enough of an incentive to tolerate it.

love with chan means you’re always being looked out for. tired? here’s his shoulder! your bags look kind of heavy, he’ll take them for you. need a hug? his arms are always, always open. he was raised by twelve brothers who showed him how to care for another person, and now that he has you, someone he can love and take care of forever, he’s so eager to show off his skills. he’s a firm believer in the sidewalk rule, and always guides you with a firm, gentle hand on your waist. his attentiveness makes you feel fragile, but important, all in the best way.

svt 🏷️ @coquettejunnie @prettymoles

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atinyslittleworld · 2 days ago

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Studio 3

hongjoong x f!reader

Summary: One late night in the studio, your forgotten charger leads to a confession neither of you were ready for—but one that changes everything.

Word Count: 700

Genre: angst-turned-soft, slow burn, confessional, almost kiss

Warnings: none, just a lot of aching emotion and unspoken feelings

You only came back for your charger.

You’d left it plugged in under the mixing desk hours ago, during chaos and rehearsals and caffeine-fueled costume runs. The building was empty now, lights dimmed, silence thick in the corridors — the kind of quiet that wraps itself around your shoulders like a blanket you didn’t ask for.

Except, when you pass by Studio 3… There’s music.

Not blasting. Not polished. Just a piano, looping soft chords like an exhale. Like a sigh someone’s been holding in all day.

You pause at the door.

He’s inside. Hongjoong.

Hair messy. Hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Face dimly lit by the soft glow of his laptop screen. He’s mouthing something — lyrics maybe. Or prayers. You’re never sure with him.

You knock, once.

His head lifts fast — startled — but when he sees you, his eyes soften immediately. His lips twitch into that crooked little smile that always feels like it wasn’t meant for anyone else.

“You’re still here?” he asks.

“Forgot my charger.” You nod toward the desk. “...And heard music.”

He hums. “Guess I wasn’t being as quiet as I thought.”

You step inside carefully, like any movement too loud might shatter the mood entirely. “What are you working on?”

He glances at the screen. “It’s… not for anything. Just a song.”

“For fun?”

Hongjoong gives a half-shrug. “For sanity, maybe.”

You sit on the edge of the couch behind him, watching his fingers hover over the keyboard. The music is on loop — soft, simple, unresolved. Waiting for something.

“It sounds like a love song,” you say quietly.

His fingers still.

A beat of silence passes. Then another.

He turns slowly in his chair, until he’s facing you fully.

And then, just like that — no drama, no buildup, no fireworks — he says it:

“I think about you when I write love songs.”

You blink.

Your heart stutters. Your breath catches somewhere mid-throat. “...What?”

Hongjoong’s voice doesn’t waver. Not even a little.

“It always ends up being you,” he says. “Even when I don’t mean for it to be.”

He’s not looking away. He’s never been this still around you. There’s something naked in the way he says it — something that feels like tearing open a sealed envelope just to let you read it.

“Joong…” you whisper, because it’s all you can manage.

“I’ve been trying to keep it in,” he admits. “Because it’s not safe, right? Not with the cameras. Not with the fans. Not when we live in the eye of everyone else’s expectations.”

He exhales.

“But then you show up in my studio. At 2AM. And you hear a song that was never meant to be heard. And now you’re here. And I can’t lie anymore.”

You look at him, your chest tight, your thoughts louder than they’ve ever been.

He continues.

“Every lyric I’ve written that ever meant anything... it’s been you.” A breath. “I’m tired of writing around it.”

Your voice shakes. “So don’t.”

His eyebrows lift just a little.

You walk closer — slowly — until you’re standing between his knees, close enough to hear his heartbeat echo in the silence.

“Don’t write around it,” you whisper. “Write me.”

His lips part, like he’s not sure if this is real.

And you don’t kiss.

Not yet.

But your hand finds his. Your fingers intertwine with his, and he holds on like he’s been waiting all year to do it.

His forehead leans against your stomach, and he lets out a breathless laugh — soft and overwhelmed and maybe a little in love.

“You’re gonna ruin me.”

You smile.

“You already wrote the song, didn’t you?”

He nods against you.

“...Do I get to hear it?”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you. His eyes are glassy in that honest way — not tears, just everything he’s been carrying, finally allowed to be seen.

“Only if you stay,” he says. “Just for a little while.”

You squeeze his hand.

“For as long as you want.”

#ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong imagines #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon imagines #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong

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myownwholewildworld · 8 hours ago

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a man called joel (part 2)

↪ a "a man called otto" inspired fic ― jackson!joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist | AO3 summary: worried about your exchange with joel, you decide to go to tommy's house, see if there's somthing you can do to help. little do you know, it just makes things worse. author's note: hi! tyvm to everyone who has shown some love to this series so far <3 it's taken me a bit but here's part 2! i'm posting it before i change my mind haha. please heed the warnings and if you like what you read, please consider interacting with this post! love you all <3 tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. topics of death/murder and losing a child. dealing with the grief and guilt joel feels about sarah, ellie & tess. suicide attempt. tommy, maria and benji make an appearance. joel being a good uncle but a dick to everyone else. arguments. mean/cruel!joel. there's a suicide letter from joel to tommy. dual pov. reader is female, has hair. no use of y/n. joel is in his late fifties and reader in her 40s. wordcount: ~7.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

He was such a failure, he couldn’t even kill himself properly. What a fucking shame of a human being.

After closing the door right in your face, Joel trudged towards the couch in his living room, exhausted, mind still buzzing from the near-death experience. He sighed heavily, eyeing the noose and broken hook on the floor, pieces of plasterboard dotted around the mess where he had laid just a few minutes before.

He should have died. Death had been so close, within reach… At his fingertips. And now felt distant again, like a dream he’d woken up too early from. And despite the heartache, the vision of Sarah silently begging him not to do it, Joel needed to chase that illusion. Yearned for another peaceful moment with his daughter, longed for the moment he would see her again. Alive and young and well. Like no time had passed, like she’d been by his side for the past two decades—his personal guardian angel.

His heart was still mourning the loss, his pipedream gone. Hadn’t thought of God and Heaven in a very long while, his wavering faith lost when Sarah was taken away from him. But now, perhaps, there was a chance that Sarah was waiting for him. Somewhere, somehow—and Joel was determined to find her. Whatever it cost—even his life.

Had you not interrupted, his dream may as well have come true. But the banging on the door and window along with your incessant calls had ended up filtering into his brain. Like a motherfucking, unwanted wake-up call. You’d brought him back when he truly just wanted to die, to reunite with his baby girl. Damn you.

He’d only had to try again. Try harder next time. Because he wasn’t done. Not yet, not until he put an end to his own misery. Joel was determined to finish what he had started, and nothing nor no one could stop him.

Not even you, with your pleading doe eyes. His stomach twisted at the thought of your hand reaching up to his face. How your eyes roved over his neck, worryingly and intensely. How your nose scrunched a little and your lips fell into a pout. How your brows creased with concern for a stranger, an old man you didn’t know. Joel could only hope you hadn’t put the pieces of the picture together.

His heavy sight wandered around the room, his hand palming the wrist where Sarah’s watch rested.

Time.

“Fuck, what’s the time?” Joel mouthed, throat dry and tender, while he stood up.

In the kitchen, the clock on the wall told him he was already late. Ten minutes late to a dinner he hadn’t planned on attending. And now he’d have to go, pretend nothing had happened, because of you.

Joel walked towards the door, his back stiff like a wooden plank. His left knee cracked loudly, and a burning thunder went up his thigh. At the same time, the dull pain on the back of his head shot all the way through his skull, piercing his eyeballs. The sudden sting almost made him lose his footing, feeling dizzy and unsteady. He crouched down a little, his hand grasping the armrest of the couch as Joel fought an unexpected wave of nausea.

The fall had definitely been a bad one. Regrettably, not bad enough to have him killed. Only if he had hit his head a bit harder…

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his eyes together while bile rose up his throat, leaving an acidic, bitter taste on his tongue. Groaning, he palmed the nape of his neck and then a bit further up, just to notice how his fingertips became wet. Frowning, Joel squinted one eye open to inspect his fingers.

Blood. Fucking great. Now he’d have to deal with that before going to Tommy’s. And of course, he blamed you. For all of it.

Thirty minutes later, Joel was at his brother’s doorstep, curls damp and nose cold. Rubbing his gloved hands together, he blew some warm air into his cupped palms to heat up his face, mind drifting back to today’s events.

“Joel?”

His eyes focused, travelling up from his boots to the frowning face in front of him. Seemed like his little brother had already spoken and was waiting on his reply.

“Are you gonna come in or are you gonna stay out there in the cold?” Tommy asked with a huff, moving aside to let him in.

“Right. Mind’s somewhere else today,” Joel mumbled an excuse while Tommy closed the door behind him.

“You’re late,” Tommy warned. “Maria ain’t happy, turkey’s going cold.”

Joel hmphed, removing his gloves and then his coat. Hung them on the hook by the door. When he turned around, he almost bumped into Tommy, who was standing too close.

“What’s that?” his brother’s eyes squinted, head tilted.

“What’s what?”

“Your neck. It’s… bruising. The heck have you been doing?” Tommy’s fingers reached up to the neckline of his shirt, pushing it down to have a better look. Just as you had tried to do.

Joel swatted his hand away, huffing dismissively. His skin crawled, the idea of being touched unbearable, even by a friendly hand.

“‘S nothing. Had an accident, that’s all,” he mumbled, sauntering towards the dining room.

“An accident? Did you accidentally put a rope around your neck or what?” Tommy laughed at his own occurrence, palming Joel’s shoulder as he walked besides him.

Internally, Joel flinched—a gesture he didn’t let break through the surface. “I have. I’m tired, brother. I want this to be over. It’s… I feel like my life is slipping away through my fingers. I’ve survived insufferable things, and it just feels wrong now. I’m drained of purpose. I’m tired, so very tired. I need’a rest—lay my head on the pillow and drift away… forever. See my babygirl, hug Tess. God, Tess…” he thought. But those words never escaped his mind, tucked away in the confines of his guilt, of his dread. Of his desperation.

Perhaps he should have spoken then—crack the shell of his feelings open, ask for help. But what had help gotten him so far besides heartache? Besides an overwhelming sense of failure? Speaking to Gail had only made things worse for him, forcing him to paint the picture of a crude reality with a clarity he’d been evading for years. Decades.

But he didn’t speak—wouldn’t burden his brother with his thoughts. Because it wouldn’t make a difference, Joel had made up his mind. No words would change everything he’d done, all the decisions that had led him to Death’s door.

“Benji’s been asking about his uncle the whole day. He’s got two new toys, a couple of miniature dinosaurs. Ellie gave them to him this morning,” Tommy happily chirped away, unaware of the hole he was digging in Joel’s chest. Deep and throbbing like an open, infected wound—a wound that would never heal, that would fester until his heart would rot past mending. Past salvation.

Was Ellie getting rid of everything he’d gifted her? Was she trying to erase the memory of him? Of everything they had shared up until that fateful day?

Joel had found those dinosaur toys in their visit to the Wyoming Museum of Science and History for her sixteenth birthday. Ellie had been so impressed with the life-size sculpture of the Tyrannosaurus Rex in the thick woods of the museum, Joel knew she would appreciate to have those as a memento. She’d been so elated with his gift, those two miniatures had had a special place of on her bedroom’s shelves up until she moved out to the garage.

And now she had gotten rid of them, passed them on to Benji. “At least she’s not thrown them away,” Joel weighed in his mind. Had he found those in the trash… it would have dented his rugged heart even more, that muscle condemned to the forgetfulness of death.

“Uncle!” Benji jumped off the chair, running towards him with his arms extended.

Joel’s whole demeanour shifted, a ray of sunlight slipping through the cracks of his darkness. Benji was a blessing in his life, loved him as his own. His nephew would never fill the hole of his loss but softened the edges of the gaping wound in his chest.

He knelt on the creaking wooden planks, arms outstretched to give Benji a big hug. The little Miller laughed, the sound so full of life, Joel wondered when was the last time he felt so at ease, so problem-free.

“Look! Ellie gave me these!” and then Benji shot off his embrace, skipping towards the table.

Besides an almost empty plate—Benji always had an earlier dinner than the adults and already had a dinosaur-themed pyjamas on—laid the two toys that held a special place in his heart. Benji tiptoed near the table and managed to grab them before he returned to Joel, still kneeling on the floor.

“This one’s my favourite, Uncle. Ellie said it’s a Tydono… I dunno, something-saurus! Big, big dino, he was the king of the jungle! Would eat anyone in his path. And look at this one!” Benji kept on babbling, explaining everything Ellie had told him about the figurines.

Joel listened attentively, a softness tugging at the corners of his mouth. His nephew was recounting the same stories he’d chronicled for Ellie three years ago. A part of him—the one that held to a fragile shard of hope—wanted to believe that Ellie still thought fondly of him, that perhaps she didn’t hate him as much as she’d yelled.

“Benji, it’s bedtime,” Maria chipped in, entering the dining room from the kitchen. “Hi, Joel.”

“Hey,” he greeted back with a nod, eyes going back to the Brachiosaurus toy Benji was still talking about, purposefully ignoring his mom. “I can put him to sleep, read him a bedtime story.”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. Thanks,” Maria agreed. “But quick, I’m reheating the turkey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel agreed. “Come on, big guy.”

Joel picked Benji up, his knees and lower back loudly protesting when he stood up. Helped his nephew get into bed, read a passage of his favourite children’s book and stealthily walked out of his room when Benji drifted off. He’d enjoyed this bedtime routines with Sarah—but unlike Benji, she would get too excited about the story and ramble about it endlessly. She’d talk so much, she’d tire herself out and fall asleep halfway through a sentence.

With bated breath and an aching heart again, Joel carefully closed the door behind him with a soft click. When he arrived downstairs, Tommy was carving the last of the turkey and setting it down on a plate.

Joel reached for the dish and mumbled a “thank you” before he sat down at the table with his brother and sister-in-law. For a moment, the silence was hefty and thick, like trying to breath through a wall of water.

“Tommy said you have a new neighbour. Don’t scare her away like you did with the last one,” Maria warned him, a mighty brow cocked, looking at him over the fork she held.

Joel huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Agnes was a pain in the ass. Still is. In the span of a week, she knocked my mailbox down twice, and not by mistake,” Joel shook his head in disapproval, stuffing his mouth with the turkey.

“That’s what you said. Both times I checked, your mailbox was still standing,” Tommy butted in, a glitter of joke in his eyes.

“Because I fixed it before you came round,” he hissed, eyes averted, focused on the food.

Had he been looking up, Joel would have caught the hint of worry in Maria’s eyes. How she’d thrown a sideway glance at Tommy when she saw the bruising around his neck. How Tommy had shrugged, downplaying her concern.

Solitude is a silent storm that breaks down all our dead branches.

And the silent storm was brewing with every metal clink of cutlery. A storm Joel had been avoiding, playing ignorant to how things looked on the outside.

“How’s everything with Ellie?” Maria asked out of nowhere.

Joel’s heart plummeted to the bottom of his stomach—a strangling twist contorting his entrails when the simmering anxiety took a hold of him. But he couldn’t show it—how this all affected him, how the solitude wrecked him, playing mind games with him. As if Death was mindlessly toying with him.

“We’re good,” was his automatic answer.

“We ain’t blind, brother,” Tommy intervened. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Fuck everyone then and their stupid gossiping. People are fucking bored in this town if that’s the only thing they can talk about. Don’t they have anything better to worry about? We are fine,” Joel barked, throwing the fork at his plate, hand shaking. “‘S just a phase.”

“Problems don’t just resolve themselves if you don’t talk about them, Joel. They don’t disappear; they just grow bigger until they are blown out of proportion. If you need us to talk to her…” Maria offered calmly, unfazed by his sudden outburst.

“I said we are fucking okay, alright?” Joel’s tone grew louder, frustrated, the legs of his chair screeching against the wooden floor when he pushed it back to stand up. “Mind your fucking business, both of ya.”

“Hey. Watch your fucking mouth!” Tommy stood up, one hand pressed on the table while the other pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You don’t come to this house to disrespect us like that.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t come at all,” Joel gritted out, the tips of his ears hot with anger.

“Yeah, perhaps you fucking shouldn’t!”

“Both of you, calm down,” Maria spoke serenely, the only one keeping a cool demeanour. “No one is getting kicked out of our home, Tommy. You’re welcome here, Joel. We are just worried, that’s all. We don’t need to talk about it now, I’m sure you’ll come around when you’re ready.”

Just as Joel was about to reply, a gentle knock on the front door quickly dissipated the argument. Surely for the better—deep down, Joel appreciated the concern, his rage misplaced.

“I’ll get it,” Tommy muttered.

You twisted your hands resting on your lap, the loud noises of the community hall not reaching your ears at all. You were physically there, but your mind was elsewhere.

You really had tried to keep your mind busy for the rest of the day, pull out some dying weeds before running back inside to clean. But every time a task required some sort of focus, you just couldn’t do it. Your hands were too flimsy, trembling. An impending sense of doom had taken over your soul and you just couldn’t shake it off.

Joel Miller wasn’t well. So far, that was everything you knew. The whole exchange you had with him, how he became instantly defensive when you mentioned his fall… Any other person would have admitted what happened or at least downplayed if they were embarrassed. Not him, though. If your fingers had reached any closer to his neck, you were sure he would have bitten your hand off.

Perhaps he was just a grumpy old man. The type who would bark at every neighbour if they stepped on the grass or if something dropped from their back pockets, instantly accusing them of littering.

The type who would not let anyone help him, not even when he wasn’t okay. And that was what worried you the most. You had seen people falling to their demises just because they were too proud to admit they needed a hand. But his sin wasn’t pride, it was… something that was luring him into the dark. Something personal and painful. Something that was eating him alive.

A sudden noise startled you, jumping on the wooden bench, derailing your train of thought.

“Sorry!” A kid exclaimed happily, grabbing the football leaning against the leg of the bench.

You smiled at her, heart warm with memories of a life lived what seemed a century ago. A sparkle caught your eye—she was wearing a beautiful piece of jewellery around her neck, most probably a hand-me-down from a family member before the outbreak that changed everything.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay!” You replied before the girl giggled and ran away.

With a grin still curling your lips, your mind went back to the topic nagging at the back of your mind: Mister Joel Miller.

There and then, you decided you couldn’t just stand by with your arms crossed. And of course you were not about to knock on his door again, afraid he might actually kick your butt and throw you off his porch. Approaching Tommy was probably wiser, just to see if there was something you could do covertly, perhaps keeping an eye on Joel for him.

Standing up, you thanked the people around you on the table for the warm meal and waved them goodbye. A cacophony of “byes” followed suit—everyone was so nice here, it was like a blanket hugging your heart.

You stood just outside the main door, suddenly realising you didn’t know how to find Tommy. Thankfully, there was a woman smoking outside—Gail, as you found out when she introduced herself—who gave you directions to Tommy and Maria’s house when you explained to her where you wanted to go.

Wrapping yourself in your coat and securing your woolly scarf around your neck, you trudged forward through the thick blanket of fresh snow. A few minutes later you arrived at a cul-de-sac with just a handful of houses, not far from yours. Gail had said that the one you were looking for had a swing bench on the porch.

Scanning the area, you clicked your tongue when you saw it and ran towards the house—your toes were freezing in your winter boots, the cold nipping at the skin of your face. Determined with your mission, you walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

There was a rush of movement on the other side, some loud voices filtering through. Unable to make out what they were talking about, you just patiently waited for someone to open.

A minute later, Tommy appeared under the frame—a pronounced pinch on his brows, his mouth twisting angrily, as if you had inconveniently interrupted a heated argument.

Clearing your throat, you took a step back, realising this might not be the best time.

“Uh, hi, Tommy. Sorry, I didn’t mean to— I can come back lat—” you stumbled over your own words, feeling awkward and out of place.

“Hey,” Tommy greeted you by name. You were surprised he remembered, considering how many people he’d welcomed in. “Don’t worry. We were just having family dinner, you know how those go…”

You nodded with a weak smile—yes, you did. But it had been a long time since you sat around a table with your loved ones. A very long time, indeed.

“Who’s it?” A deep, husky voice inquired from the adjacent room.

You knew who it was before the booted steps betrayed his presence, your heart racing wildly in your chest as your mind tried to come up with some sort of excuse for your visit.

You gaped, a shaky sigh escaping your lips, when the source of your worries appeared behind Tommy. The reason you were here—to tell Tommy you thought Joel wasn’t okay, that he needed help. And you were doing it so behind Joel’s back.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he barked bitterly, nostrils flaring and a hand on his brother’s shoulder to push him out of his way. “Huh?!”

His unrequited rage took you aback. Stepping further back, you almost lost your footing with one of the steps but managed to grab onto the handrail before you fell backwards.

Why didn’t you think of this? That Joel might be here for dinner? What were you thinking?

You stared at Joel, then at a surprised Tommy, then back at Joel, all the while you just wanted to throw up your heart at their feet.

“I asked you a goddamn question,” Joel snapped, walking out onto the porch.

Your heart sank to your stomach. He was truly pissed off at you. Perhaps rightfully so—being sneaky like this was not a good start to any friendship.

“Whoa, whoa! Calm the fuck down, where are your fucking manners?!” Tommy quickly intervened, grabbing at his brother’s shoulder and pushing him back away from you. “What’s wrong with you today?!”

Your eardrums throbbed with the increased blood pressure, your heart pumping violently in your chest. You knew you had erred, but didn’t deserve such dreadful treatment—your intentions were pure, coming from a good place. You just wanted to help, make sure that Joel was surrounded by a loving support system.

As your mind raced and the two brothers confronted each other, Maria, Tommy’s partner, made an appearance. Her aura almost instantly put you at ease, her presence calming.

“Can the both of you keep quiet? You’re gonna wake Benji up,” she scolded them, stepping between the Millers before her eyes found yours. “What’s the matter?” she asked you with a smile, offering you a hand to walk inside with them.

You glanced at both Joel and Tommy, who were obviously locked in on each other, then back at Maria. Letting go of the handrail you were holding onto for dear life, you gestured with your hands.

“It’s nothing. Just a clogged pipe at home, nothing of importance. I can come back tomorrow so you can point me in the direction of someone who can help,” you stumbled over your own words. “I don’t want to interrupt, I’ll leave you guys be.”

“Nonsense,” Maria said, stepping aside to let you in. “Come on in, we were about to have dessert. We’ll send someone first thing tomorrow to help you out.”

“I’m going. M’not hungry,” Joel mumbled, jaw tight like a bow.

Was he leaving because he didn’t want to be in the same room as you? Did he despise you that much with so little interaction? You two had really started off on the wrong foot.

“Don’t be a child, Joel. I’ve got my hands full with Benji already. You’re having dessert too. Let’s go,” Maria reprimanded him, and you felt bad for forcing this situation onto him.

“I can go…”

“No, you’re staying. Everyone’s staying,” and with those final, indisputable words, Tommy, Joe and you followed Maria inside.

The house was warm, the smell inviting—cinnamon mixed with vanilla lingered in the air. The soft orangey shadow the lamps and ceiling lights casted was very comforting, pleasant to the eye. When you followed Maria’s lead into the dining room, you spied some toys scattered on an empty spot on the table. This wasn’t a house, it was a home. Lived in, cared for, full of life. Of hope too—Jackson was a permanent stronghold, a place where families could settle and blossom.

“Any allergies?” Maria asked you, tipping her head towards the empty chair besides Joel in invitation.

“No, none.”

You hesitated, Joel’s discomfort radiating off him, enveloping you. But considering there were no other empty chairs, you had no other option than to sit next to him.

Maria left the room, quickly followed by Tommy. You could hear them bickering in whispers because the silence between Joel and you was loud. Your hands nervously twisted on your lap, deciding whether to apologise or just put the matter to rest.

Before you could make up your mind, Maria and Tommy returned. The younger Miller was carrying a tray with some delicious cinnamon rolls, while Maria set down some porcelain mugs on the table.

“Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea, please.”

Her hospitality was touching, especially considering the state of the world outside Jackson’s palisade. You’d only encountered hatred and greed out there, a thirst for power so potent and pungent it would consume a human’s soul within seconds. Jackson and its people felt… different—neighbourly, kind, altruistic. The town seemed to run smoothly.

Maria and you did your best to fill the silence with chitchat once you’d relaxed a little. On the other hand, the brothers appeared to be in some sort of mean staring contest between themselves. Which, truth be told, made you feel a tad better—perhaps Joel wasn’t really mad at you but at Tommy, and you just happened to be in the crossfire.

“Yeah, of course I would like to help,” you said instantly when Maria mentioned that they were one person down on tomorrow’s afternoon patrol. “I’ve been out there for longer than I care to admit, I know my way around this area too.”

“Perfect. Joel’s patrol partner is in the infirmary with a fever. I was going to cancel it but if you don’t mind joining him, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

You almost choked on the last bite of cinnamon roll, which you had to force down by sipping on your tea. Being on patrol with Joel did not sound appealing at all—not because you would be uncomfortable, but because you knew he would.

“Listen—” Joel began to complain, but as soon as Maria shot a warning glance at him, he stopped right in his tracks. “Alright.”

“It’s settled then,” Maria concluded with finality, she wasn’t going to let Joel argue with her.

Fifteen minutes later, you were saying your goodbyes to the Millers and thanking them for having you. When the door closed behind you, you ventured a bashful look in Joel’s direction.

“We don’t need to walk together,” you gave him a way out of this uncomfortable situation.

“You want to walk the streets alone at night?” Joel questioned, raising a thick, silvery brow.

“Do I have something to worry about?”

“As idyllic as Jackson is, not every single one of us are saints.”

The veiled truth behind his words confirmed what you suspected—Joel didn’t see himself as one of the “good guys”, as worthy of the tranquillity this town offered. How much truth there was to that… you’d only have to unearth it yourself.

“Do… do I need to worry about being alone with you then?”

“What? No,” his reaction was instantaneous. His eyes had widened when his brain caught up with his own words. “Fuck, no. That’s not what I meant. I just— Well, you shouldn’t trust someone just because they are from Jackson.”

“It’s okay, Joel.” A little smile had softened your lips, his mortification somewhat endearing. “We can walk together. I trust you, I think.”

Joel hmphed but didn’t oppose. In silence you walked, but this time wasn’t as excruciating as you had feared. Perhaps he was a man of few words, and that was okay. You understood that when there was nothing of importance to say, it was better to remain silent.

Arriving at your street, your paths parted when it was time to hide in your respective homes. But before you disappeared through your door, you turned around.

Joel was standing in the middle of the road, watching you go up the steps of your porch—as if he was making sure you were getting home safely. When he found himself caught, Joel shoved his hands in the pockets of his furry coat and veered.

“Joel?” You waited for him to face you. “I’m sorry. I know how that looked like, but I wasn’t trying to… I just, you know—”

“It’s okay. I overreacted. Hope they can sort out the pipe for you tomorrow. Don’t be late for patrol,” and with that warning, he trudged forward through the snow and climbed up the steps of his porch.

You pouted—he’d misunderstood. You meant to apologise, “I wasn’t trying to go behind your back. I just worry unnecessarily, I’m sorry I overstepped your boundaries.” But he didn’t give you a chance.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed the door open and locked it behind your back. There had to be something in this house you could block a pipe with, so the plumber’s trip wouldn’t be in vain.

It gnawed at him—how you cheerfully tried to make some small talk while the only thing he could do was grunt and huff in response. Joel wasn’t trying to be rude on purpose, he just didn’t enjoy the proximity of humanity anymore. Not that he had been a big fan of socialisation in the past anyway, but since losing almost everyone he held dear, Joel didn’t see the appeal in connecting with someone else.

And after his confrontation with Tommy, the abyss separating him from the rest of the world just cracked further apart. Everything he touched, died—not everything, but everyone. As if Death was chasing after him, patiently waiting to claim him.

Death followed him everywhere, sniffing at the cuffs of his pants, but never deciding to give him the final clutch of its claws.

Joel was tired of this waiting game. Wanted it over, to be put to rest. Besides Sarah’s grave back in their Austin home. He’d even dared to put those thoughts into words a few days ago.

As soon as the ink had dried on the parchment, Joel had regretted it—asking such a thing from Tommy was cruel, evil. Selfish. But deep down, it was his dying wish; he truly believed that his bones wouldn’t find solace sitting alone six feet under, that Sarah’s presence would sooth the ache he’d left behind in this world.

He’d also written a note to Ellie. But that one… it wrecked his soul just remembering it—how the tears had blurred his vision, some falling onto the paper, smudging his calligraphy. All the things he wished to say when the silence between them would stretch, the unspoken, broken words that would hang in the void, pestering and rotting what little was left of their bond.

Did he hide them well?

“Do you like to read?” your question caught him off guard. “I saw you with a book when I met you yesterday.”

Joel looked at you askance, riding beside him. Blinking rapidly and watching his twelve, he’d hoped you hadn’t noticed the dampness in his eyes—the only visible tale of his agony.

“Mhm, sometimes,” Joel conceded, sharpening his senses to ensure the surroundings were safe.

“Anything you’ve read lately?” you insisted, your mare coming too close to his horse, rubbing necks together, neighing softly.

His stallion didn’t appreciate the caress, pulling from the reins and swaying away. The subtlety of the animals’ exchange didn’t go unnoticed by any of you, your expression wavering for a moment—were you so hurt too when he openly rejected your hand yesterday afternoon?

“Easy, Old Beardy,” Joel whispered, leaning forward to pat the horse’s neck. When the animal calmed down, he straightened his back and gave you a stern nod. “Yeah. Been reading One Hundred Years of Solitude. Dunno if you’ve heard of it.”

“Are you kidding?” your hearty laugh piqued his interest, a frown creasing his brows. “I love Gabrial García Márquez’s writing. My favourite book is Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Have you read it?”

“‘M afraid not,” was his succinct reply.

You were insistent, he’d give you that.

“Oh, I have a copy you can borrow. It’s been with me since, well, all of this happened,” you gestured around you. “While I was working in my family’s garden center, I was also getting my degree in literature. My thesis was going to be about Gabo’s writing, actually.”

“You didn’t finish?”

“The outbreak happened in my third year. Didn’t have a chance,” your excitement died off with your words, a pout painted on your lips.

“Sorry,” he apologised, even though he wasn’t sure why.

“It’s okay. I’ve made my peace with losing the life I had before that ominous day.”

You’d made your peace. What an alien thought—one Joel couldn’t grasp. It’d take a very strong, determined person to let go of the tethers of the past. Perhaps you were braver than him, at least on the outside.

Was he the only one who crumbled to his knees whenever the memories flooded back? Had age weakened him? Broken him past mending?

“Anyways, about the book you’ve been reading! There are so many beautiful passages in there. Any favourites so far?”

You were assuming he’d only read it once, but reality was, he’d lost count.

“Yeah, uhm…” Joel cleared his throat, the words coming back to him as if he’d been mentally reciting them for weeks. “He felt himself forgotten, not with the irremediable forgetfulness of the heart, but with a different kind of forgetfulness, which was more cruel and irrevocable and which he knew very well because it was the forgetfulness of death.”

He should have thought before that quote slipped. To anyone, it’d have been a quirky answer, a dark one at that. But you, it seemed, had picked up on the sadness of his heartfelt delivery—how it spoke more about himself than he’d ever admit—because the silence that followed was telling, consuming.

“It… it is a beautiful quote,” you whispered, and Joel felt the full weight of your eyes on him. “The forgetfulness of death is what we all are condemned to if we don’t nudge a dent on the people we leave behind when we pass. Is that…?”

Joel raised a hand, signalling to halt.

A faint sound that he’d grown too familiar to—a clicking, throaty call. Subtle, but enough to make his senses flare, the hair on the back of his neck stand. As far as Joel could tell, it might only be one, but the noise the clicker emitted could summon others.

Reeling your mount closer to his, you listened in silence. And when Joel’s eyes searched for yours, you gave him an understanding nod.

“We’re too close to Jackson,” you muttered.

“Yeah, gotta take care of it before it becomes a bigger problem,” Joel dismounted Old Beardy and you followed suit, tying both horses to a rail guarding the dilapidated building you both were circumventing. “Go right, sweep the area. Make sure there’re no others. I’ll go left.”

You didn’t question his decision—the alertness in your orbs bright enough to make him understand you’d encountered hundreds of clickers. Your body language had shifted too, your stance stiffer, your shoulders squared as you unsheathed a knife from your belt.

He did the same and turned around, hunting knife on hand.

The building was a wooden structure, possibly an old shed for the farmland besides it. The wood had rotten, blackened with the passage of time. The ceiling was half collapsed, an outbuilding with barn doors attached to the side.

The clicking became clearer as Joel sauntered towards the outbuilding, fingers clutching around the hilt. Crouching a little, his free hand caressed the O-shaped rusty handle and pulled, taking a step back to put some distance between himself and the threat.

A woman laid among the mouldy straw, wriggling in pain. She was in the first stages of the infection, at the point where one could still see their humanity. She had greying brown hair, wavy and long.

It wasn’t her suffering what froze him in place, but her eyes. In the darkness of the shed, they were green as a blooming meadow. The same eyes he’d woken up to for thirteen years—Tess’s. The similarities were striking, like a dagger of the past staring right at him.

Since Tess’s death, Joel had drowned the memories of her, locked them away in a godforsaken drawer of his mind and threw away the key. Because he’d never done good by her—never said what she really meant to him, how she kept his mind cool and his path straight. And in the decade they’d spent together, Joel never dared to say the three words that would have settled their relationship. Never told her how much he cared for her either—because he was a man of acts of service, wasn’t eloquent enough with the spoken word.

And then she died, sacrificing herself for the greater good, for him and Ellie to escape unscathed. Succumbed to clickers alone, with no one by her side. Without a chance to right the wrong he’d carried in his soul, his heart.

Had she known? Joel regretted never whispering an “I love you” when she’d fallen asleep in his embrace. Never opened up to her—his feelings too messed up, entangled with a fear of loss, with a caution he’d learnt after losing Sarah. Because he’d thought that if he ever said the words out loud, Joel would lose Tess. Because everyone he touched, died.

And that wasn’t the worst part, not telling her how much she meant to him. It was how Joel had stepped back away from her when she walked towards him after becoming infected, how he’d built a wall to guard his own sanity, without considering how Tess must have felt. How she’d whispered “oops, right?” to hide her own hurt at his rejection.

“I never asked you for anything. Not to feel the way I felt—”

How his breath had hitched after muttering a breathless negative. “No, you didn’t have to ask, Tess. I do feel the same way. You mean the world to me—we’ve been together for thirteen years. How could I not?”

But instead he’d been too stunted to speak, to voice his feelings, to crack the dam he’d been hiding behind for so many years.

“Joel, save who you can save,” and with that, he’d grabbed Ellie and got the fuck out. Didn’t even hesitate, didn’t mutter a goodbye, didn’t look back—his protective instinct taking over, needing to take Ellie to safety.

It still haunted him. Wrecked him even to only think about how he’d wronged her till the very end. He was a bastard, deserving of all the bad things that had happened so far. This was the universe’s retribution for all his wrongdoing.

The woman’s head snapped around in his direction, a deep clicking sound reverberating in her chest. Slowly she got up, dragging one of her feet along the straw, head tilting sideways in an unnatural, mechanical way.

And Joel simply froze. Was this poetic justice? How he was supposed to die? Perhaps it was—the end would most definitely be fitting. It was what he deserved. For being emotionally stunt, for being selfish, for being a coward, for being a murderer. For existing in this world and feeding into its malice. For being a part of the problem.

His shallow breath caught, a flood of memories drowning him—everyone he lost, appearing in front of his eyes like a grotesque newsreel. It felt like a heavy stone was crushing his chest, his lungs constrained within his ribs, his heart pounding fiercely while sweat gathered atop of his brows. Panic bubbling, clouding his mind to a point where Joel couldn’t think straight anymore.

The clicker approached, and this time, he didn’t step back away from her—from Tess. Joel dropped the knife, the woman snarling at him, his eyes shutting close.

The prospect of dying wasn’t daunting, but strangely soothing, his heartrate slowing down. Welcomed.

“Joel? Joel!”

A commotion took him back to the present—you had decked the clicker to the floor, the hilt of your knife gruesomely protruding out of her temple.

Joel blinked—not in relief, but gutted at the lost chance. The irreversibility of such a death would have been a balsam to the open wounds of his soul.

You got up to your feet and threw yourself at him, blissfully unaware of the situation. Or so he thought. You enveloped him in a crushing hug—your warmth seeping through the thick fabric of your coat, reaching his bones.

“Oh my God, Joel. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Has it bit you?” you stumbled over your own words, frantic with a rush of adrenaline.

Your hands patted his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his chest—your eyes wild with worry, searching for any sign of an infected wound. Inspecting him from head to toe, with a concern he’d not seen in someone’s eyes ever before.

Your eyes finally focused on his face and, for whatever reason, they darkened. Your eyebrows lifted into your forehead, the sadness washing over your features was a heartbreaking sight. As if you cared about him—a complete stranger who had only been rude to you, kept you at arm’s length.

“Joel,” you whispered, your ungloved hand raising up to his face.

This time, he didn’t retreat, still coming to terms with the fact that today he wouldn’t yield to the forgetfulness of death.

Your thumb brushed his cheek, a slow, sweet motion as your lips fell into a thin line, a sorrowful pout curling your mouth.

“Joel, why are you crying? What’s the matter?” you uttered, voice tinged with an anxiety he was feeling deep down in his aching bones.

Joel hadn’t realised the sheer magnitude of his emotions until then. Until your fingertips became wet from his unwanted tears. Then it hit him—not the sadness, but the anger.

“I ain’t crying,” he barked, taking a few steps back, the warmth of your hug turning cold. Running the inside of his elbow through his face, Joel turned away from you. “‘S nothing. I’m fine.”

You looked at him doe-eyed, but with a resolution he feared. You shortened the distance he had imposed, getting dangerously close to him, open hands reaching towards him.

“I said I’m fine!” he shouted at you, losing his composure. “What’s the fucking matter with all of you?! Why doesn’t it register in your fucking brains that I want to be left alone, huh? Is it so fucking difficult to comprehend? Are you fucking stupid or are you just pretending to be? God fucking dammit.”

He snarled like the animal he was—like a scared dog cornered, barking and showing teeth, because he dreaded the gentle hand that approached him.

Dreaded falling to his knees and breaking down in front of you, of anyone.

Dreaded opening the dams of his demons and not being able to herd them back inside.

Dreaded that once he spoke the words out loud, they would only be truer.

His heart was racing again, the vein in his neck bulging, blind with a misplaced rage you didn’t deserve. Deep down, he knew you didn’t. But his fear was louder than his reasoning.

Your whole expression folded, taking a step back away from him. Had Joel been the animal he thought himself to be, he would have smelt your fear. But he didn’t need to—the light behind your eyes dimmed, like a lighthouse running out of power in the middle of a stormy night.

You managed to hide your face from him, veering around without a word to head towards the horses.

Only then Joel realised he’d fucked up. He’d mistakenly taken his fury out on you. He wasn’t mad at you―damn, he wasn’t mad at anyone except himself. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Twice in a row.

“Hey,” Joel called out walking towards you, tone softer with remorse. You quickly glanced at him over your shoulder before your head snapped back to the horse. This time, your eyes transpired no emotion. “Look—”

“I got the message loud and clear, Joel,” you cut him off coldly, getting on your horse. “It’s getting dark. Let’s go back.”

You didn’t wait for him, trotting away before he could get on Old Beardy.

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath, shaking the reins to catch up with you.

taglist: @wow-life-love4 @denisanoemi @wencontre @ccmoonshine @mystickittytaco @peelieblue @guelyury @marisemonteiroo @fangirlcentral1 @layaispunk @brittmb115 @mrsbilicablog @thedilfdiaries @eff4freddie @missadangel @moel-jiller @sunnytuliptime @queenofdisaster12 @lizzie-cakes @pedrofan @ladywraith @jessthebaker @readingiskeepingmegoing @aleariixx @anoverwhelmingdin @prose-before-hoes

98 notes · View notes

goorgeousz · 11 hours ago

Note

so i have a request or idea but i'm sorry to say i didn't think about her in the shower, i thought about her while i was crying lmao🫠🥲

a few days ago i read a book where the protagonist's father treated her terribly:( and her partner tells his father'don't talk to my wife like that' and they leave, he comforts her and is the best husband ever written.🥹🥹

so all I thought about was my big, angry man ✨Hotch✨ maybe they go to a family dinner for the first time and see how the reader's family treats them, belittling their work and stuff like that, until at one point they say like 'we never know how she got someone so as interesting as you Aaron' and he just explodes because cute man defends his lady and he's just grotesque and all to defend her and she's crying because she loves Hotch too much and that he saw so much in her It means a lot because she has never really felt like this. 😭🤍🤍

i hope this helps you, it felt better in my head than when i wrote it.🥹🥹♥️

i love what you do, sending you love!

xoxoxo

to be loved is to be known | aaron hotchner

pairing: bf!aaron hotchner fem!gf!reader

summary: reader didn’t want aaron to meet her family. after one dinner he understands why.

content/tw: established relationship, crying, reader has siblings, toxic family, angst, fluffy ending, reader’s mother makes comments about her weight

word count: 3k

a/n: I absolutely loved your request, best believe I dropped all of my WIPs to write this one (sorry not sorry). I hope whatever reason you were crying about it’s over, but if it isn’t, then I hope this can warm your heart a little. Thank you so much for your request and your kind words!!! Sending much much much love, hugs and kisses!!

all hotch tag: @winyourheartemma

dividers by @uzmacchiato

masterlist <3

You weren’t hoping for a car accident. You weren’t hoping for your boyfriend’s phone to start ringing with a new and very urgent case.

But as you sat in the passenger seat of your boyfriend’s car on the way to your childhood house, you couldn’t help but wish something – anything – got in the way.

It was only a few days prior when Aaron, your boyfriend of almost 7 months, decided to drop the bomb. The ‘I’ve never met your family’ bomb. And later that day, when your mother called you (like she did every Tuesday night) he was with you. He was comfortably seated on your couch, staring at you with puppy eyes as you had the weekly catch-up with your mom (which resumed in talking your ear off about whatever stupid subject was on her mind). So, you couldn’t help but offer a family dinner to introduce them to your boyfriend, to which she, for the first time in a few months, was actually happy and excited about.

The regret hit it like a truck at the exact moment he walked out your door. But there was no way of coming back now, after it was all set up. Aaron seemed actually excited about meeting your family, and you understood that this was probably a big deal for him. In general, actually. It was a big step in a relationship, you recognize. And it’s not like you weren’t ready for that step, you and him were probably living together by now. It was that you didn’t want to pop the perfectly healthy bubble you both created.

And family dinners were always… stressful.

You could’ve just explained that to him. Aaron, being the perfectly polite and respectable man that he was, would understand immediately. But you didn’t want to be the whiny immature little girl who couldn’t deal with problems. You were an adult, you paid your own bills, you had your own place. And he was the Unit Chief of the BAU, a title that on its own raised expectations. You couldn’t be the FBI bossman’s girlfriend and stress about your mom calling out your weight, or about your father criticizing your job. And if this wasn’t enough, Aaron was amazing. He was the most kind, loving and appreciative man you’ve ever met. You wanted to be good for him. So if you had to endure a few hours with your family, then be it. He was worth it.

And selfishly, you wanted to brag about dating him to your family. Yes, dad, mom. I’ve made it. Suck it.

When the day came, saying you were stressed was an understatement. Aaron sat quietly on your bed watching you change your outfit a handful of times, try at least three hairstyles and do a full face of make-up twice. He didn’t say a word about it. Unless when he complimented you, to which he did evey time.

You didn’t cry, which was always a good sign.

You held the flowers and the wine he brought while he drove. The forty-seven minutes drive rode without music. He found it strange, because you insisted on blasting your playlists even when the drive wasn’t long enough for a single song (when it happened, he always made sure to drive extra slow to make sure you sang every word and drummed every note of it).

If he noticed you shifting your position (every two minutes), or you rechecking your makeup on the rearview mirror (every red light), or you applying your lipgloss (three times and once more when you got there), he didn’t say anything.

Just before you reached the handle to open the door, he turned to you, reaching over the console to grab your hand.

“Is everything ok?” you huffed a laugh at his question, leaning over and giving him a peck on the lips.

“They are gonna fall in love with you, Aaron. Just like I did.” you said, honestly. He scanned your eyes and when he made sure you were being honest (he always knew when you lied, that’s why you came up with a method of being evasive everytime you didn’t want to tell the truth).

Squeezing your hand one last time, he stepped out of the car, quickly making his way towards your door. He took the flowers and the wine off your arms, helping you get off the seat and walking with you up the front stairs.

Before you knocked you turned to face him, a rush of courage running through your veins with being so close to the house.

“Listen, before we get in…”

Whatever you were about to confide in him got interrupted by the front door opened. Your mother stood there, with a tight smile she reserved to you, her beloved daughter.

“I thought it was you, my dear. You must be Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. It’s a pleasure finally meeting you.” she cheered, standing her hand. He gave her a polite smile.

“Just, Aaron, please. The pleasure is all mine, Ma’am.”

“Come in, please. Honey, will you please finish up the kitchen?” she asks, rushing your boyfriend inside without giving you a second glance.

Aaron chased after your eyes, worriedly, but you just dismissed him, winking and mouthing a ‘Told you.’

You quickly made your way towards the kitchen, your body remembering all too well how to walk those corridors. Just like always, you finished off dinner, making sure the dishes were done and everything was in its place while you heard the laughter of the rest of them in the living room.

“There she is, my beautiful baby girl.” your father cooed, standing up on his seat next to Aaron when you walked in and approaching you to hug you “We were just showing Aaron here your child pictures.” he spoke, laughing.

You felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment, biting hard on your inside cheeks to keep from complaining. No mature woman would throw a tantrum over a child photo album.

“She hated pictures. We tried to collect memories, you know, Aaron?” your mom recited, showing a sequence of pictures “But she just didn’t accept it. Always grumpy, always turning away. You got yourself a hard one.” she laughed, playfully pushing his shoulder.

He stared at the pictures, somehow amazed. Your heart raced at the smile growing on his face (like it always did). He held one photo, your least favorite one. Your face was puffy with crying, your hair wildly flying everywhere. You had your mouth open like you were saying something (probably begging them to stop), and your braces shone against the flash of the camera. Your clothes were clearly not your size, your posture curved like you were trying to turn into a ball.

You hated that picture with all of your being, but your parents kept showing them to everyone who dared to stop by. Aaron held it close to your face, his eyes with nothing but found as he said

“So your eyes have always been this shiny. I’ve always wondered.” you smiled at him, the warmth of his love for you never failing to make you feel at home.

“Well, let’s eat before the food gets cold, right?” your mother announced, rushing everyone into the dining room.

It all went surprisingly well (at least as well a dinner with your parents could go).

“This is delicious, Mrs.” Aaron complimented, after your mother refilled his plate.

“Thank you, dear. Do you cook, Aaron?” she asked, dragging his name as if she was enjoying being that close to an FBI agent.

“I can get by.”

“He’s lying. Aaron is an amazing cook.” you interrupted, nudging him with a proud smile.

“We figured, right, darling?” she asked your father “I noticed the moment she started eating more. Her puffy cheeks can’t deny it! Just like when she was my baby, following me everywhere.” your mother cooed, leaning over to your chair and pinching your cheek.

For the first time that evening Aaron looked absolutely mortified. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out. He didn’t know where to begin. It would be funny seeing him all flabbergasted if it weren’t for the ache on your heart from your mother’s words.

Whoever said that time heals everything is full of shit.

Just like that, your father changes the subject for your teenage stories: your least favorite subject in the entire world.

“I’ll tell you what, Aaron. You’re a brave one. We knew it from the one: she’s a hard one.” your father pointed at you with his chin, smiling like he was complimenting you.

“What do you mean?” your boyfriend asked, sounding genuinely confused.

You could see right through his act. The way his knuckles went white at how hard he gripped the silverware, the muscle on his jaw flexing like he was struggling to keep tightly shut. You wanted to kiss his cheeks until his dimples started showing again.

“Oh, you know. Don’t take me the wrong way, we love our grumpy baby girl.” and then, he turned his attention to you “Take it easy on him, sweetheart. He’s a good one, you won’t want him running away. Don’t make it so hard for him.”

Aaron stepped up, interrupting before any other subject got introduced and he lost his chance.

“Loving your daughter is the easiest and most effortless thing I’ve ever done.” he said, with a slight frown.

He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t trying to make you feel better. He was stating a fact. He was saying it so sure of himself, that made your parents seem crazy not to feel the same way.

You bit back a smile, bumping your knee against him. He did it back. ‘Thank you.’ ‘I got you.’

“Of course you say that.” your father laughed like he told an inside joke “Look at your job. Speaking of which, we want to hear everything about it.”

And then your mother started rambling about a few cases she watched on the news, asking details and making all kinds of questions, to which Aaron made sure to answer evasively enough to not break protocol, but making sure to spill some uneventful details to distract them. Your heart swelled with love every time he directed his attention towards you, asking details he “forgot” but told you in private, just to include you (on dinner with your family in your childhood home).

“I want to take a moment to appreciate you being here, Aaron.” your mother started, beaming at him “I know you are a very busy man, and I hope it didn’t mess your schedule up.”

“No, I really wanted to come. Thank you for having me.”

She just dismissed him with a wave of his hand “I can only imagine how hard it must’ve been to make time to be here with us. It’s very important for our family. I say this because our other children all also have very important jobs, and unfortunately weren’t able to make it in such short notice.” she looked at him apologetically. Aaron only stared back, once again too stunned to speak. Your mother looked back at you, throwing a wink and a lopsided smile “The perks of not having big responsibilities.”

“That’s not…” Aaron’s speech got interrupted right away. You tried not to sigh too loudly.

“There’s something I want to do.” your father announces, clasping his hand together with an excited smile.

Your mother gasped “Do you think it’s time, my dear?”

“Absolutely, darling. Wait here, you two.”

You weren't sure what was about to happen, but you were sure it couldn’t be good.

What an euphemism.

A couple minutes later your father gets back with a champagne, sparkly and expensive. Your face falls at its sight. You bite your cheek not to cry.

Your mother stands up right next to him, and they look at you like they were about to make an oscar-winner level of speech.

“When our children were babies, we bought each of them one of those.” he lifts the bottle “We kept them with all of our love, waiting to pop them open when the moment came. And today, it's time for our final bottle. We had promotions, graduations, admissions. It makes me emotional to think how long we’ve come. When our baby was just seven, she had a dream. She wanted to find a loving and rich husband and live as a princess.” he chuckled, raising his hands in apology “Now, I do not want to jinx it, but I do think…”

“That’s so unbelievably disrespectful.” Aaron spat.

Silence.

More silence.

Your father clears his throat.

“Perdon me?” your mother tries.

“The entire evening I watched both of you mistreat her, sugarcoating it with a half-hearted compliment. It’s very clear to me that none of you value her as the woman she is, and there’s only one reason: you don’t know her. And aren’t even slightly interested in doing it." His tone was harsh and straightforward, glaring daggers at your parents. They seemed small and insignificant in front of the anger boiling over Aaron’s eyes. “It’s impressive to me how you don’t even realize how poorly you’ve been treating her. She’s the smartest, kindest, most selfless and talented woman I know, and you two have the audacity to pop up a champagne as if her biggest accomplishment in life is getting a boyfriend?” he chuckles darkly “I’m incredibly proud and sorry at the same time at how immune she is to your behavior. But I’m not, and let me say this loud and clear: I will not, under no circumstances, tolerate anyone treating my girlfriend like that. Anyone.”

He said, his eyes fulminating them. With a short nod, Aaron stood up and walked himself out the door, not waiting for anyone to lead him out. You followed suit behind him, not even sparing a glance to your parents.

The two of you drove silently all the way back to his place, without not much more than a word. Your mind raced with thoughts, your whole life passing through your mind like a movie, so many things you thought were normal. So many memories, so many feelings. You were nowhere near comprehending everything, but it was a start. You could see it more clearly now.

Aaron locked the door after you got in, and you heard him sigh.

“Listen, honey, I’m so sorry…” he interrupted himself when he heard you sniff. He touched your shoulder, aching to hold you close, but now knowing if that’s what you want “Are you crying? I apologize, it wasn’t my place…”

This time, you were the one interrupting him. You turned around and threw yourself on him, burying your face on his chest and crying your eyes out. His breathing deepened, kissing the top of your head and stroking your hair.

You had no idea how much time you spent like that, but eventually he picked you up with ease and sat down on the couch with you curled up on his lap.

After a while, when your sobbing toned down to silent tears, you glanced up at him.

“Thank you, Aaron. I’ve never felt so seen in my entire life.” he held you closer, like he wanted to keep you close to his heart forever, protecting you from every possible harm.

“At first, I thought you didn’t want me to meet your family because you weren’t there yet. Relationship wise.” he began.

You pulled yourself away from his chest, still seated on his lap but shifting to face him “Not at all. I just didn’t think they deserved you.”

He gave you a pointed look “They don’t deserve you.” He stared deeply into your eyes, as if he wanted to make sure you understood “The very first thing you said to me when you first met was that you were complicated.”

Aaron took a deep breath, watching your eyes like he finally completed the puzzle. “You always seemed ready for me to leave you, always made sure to look understanding. Like you believed I would give up on you, and it would be only the right thing to do. You always mentioned, between a joke and another, that you were a problem, a burden. That you didn’t deserve me, like it isn’t the other way around.” your gaze fell to your hands, the weight of being seeing hard on you.

“Aaron…” you whispered, your voice weak from all the crying. He gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. To see every emotion he felt towards you. He kissed your chin, each of your cheeks, where you probably had tear strains. He kissed your swollen eyes, your makeup defined smudged. He kissed your forehead, your nose and your lips, taking extra long there. When he made sure you were paying attention, he pulled back and kept speaking.

“I remember thinking what on earth made someone like you believe that. The thought consumed me. I needed to know, needed to understand where all that came from. You know, profiler.” he joked, which made you laugh weakly.

“And somehow you missed the reason why I didn’t take you to meet my parents sooner.” you teased. He rolled his eyes.

“In our line of work, when we end up in a case that is, for some reason, personal to us, the protocol is to step back. Do you know why?” you shook your head “Because love can cloud your judgement. It certainly did mine.”

“Careful, agent Hotchner. You might make me think you’re in love with me or something.” you joked. He smiled, giving you another kiss.

“I am. Desperately so. And apart from what you think, it’s not difficult. I can’t imagine a life where I met you and didn’t fall in love with you. It’s the most natural thing for me.” you press your lips together to keep them from shaking, as your eyes filled with tears “Do you realize you’ve absorbed their disturbing opinions of you? You keep repeating them to yourself like a mantra, like it's a fact. I always wondered why you think so lowly of yourself. It’s now clear.”

“I hate that.”

He kissed the tip of your nose.

“ I’ll tell you what: we’re on this together.”

“On what?” you gave him a puzzling look.

“We’re breaking down those walls, brick by brick. Every single lie they made you believe was true, we’re tearing it all apart.”

“Ugh, this sounds like a hard job.” you muttered.

“It’s not. In the slightest.” he disagreed immediately “Thank you, honey. Thank you for letting me see that part of your life. Thank you for allowing me to love you, and for loving me back. You amaze me more each day, and I’ll make it my personal mission to make you see it too.” His words were low and serious, not made to impress. Made to let you know, to make you believe.

“Even if it takes your whole life?” you asked, trying to make it sound like a joke to mask your insecurity.

It would be a long way to go, but the love flooding over his eyes was a great first step. “Especially if it takes my whole life.”

93 notes · View notes

bbywriter · 19 hours ago

Text

aftermath | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: your cheating ex is back in boston for tour… what’s one more night together in the grand scheme of things?

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: MDNI. slow build, mentions of cheating, unresolved angst, roughish smut?, penetrative sex, no protection, choking, everything about chris in this is out of character pls ik he would never

notes: creds to @vxnitra for the gif<3! and @wife-of-all-dilfs for the fic idea, go read bad idea, right? rn!

word count: 10.7k

—

“Dude just come, it won’t be the same without you.”

It’s Saturday night and you’re sprawled out on your bed, buried under the untouched assignment that has been staring back at you for three hours. Mikayla’s called, once again, as your latest distraction.

Her heels click through the speaker as she paces her room getting ready for a party, one she’s trying to persuade you to join.

“I can’t, Mickey, I’m busy,” you say, although the excuse is unconvincing even to yourself.

Her call interrupted the tik tok scroll you’d been lost in, a break you were taking from your third episode of Criminal Minds in a row. After she hangs up, you know you’ll be in the same spot until morning, assignment still untouched and all.

Apparently she knows it too.

“No you’re not, bitch.” You can hear her eyes roll as she drowns herself in perfume. “You have to go. Everyone’s gonna be there.”

You let out a quiet scoff and mumble under your breath. “Yeah, exactly why I’m not going.”

Everyone includes the triplets, who are back in Boston for tour.

Coming home isn’t an unusual visit for them, and actually, their return home used to be something you really looked forward to. Their visits meant long nights and too much laughter with best friends.

It also meant time with Chris. With your lives split across the country, those week-long visits were your fleeting chances to be close to him, just the two of you, picking up where you left off months before.

But things aren’t the same anymore. Because unlike the love you held for Chris every other time they’ve visited, you absolutely despise him now.

“I’m serious, ___, come,” Mikayla presses. “I’ll make sure you won’t have to talk to Chris, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Your phone slips from your grip and lands right on your nose. Even though your hatred for your ex is a universally known fact, like yeah, you would rather poke your eyes out than ever have to be in the same room as him again, she doesn’t have to say it out loud. Everyone knows you’re over it anyways. You roll onto your side, cradling the bridge of your nose that’s surely broken now.

“Dude I don’t give a fuck if he’s there or not, I’m just busy,” you reply, overly defensive. “I have to finish this paper.”

The shuffling around her room promptly comes to a halt. You can’t see her, but you know her eyebrow is raised. “Well damn, I didn’t know this paper suddenly meant so much to you,” she laughs, “it’s fine though, just stay home then I guess.”

“I mean it doesn’t but I wanna pass, don’t I?”

“Don’t know why you’re asking me but a night out’s never stopped you from passing before.” Her reply is absent minded. Her purse jingles through the speaker as she fills it with her lipgloss and keys.

You scoff and return to laying on your back, watching the clock tick and tick. You’ve never been one to pass on a night out, and with good luck and discipline through several hangovers, your grades have also never taken a hit. This paper’s no exception. The both of you know it.

“I just haven’t even started yet,” you continue, glancing at the empty doc on your Mac. “And I have no idea what the fuck is going on in this chapter.”

“Dude, I said it’s fine. If you need to finish it, you can just come next time,” she replies, chuckling softly at the end.

For some reason, one you will not admit or name, her laughter bothers you.

For some reason you take it personally when she insinuates you’re not actually busy, and it offends you that she doesn’t believe this paper is the reason you can’t go.

And you know she’s just trying to be a good friend—that she called you with the sole intention to remind you that ‘we’re never gonna be this young and hot at this party again fuck your ex!’—but you can’t help the irritation bubbling in the middle of your chest.

“I do need to finish it and you’re really distracting me so like.. are you done? Can you go?”

Her mouth is hanging open when the line is silent for a few seconds. You instantly feel bad for snapping at her and you’re about to apologize when she replies. “Was just about to head out, so yeah. Hope you have fun with that.”

The call ends before you can even respond, leaving you feeling ridiculous and even more annoyed. You realize how dramatic you’re being, but your stubbornness doesn’t let you call back to say sorry right now. Instead, you toss your phone to the end of your bed.

Your room suddenly feels overwhelmingly quiet and Mikayla’s voice replays in your head, filling you with pure guilt. You groan and drag a hand over your face.

The least you can do now is actually write your paper, so with a heavy sigh, you chug the remaining half of your Redbull and try to focus. It takes a few minutes for your regretful words to subside, but once they do, you fall into the assignment easily.

Some time passes and your phone rings again at your feet.

And see this is why you love Mikayla. As much as you guys bicker and clash, you both understand that it’s all with love. Your arguments last a day at most before one of you apologizes, and then it’s right back to your normal.

Mindlessly you answer the phone and the last traces of your guilt dissolve. You take the chance to apologize to your friend.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you—”

“___.”

And that is not Mikayla.

You recognize the voice instantly. It’s a sound you have spent the past five months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it—the perfect mess of curls, the most beautiful blue eyes, the deceiving smile of a mouth that knows every inch of your body.

You need to hang up, need to say ‘wrong number’ and end the call now. But for all your pride, all your carefully constructed walls, you don’t.

“What do you want, Chris?”

—

This isn’t the first time you’ve ever left the house late at night to make a horrible decision. Typically Mikayla and some other friends even tag along with you, but tonight they’re all at that party.

It’s a comforting fact, because if she knew where you were going right now she’d be scolding your ear off. Wouldn’t that suck?

Sounds better than the way your own conscience won’t stop calling you a stupid fucking idiot.

It’s almost midnight, but multicoloured lights still slip through the cracks of your roomies’ closed doors as you step into the hallway.

Through the muffled walls you recognize ‘10 minute instant abs - no equipment required’ streaming from one room, and a vulgar, vulgar game of League happening in the other. At least the two of them are spending their night wisely.

The sleepy hum of your house is broken by a third phone call of the night. It rings in your hand, and when you glance at the screen, you choke. Of course. It’s Mikayla. It’s like she knows you’re leaving.

“___!” she shouts. Her voice is scratchy and barely cuts through the heavy bass of music around her.

“Dude it’s so fucking loud,” you grimace, pulling the phone slightly from your ear.

“What?! Dude it’s so fucking loud I can’t hear you.”

Her response makes you laugh as you head out the front door, making sure you’re out of earshot from anyone in the house to reply a little louder. “Can you hear me now?”

Not any softer, she replies, “Barely, yeah. Are you done with your paper?”

A cool breeze hits you as you cross the driveway to your car.

“Not even close,” you say. Her question reminds you of your earlier apology—the one you started to the wrong person—so you try again. “Also I’m sorry I yelled at you about it earlier–”

“Stop, it's okay. Forget about the paper, that's not why I’m calling.” You’re cut short again, and her voice raises a little with excitement. “Chris isn’t here.”

You pause. Maybe it’s the caffeine coursing your veins or simply pure adrenaline, but your heart skips at the mention of his name. The information doesn’t come as a surprise. You already know he’s not at the party, and in fact, you even know why.

But you don’t tell her.

“Oh my god, wait really?” You cringe at the fake wonder in your voice.

“Yeah, Nick said he’s not feeling well or something so he didn’t come,” her explanation is eager, along with her next words. “Fucking pussy.”

You chuckle awkwardly at her statement and slip into your driver’s seat. Before you can respond, she continues. “Just leave the paper for tomorrow and come.” Her words drag in a subtle beg.

Under any other circumstance, her compelling argument would have worked. Girls night with no ex—the persuasion couldn’t be any simpler.

The universe must be testing you, giving you a chance to walk away from self sabotage instead of straight into it like you are now. But you’re a stupid fucking idiot. So you lie.

“I don’t know Mickey, like I actually need to finish this paper.” Your stomach curls with guilt from how easily the words slip from your mouth. “I think I’m gonna stay home.”

She sighs. “You’re also a fucking pussy.”

Her words offend you a little, but they offset the guilt leveling in your stomach. You lie to her about Chris, she compares you to him. Same thing essentially. You try to laugh it off. “I know I’m sorry.”

“I’m kidding, dude, it’s fine.” Despite how loud she’s still talking over the music, her tone is more understanding than it’s been all night. “Just wanted to double check on you, thought you might change your mind.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, knocking your head on the steering wheel. You feel so bad. “No don’t even worry about me,” you say through gritted teeth. “You have fun.”

She lets out a laugh. “Bitch tell that to yourself, I feel like I need to take a shot for you, you sound so stressed.”

And the universe must be mocking you.

“Please do, I really am.”

Her heels click again and on the other end of the line, Mikayla’s already finding the bar. Oblivious to the actual source of your anxiety, she quickly shoos you away, “Okay yeah no, go finish your thing, you’re actually making me anxious.”

You wish she’d just stayed irritated with you a little longer and didn’t call. That way the only poor decision you’d be making tonight would be agreeing to meet up with your ex. A horrible idea in itself, sure, but at least you wouldn’t be lying to your best friend too.

Too late to turn back on either now.

—

The drive from Somerville to the bus in Boston isn’t long, but it’s far enough for you to overthink everything.

‘Nothing’s gonna happen,’ he said he only wants to talk. There’s no truth in his words and you know it, because unlike yourself, Chris has always been a very good liar. Those same words are the very reason you two broke up and they’re the source of all your hatred and suffering, but no matter how much you place him at fault for all your heartbreak, in hindsight, you realize you are also partly to blame…

The sun was shining bright through your bedroom window, warm but nothing like the arm Chris held around your waist. For the first time in two months, you woke up with him beside you in bed, and everything was perfect, and simple, and so, so deceiving.

You were aimlessly scrolling through tik tok, keeping yourself entertained as Chris slept beside you when a specific post caught your attention.

“Christopher Sturniolo finally confirms lucky mystery girl,” you read softly. It was classic clickbait. Dramatic and attention grabbing, and something a fan or follower would fall for if they didn’t know any better. With a chuckle, you swiped right. “Wonder who it is this time.”

Rumors weren’t hard to come by as Chris’s girlfriend. Fans had been suspicious of his hidden relationship for months now.

And yes, they were always onto something with the boys. There was the car accident death hoax a couple years back, and the monthly ‘omg they’re quitting they hate us fuck im gonna kms’ allegations. Usually nonsense.

But for once, although they didn’t know it was with you, they were right that he was in love.

Chris never confirmed nor denied the rumors. As much as you wished he would; wished he would claim you with a kiss or hold your hand in public, he always chose to prioritize your peace. Any trace of your relationship was kept hidden from the internet, buried in the safety of real life. Its existence belonged only to you, Chris, and the few people you both trusted most.

You told yourself that was enough. That in the quiet, away from jealous envy-filled eyes, every kiss and every hug and every ‘I love you’ you shared meant more. That privacy made it sacred. That what was hidden was more real, more honest.

So when you swiped right, you expected nothing more than the usual—maybe him in a fan edit with one of his friends, or a silly AI photo kissing a stranger he’s never met before. You thought it would be anything but this.

You were staring at a paparazzi picture. The shot was a little grainy and taken from far away, but the unreleased Fresh Love cap on his head was crystal clear, holding back his hair as he sat in a hot tub with his brothers, a couple friends, and a girl on his lap.

The hairs on your arms instantly stood tall.

You recognized her. She was the one in their most recent photo dump, the one in the background of their January vlog, the one Chris always defended when fans would send hate for simply being in their presence. She was the one he claimed was just a friend.

You scanned the picture carefully, because you thought maybe you were missing a detail or your brain was playing a funny trick, but the longer you stared at it, the more you noticed.

His arm was wrapped comfortably around her waist, and she smiled at him with crimson red lips that were slightly smudged along the edges. The remnants of it were painted along Chris’s lips and neck.

And suddenly, you felt so uncomfortable in his grip. The weight of his arm was suffocating, holding you the same way he was holding her.

“Chris, wake up,” you said. Your voice was steady despite the tears you felt already welling in your eyes.

He hummed and stirred for a second, but tightened his grip as he replied. “It’s so early, baby…”

It was a nickname he’d been calling you for 3 years now, but hearing it in that moment made you feel so dirty. Like the meaning of it was rotten, and calling you it poisoned your stomach entirely. You wanted to vomit.

“Please, Chris,” you insisted, a little more firmly this time, pushing his arm from your waist.

He rolled over on his back, and the second he let go, you sat up.

“Are you okay?” He asked, more alert now with your unusually distant movements.

You looked at him. He was sitting up now too, genuine concern laced through his tired eyes. For a second you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because asking Chris ‘are you cheating on me?’ felt so outrageous and wrong.

Instead you looked to your lap at the photo on your phone. A tear landed on the screen when you blinked, and you took a deep breath before turning it to him.

“Who is this?” You asked hesitantly.

You watched the colour drain from his skin when his eyes finally focused. He strained his neck forward and his brows furrowed, like he was also trying to confirm what he was seeing. “Oh it’s not what it looks like, nothing happened, I promise—“

You cut him off. “But why is she on your lap?”

“She’s just a friend,” he replied, like reflex. It didn’t answer your question at all and it made your vision blur. He was still defending her, against you of all people.

“So you just let all your friends sit there?” The back of your throat was burning—obvious in the way your voice broke at the end.

“No…” he started, “it was just this one time I swear,” then amended, finishing with another excuse. He didn’t even sound like he was being defensive, but like he actually believed that made it okay.

You gave him a hopeless, watery laugh. “Is that her lipstick on your neck?”

Chris’s mouth fell open at the question. He stared at you for a second then looked at the picture once more. The detail was small and hard to see at first glance, but you caught the flicker of regret in his features the moment he noticed it.

His expression fell when he looked back to you, waiting for his reply. His eyes shifted between yours, and the silence stretched a little longer before he sighed. He didn’t have another excuse.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Although you were prying the words from his lips, needing to hear him admit it himself, your heart cracked at his apology. You were already so close to losing it, so close to breaking, and the confession made your tears fall over the edge.

Chris’s heart began to race at the sight of your tears. “___ I’m sorry, I never meant for it to get this far.” He said quickly, remorse clear in his voice as he instinctively tried to wipe your eyes.

But the brush of his thumb against your cheek made you flinch away, your brain catching on his words. “This far?” You asked, brows pinching. “How far exactly has this gotten?”

His face pulled into one of guilt at the recognition of what he’d just admitted. He began to shake his head and his mouth parted a few times before his shoulders rose in a hopeless way. He couldn’t bring himself to lie again, and he feels bad when he tells you the truth. “It’s been six months.”

A single scoff of disbelief passes through your lips.

Now you always imagined that if you ever found yourself in this position, being cheated on, that you would simply get up and walk away. Infidelity is more than enough reason to move on.

So while your brain was yelling at you to leave him there and that he didn’t deserve your tears, the biggest part of your heart, the part that loved Chris, was fighting so hard to deny it.

It frustrated you, because you really didn’t want to be crying. You were doing your best to keep it together because you weren’t pathetic. You were not going to beg for a spot in his life. But you couldn’t help your tears, and that only made them fall more.

You had to stand up from the bed and face away from him. Like looking up at the ceiling was the only way to stop your eyes. Feelings of defeat and anger and betrayal continued to splinter painfully through your heart.

After a deep breath, you finally spoke. “Did she know about me?”

It was self-sabotage to even ask.

You just thought that maybe—if she kissed him knowing he had a girlfriend, if he held her while she knew you existed—then that would have to mean that she agreed to be the second option. That even though there were two of you, Chris still picked you first. That this whole time, he really was hiding you for your peace, and not just hiding you from her.

“No, she didn’t,” he replied with a sigh.

It was the response you were expecting but you still exhaled pain. How could you be so naive?

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. “Were you ever gonna tell me?”

Chris got up from the bed and took a tentative step to stand behind you.

He was going to tell you, he really was. Guilt gnawed at his mind constantly. He always told himself he would come clean the next time he saw you, that you deserved to hear it face to face at the very least. But then next time would come and the week would be so perfect together, and he’d end up on the plane back to LA telling himself the same thing once again. Next time.

He knew it was no excuse, so he stayed silent.

The quiet pulled violently at the knot in your gut.

“So how long were you planning to lie?” You asked. You could feel clips of anger start to replace the sadness in your chest, your voice coming out a little harsher than before.

“I’m sorry—“

A defeated sigh escaped your lips. “Stop apologizing,” you said, tilting your head back. “How long were you gonna lie to me?”

Behind you, his own eyes began to sting. “I was going to tell you, I swear… I just… things got complicated.”

It was a worthless response, yet you paused to let his explanation sink in. You were trying to see his point of view. Not because what he did was okay, you just wanted to understand why he thought hurting you for this long was.

From every angle you looked at it, the reality of the situation was that he was simply wrong.

“No it couldn’t have been that hard, Chris,” you tell him, a little desperately because he should have known that.

“You could’ve ended things with me. You could’ve told me when it started. You could’ve come clean when you realized what you were doing wasn’t just a mistake. This was all a choice. Like you chose this.”

Cheating was so easily avoidable.

So when you turned to face him and were met with his own glossy eyes, the sight clouded your vision with anger. You couldn’t help your scoff of laughter or the words that followed. “Why the fuck are you crying?”

Chris winced at the venom in your voice. He rolled his lips between his teeth and stayed quiet. A single tear slipped down his cheek.

You took a step closer. “Say something, like you don’t get to cry. You’re the one who fucking did this. You’re the one who lied.”

You didn’t really know what you wanted him to say, but his silence was triggering. Because it felt like he was protecting himself, or like he didn’t really care about the conversation, or like he was relying on you to fix his mistake.

Your own eyes were now pouring freely with tears.

“I trusted you. I never questioned you because I fucking trust you, Chris. I never doubted you when you said she was just a friend. I never wanted to hold you back from the life you guys have built down there.”

You shoved a finger at his chest with every sentence, piercing every word through his skin. Even though these were your decisions, you needed him to realize how unfair this was to you.

“And you just came back every time. You pretended like nothing was wrong. You kissed me. You slept in my bed.” You looked at him for a moment. “Like how many times did we fuck just for you to go sleep with her too?” The words were hissed with so much hatred, the kind you could only feel after so much love— “Every time you said you loved me, when did you stop meaning that?”

His hands cupped your cheeks at those words, and this time you didn’t pull away from his touch. His composure was breaking and it was written all over his face, how much it hurt him to hurt you, even though his actions were intentional all this time.

“I never stopped ___, I do love you.” he whispered.

“No I love you Chris.” You corrected him, begging him to understand. “I love you. I never would have done this to you.”

You stared at each other for a long second. You could see everything in his face now—regret, panic, guilt, grief. But that didn’t make it enough.

“I don’t know how you could do this to me, and mean it when you say you love me…”

The steering wheel is cold under your palms, a single tear slipping down your cheek at the memory. Maybe this is a really bad idea. Nothing good is going to come from seeing him again.

You should just go home.

—

You knock on the bus door.

It echoes around the empty parking lot of the venue and you feel immediate regret, like the sound of it has finally knocked some sense into you, too.

Silence hangs in the air for about a minute before you sigh heavily and glance at your surroundings. You don’t know what you’re looking for exactly. Perhaps a bear or maybe a house fire. Any reason to get away from this bus. But the area is calm and still and quiet as ever.

When a cool breeze flows through your hair, irritation swells through your chest.

“Is he actually serious right now?” You mutter under your breath.

You cross your arms against the cold and take a step back to look through the window for any sign of movement. Even though it’s tinted, the lights seem to be off inside.

You huff and knock again. This time the banging can surely be heard from inside, yet after a couple seconds, there’s still no response. Your irritation quickly becomes restless.

Of course he would do this.

Of course he made you drive all the way down here. He made you ditch all your friends and your stupid paper and made you waste all your gas to stand outside this bus like an idiot. This is such a waste of time. This is all his fault. If he wasn’t a lying asshole it wouldn’t be so cold and windy right now, and you could be doing literally anything else but—

“___,” Chris calls from behind.

You flinch out of your thoughts and your heart instantly picks up in pace.

It’s a natural fight or flight response, only your body can’t tell if it’s from being startled, or from standing in the presence of your cheating ex for the first time in five months. Against your instincts, you turn towards the source.

Fuck.

He’s even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him.

He’s wearing sweats and a light stubble shadows his face, yet somehow he still looks clean and put together. His curls have grown slightly, and maybe it’s just the cause of five months of time, but the scruff makes him look a little older.

On his feet, he’s wearing boots. They’re big and black and you’ve never seen him wear them before. But you can recognize Balenciagas, and they’ve made his presence so tall as he strides towards you—frantically and rushed.

“Sorry, were you waiting long? I had to drop off Nick and Matt,” he starts explaining, “would’ve just made them uber or something if I knew how busy downtown is right now.”

The cool air becomes slightly dense with tension when he reaches your side. It’s not entirely uncomfortable, it feels familiar, just somewhat tainted.

“Couple minutes,” you reply, keeping the rest of your thoughts about his punctuality to yourself.

You hug your sweater tighter around your body like a make-shift shield against the cold, but also against him. The zipper suddenly catches your interest. Fiddling with it helps you avoid eye contact by making you look occupied.

“Right,” he nods. Silence settles between the two of you for a second, before he thinks of another thing to say, “how was the drive?”

Despite the ease in his voice, you can tell he’s nervous too.

Chris stands before you, stiff and looking at the ground beneath his feet. Similarly evading your gaze just like you’re doing with his. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides before he shoves them deep into his pockets.

Looking back, you feel like you did so much of the talking that morning in your bedroom. Probably too much, if you’re being honest. You feel like you never really gave yourself the time to hear his side or a proper chance to take in his apology. It’s the closure you’re missing.

So this time, you want him to do most of the talking. Want him to actually give you answers, at the very least. Of all the things you deserve after everything he put you through, an explanation for his actions feels like the bare minimum.

Which is why you don’t sound very enthusiastic when you finally reply, “so you called me here for small talk?”

Chris pokes his tongue to his cheek at your stubborn, slightly irritated tone.

“You’re the one who called. You’re ditching your own party,” you wave your hand at him, indicating you want him to get on with it. “Must have something important to say.”

A staring contest ensues as you force yourselves to look at each other. Your stomach shrivels over the awkwardness and a slight twinge of pain cramps your heart. It never used to be this hard to look at him.

"Yeah, it is important," he claims, voice low.

For a second, he thinks about staying quiet, because he doesn’t really know how to go about the conversation at this point. But he reminds himself he can’t. Not anymore. For whatever sliver of decency he has left, he needs to say something.

"I wanted to apologize to you."

You cast your eyes down, fixing them once again on your zipper. Cold air stings your lungs when you take a deep breath and ask, “are you still with her?”

The question leaves your mouth before you can rethink it. You ask because you know what it’s like for him to lie to you. And if he’s still with her, if she has no idea he’s here with you, you’re not about to be part of it again.

His eyes flicker with shame, but he shakes his head.

“No,” he says bluntly. “Swear to god I told her everything. That same day, I told her about us… about everything. It was over after that.”

You roll your lips between your teeth and nod slowly. The motion feels mechanical. Like your body knows it’s the expected thing to do, even if your heart is somewhere else entirely.

It should’ve made you feel better to hear him say that. That he ended it. That he told her the truth. She deserved to know, too, at the very least.

But your stomach still twists. Because none of it undoes what he did. None of it changes the fact that he cheated on you.

You try to keep your face more or less neutral when you look back up at him. Then once again, like months before, you start looking for answers. "Why did you do it?"

Chris’s jaw tightens at the question and he brings a hand through his hair. You know he’s fighting for the right thing to say, brows pinching as he thinks intently for an answer you deserve. Yet everything seems to fall short.

Still, he tries.

"I don’t know," he says quietly, voice unstable, "I wish I had something better to give you than that, but... I don’t."

You nod and you stay silent. Your gaze presses heavy on him, forcing him to continue.

"I think I was just scared," he eventually admits, shifting his weight between his heels. "I didn’t know how to deal with everything– the distance, I mean. Things were getting so busy with youtube and we couldn’t come home as often anymore."

It’s not an excuse, yet pesky pinpricks of tears sting the back of your eyes. You’re not entirely sure why. You know you don’t feel bad for him. Maybe it’s just the weight of everything hitting you all at once, finally hearing an explanation for a situation you’ve spent the past five months trying so hard not to blame yourself for.

"I felt like… I don’t know, I felt so alone," he concedes, "and instead of talking to you about it, I wanted something easy. And seeing her didn’t scare me as much."

The words almost feel worse than if he just kept lying or said nothing at all.

You didn’t know what to expect coming here tonight, but you hadn’t planned on feeling this wound again. So raw and fresh. But here it is, clawing its way up your throat, constricting any ability for you to speak. Any ability for you to stop him.

So he keeps going.

"I regret it," he says, voice cracking under the truth. "Every second. I regret everything I did to you. I regret not telling you sooner. I regret ever hurting you the way I did in the first place."

He inhales a shaky breath, taking a step closer.

"It’s just.. I'm hurting too,” he finishes softly. He hopes that if he says it quietly enough, it won’t sound like an insult.

You let out a breathless laugh in response. Nothing is funny. Everything he said is just so wildly unfair.

A heavy silence settles between you. It gives you a second to think, to consider what you even want to say. How vulnerable you’re willing to get. Your mouth opens before you even get to decide.

“Being with her scared you less than talking to me...” you repeat, more as a statement than a question.

Chris doesn’t have to hear you say any more to know you’re hurt once again. The tone of your voice is unsure, and the pain in it is elusive, but he knows. Of course he does. You were together for years, he knew you better than anyone else at one point in time.

So as hard as you try to hide behind a veil of composure, he easily pinpoints the cadence of sadness in your words, “...and you think you’re hurting?”

“I am. I miss you everyday, I feel horrible.”

Such a sick, grossly feeling comes over you.

"Yeah but not like me," you start, hot tears brimming to the forefront of your eyes. "You’re hurting because you feel guilty. I'm hurting because you let me believe I was right to trust you."

Despite wanting to meet his eyes and seem untouched by what he did, you can’t. Despite how badly you want to prove you’re past this, that you’ve healed and grown and it doesn’t hurt so bad anymore, the truth is, it does.

“I couldn’t eat for weeks afterwards. I couldn’t leave my bed. I cried everyday,” you tell him.

You don’t mean to undermine his feelings and you’re not trying to ask for pity. But you just need him to understand that the pain he’s feeling is self-inflicted, and cannot compare to the involuntary suffering he’s put you through.

“I feel like I'm never gonna be able to trust someone again, and I hate you for it.”

And you know Chris, too. Know exactly which of his buttons to push. Reminding him that he had someone who loved him completely, and he ruined them in return, will hurt him exactly how you want it to.

He winces at your words.

He knows he should explain.

Say sorry.

Beg, if he has to.

But he can’t seem to get a single thought out.

It’s like the apology he’s spent months rehearsing is stuck somewhere deep in his chest. Weighed down by everything he’s done, and by the unbearable truth of how much he’s broken you in ways he can never take back.

All he can do is stand there and hope you give him a second. And maybe another. Just enough time to try and pull himself together, even though he’s already been given so many chances, and has wasted every single one.

In the few seconds that pass, you wipe your cheeks with your sleeves, blinking hard and furious at yourself for letting your tears fall. Then for the briefest, most fleeting moment, your expression softens.

It’s barely there. So quick, but he doesn’t miss it, the tiniest crack in the wall you’ve built up between you two.

He knows it’s not forgiveness. He’s foolish, but not enough to believe that you could ever forgive him again. It’s just like there’s still a part of you, buried under all the pain, that is still showing him the most undeserved compassion. Beneath everything he ruined, there’s still a part of you that wishes things could be different.

Chris gets caught up in it. In the glimpse of what he thinks he sees, in the small chance of reconciliation that he has no right to hold onto. So much so that he almost misses it when it slips away.

Your shoulders slump. Your chest caves in. And whatever fragile hope he sees on your face collapses into disappointment.

He knew you would still be sad. He knew you’d be hurt and he was prepared, or at least he thought he was, to stand here tonight and take responsibility for all the ways he let you down.

But he wasn’t ready for this.

Wasn’t ready for the way you seem to turn all your sadness inwards. Wasn’t ready for the way you look at yourself, and not at him, like you are the one who made the mistake. Like the real shame isn’t what he did, but that you let yourself come here and believe things would be any different.

Chris stands useless and silent when you shake your head in defeat.

He’s frozen, until you turn to walk away.

“Wait, don’t–” he stops, voice cracking open between you.

His hand is around your wrist before you can step back, eliciting a small gasp from your lips as he pulls you close. He’s suddenly towering over you, the warmth of his body surrounding yours entirely, his breath fanning small puffs of fog in the cold. “I’m sorry, ___.”

You dare yourself to look into his eyes. You couldn’t tell from a distance, but face to face you can see now that they’re red-rimmed from fighting his own stubborn tears. “I just needed to see you one more time,” he says.

You blink.

The finality of his statement shifts the weight of the atmosphere instantly.

His gaze burns, and it becomes a stark contrast to the air that seems to have turned to ice around you. Tension starts to crackle in the small space between your bodies.

The same pull that once made it so easy to fall for him hits you all over again, and despite the effort you’ve made to forget it over time, resisting it now feels useless.

You know you shouldn’t give in, you know you need to leave him here now, but trying to fight such a magnetic force seems impossible when his hold has ignited an ache in your body for the connection—for his touch.

What’s one more time in the grand scheme of things?

You swallow hard, heart racing in your ears. “Well I’m right here, aren’t I?” You test. “Small talk not enough for you?”

Once again, he’s silent. His gaze flickers between your eyes, searching for the meaning behind your words. He can’t understand completely, but when he loosens the grip on your wrist and you don’t pull away, he becomes a little more sure of his movements.

When he speaks again, he counters. “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll let you walk away.” His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but he doesn’t move back.

Instead he leans in even closer, like he already knows you won’t say no. You can see it written all over his face. The faux concern. The way he’s making it seem like you have an option in this when he has already decided for you. You can feel it in the heat radiating off his touch, moving his hand from your wrist to the nape of your neck. And because he knows you, he’s right.

On instinct, you tilt your head upwards, surrendering permission.

Only he needs to hear you say it.

“Please, ___,” he whispers, “Tell me you want this too.”

For a second, you almost hold out.

For a second, you remember everything he’s done. Everything he ruined. Everything he doesn’t deserve.

But then your mind betrays your heart before you can second guess it, and the words slip past your lips.

“I want you, Chris.”

You barely finish speaking before he’s on you.

There's no hesitation, no second chance to take it back. His lips catch your own and are burning with longing and desire, obvious in the way he wraps you up in his arms and practically merges your body with his. Your nerves light with need under his touch, muddling your thoughts and all your pride along with it.

This is so wrong.

Chris is your ex for a reason. Going back to him, even just for tonight, is the lowest betrayal you could inflict on yourself. But as your hands pull him closer, as his lips part so easily for you, as adrenaline and lust bleed into every frantic movement you share, you’re willing to abandon every last one of your morals in exchange for just five more minutes in his arms.

You don’t know who moves first. Whether you’re dragging him or he’s steering you. But you’re moving, stumbling blindly into the bus without ever breaking apart. The second you’re inside, he’s kicking the door shut behind him without even looking, sealing you both in the heavy, intoxicating heat of the hallway that has nothing to do with the temperature.

You both strip off your sweaters and kick your shoes aside without a word, urgency pulsing between you, just before he pushes you flush against the coat hanger closet. A gasp slips from your lips at the cold on your back. You can already feel the familiar pulse between your thighs throb more and more as a wet patch dampens your panties, exposing how much you crave this. You know he feels it too. His sweats leave little to the imagination.

Your hand slips between your bodies on instinct, trailing your nails down his stomach until your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his pants.

Chris groans into your mouth the second you wrap your hand around him. The sound is so raw and so desperate and it shoots directly through your spine. His hips jerk against your touch, chasing the friction. He’s sticky against your palm as you pump him once more, slow and deliberate, just to hear him curse under his breath again.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

You squeeze your thighs together at the way he feels, because in your palm, Chris is so hard. His cock is thick, and long. It’s pulsing, twitching sometimes when you touch him in the ways you remember he likes.

He brings his hand to your wrist once again, urging you to grip him tighter, stroke him faster. “Just like that,” he moans.

His mouth hangs open and you look down. You can’t see much in the dimly lit space of the bus, but you can tell how badly he wants this. The way he gets impossibly harder in your palm, the wetness that taints your thumb every time you brush over the tip—it’s all a complete giveaway. His breath comes in deep pulls, his chest heaving against yours.

You bring your lips along his jaw until he’s tilting his head, exposing his neck for you to place a wet kiss along the column of his throat.

“Do you pretend other girls are me when they touch you like this?” You ask, the question coming out airy and light with arousal. “I know they don’t even come close to how you feel when you’re inside me.”

Chris’s stomach tenses and contracts at the perfect sound of your voice. In his state, his pride has also faded, so he doesn’t stop himself when he admits, “there haven’t been any other girls…since that day I haven’t– wait, I–.” He pauses, squeezing your wrist slightly to try and slow your movements. “Fuck, slow down– I’ll cum.”

Your pussy throbs at the confession. “Yeah?” You hum. Your other hand slips between his legs to fondle his balls. A gasp falls from his lips, and despite his oppositions, he spreads his legs wider for you, angling his hips so you can touch him better. “Too guilty to move on?”

His breath continues to fall short and ragged by your ear. His free hand finds its way to your hip for support as you suck on the warmth of his neck, pulling a groan from his throat that buzzes against your lips.

“___,” he says, voice strained. The call of your name is a warning, but he’s not even really sure what for. Is he trying to stop you before he comes like a horny teen? Or is he begging for more, so for the first time in months, he can finally finish in a hand that’s not his own?

You grin against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck once more before pulling away to look up at him. Your brows instinctively pinch together, mirroring the way his are pulled tight in pleasure. You can’t help but mock him again.

“Can’t believe you threw this all away for her.”

The reminder causes frustration to blaze through his aroused eyes and it only turns you on more. Before you can stroke him again, he grabs your wrists and rips your hands from his pants, spinning you around in one harsh motion.

You gasp as your chest hits the wall with a dull thud. His body pins yours in place, hard cock grinding against the curve of your ass through your clothes.

“You think I don’t get it?” he pants into your ear.

Chris’s lips harshly meet the side of your neck before you can even respond, making your breaths go up in pitch as his hands move all over your body. One of his palms settles over your tit, fingers kneading through the lacy fabric of your bra before pinching your nipple tight between his fingertips. The other drags around your waist, slipping into your waistband and finding your soaked pussy with no hesitation.

You cry out when two fingers thrust inside you without warning.

“I regret it everyday,” he mutters, fingers curling deep inside you at a relentless pace. The sound of your wetness echoes in the cramped space around you. “She got to be seen, while I kept this—you—hidden.”

His hand leaves your breast and moves to your throat, firm and steady, pressing just enough to leave you dizzy.

“I should’ve shown them,” he hisses. “Should’ve let the whole fucking world see who you are when you fall apart for me.” He pushes his fingers deeper. “Nobody knows you only come apart like this for me, no?”

Your walls clench around his fingers, pulling them even further inside. Your tits press harder into the wall, crushed against the surface. The friction of your bra rubbing against your nipples sparks a jolt of heat through your body at each shift. His cock throbs against your ass from behind, and the hand at your throat tightens just enough to make the edges of your vision blur.

He knows your body so well.

Knows exactly how to unravel you.

And he knows no one else has ever even come close.

Chris drives his fingers into you harder, dragging a shattered moan from your throat. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he growls.

The pad of his thumb is suddenly pressing into your clit and your entire body is overcome with chills. He works direct pressure in circular motions, keeping the stimulation pinpointed as his fingers continue to fuck you. Your knees buckle forward and hit the wall in front of you. You sigh and nod against the hand around your neck.

“It’s just you, Chris,” you whine. “Only you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes fall shut as his fingers pump in and out of you, and you lean your head back against his chest. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own as they grind against his palm, matching his pace and chasing your high. Your moans begin to raise in pitch, and the familiar feeling quickly closes in, coiling tight in your lower belly.

Just as you’re about to fall apart, Chris pulls his fingers from you, slipping out of your soaked panties with no warning. The sudden loss of friction makes the edge slip from your grasp and your orgasm fades into nothing. All that’s left is a pulsing ache and a frustration buzzing beneath your skin, sharp and unbearable.

You turn around, still breathless and flushed. Against the wall, Chris is leaning back like he has all the time in the world. His fingers glisten in the low light, and instead of wiping them clean, he brings them to his mouth, sucking them slow, like he’s tasting the proof of what you still are to him.

His eyes never leave yours. They burn with something between arrogance and hunger, daring you to say you don’t want more.

But you do.

“What the fuck, Chris?” You snap, shoving him hard in the chest. Aggravated tears fill instantly in your eyes. This is so cruel. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck me?” he murmurs, voice low and sharp. “You already look like you’re about to.”

A frustrated cry leaves your lips when you shove him again, once, and then twice, but he catches your wrists before you can hit him a third time. He yanks you into him and his mouth is on yours immediately, kissing you with a rough breathless urgency. You try to resist, pushing against his chest and writhing out of his grip.

But eventually your body surrenders.

Because you still want this. You still need this, even after all that he’s said and done. And you hate yourself for how much you do.

Your arms wrap around his neck before you can stop yourself. The space between your bodies disappears, hips and chests aligned in a rhythm that neither of you can control. His hands are everywhere. Sliding up your sides, grabbing at your waist, curling into every inch of your skin. Lust is tangible in the air, just pouring from you both into the filthy atmosphere.

His earlier words suddenly echo in your mind—‘I just needed to see you one more time.’ At the thought that this is never going to happen again, your kisses turn frantic and hard. Chris moves between your lips and your neck, glistening marks tainting here, there, everywhere. Soft moans shamelessly leave his lips, rough breath hitting your skin like he can’t get enough. He toys with the clasp of your bra, thinking about twisting it open but ends up leaving it alone. One track mind, taking over.

The two of you move blindly through the narrow hallway, stumbling over a backpack and a case of water abandoned on the floor. You bump into a counter and something falls to the ground behind you, maybe a bottle or a decoration but neither of you flinch, never once breaking apart.

You barely realize how far you’ve moved until your back hits the edge of something sturdy. You flinch at the impact, sucking in a breath as your fingers grip the surface behind you. Chris looks down, recognizing the dining table, but his attention doesn’t linger. His gaze flicks back to yours, and then he kisses you again, slower this time, like the chaos is settling into something heavier.

His hand comes to your hip, firm.

“Turn around,” he says.

And without thinking, you do.

He’s behind you now, the heat of his body unmistakable at your back. You try not to be eager, but your soaked pussy aches, making your movements crude as you roll your hips back against him, impatiently asking for whatever he’s going to do next.

Chris doesn’t move at first. He just lets you grind against him, like he’s studying how badly you want it. How shameless you’ve become under his hands. Then, without a word, his palm drags up the back of your thigh, firm and slow, until it slips between your legs. He cups your pussy through your panties, fingers pressing into the damp fabric, and lets out a low exhale right against your ear.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he points out, running a finger over your clothed folds.

The pet name accidentally slips from his lips and makes you buzz, but you can only moan in response. There’s no point in denying how bad you want him when he can feel it, how you’re past the point of resistance, ready to give in just like he says you are. Like you both know you are.

He trails his fingers up your stomach, tracing a line up your torso, leaving heat in its wake, before reaching your shoulder. He pushes your hair aside and presses a kiss to the exposed skin.

Chris’s hand spreads wide between your shoulder blades and he pushes you down, bending you over the solid edge until the plush swell of your tits pillow against the table. The wood is cool against your chest, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling beneath your skin. He drags his fingertips lower, skimming the length of your spine until he reaches the waistband of your sweats. In one swift motion, he slides them down with your panties, making them gather at your ankles.

The cool air brushes over your bare skin and pulls a shaky breath of anticipation from your lips. Behind you, Chris settles his hands on your hips for a moment, biting his lip on a soft moan as his eyes train on your cunt. The way it clenches mindlessly around nothing, so wet and ready and perfect from his fingers alone. He could cum at the sight.

Oh, he’s missed this.

His hands briefly leave your side and you hear the low rustle of fabric behind you, then the dull sound of his sweats hit the floor. Your breathing stutters, shallow and uneven, the nerves hitting you all at once now that there’s nothing left between you. One of Chris’s palms finds your hip again, grounding you in place, while the other wraps around his cock.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t have to.

The tension says everything. This is happening because you both want it. Because you both need it.

Your next breath catches in your throat, and just like that, Chris slides between your folds. In one smooth, unforgiving push, he fills you completely, and it’s good. So mind-numbingly good. The moans that fall from your lips are synced, pleasure clear in how lewd and loud and so relieved you both sound.

When he moves, he doesn't ease into it. He starts hard and fast, like neither of you have time to waste. Your palms press flat into the table as your body begins to jolt forward with the force of his thrusts.

With Chris inside of you, you almost let yourself forgive his mistakes. His stroke is so good and skilled, making you feel every inch of him every time he makes your hips meet. Pussy swallowing his cock, wet and slick. You never want him to leave, never want him to stop fucking you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, barely able to breathe.

Your body takes him like it never learned how to forget. Like it was waiting, tight, raw, and desperate for him. You spent months trying to fuck the memory out of yourself, hoping someone else could pull this from you. But nobody did. They barely scratched the surface.

Chris moves like he built the map. Every thrust hits deep. And it’s not just the stretch or the fullness. It’s the way he fits, the way he serves you, like your body was made to be fucked by him.

You’ve tried to mimic this with your own hands, but it was always a weak substitute for his cock. Nothing—not toys, not other men—ever came close. It was always shallow. Always empty. Chris has this way of hitting places you didn’t know existed, of filling you so completely that it borders on unbearable.

And now that he’s inside you again, it has all come back at once. It’s a rush. Like a drug relapse. Hot, heavy, all-consuming. This isn’t just pleasure. It’s need.

Your fingers claw at the edge of the wood, desperate for something to hold as he drives into you so well, cock dragging against every pulse and ridge of your tight walls. You’re stretched to your limit, stuffed full with no room to breathe.

“Fuck,” he grits out between thrusts. “You always feel so good around me.”

Chris’s pleasure has never been quiet. He’s shameless when he lets out sharp breaths, low groans, and the occasional whimper when you used to edge him just to watch him fall apart. He didn’t mind when you took control. Sometimes he liked it.

But not now.

Now you’re bent over, hands braced against the table while he fucks you hard and without pause. There’s no pretending who’s in charge. He’s got you exactly how he wants you.

And it feels insane how much you need it.

“Please,” you beg. “It feels so good, Chris, please. Don’t stop.”

Your words cause Chris to groan and shudder. His cock throbs, you can feel it jerk inside you. He has to slow down for just a moment, before he picks back up again, grabbing your hips and dragging you back into him, slamming deeper with every thrust.

The guttural sound it pulls from your throat isn’t controlled. You don’t even try to hold it in. He hears his name, rough and desperate, and it only makes him fuck you harder.

He leans over you, strokes long and consistent, his chest brushing against your back. His lips are hot against your skin and suck along your shoulder in a way that’s more bruising than soft. After leaving a mark, he trails his mouth on the curve of your neck, then nips at your earlobe, making your whole body twitch.

One of his hands slides up and curls gently around your throat again. He draws you upright with him. Your back is flush to his chest, making your breathing shallow as the pressure sharpens your focus. Standing makes the angle deeper. Everything feels closer, heavier, like your body’s one touch away from unraveling.

“Fuck– I’m so close,” you moan.

You didn’t have to tell him. The tight clench of your walls around his cock is painfully familiar; Chris can tell.

But at your words, his rhythm shifts and his thrusts increase in vigor, like he wants to push you there faster. Your breath shortens at the change, body tightening with every snap of his hips. Then his hand moves, sliding down your stomach and between your legs without warning.

When his fingers find your clit, everything stutters. Your back arches, your body pressing into his as your legs threaten to give out beneath you. His arm tightens around your middle and neck, holding you up like he already knew you'd fold.

He rubs your core quick and rough. Side to side with sharp pressure, right where it matters. Your moans rise, breath catching high in your throat as your stomach coils tighter, heat blooming low and fast.

Your pussy clenches around him, fluttering with each thrust, your body working against itself to keep up with how fast he's pulling you under.

“Cum, baby,” he coaxes into your ear. You can hear how much he struggles to hold back his own release as he talks. “Come on, you’re almost there. I can feel you.”

The slap of his hips is as loud as your moans, his words doing something insane to your body. You nod without thinking and reach back to hook your arm around his neck, needing something solid to hold onto. The pressure coils tighter in your gut, sharp enough to make your eyes squeeze shut, your grip around his neck locking down hard enough to almost choke him.

The hand at his neck surges another rush through his movements, and somehow Chris finds it in him to give you more. He digs in, moving into you faster, putting every last bit of strength into each brutal thrust.

Every second is faster than the last, wrecking your rhythm, tearing you closer to the edge without any way to pull back.

He sounds wrecked too. His breathing is loud and broken, groans ripping straight from his chest as he fucks into you without slowing down.

You’re right there. So close you can feel the crash coming.

He just needs to tighten his around your throat like this. Tear his fingers over your clit like that. Press his cock into that one spot deep inside you, over and over, merciless and exact until–

"Oh my god, I'm gonna cum–" you gasp out, words breaking apart.

It hits all at once. The overwhelming, devastating pressure in your stomach finally snaps, burning through you with a rush.

Your mouth falls open in a way that stops any sound from coming out. White spots litter the black conceals of your vision as you squeeze your eyes together, the pleasure ringing in your ears. Your body locks up, cunt clenching tight as you fall apart. Wetness spills out of you, creaming on his cock as he continues to fuck you through your high.

Behind you Chris groans against your skin at the swollen aftermath of your pussy. His hips can only jerk once, twice, and then his own release hits. He’s spilling inside you, thick and hot, fucking it deeper with a few broken, desperate thrusts. He’s so loud you’re half convinced someone will hear. You don't care.

Neither of you slow down. You keep dragging more out of each other, past the point of sensitivity, past the point of reason. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving scratches he’ll feel tomorrow, just like you’ll feel every bruise he stamps into your body.

The bus smells like sweat and sex and everything you’re not supposed to want anymore. But you cling to him anyway, stretching the night out just a little longer.

This isn’t a second chance.

It isn’t forgiveness.

It’s the last time you’ll ever get to pretend you still belong to each other.

And you hang on until you need to let go.

—

“Do you have to leave?”

Your fingers still as you zip up your hoodie. You glance over to Chris, clothed now in just his sweats, who watches you from the other side of couch.

You sigh. “I really shouldn’t have even come in the first place.”

“But you did,” he says. He moves to sit right beside you and places a gentle hand on your thigh, resting it where you used to let him touch you without thinking. His beautiful blue eyes, which were just blown out with pleasure, now search yours with subtle desperation. “You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t want to.”

Covering his hand with your own, you press your lips together and stare at him for a moment.

“It was a mistake,” you say simply.

His face falls, but you he doesn’t respond. Arguing now would be useless, he knows you’ve made up your mind. Your chest tightens slightly when his brows pinch and he shakes his head.

After tonight, sadness still finds its way into your heart, but it’s more for him than for yourself.

"I hope you take care of yourself, Chris."

With a final squeeze to his hand, you offer him a small smile and leave, clicking the door shut behind you without another word.

—

a/n: the ending of this is awful lmfao but thank u for readinggg<33 i started this on april 1st and wanted so badly to get it to u guys for the boston show but school and work didnt let it happen. so then i tried to post it at leasttt before tour ended lmfao but wtv. a day late but at least it’s here!!! lmk what u think!!!

#bbywriter ✍️#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo

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ijustwannabecool · 2 days ago

Text

Somewhere Only We Know - Part 1

Lando Norris x Reader

Based upon this request:

Hi!!! First of all, I love love loooove your stories. I don't know if you're open to writing for Lando. Just wanted to maybe suggest this: we all know he's spiraling at the moment, maybe someone who he meets and steadies him? I know he has that typical athlete fboy image. But maybe someone who he changes for and really helps him mentally as well. Seeing that change from an outside perspective from people in F1 or fans would be pretty cool. Just a thought that popped up! Thanks! Will be anxiously waiting for your next uploads!

Summary... He wasn’t looking for anything when he found you — just a diner, a coffee, a moment to breathe — but somehow you became everything. This is the story of how he fell, how you stayed, and how together you built something louder than the noise trying to tear you apart.

A/N: I hope this story does justice to your request! I wrote it like a book, so it has chapters within the story. Also, the story was so long that I had to split it into two parts because Tumblr would not allow me to post it. I had such a blast writing it, and I hope you all have just as much fun reading it. As always, thank you so much for being here, for supporting these little worlds we create, and for sharing your love with the characters too.

Happy reading, and have a beautiful day today!! 🖤✨

If you enjoyed the story and feel like supporting my writing, you can donate a strawberry matcha through my Ko-fi! 🍓🍵 (No pressure at all — your kindness is already everything.)

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

Chapter 1: Quiet Places

The hotel room was suffocating. Walls too close, lights too harsh, the buzzing in his head louder than anything outside.

Lando sat on the edge of the bed, hoodie half-pulled over his head, staring at the carpet like it might offer answers. His phone buzzed once. Then again. Group chats. Team messages. Notifications about another headline he didn’t want to read.

Partying again. Lando Norris spotted leaving club at 3 AM. Is McLaren’s golden boy losing focus?

He scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t entirely true. It didn’t matter how lonely the nights felt after race weekends that didn’t go the way they were supposed to. It didn’t matter that sometimes the noise in his head got so loud, he just needed somewhere — anywhere — to drown it out.

Tonight, even the noise couldn’t fix it.

His chest felt tight. His breathing shallow. I need air.

Without thinking, Lando grabbed his room key, shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled his hoodie tighter around him, and slipped out into the night.

—

The city hummed in a way hotels never could. A low, steady thrum of life: streetlights blinking through misty air, taxis splashing through puddles, people moving in and out of places he didn’t know. It was cold — not winter cold, but enough to bite at his fingers.

He walked without a destination. Past neon-lit bars, past groups laughing too loud, past windows that showed lives he didn’t belong to. His sneakers splashed through a puddle, and he didn’t even care.

Just keep walking. Maybe if he kept walking, the buzzing in his brain would go quiet.

It didn’t.

Not until he saw it.

A diner. Tiny. Wedged between two dark shops, almost hidden except for a flickering OPEN sign that fought to stay alive against the night.

Above the door, in faded, curling blue paint, a small sign read: The Bluebird Diner.

There was even a little bluebird painted near the handle — tiny and easy to miss, but somehow it caught his eye.

Inside, the air smelled like coffee and pancakes. Warm. Safe. Real.

He tugged his hoodie lower over his forehead and pushed the door open, the bell above it giving a sad little jingle.

He slid into the booth furthest from the windows, shoulders hunched, head low. Just a guy looking to be left alone. He pulled out his phone out of habit, but the screen glare felt too bright. He turned it face-down on the table.

That’s when he noticed her.

Sitting alone at the counter, a few stools down, a girl — about his age maybe — stirring her coffee absentmindedly with a spoon. A book sat open in front of her, its pages stained and loved. She didn’t look up when the door jingled. Didn’t stare. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t even seem to care.

For once, someone wasn’t looking at him like him.

It was... strange. And weirdly grounding.

He stared at the laminated menu without reading a word, mind drifting somewhere fuzzier, quieter.

Until—

"You look like you lost a fight with a thunderstorm."

The voice came from the counter. Light. Almost teasing.

Lando blinked, looking up slowly. The girl — the stranger — was smiling at him, just a little. Not mocking. Just... seeing.

He coughed awkwardly, dragging a hand over his jaw. "Something like that," he muttered.

She nodded like she understood. Like she wasn’t going to ask for details.

"You want coffee?" she offered, tilting her mug slightly like a peace treaty. "It's terrible, but it’s hot."

A laugh — real, cracked around the edges — escaped him before he could stop it. The first laugh in what felt like forever.

He shook his head, smiling under his hoodie. "Sure. Why not."

The girl slid off her stool with a soft scrape of leather boots against tile. She crossed the diner in slow, unhurried steps, refilling her coffee mug behind the counter before grabbing a second chipped white cup for him.

No one else was there. No waitress in sight. Just the jukebox playing something old and sad, the rain starting to splatter softly against the windows, and her — a small anchor in a world that felt like it was spinning too fast.

She set the cup down in front of him without ceremony.

"No judgment," she said lightly, curling into the opposite booth seat without being invited. "Just company."

Lando blinked at her again, unsure whether to laugh, thank her, or pull his hoodie lower. Instead, he mumbled, "You always hand out coffee to sad strangers?"

She grinned into her mug. "Only the ones who look like they need it more than me."

A silence stretched between them — but not uncomfortable. A soft kind of silence. The kind that lets you breathe without pretending.

"I’m L—" He caught himself. Old habit.

She arched a brow, playful. "Let me guess. Lucas? Logan? Liam?"

He huffed a laugh, ducking his head. "Something like that."

She didn’t push. Didn’t pry. Just sipped her coffee like it didn’t matter.

"You don’t have to tell me," she shrugged. "You can be whoever you want here. Pretty sure that's the whole point of a place like this."

He stared at her for a beat longer than he meant to. Whoever you want to be. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone gave him that option.

The neon sign buzzed faintly behind her, casting a golden halo around her hair. She looked real. Solid. Untouched by the headlines and chaos he lived in.

"You from around here?" he asked finally, voice scratchy.

She shook her head, setting her cup down. "Passing through. Like you, I guess."

He wondered if she was running from something too.

Outside, a car whooshed by, sending spray across the pavement. The rain came harder now, drumming against the windows like a heartbeat.

The girl glanced at him again — really looked this time — and her smile softened into something quieter. More knowing.

"You don't have to tell me what's wrong," she said. "But if you want to — I’m a good listener. World's worst advice giver, though."

He barked a short, broken laugh.

"Good," he said, cracking a ghost of a smile. "I'm not looking for advice."

She leaned back in the booth, tucking one knee up against the vinyl seat.

"Then we’re a perfect match," she said, toasting him with her mug.

Lando watched her for a long moment. The way she didn’t push. The way she didn’t want anything from him. The way she offered nothing more complicated than a crappy cup of coffee and a seat across from her.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed that.

He wrapped his hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into his cold fingers. His hoodie still shadowed his face, but for the first time in days, maybe weeks, he didn't feel the need to hide.

Not from her.

Not here.

At The Bluebird Diner.

Somewhere between the broken race weekends and the headlines he couldn't outrun, Lando Norris started to breathe again. And it started with a stranger who never asked for his name.

———

Chapter 2: Rain Between Us

The coffee was terrible. Burnt, watery, exactly what you’d expect from a diner fighting to survive the 2 a.m. quiet. But somehow, with her sitting across from him, it tasted like the best thing he'd had in weeks.

He took a sip, grimaced, and set the cup down. She laughed under her breath, hiding it behind her own mug.

"Told you," she said, voice warm with amusement.

"You weren't kidding," Lando muttered, tapping a finger against the chipped rim.

The jukebox crooned something old and broken-hearted, a perfect soundtrack for the flickering neon, the rain outside, the shared silence stretching between them.

"So," she said after a moment, stirring her coffee like she wasn't even drinking it, "Mysterious Almost-Lucas. You just wandering, or are you running?"

The question was soft. Not a trap. He could lie if he wanted. Hell, he could get up and leave and she wouldn’t chase him.

Still — he found himself shrugging, the truth spilling out without much thought.

"Little bit of both," he said, voice rough.

She nodded like she understood. Like she'd been there too.

"Sometimes you have to get a little lost," she mused, tracing the edge of her mug with a fingertip, "before you figure out where you're supposed to be."

Lando watched her. The way she spoke without pretending she had all the answers. The way she sat like she belonged to no one and nowhere, perfectly at peace with it.

"You some kind of fortune cookie in disguise?" he asked, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

She grinned, playful. "Nah. I just read too much."

She tapped the battered paperback lying abandoned beside her coffee.

He squinted at the title, smirking when he caught it: The Art of Getting Lost.

"Seriously?" he asked, incredulous.

She just shrugged, her smile easy and unapologetic. "Like I said," she teased, "perfect match."

Time blurred inside the diner. Minutes folding into each other until the rain outside turned from a light patter to a steady downpour. Neither of them moved to leave.

It wasn’t until a particularly loud crack of thunder rattled the windows that she glanced at the clock and sighed.

"I should probably get going," she said, sliding off the booth seat reluctantly. "Before I turn into a pumpkin or whatever tragic fairytale ending is waiting for me out there."

Lando found himself standing too, his legs stiff from sitting so long. The diner felt too big all of a sudden. Too empty without her in it.

"Where you headed?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She shrugged, slipping on a worn denim jacket. "Couple blocks over. Motel with questionable sheets and even worse cable."

A part of him — the reckless part — wanted to offer to walk her there. The smarter part knew how dangerous that could sound.

She must've seen the hesitation flicker across his face, because she tilted her head, grinning.

"You can walk me to the corner if you want," she said lightly. "I promise not to scream stranger danger."

He laughed — a real, full laugh this time — and shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

"Deal."

—

The rain was cold, soaking into the edges of his sneakers almost immediately, but he didn’t care. They walked close but not touching, their shoulders almost brushing every few steps.

She didn’t pull out her phone. Didn’t rush. Just let the night wrap around them like a secret.

"This your thing?" he asked after a beat, pulling his hood tighter. "Late-night diners? Making sad strangers feel less sad?"

She smiled up at him, rain catching in her eyelashes. "Maybe," she said. "But only the ones who look like they might forget how to come back to themselves."

He looked at her — really looked — and felt something unfamiliar twist low in his chest.

Hope.

It scared him a little.

At the corner, under the orange glow of a flickering streetlight, she stopped and turned to him.

"This is me," she said, nodding toward the dim outline of a motel a few blocks down.

He nodded, unsure what to say.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then, impulsively, she dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pen — the kind hotels leave on bedside tables — and grabbed his hand.

Before he could react, she scribbled something across his wrist.

A number. A name.

Y/N.

She capped the pen with a snap and smiled, a little mischievous.

"In case you get lost again," she said. "You know where to find me."

And then — before he could say anything — she winked, turned, and disappeared into the rain.

Leaving Lando standing there, heart thudding in his ribs, staring down at the ink bleeding slowly into his skin.

Somewhere between the cold rain and the bitter coffee, he realized: Maybe getting lost wasn’t always a bad thing.

Not if it brought you to someone like her.

Not if it brought you to the Bluebird Diner.

———

Chapter 3: A Rainy Day

The hotel room smelled like cold coffee and regret. The kind of night that clung to your skin even after you showered, the kind that weighed heavy behind your ribs.

Lando sat at the small desk by the window, hoodie still damp from the rain, staring at the smudged ink on the inside of his wrist.

Y/N. A string of numbers trailing after it.

The rain dripped down the glass in slow, tired patterns. The city blinked below, indifferent to the people trying to survive it.

He grabbed a notepad — the kind every hotel left on the nightstand — and carefully, almost reverently, copied the number down. His pen hovered for a second.

Save it in your phone, his mind whispered. Text her. Call her. Do something.

But his heart was a mess. He wasn’t ready. Not yet.

Instead, he tore the paper free, folded it in half, and slipped it into the back of his phone case — tucked safe behind the transparent plastic like a secret. A promise he wasn’t brave enough to cash in yet.

"For a rainy day," he muttered to himself, voice rough.

He set his phone down screen-side up, hiding the paper from view, and collapsed back onto the bed.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, for the first time in a long time, Lando Norris let himself hope there might be more than headlines waiting for him. Someday.

—

Two Weeks Later

The world didn’t stop spinning just because he wanted it to. It kept roaring forward — race after race, city after city, good days and bad days bleeding into each other until he barely remembered where he was half the time.

The wins were loud. The losses were louder. And somewhere in between — when the engines went silent and the hotel rooms got too big — he thought of her.

The girl at the Bluebird Diner. The one who handed him terrible coffee and a better kind of silence. The one who smiled at him like he was a person, not a headline.

Sometimes he caught himself scanning crowds, stupidly, looking for a flash of her denim jacket or the soft curve of her smile. Sometimes he dreamed of rainy streets and cracked vinyl booths.

He hadn’t pulled the paper out. Not yet.

He kept telling himself he was too busy. Too tired. Too much of a mess.

But late at night, when sleep wouldn’t come and the weight of everything pressed heavy against his chest, he found himself reaching for his phone, fingers hesitating over the case.

One night — after a brutal race weekend where nothing had gone right — he gave in.

He peeled the phone case back slowly, like uncovering something sacred.

The paper was still there. Crumpled a little. Still holding her number like a lifeline.

His heart thudded against his ribs as he stared at it.

Now or never.

He opened a blank message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Paused.

Deleted it.

Started again.

Lando: Hey. Not sure if you remember me. Coffee at 2AM. Bluebird Diner. Bad jokes, worse coffee. I’ve been carrying your number around like a fool. Mind if I cash it in?

He hit send before he could lose his nerve.

Set the phone face-down on the bed like it was going to explode.

Paced the room. Ran a hand through his hair. Cursed under his breath.

It buzzed five minutes later.

He stared at it, heart in his throat.

Y/N: Hard to forget someone who made bad coffee taste better. Where to?

He smiled. Really smiled. The kind that cracked him open a little and let the light seep in.

Maybe getting lost wasn’t the end of the world after all.

Maybe it was just the start of something better.

———

Chapter 4: After Hours

He didn’t know what he expected.

Maybe that she wouldn’t show. Maybe that he would chicken out and turn back at the door.

Instead, he found himself standing in front of a narrow storefront tucked between a closed tailor shop and a boarded-up art studio. The only light came from a cracked neon sign above the door: Ink & Ivy.

Inside, warm golden light spilled over books stacked in messy piles, fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling. It smelled like old paper and rain-soaked wood.

And there she was. Curled up on a worn armchair in the corner, thumbing through a battered novel, a soft, unreadable smile tugging at her mouth.

Y/N.

Something in his chest unclenched just seeing her.

She looked up when the door chimed, smile widening when she saw him.

"You made it," she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Lando shrugged, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. "Had to," he said, voice rough from nerves. "Owed you a coffee, remember?"

She grinned and stood, sliding a bookmark into the pages before tucking the novel under her arm.

"You're in luck," she said. "They make a mean hot chocolate here. Coffee's still crap, though."

He laughed, following her deeper into the shop, past shelves that leaned under the weight of forgotten stories.

There was a tiny counter at the back — barely big enough for a cash register and an old espresso machine. No other customers. Just the two of them and the endless hum of rainy-night quiet.

Y/N ordered two hot chocolates without asking what he wanted.

He didn’t mind.

It felt... good. Being led for once instead of leading.

They settled at a small table by the window, mugs steaming between them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t heavy. It was just... them.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"So," she said, stirring her drink, "did you find yourself yet?"

He smiled, a little crooked. "Working on it."

She nodded like she approved.

"I think that's the trick," she said thoughtfully, tracing the rim of her mug with a fingertip. "You don't just wake up one day and have all the answers. You kind of... stumble into them. Trip over them. Sometimes they show up in crappy coffee at 2AM."

He laughed, shaking his head. "You and your fortune cookie wisdom."

She tilted her head, pretending to think.

"Maybe I'm just psychic," she teased. "Or maybe I'm really good at pretending everything's fine."

He looked at her — really looked — and felt something tighten low in his chest.

There were shadows under her words. A mirror of his own. It made him want to know every story she kept hidden behind that easy smile.

"You don't have to pretend with me," he said before he could think better of it.

Her eyes softened, the kind of look that made you feel seen without saying anything.

"Neither do you," she whispered.

The rain outside blurred the city into watercolor smears of light and shadow. Inside, the world shrank down to just two people and a thousand unsaid things hanging between them.

He should’ve been scared of it. Of what it meant. Of what it could mean.

But sitting there — with a chipped mug warming his hands and her quiet presence filling all the empty spaces inside him — Lando thought maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be afraid.

Not tonight.

Not with her.

———

Chapter 5: Paper Moons

They stayed in the bookstore until the owner flipped the sign to "Closed" and politely pretended not to notice them still tucked into the corner.

Lando couldn't remember the last time he lost track of time without the roar of an engine or a schedule ticking in the back of his mind.

She made it too easy.

They talked about everything and nothing:

Their favorite childhood cartoons. The worst books they were forced to read in school. How pineapple absolutely does belong on pizza (her opinion) and how it absolutely does not (his).

At one point, while thumbing through a stack of battered travel guides, she glanced up at him, mischievous.

"So what is it you do, exactly?" she asked, tilting her head. "Professional traveler? Pizza connoisseur? World’s slowest book club president?"

Lando laughed, shoving a hand through his messy hair.

"Something like that," he said, half-truthful.

She narrowed her eyes, playful. "Mysterious again, I see."

"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you," he said, half under his breath.

She grinned. "Try me. My bet's still on undercover barista."

He laughed again — a real one, deep and rough and unfiltered. God, when was the last time he laughed like this without feeling like he had to perform it?

"I drive," he said finally, shrugging like it wasn’t a whole world. "A lot."

She arched a brow. "Like... truck driver? Racecar driver? Food deliveries?"

He barked another laugh, shaking his head.

"One of those," he said.

She studied him for a beat — not with suspicion, but with something lighter. Curiosity. Amusement.

Then she shrugged like it didn’t really matter.

"Well, I hope you're a better driver than you are a coffee drinker," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his as she passed by to the next shelf.

He smiled to himself, warmth blooming quietly in his chest.

She didn’t press. She didn’t treat him like a puzzle to solve. She just... accepted the pieces he offered and kept walking.

It felt like breathing again after years of holding his breath.

—

Later, they sat cross-legged in the aisle between "Travel" and "Mystery," flipping through a book of weird world records.

"Did you know," she said, tapping a finger against the page, "someone once stacked 500 doughnuts into a tower and balanced it on their forehead?"

Lando snorted. "New life goal."

She laughed, tossing a crumpled receipt at him. It bounced off his hoodie and landed in his lap.

He picked it up, pretended to examine it.

"Is this your phone number?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "No. It’s the bill for your terrible jokes."

He grinned — wide and boyish and unguarded.

For a moment, he let himself forget the cameras, the headlines, the pressure. For a moment, he was just a boy in a bookstore, sitting next to a girl who didn’t need anything from him except what he was willing to give.

And for the first time in a long time — he wanted to give it.

———

Chapter 6: In Between Places

They never made official plans. No "meet me at 8" texts. No set routines.

They just… drifted back into each other’s lives, night after night, like gravity pulling them in without asking permission.

—

One night:

They ended up back at the Bluebird Diner, squeezed into a booth so worn it sagged in the middle. A plate of soggy fries between them. A crumpled napkin-turned-scorecard as they argued over the dumbest trivia questions pulled from a beat-up game box the diner kept behind the counter.

"Name three countries that start with 'Z'!" Y/N demanded, pointing a fry at him like a sword.

"Zimbabwe, Zambia—" Lando started confidently, then paused, face scrunching.

Y/N leaned in, grinning wide. "Clock's ticking, racer boy."

He slapped the table dramatically. "There’s not a third one! That’s cheating!"

"Zanzibar," she said smugly, popping a fry into her mouth.

"That’s not a country!" he protested, laughing so hard he nearly knocked over his drink.

She shrugged innocently. "Maybe if you traveled more, you'd know."

He choked on a laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Unbelievable. First you bully my coffee skills, now my geography."

She grinned and kicked him lightly under the table. "And you love it."

He couldn’t even deny it.

—

Another night:

They sat side-by-side on the hood of his car, parked on the edge of the city where the skyline blurred into open sky.

A half-eaten bag of gummy bears between them. A terrible playlist of early 2000s pop songs humming from the car speakers.

Y/N leaned back on her hands, head tilted toward the stars.

"Sometimes," she said softly, voice nearly lost in the night air, "I feel like I’m just... floating through life. Like I missed the turn somewhere but I’m too scared to go back."

Lando turned his head, watching her instead of the stars.

"I get that," he said, voice low. "I feel like that a lot too."

She glanced at him, surprised. He just shrugged, plucking a gummy bear from the bag and tossing it in the air before catching it in his mouth.

"You're not the only lost cause around here," he said, grinning crookedly.

She smiled — a real one, fragile around the edges.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone in the floating.

—

Sometimes:

They didn’t talk at all.

They just wandered through late-night bookstores, or old record shops that stayed open too late for no reason, or abandoned playgrounds where the swings creaked in the wind.

Sometimes Y/N would tell him about the cities she wanted to see but never had the money to visit.

Sometimes Lando would tell her stories about places he’d been — twisting them into ridiculous adventures just to make her laugh.

He left out the race tracks. The fame. The noise.

It wasn’t lying. Not really.

It was protecting something he wasn’t ready to lose.

Not yet.

—

One night:

Sitting on a swingset at some forgotten park, boots dragging lazy lines in the sand, Y/N turned to him with a thoughtful look.

"You know," she said, nudging his shoulder with hers, "you’re not half as mysterious as you think you are."

He raised a brow, grinning. "Yeah?"

She nodded sagely. "You’re just a guy who’s a little lost, a little tired, and way too competitive about trivia games."

He laughed, the sound bubbling out of him before he could stop it.

"Maybe," he said, kicking at the sand. "And you’re just a girl who’s smarter than she lets on and drinks way too much terrible coffee."

She gasped mock-offended. "I tolerate terrible coffee. There’s a difference."

He shook his head, smiling at her like she hung the stars.

And maybe, just maybe, she did.

Little by little, the walls between them cracked.

Little by little, they learned each other’s rhythms.

Little by little, two lost souls stopped floating alone.

And neither of them even realized it was happening — not until it was too late to turn back.

———

Chapter 7: Cracks in the Armor

The night had fallen into one of their easy silences.

Sitting on the swings again, bundled in too-thin jackets, hot drinks warming their hands, they watched the city breathe around them.

Somewhere far away, a siren wailed. Closer, the breeze whispered through the trees, tugging at Y/N’s hair.

"You ever think about just... leaving?" she asked, her voice soft and faraway. "Packing up and disappearing somewhere no one knows you?"

Lando stared at the dark sky.

"All the time," he said quietly.

She glanced at him, catching the rawness in his voice.

"You could," she said gently. "If you wanted to."

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"It’s harder than it sounds," he admitted. "When the world... expects things from you."

She nodded slowly, sipping her drink.

"You don’t owe the world anything," she said simply.

The words hit harder than he expected.

Like maybe — just maybe — she meant them.

He fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie, debating.

Then — impulsively, stupidly — he said:

"I travel for work. A lot. Different countries every week sometimes. Cameras, interviews... noise."

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Couldn’t.

The air shifted between them. Not colder. Not tenser. Just... aware.

Y/N set her drink down carefully in the sand between them.

"You a rockstar or something?" she teased lightly, trying to keep the moment easy.

Lando huffed a laugh. "Not exactly."

She bumped his shoulder with hers, playful.

"Secret agent?"

He smiled a little, finally looking at her.

"Something like that."

Y/N studied him for a beat, the city lights flickering in her eyes.

She could have asked. She could have pushed.

Instead, she just shrugged, easy and sure.

"Whatever it is," she said, picking her drink back up, "you’re still the guy who sucks at trivia and drinks hot chocolate like it’s a competitive sport."

He stared at her, something hot and unfamiliar swelling in his chest.

"You’re not curious?" he asked, surprised.

"Oh, I’m curious," she said, grinning. "But... I figure if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me."

Simple. No pressure. No performance.

Just a choice — left in his hands.

For the first time in a long, long time, Lando felt like he wasn’t being cornered into being someone.

He could just be.

And maybe — Maybe that was the whole point of her.

A lighthouse when the rest of the world just wanted to watch him drown.

—

Later, as they walked back toward the car, Y/N kicked a rock along the sidewalk, hands stuffed deep into her pockets.

"You know," she said casually, not looking at him, "you’re kinda like a bluebird."

He blinked, thrown.

"A what?"

She shrugged, smiling faintly. "You show up when people need hope the most. You just... don’t know it yet."

Lando stopped walking.

Just stared at her.

The Bluebird Diner. The paper tucked behind his phone case. The way she made him feel like he was finding pieces of himself he thought he lost.

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

"You’re wrong," he said, voice rough.

She arched a brow. "Oh?"

He smiled — wide, real, and a little sad.

"I think you’re the bluebird."

She blushed, looking away, pretending to be annoyed.

"Great. Now I sound like a Disney character."

He laughed again, bumping her shoulder lightly.

But deep down — he knew he meant it.

Even if she didn’t understand yet, even if he couldn’t say it properly

She was his bluebird. And he was already terrified of losing her.

———

Chapter 8: The Fast Lane

It started with a text.

Lando: You busy tomorrow?

Y/N: Define "busy."

Lando: I know a place. Not far. Not fancy. Bring sneakers.

Y/N: ...You’re not going to murder me, right?

Lando: 50/50.

She sent back a laughing emoji, and he smiled at his screen for a solid minute before remembering he was supposed to be cool about this.

He wasn’t.

Not even a little.

—

The next afternoon was gray and crisp — a rare stretch of calm between rainstorms — when he picked her up.

No fancy cars. No entourage.

Just a beat-up old black SUV he borrowed from a friend because it didn’t scream his name at every intersection.

Y/N climbed in, wrinkling her nose playfully at the state of the floorboards.

"Should I be concerned about tetanus?" she teased, buckling in.

Lando grinned, heart kicking against his ribs.

"Only if you plan on licking the gearshift," he shot back.

She laughed — easy, bright — and he felt the knot in his chest loosen.

This was why he wanted her here. Because with her, everything felt... lighter.

They pulled up to a private karting track just outside the city.

Quiet. Empty except for a few staff members and a handful of guys milling around near the pit lane, helmets tucked under their arms.

Lando killed the engine and rubbed his palms against his jeans.

"Okay," he said, turning to her. "Don't freak out."

She raised a brow. "Should I be freaking out?"

He shrugged, trying to play it off. "I might have a bit of a reputation around here."

Y/N smirked. "Lemme guess. World's Slowest Kart Driver."

He barked a laugh, nerves unraveling a little.

"Something like that," he said, climbing out.

She followed, looking around curiously.

The place was small — nothing glitzy — but even she could tell it wasn’t some random rental track. It was built for serious drivers. The kind who lived and breathed competition.

A tall guy with a messy head of curls jogged over, clapping Lando on the back.

"Mate, finally!" he said, grinning. "And you brought a friend."

His eyes flicked to Y/N, friendly but curious.

"Max, this is Y/N," Lando said casually. "Y/N, Max."

She smiled easily, sticking out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

Max shot Lando a quick look — the kind that said we’re going to talk about this later — but just shook her hand and winked.

"Good luck surviving him on the track," Max said to her with mock seriousness.

Y/N snorted. "Oh, please. I can handle him."

Lando raised a brow. "Big talk for someone who’s never seen me drive."

She just grinned, all innocent. "Big ego for someone who needed a second coffee to beat me at trivia."

Max laughed outright, slinging an arm around Lando’s shoulder. "I like her," he said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.

Lando flushed — actual, real color flooding his cheeks — and shrugged him off, muttering, "Piss off," under his breath.

Y/N watched the exchange, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.

She didn’t say anything.

But she saw it — the way Lando relaxed around these people. The way he lit up.

The way they lit up seeing him like this.

They geared up quickly — helmets, gloves, coveralls.

Y/N struggled with the zipper on her suit, muttering curses under her breath, and Lando doubled over laughing.

"Shut up!" she yelled, trying to wrangle the stubborn metal tab.

He was still chuckling when he came over and helped her, fingers brushing her wrist.

A tiny touch.

A stupid, electric jolt straight to his ribs.

He pretended not to notice.

She pretended not to blush.

Neither of them said a word about it.

On the track, she was... terrible.

Absolutely, gloriously terrible.

She stalled twice, took corners like a drunken giraffe, and very nearly spun herself into the grass on lap three.

But when she pulled into the pit lane, yanking her helmet off with a huge grin, Lando swore he’d never seen anyone look more beautiful.

"I almost died!" she announced proudly.

"You almost killed me," he corrected, laughing.

She shrugged, unbothered. "Minor details."

He looked at her — flushed cheeks, wild hair, laughing eyes — and thought:

This. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Later, sitting on the pit wall swinging their legs like kids, they shared a bottle of lukewarm water and watched the sky turn pink with sunset.

Max and the others were off somewhere, giving them space without saying they were giving them space.

"You’re... good at this," Y/N said, nodding toward the track.

Lando shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. "Been doing it a while."

She sipped the water, thinking.

"Not just good," she said thoughtfully. "You look... happy out there."

He stared at her, thrown.

Because she didn’t say "famous." She didn’t say "fast." She said happy.

And he realized — with a pang so fierce it nearly knocked the air out of him — that he was.

When she was around, he was.

———

Chapter 9: Cracks in the Bubble

The second time Y/N got into a kart, she looked determined.

Deadly serious.

"Okay," she said, yanking her helmet down with a snap. "No more driving like a drunk baby giraffe."

Lando bit back a laugh.

"You sure?" he teased, hopping into his own kart with practiced ease. "I was kinda looking forward to seeing if you could set a world record for most spins in one lap."

She flipped him off cheerfully, gunning her little kart forward with a wild screech of tires.

He laughed so hard he almost forgot to start his own.

—

The next thirty minutes were chaos.

Y/N barreling into corners like she had a personal vendetta against gravity. Lando weaving around her, slowing down to tease her, tapping her bumper lightly with his kart whenever he passed just to mess with her.

She screamed fake outrage every time.

At one point, she tried to block him from overtaking by swinging wildly across the track like a Mario Kart character.

He narrowly avoided crashing into her, throwing his hands up dramatically.

"THAT'S ILLEGAL!" he yelled over the roar of the engines.

She laughed so hard she nearly spun out — again.

—

Eventually, red flags waved them back into the pit lane.

Y/N pulled off her helmet, hair a wild mess, cheeks flushed from adrenaline and laughter.

Lando pulled up next to her, helmet under his arm, grinning like an idiot.

"Improvement," he said, nodding seriously.

She beamed. "Didn't die this time!"

Max wandered over, towel slung around his neck, smirking.

"You guys looked like the world's worst synchronized kart dancers," he said, mock-stern.

Y/N bowed dramatically. "Thank you, thank you. We try."

Max elbowed Lando lightly. "Mate," he said in a low voice, smirking. "You're smiling so much it’s scaring the staff."

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn't wipe the grin off his face if he tried.

Max clapped him on the shoulder and wandered off, laughing.

Y/N watched the exchange, something soft flickering in her eyes. But she didn’t say anything.

She just tossed Lando his helmet and said, "Rematch?"

And he thought — not for the first time — I’m so screwed.

—

After they cleaned up and changed back into their normal clothes, Lando suggested grabbing a bite at the tiny café across the street.

Nothing fancy. Greasy fries. Plastic tables. Exactly what he needed.

They sat by the window, sharing a basket of fries, teasing each other about their "racing skills" when it happened.

A teenager — probably fifteen, maybe sixteen — walked past the window, did a double-take, and froze.

Eyes wide. Mouth opening slightly.

Lando stiffened automatically, years of instinct kicking in.

He glanced at Y/N — ready for the shift. The awkwardness. The questions. The change.

Instead, Y/N just smiled warmly at the kid, nudging the basket of fries closer to Lando like nothing was happening.

Giving him space.

Letting him decide.

The kid edged closer, nervous.

"Um... excuse me?" he said, voice cracking slightly. "Are you... are you Lando Norris?"

Lando smiled — small, tired, but real.

"Yeah, mate," he said, easy. "What's up?"

The kid fumbled a phone out of his pocket. "Could I, uh... get a photo? If that's okay?"

"Of course," Lando said, standing up and clapping the kid lightly on the shoulder. "No problem."

They snapped a quick picture. The kid practically vibrated with excitement, thanking him about ten times before hurrying off down the street.

Lando sat back down slowly.

Y/N popped a fry into her mouth, still acting like nothing had happened.

"You’re famous," she said casually, like she was observing the weather.

He stared at her, thrown.

"You're... not freaking out?"

She shrugged, smiling faintly. "Should I?"

He blinked, scrambling for words.

"I mean — most people — it’s just..." He trailed off, frustrated with himself.

Y/N leaned her chin on her hand, watching him with quiet amusement.

"I figured you did something cool," she said. "Didn't figure you for a kart salesman."

He barked a surprised laugh.

She grinned, kicking his shin lightly under the table.

"Relax, Speed Racer," she said. "I’m still gonna beat your ass at trivia next week."

He stared at her — open, vulnerable — and realized in that exact moment: She’s different. She’s safe.

She didn't want a piece of the spotlight. She didn't want anything from him except the pieces he willingly gave her.

And for someone who had spent years being looked at like a prize to win or a headline to write it was terrifying.

And it was everything.

—

Later, walking back to the car, Y/N bumped his shoulder lightly with hers.

"For what it's worth," she said, glancing up at him under the streetlights, "I think you're pretty cool. Fame or no fame."

Lando swallowed hard.

"You too," he said, voice thick.

Maybe more than pretty cool. Maybe the coolest thing that had ever happened to him.

———

Chapter 10: The Things We Carry

It started because he was curious.

They were sprawled across her tiny living room floor one night, surrounded by half-eaten pizza, empty soda cans, and the remnants of a half-serious movie marathon.

At some point, between arguing about whether animated movies counted as “real cinema” (they absolutely did, according to Y/N) and who had the worst taste in music (definitely Lando, according to Y/N), she pulled out a battered old sketchbook.

He caught the flash of it out of the corner of his eye — the frayed edges, the bent corners, the cover smeared with fingerprints.

"What’s that?" he asked, nodding toward it.

She hesitated. Just for a second.

Then shrugged, casual, like it didn’t matter.

"Sketchbook," she said, flipping it open and showing him a page without ceremony.

Pencil sketches filled the paper — messy but alive, full of motion and feeling. Faces. Cities. Dreamscapes.

Lando blinked, stunned.

"You did all this?" he asked, voice softer than he meant it to be.

She smiled, a little self-conscious. "Yeah."

He flipped through a few more pages, handling the book like it was made of glass.

"You’re insane," he said, awe creeping into his voice. "This is... this is amazing."

She shrugged again, brushing it off, but he could see the faint blush creeping up her neck.

"You wanna try?" she asked suddenly, tossing him a blank page and a pencil.

He stared at it like it was a bomb.

"Me? Draw?"

She grinned wickedly. "Come on, Speed Racer. How hard can it be?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Famous last words."

—

It was a disaster.

An absolute, hilarious disaster.

Lando’s hand cramped within minutes. His "dog" looked like a melting sock puppet. His "car" resembled a very angry toaster.

Y/N laughed so hard she nearly fell over, clutching her stomach as she tried — and failed — to offer helpful critique.

"Okay, okay," she wheezed between giggles. "Maybe stick to driving."

He threw a crumpled piece of paper at her, pretending to be offended.

But inside — he felt lighter than he had in months.

Because she didn’t care that he was terrible. Because here, in this tiny messy apartment, surrounded by pizza boxes and bad art, he wasn’t Lando Norris the racer.

He was just Lando.

And she was just Y/N.

Two people slowly stitching themselves back together in each other’s company.

—

Later that week, back at the McLaren simulator center, Oscar cornered him.

"Mate," Oscar said, arms crossed, smirking. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you're like... different."

Lando raised a brow. "Different how?"

Oscar waved a hand vaguely. "You're not snapping at the engineers every ten minutes. You’re smiling for no reason. You’re even letting Zac beat you at table tennis. It’s creepy."

Lando rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at his mouth.

"Maybe I’m just... happier," he said, almost daring Oscar to make fun of him.

Oscar stared at him for a beat longer than necessary. Then he smiled — real and wide — and clapped Lando on the shoulder.

"'Bout time," he said simply.

And Lando felt it, deep in his bones — the way change sneaks in when you’re not looking.

—

The whispers started then.

Tiny things.

Jon joking during a debrief about Lando "finally being a human again." A mechanic muttering under his breath, "Whatever he’s doing lately, it’s working."

No one said her name. No one knew.

But Lando did.

Every smile. Every lighter step. Every deep breath that didn't feel like it might choke him —

It all traced back to her.

To the girl who handed him a terrible cup of diner coffee. To the girl who laughed at his terrible drawings and beat him at trivia. To the girl who never once asked him to be anyone but himself.

The things he carried used to be heavy. Expectations. Guilt. Fear.

Now he was starting to carry something else.

Hope. Home. Her.

And for once, he wasn’t afraid of the weight.

———

Chapter 11: The Space Between Us

It should have been just another night.

Pizza. A stupid romcom playing on her tiny TV. Them fighting over who got the last slice (he let her win, obviously).

Nothing special. Nothing earth-shattering.

Except, everything about her was starting to feel like home.

—

Y/N was sitting cross-legged on the couch, sketching lazily on a cheap canvas balanced on her knees. Not serious, just doodles, jokes, lines that curled and stretched into something messy and alive.

Lando sprawled beside her, feet kicked up on the coffee table, tossing a gummy bear up in the air and trying (badly) to catch it in his mouth.

He missed.

Again.

She snorted, not even looking up. "World-class athlete, huh?"

"Don’t mock me," he muttered, launching another gummy with more dramatic flair.

It bounced off his nose.

She laughed so hard she had to put the canvas down.

He grinned, basking in it — the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges, the easy way she existed around him without expecting anything.

God, he thought, chest tight, how am I supposed to tell her?

Because he had to.

He couldn't keep her in the dark anymore. Not when she mattered this much.

Not when he was falling for her so fast it left him breathless.

—

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it at first, tossing another gummy bear and — miracle of miracles — actually catching it.

"Finally!" she cheered mockingly, raising her arms like a referee signaling a goal.

He bowed deeply from the couch, grinning like an idiot.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

She frowned, reaching over and tapping the screen.

He moved too late.

A string of notifications flashed across it — Zak Brown: "Need you to review media schedule for Monaco ASAP." Jon: "Sky Sports wants the updated PR package, don't forget..." McLaren PR: "Final approval needed for your feature story."

Her hand froze mid-tap.

Their eyes met.

For a long second, neither of them said anything.

The movie kept playing — a background hum — but the room had shifted.

The bubble they lived in cracked just a little.

Not broken. Not shattered.

Just… cracked.

Enough to let the truth start to bleed through.

"You..." she started, voice slow, careful. "You're... not just a karting guy, are you?"

Lando swallowed hard.

"No," he said softly.

He sat up, hands knotting in his lap.

"I should've told you sooner," he said, voice rough around the edges. "I didn't want to lie, I just... I liked being 'just me' with you for a while."

She set the canvas aside, facing him fully now.

Waiting.

Not judging. Not running.

Waiting.

He blew out a breath.

"I'm a Formula 1 driver," he said finally. "For McLaren."

Silence.

Only the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the movie’s muffled dialogue filling the space between them.

Y/N blinked once.

Twice.

Then, to his complete shock — she smiled.

Small. Soft. A little sad, but sure.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "That... makes sense."

He stared at her, heart hammering so hard he thought it might crack his ribs.

"You’re not..." He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Not freaking out. Not treating him differently. Not shrinking away.

She shook her head slowly.

"You’re still you," she said simply. "Still the guy who sucks at drawing and cheats at trivia and eats more gummy bears than anyone should legally consume."

He let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh and maybe something else. Something wrecked and grateful and so in love he didn’t know what to do with it.

"You’re not mad?" he asked, voice breaking slightly.

She smiled wider, bumping his knee with hers.

"I’m only mad you didn't trust me sooner."

The words hit him like a gut punch.

Because she was right. And because she still wasn’t walking away.

She was still here. Still choosing him.

Lando scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to pull himself together.

"I’m sorry," he said thickly. "I was scared."

Y/N’s voice softened.

"I get scared too, you know."

He looked up sharply.

She shrugged, eyes shining with something he couldn’t name yet.

"Scared that if I let someone close," she said quietly, "they'll leave when they see the mess."

He exhaled shakily.

"I’m not leaving," he said without thinking.

The words slipped out — raw, unvarnished, real.

And she looked at him like maybe — just maybe — she believed him.

—

They didn’t say much after that.

They didn’t need to.

They just sat there knees brushing, hearts pounding, the space between them growing smaller with every shared breath.

And somewhere in that cracked, messy, beautiful night, Lando realized something he couldn't take back:

He wasn’t just falling.

He had already fallen.

———

Chapter 12: Somewhere Only We Know

The days after Lando told her the truth felt... different.

Not bad. Not awkward.

Just more.

More glances held a little too long. More touches that lingered longer than necessary. More silences that said everything without saying a word.

—

One night, they ended up at the same diner where it all began — the Bluebird Diner — tucked into their old booth, pretending not to notice how their knees brushed under the table.

Y/N doodled absentmindedly on a napkin, humming along to the jukebox in the background.

Lando watched her — the way her hair fell across her face, the soft curve of her smile — and felt something so sharp and tender in his chest it almost hurt.

He wanted to bottle this moment. Save it for when the world inevitably tried to tear it apart.

Because it would. He knew it would.

Nothing this good ever stayed untouched.

—

Outside, the night buzzed with the low hum of neon signs and distant traffic. They lingered by his car, neither wanting to leave first.

"You know," she said, voice light but eyes serious, "you don’t have to keep pretending the world isn’t watching."

He stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged, kicking a pebble across the parking lot. "I mean... I see it. The looks. The whispers. The people snapping pictures when they think you’re not paying attention."

He looked away, throat tight.

"I hate it," he muttered. "I hate that it touches you, too."

She stepped closer, bumping her shoulder against his.

"Hey," she said softly. "You don't have to protect me from your world. I'm not afraid of it."

He closed his eyes briefly, fighting the surge of emotion that rose up.

"I'm afraid of losing this," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "This — us — whatever we are... it feels like the only real thing I have left sometimes."

She reached out, fingers brushing his hand.

"You’re not losing me," she said simply.

And he believed her. God help him, he believed her.

—

But reality had other plans.

The next morning, the headlines started.

Not full-blown scandal. Just... whispers.

Grainy photos snapped by some kid outside the diner. A blurry shot of Lando holding the door open for Y/N. Another one of them laughing by the car, heads tilted close together.

The captions were worse.

"New girl? Mystery companion? Has Lando Norris finally been tamed?"

Lando stared at his phone screen, a sick feeling curling low in his stomach.

It wasn't her fault. It was never her fault.

But he knew what came next. The curiosity. The questions. The pressure.

He couldn't — wouldn't — drag her into that world unless she chose it.

And he hated that choice was even necessary.

—

That night, he picked her up without saying where they were going.

Just,

"Pack a bag. Something comfortable. Trust me."

She didn’t question it.

Just grabbed a backpack, threw on a hoodie, and climbed into the passenger seat with a smile that cracked him open a little more.

—

They drove for hours — past city lights, past towns that flickered and faded, into the wild, open darkness of nowhere.

Finally, he pulled off a side road, tires crunching over gravel, and parked near a cluster of old cabins nestled against a quiet lake.

No paparazzi. No fans. No noise.

Just them.

The real world — the hungry, clawing, endless real world — left behind like a bad dream.

Y/N climbed out, stretching her arms over her head, staring up at the blanket of stars above them.

"This is..." she breathed, spinning slowly in the gravel. "This is magic."

He watched her, heart in his throat.

"It's ours," he said quietly. "Just ours."

She smiled at him — wide, unguarded, beautiful.

And in that moment, Lando swore he’d do anything to protect this. Her. Them.

No matter what came next.

Even if the whole world tried to tear it down — he was ready to fight for it.

For her.

———

Chapter 13: Everything All at Once

The swing creaked under them as they rocked lazily back and forth.

The mug of hot chocolate sat forgotten between them, the stars blinking overhead, the lake whispering against the shore.

Y/N tugged the blanket higher around her shoulders, nudging his side with her elbow.

"You’re quiet," she said softly.

Lando leaned back against the swing’s chains, staring up at the sky.

"Just thinking."

"That’s dangerous," she teased, a smile pulling at her mouth.

He snorted, bumping her back lightly. "Harsh."

She shrugged, grinning. "You set yourself up for it."

He smiled — real, wide, the kind that made her chest ache — and let the silence stretch for a beat before speaking again.

"You ever think about how small we are?" he asked quietly. "Like... look at all that," he gestured up at the sky, "and we’re just... here."

Y/N tilted her head, looking up. "Yeah. I think about it all the time."

"You scared of it?" he asked, glancing sideways at her.

She shook her head. "Nah. It's kinda beautiful, isn't it? Being small. Means you can still choose where you want to go."

Lando looked at her — really looked at her — and felt something shift low in his chest.

God, how did he get so lucky?

How did he find her when he didn’t even know what he was looking for?

—

He noticed her shiver, just barely, and before he even thought about it, he reached out and tugged the blanket tighter around her.

Their hands brushed. Paused.

Stayed.

She looked up at him, eyes wide, vulnerable.

He swallowed hard, his heart thudding so loud he was sure she could hear it.

"I don't want to lose this," he said suddenly, voice rough and broken around the edges.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring herself to him without even realizing it.

"You’re not going to," she whispered back. "You’re stuck with me now."

He let out a shaky laugh — part relief, part terror — and leaned in before he could talk himself out of it.

The kiss was soft at first.

Gentle.

Almost hesitant.

Like asking a question neither of them had the words for yet.

But she answered — God, she answered — pressing closer, threading her fingers through his hair, breathing him in like he was air and she had been drowning.

The swing creaked under them, the blanket slipped off their shoulders, but neither of them cared.

They were too busy trying to memorize the shape of each other.

—

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, Lando closed his eyes and whispered against her skin.

"I think I was falling before I even knew it."

Y/N smiled — small and stunned and beautiful — and whispered back,

"Me too."

He kissed her again because there was no other way to survive it.

Because love had been blooming quietly between them for weeks — in stolen glances, stupid trivia games, late-night coffee, and messy drawings.

And now it was here.

Messy. Breathless. Unstoppable.

Everything. All at once.

———

PART 2

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando x reader #lando x you #lando x y/n #lando norizz #lando imagine #landoscar #mclaren #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x oscar piastri #lando norris x oc #reader x lando #reader x lando norris

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tateypots · 1 day ago

Text

In Need Of A Top Up

Part 3 - Can be read as a standalone

Pairing: No outbreak!Joel Miller x wife!reader

Word Count: 4K

Summary: It's Joel's turn for a top up so you pay him a visit at work.

A/N: I wrote this for @baronessvonglitter to apologise for making her cry with another fic I wrote. I'll put a link to the series masterlist but each part can be read as a standalone so don't worry if you haven't read the previous parts.

Reader is not described past having boobs and a vagina and being pregnant.

Warnings: Smut, semi-public sex, pregnancy kink, lactation kink.

Series Masterlist

“Oh hey there sugar, wait let me help you.”

“Hey Tommy,” you greet him back, gratefully letting him help you out of the driver seat of your car, your very pregnant belly and shifted centre of gravity working against you, you’d been huffing and puffing for a few minutes before he’d spotted you and rushed to your rescue.

“Thanks, was beginning to think I’d be stuck in there forever!” you laugh as he pulls you to your feet.

“Nah we’d have found you eventually,” he laughs back, leaning in to grab your bag from the passenger seat. “How’re ya feelin? Getting’ close now.”

“I’m ok other than your niece going to town on my internal organs.” As if she knows you’re talking smack about her, your little bundle of joy gives you an almighty kick, although this time she has the decency to aim outwards, making a little bulge in your already swollen belly.

“Ah she’s a feisty one huh, can I?” he asks holding his hands out towards your bump.

“Of course, here,” you take his hand and guide it to where you can feel her wriggling around inside you.

“So fuckin’ weird,” he laughs and then leans down, “hey kid, be gentle with your mama ok, she’s already got her hands full with your daddy and sister to deal with.” She responds with a gentle roll against his hands. “Good girl,” he tells your belly, “see, Uncle Tommy’ll keep her right!” he winks at you.

You snort at him and lightly slap his bicep. “Joel in his office?” you ask, waddling towards the door that says Miller Bros Construction in big bold letters.

“Should be, c’mon I’ll walk you in. You heard from Sarah?” he asks as he follows you to the door.

“Yep, she’s been calling every night to check I’m still pregnant. She made me promise before she left that I’d keep my legs crossed until she got back,” you snicker, “sounds like she’s having a good time though.”

“Sounds about right,” he laughs as he holds the door open for you, “hopefully the little one will be less bossy than her big sister.” He turns to the right and heads towards Joel’s office. “I’m actually real glad you’re here, he’s in a foul mood. Margy called in sick and one of the suppliers fucked up an order and he’s been tryin’ to sort it out all mornin’. He’s always in a better mood after seein’ you though.”

“I’ll do what I can to cheer him up. Margy ok?”

“Just a stomach bug she reckons. But you know this place don’t function well without her.”

You did know. When you’d originally hired Miller Bros construction to fit your kitchen 4 years ago the older lady who managed the office had fairly terrified you with her stern demeanour and barked orders. But once you and Joel had started dating and you got to know her a bit better you’d realised she had a heart of gold and Joel and Tommy would be lost without her no nonsense approach to everything.

Tommy knocked on the door gently before pushing it open, a grumpy sounding, “what is it Tommy?” sounding from within.

“Special visitor for you,” he replied with a smirk back at you, ushering you through the door.

The shift in Joel was immediate the second he raised his head and saw you. A huge smile took over his face and he was out of his seat in a second, “hi baby, what are you doin’ here, everythin’ ok?” he asks, smile momentarily dropping as he starts to worry. He wraps one big arm around your back and rests his other hand on your swollen belly, gently stroking it up and down. You smile at him, leaning in to give him a kiss.

“We’re fine baby,” you tell him and he relaxes once more, tension seeping out of him, “thought we could have lunch together.”

“Oh baby I’d love that but I gotta go pick up a replacement order from the supplier, they fucked up and gave us the wrong damn wood.”

“It’s ok I can go,” Tommy offers, “I told Maria I’d meet her for lunch and that supplier ain’t far from her office.”

“Thanks Tommy. Here’s the details,” Joel rummages around on his desk and produces a post it note covered in scribbles that would have Margy losing her shit if she saw it.

“We gona get to meet this Maria any time soon?” you ask, giving Tommy a smirk.

“Actually, yeah,” he says rubbing the back of his neck and looking at the floor to hide his embarrassment, “was gona ask if it was ok to bring her by at the weekend, thought maybe we could fire up the grill, make a day of it.”

You squeal with excitement, “of course Tommy, we’d love that wouldn’t we Joel?”

Joel chuckles at your enthusiasm, “yeah we’d love to meet her Tommy.”

“Alright then, I’ll let her know.”

You bite your lip to stop yourself from telling Tommy how cute it is to see him so smitten and nervous about introducing his girlfriend to his family. He’d never been this serious about anyone in all the time you’d known him.

“Right, I’ll be off then, enjoy your lunch,” he gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and makes a swift exit, you suspect it’s so as not to give Joel any opportunity to tease him. He’s out the door and in his truck within seconds.

You turn back to Joel and throw your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a deep kiss. He pulls you closer, one hand splaying across your lower back, the other settling once more on your bump. The kiss swiftly turns needy, tongues tangling together desperately as you moan into his mouth. He kisses you like he wants to devour you. And you want to let him.

“Somethin’ tells me this little visit ain’t about lunch,” he mumbles into your skin as he breaks from your lips and kisses down your jaw. “Someone need her greedy little pussy stuffed?”

You whimper as his hand slips down your back to grab at your ass and he sucks on the skin by your pulse point. He was right, your pussy was greedy, you wanted his cock, your raging hormones had made you ultra-horny and ultra-sensitive. But that wasn’t the only reason you were here.

“Actually, this is about lunch,” you tell him, pushing him back into his chair and with a little difficulty, straddling him. His hands come to rest gently on your hips as you pull the straps of your dress over your shoulders and push the top down under your breasts. He flicks his eyes up to yours as you reach around your back to unfasten your bra. His eyes drop as you shuck it and throw it behind you onto his messy desk.

“Thought you might be in need of a top up,” you tell him. He licks his lips, unable to tear his eyes from your exposed breasts and you feel him start to harden beneath you.

It had happened for the first time last night. While Joel was gently massaging your tender flesh to try and ease the ache that had settled there, the first little trickle of breast milk had flowed from your nipple. With a groan he’d licked the sweet nectar from your skin before sucking until his belly was full, pulling several orgasms from you in the process.

“That right?” he asks, gently cupping your breast and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your pebbled bud, “my pretty girl wants to fill me up with her sweet milk?”

You nodded, whining and rocking your hips, grinding your throbbing core against his bulge.

“Wanna sit on my cock baby? Hmm? Wanna keep my cock warm in that perfect little pussy while I suck on your pretty tits?”

“Oooohhhh, yes Joel, please!” you moan, rocking yourself faster against him.

“That’s it, good girl, gimme one like this and then I’ll fill you up while you fill me up.”

He pushes you down hard onto him and rolls his hips up underneath you. Your head tips back in ecstasy, hands clinging tightly to his flannel. You can hardly believe how good it feels just rubbing against him like this. But it had never taken long for Joel to push you over the edge even without the additional help of your hormones.

You choke on your moan as your orgasm hits you, you shudder and shake in his lap as the waves wash over you. He takes over, moving your hips forcibly with his big hands to extend out your high as long as possible.

He smiles as he takes you in, his hands leaving your hips to gently cup your face so he can look at you properly, glassy eyed and already fucked out, chest heaving with every panted breath of your come down, belly round and swollen and full of him. He almost comes in his pants just from the vision of you.

He pulls your head towards him, his lips slotting over yours and gives you the softest, sweetest kiss. His tongue gently invades your mouth, dancing slow and languid with yours. You melt into him as much as your protruding belly will allow.

“My perfect, perfect girl. Still don’ understand how I got so lucky,” he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again, his hands slipping down to gently cup your breasts. He doesn’t squeeze or stroke them, just holds them, enjoying the weight of them in his hands and it has you whimpering with need, the feel of his hands on your body more than enough to get you amped up.

“We’ve been through this before,” you reply softly, resting your forehead against his, “think I must be the luckiest woman in the world to have you as my husband. I love you so much.”

“I love you too darlin’.”

You stay like that for a moment, just basking in being close to one another. Your head sinks to his shoulder and you feel so happy and so content you think you could fall asleep, forgetting momentarily that you’re not in the privacy of your own home. You’re sitting half naked in your husbands lap in his office. Knowing that someone could walk in at any time doesn’t fill you with the urgency you think it probably should.

One of his hands has made its way to the bare skin of your back and is idly drawing shapes on it. You sigh dreamily into him and he kisses your forehead before patting you firmly on the ass.

“C’mon baby, on your feet a minute, I ain’t done takin’ care of you yet.”

You smirk and climb off his lap. To say you had been insatiable recently was a gross understatement, but Joel was just as bad, if not worse. And he didn’t even have the hormone excuse. Knowing you drove him so crazy made your whole body tingle with delight. The feeling is only amplified when his hands slide under your dress and up your thighs, hooking in your panties and pulling them down and off your legs.

He pulls them up to his face and inhales deeply.

“Smell so fuckin’ good baby. And they’re fuckin’ soaked.” He takes another deep inhale and then opens the top drawer of his desk and throws them in.

“Joel!” you exclaim, mock scandalised.

“I need em’ baby, help keep me calm when everythin’s goin’ to shit here,” he tells you, not the least bit perturbed as he starts to undo his belt. The sound of it is like a siren call to you and you feel a wave of arousal start to leak out of you as it clanks. You swiftly forget about your stolen panties.

Your mouth waters as he frees his cock. It’s so fucking beautiful, you want to suck it like a lollipop. But the ache in your core is reaching fever pitch and you think that if you don’t have it inside you soon you might pass out with the need. Not to mention the fact that getting to and from your knees at the minute was a herculean task that you weren’t feeling up to right now.

Just then Joel’s belly gives a large rumble, sending you into a fit of giggles and you rush back into his lap. Joel chuckles along with you, your laugh always infectious to him, the joyful tinkling of it is one of his favourite sounds. Second only to the sound you make as you sink down on his cock. The moan that rips from your chest as you take him makes the blood rush out of his head. He doesn’t know where it’s going, his cock is already painfully hard, there’s no room for any more in there.

He watches with rapt attention as his cock disappears inside of you until the view is blocked by the perfect curve of your bump where his hands are resting. He lifts his eyes to your face, drinking in the way you look, already drunk on the pleasure of accepting him into your body. He preens. Full of pride that he makes you feel so good. That he keeps you satisfied, always desperate for more of him, even when you’re as full of him as you could possibly be. He can’t believe you’re real. That you’re his. It makes his heart skip a beat.

He feels your velvety walls envelope him, all the way to the root and he groans at how good it feels.

“There we go, good job baby,” he praises, curving around your belly to place a soft kiss right at the corner of your mouth, “so fuckin’ pretty when you’re all full like this.”

You whine at his words and your pussy clenches down on him, pulling another groan from him.

He kisses down your neck and over the swell of your breast, cupping and lifting it in his hand as his tongue swirls around your pebbled nipple. His hips buck up of their own accord at the little whimpers and squeaks you let out as the hot wet muscle teases the sensitive bud.

Then he latches and starts to suckle as he gently kneads your flesh. You feel your breast start to tingle as the milk starts to let down, flowing straight into his waiting mouth. Pangs of electricity shoot through your core, causing your pussy to clench and throb once more arousal leaking out of you and soaking his lap and balls.

You’re breathless in his lap despite sitting completely still, your heart races so fast you feel it might be about to beat out of your chest. The sound of your soft moans and breathless panting mingle with smacking and slurping of Joel sucking at your breast. Your hips start to roll, your desperately full pussy yearning for him to move inside you.

He smacks your ass and you still immediately with a little whine. He doesn’t stop, but he looks up at you and you can see the smirk in his eyes, you huff a laugh at him and bring your hands up to rake through his hair. He moans into your tit and you shudder as the vibrations race through your flesh. He grazes your nipple with his teeth and it breaks you, you wail as your orgasm hits you hard.

He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop and leans back in his chair as he feels your pussy pulsating around him. He looks absolutely wrecked, pupils blown so wide they’re engulfing almost all of the beautiful chocolate brown that first drew you in to him. His hair is mussed from your hands, sticking up in all different directions and there are dribbles of milk dampening his beard and chin.

With a growl he leans back in and licks up the errant trickles of milk from your breast before kissing his way across your chest and licking around your other nipple.

“Again.” He commands as he latches to the nipple and starts to suck once more. He brings his free hand down between you to find your little bundle of nerves and you almost twitch out of his lap when he makes contact, so sensitive after two orgasms. But Joel has tight hold of you and pulls you back down fully on his cock, not letting up from his ministrations.

You yelp and sag into him, pushing more of your tit into his mouth and he moans into the plump flesh once more, pushing you higher and higher with each circle of his thumb and every pull at your nipple. You want to ride his fucking brains out but you feel so boneless you’re not sure you have control over your body anymore.

So you surrender to it. To him. He can do whatever he likes with you. Not that you’re complaining. As always, Joel makes your body feel things you hadn’t known were possible before you met him. You almost feel bad for other women that they don’t get to experience him. Almost.

When he pushes down harder on your clit and sucks hard, you lose it. Your body burns with the intensity of the orgasm he just pulled out of you. Goosebumps race across your flesh as every nerve ending in ignited with pleasure.

“Jooooooeeeeeeelll!” you cry, descending into indecipherable babble as your hips begin to move with a mind of their own, rocking backwards and forwards on him, feeling him shift deep within you with each movement. He doesn’t stop it this time, lets you rock on him gently for a minute while you ride out your high before he starts fucking up into you, his mouth detaching once more as he reclines in his seat to watch you bounce and recoil on him.

He rails you hard and fast, just like you wanted, thrusting from below. All you can do is squeal and hold on tight, grabbing handful’s of his flannel to anchor you to him. It’s fucking transcendent. All the while he’s spouting filth now his mouth is free.

“Tha’s it baby, you just hold on tight and enjoy the ride. You love this fuckin’ cock don’ you? Can’t even make it through the day without needin’ to feel him splittin’ you open. Well guess what baby, my cock loves your fuckin’ pussy too, won’t ever get enough of her.”

You don’t respond. You can’t, all sense has fled your brain, you’re no longer a full grown woman capable of intelligent thought and conversation. You’re a roiling mass of sensations, reduced down to a vessel of pure pleasure. And Joel fucking loves it.

“That’s my girl, all fuckin’ cock dumb for me,” he drawls, “c’mon baby, I know it feels good, gimme one more.”

He leans forward and sucks your tit back into his mouth and that beautiful tingling feeling on top of everything else pushes you over the edge once more. Your body seizes so tight before everything relaxes in euphoria. Joel slows his pace, less frantic but still deep and powerful. And he keeps on gulping mouthfuls of your milk.

You moan long and low as you come down again. You’re completely frazzled. Joel holds you tight as he chases his own high, much more gently than he pushed you to yours. A wave of gratitude and love pours over you. He always knows what you need, always puts you first.

He takes one long last pull at your breast before pulling off and before you know what’s happening he’s guiding your mouth to his, spitting your milk onto your waiting tongue. You moan and swallow, the sweetness coating your mouth.

“You see how delicious you are? Every fuckin’ inch of you,” he moans as he continues to thrust into you, gaining speed once more, the wet slapping sounds of skin against skin almost unbearably loud. He leans in and licks the milk dripping from your breast.

“This sweet fuckin’ milk.” He leans in again and licks up your neck, “this delectable fuckin’ skin.” He shoves his tongue in your mouth, pushing harshly against yours before retreating, “this tasty little mouth.” He leans back in his chair and brings his now soaked thumb from your clit to his mouth, “this fuckin’ scrumptious pussy. Wanna eat you all up baby. Oh Jesus baby, fuck!”

He comes and so do you. Again. His big cock, dirty words and hot cum spraying against your walls too much to fight against. You practically scream, the pleasure now bordering on pain. Before you can stop it, you start to sob, so overwhelmed and hormonal, your body just doesn’t know what to do with itself.

Joel starts to panic immediately.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, didn’t meant get carried away, I –!”

You silence him with your mouth. You kiss him as hard as you can, still sobbing, but now at the thought that you’ve upset and worried him. He’s so shocked and confused he freezes for a second before you feel his arms wrap around you, feel him kissing you back. Now that you know he’s got the picture you aren’t mad at him you break away from his lips.

“D-d-don’t a-apologise, was a-amazing,” you sniffle, “I’m s-s-sorry I’m such a mess.”

“Hey!” he admonishes you sternly, cupping your face and making you look at him, “I don’t want to hear that. I’m not gona stand for anyone dissin’ my girl and that includes you ok?”

You manage a teary chuckle and nod your head, he relaxes and pulls you into him, turning your torso slightly so you can get closer to him like he knows you like.

“All them hormones got your body and your brain on overdrive, that’s all. S’ok, I’m here, I’ll take care of you.”

You snuggle into him, feeling so safe wrapped up his arms. He holds you until you’ve fully calmed down, then lifts you off his cock with a hiss and helps you get redressed. He then insists that you eat the lunch you prepared. He only picks at his, belly already full and satiated but makes sure you eat and drink plenty of water.

You’re just heading out of the office when Tommy returns from his lunch. He takes one look at the pair of you before burying his head in his hands like he’s been burned.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, can’t you two keep it in your pants for a few hours?”

Your eyes snap to Joel and you realise with a jolt how dishevelled he looks, hair sticking up in all directions, shirt crumpled from your hands and stained with your milk, a distinct wet patch on the crotch of his jeans and by the way he’s looking at you, you realise you mustn’t be faring much better. There’s absolutely no denying what you two have been up to. You catch each others eyes and immediately start laughing.

Tommy heaves a long suffering sigh before turning and walking out of the office, muttering to himself, “fuckin’ in the office like a pair of horny fuckin’ teenagers.”

Once you’ve managed to stop laughing (and after a quick pee stop necessitated by the laughing), he’s about to walk you to your car when his phone rings, you dismiss him to answer it with a kiss and a “see you at home,” and head out of the building.

When Tommy sees you, he stops unloading the wood from his truck to help you to your car.

“You know Margy would have your hide if she found out what you two were getting’ up to in there,” he tells you.

You swallow a laugh and with as straight a face as you can manage you tell him, “you said you wanted me to cheer him up, well, mission accomplished.” He finally breaks and chuckles at you, rolling his eyes as he helps you into the drivers seat.

Tagging some people who may be interested, no pressure to read though, let me know if you want to be removed.

@aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @old-logan-and-old-joels-slut @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @axshadows @justajoelsreader @magpiepills @deviscave @pedrosgrogu @pedge-page @guelyury @lamartell @thedilfdiaries @pedrosyouknowwhat @guelyury @mystickittytaco @fanficlover1414 @itwasntimethatdidit40 @itsokbbygrlbutworsethistime @arcanefox207

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #smut #tw pregnancy

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dirtyvulture · 2 days ago

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Knight Falls - Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Wolverine!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk (Blood, violence, torture)

Summary: Your perfect life with Natasha isn't meant to stay that way with the Red Room still looking for her.

Word count: 3030

AN: It’s been 84 years since the last update, but I truly thank everyone for their recent interest in this fic and for giving me the motivation to keep going!

Click here to refresh your memory with Part 2.

“Again? Are you sure?”

“Why not? It’s not like she has somewhere to be.”

Dr. Cornelius’s bald head leans into your peripherals. He’s wearing his signature mirrored glasses so you can see your reflection in them: the hair matted to your forehead, the sickly paleness of your skin, the dilation of fear in your pupils.

“You’re our most generous donor,” Dr. Cornelius says, patting your arm with a heavy hand. You try cringing away from his touch, but you’re bolted to the table at every joint. The things you would do to this man if you were free. “Besides, you have to pay for your upkeep somehow, right?”

You growl in response to his words. You don’t try speaking to them anymore. They’d never listen to you anyway.

In the background, metal scrapes against metal and the clanging strikes a chord of fear in your chest. It’s not easy to move your head but you still try, until you see one of the surgeons back at your side with a scalpel shining in the bright overhead lights.

“What haven’t we taken today?” Dr. Cornelius asks.

The surgeon shrugs, his expression unreadable behind a mask. You wonder if he takes enjoyment in this, or he’s just following orders. There’s a lot of each around here. All spineless cowards to you.

“How about the liver?” Dr. Cornelius suggests, pushing down on your stomach. You squirm uncomfortably, but no matter what you do, you can’t escape him. Ever since these sick psychopaths got their hands on you, they weren’t going to let you go.

“Sure.”

Before you even have a chance to register the surgeon’s response, his scalpel presses into your side until it breaks the skin. Blood rolls down to the metal slab you’re lying on. You can’t block out the pain as he saws through you, but you’ve learned to disassociate from it. If they were going to treat you like an object, you needed to pretend to be one to survive.

***********************************************************************

You come to slowly, your head pounding like someone took a sledgehammer repeatedly to your skull. Light worsens your headache so you squint while you get your bearings. You find yourself strapped tightly to a table, heavy blocks of metal encasing both of your hands. There’s even some kind of solid muzzle over your mouth, restricting your breathing.

Your first thought doesn’t go to the countless times you’ve been in this position before, it goes to the one that landed you here: Taskmaster standing over you with a gun pointed between your eyes. Your forehead throbs at the memory, but since you actually remember what happened, your healing must be functioning as normal, despite the extreme sluggishness that weighs you down. You pull aggressively at your binds, but you’re cinched tight to the table.

Panic builds inside of you.

Screaming doesn’t do anything. Neither does begging them to stop. Which is why you don’t do it anymore. You lie there like a fish, your eyes glazed over and unseeing, even though you are completely aware of everything happening to you.

Your skin tearing open. The blood pouring out of you that they don’t even try to staunch. Being ripped apart and put together more times than you can count.

The muzzle makes it impossible for you to take a full breath and the anxiety overrides your control. You hyperventilate frantically, but it’s still not enough air and the ache in your lungs starts to build. It feels like you’re drowning in fear and panic and you completely forgot how to stay calm.

You never thought you’d find yourself in this position again. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let it happen.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try moving your whole body, but your legs down to your ankle are held in place by metal restraints. A band over your chest presses down like someone’s knee in your sternum. The fear of not being in control is crushing like a weight of its own and you fight harder, until the metal starts cutting into your wrists. But you won’t stop, afraid that you might never make it out if you do.

“Y/N. Y/N!”

Your head whips around painfully against the restraint locked around your neck. Natasha is crouched a few feet away from you, blocked behind a wall of jail bars. You try to speak but your words are muffled by the muzzle.

She squeezes her arm through the bar, straining to reach you. Her fingertips barely brush your forearm, but her touch is instantly calming.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” she says, trying to be brave for the both of you, but you can smell her fear mingling with yours. There’s a cut with dried blood on her forehead, but she seems okay otherwise. At least the two of you were together. You focus on your breaths again, forcing yourself to take them slowly and as deeply as you can. Your heart rate falls and the panic begins to melt away.

Natasha has never seen you like this before. The crazed look in your eyes when you woke up, the desperation in which you tried to unsuccessfully free yourself. She knows it must be traumatizing and embarrassing for you to be in a position of helplessness. She wishes she could be closer to you, to hold you, to tell you that everything will be okay, but she’s stuck behind the bars in a cage and can barely reach you.

“I love you,” she blurts out, in case she doesn’t get a chance to say the words again. “I love you so much and I’m going to get us out of here, I promise.” You cannot speak, but you look at her with pure adoration and trust.

“I’m not sure where we are,” she says, filling the silence. “I woke up a few times before they brought us in here. But I think we’re on some kind of aircraft–”

At that moment, your surroundings jolt and Natasha falls back in her cell. You know you aren’t going anywhere with the table bolted to the floor, but the motion is jarring and worrying. Escape would be a lot more difficult if there was nowhere for you two to go.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Natasha whimpers, curling into a ball. You can’t stand to see her like this, even more frustrated because you can’t do anything to assure her. A growl rumbles in your throat as you tug pointlessly at your arms yet again. “It should be me on that table. You warned me going after the Red Room would be dangerous, but I didn’t think it’d end like this.”

You grunt in disagreement. You had no regrets going to that Russian home with her and you wanted her to know that.

“If we get out of here,” she continues in a lower voice, “Maybe I should leave y–”

Before she can finish her sentence, the door swings open and three men walk in, Taskmaster among them. Instantly, the hairs on the back of your neck rise in warning. The shortest man struts over to Natasha’s cell, and the scent of fear that rolls off her is so strong it nearly chokes you.

“Natalia,” Dreykov greets as Natasha shrinks back to the corner of the cell. “Glad to see you back in the Red Room.” You growl to get his attention away from her. “Oh.” He slowly turns as if he completely missed you lying there. “Forgive me for not introducing myself.”

He comes to your side. He smells like cologne, sweat, and a trace of fear. It makes you feel minutely better that even though you’re strapped to a slab of metal and rendered nearly immovable, he’s still scared of you. “You may address me as General Dreykov, and I think you’re already well-acquainted with Taskmaster.”

An insult is muffled by your muzzle.

Dreykov chuckles. “We’ve been waiting a long time to get our hands on the both of you. You certainly didn’t make it easy.” He steps back as Taskmaster opens Natasha’s cell door and goes inside to grab her.

“Don’t touch me!” she screams. You yank at your restraints again; you’re not above skinning yourself if you have to. If the two of you are separated, there’s no telling what this man could do to her.

“You stay right here,” Dreykov says, as Taskmaster drags Natasha by. She tries reaching out for you again but Taskmaster pins her arms to her sides. “Dr. Morozov is happy to keep you company.”

“Natasha!” you try to scream, but it’s unintelligible.

“Y/N, I’ll come back for you, I’ll–” Taskmaster carries her out of the room, Dreykov following behind. The third man, thin and tall, dressed in surgeon’s attire, is left alone with you. While his physical presence isn’t very intimidating to you, the fact that he’s in a total position of power over you scares you the most.

“I heard you’re in possession of a substance we are very, very interested in,” Dr. Morozov says, his voice high and squeaky compared to Dreykov’s. “I told General Dreykov I had to come see you for myself.” He disappears from your vision but returns, pushing a rattling metal tray of instruments. Panic surges through you again, but you swallow the fear and try to stay calm.

“General Dreykov tasked me with removing this adamantium from your bones,” Dr. Morozov says, sounding giddy with excitement as he picks up a scalpel. “He isn’t sure if it’s even possible, and will most likely kill you in the process, but that’s a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.” He brings the blade into your left forearm, cutting your skin from your wrist to your elbow. You snarl and struggle, but he presses the blade deeper and deeper until it clangs against metal. “Aha!”

You need an escape route now. You refuse to lay here and be picked to pieces by yet another crazed surgeon. Your breathing quickens again, but this time you’re totally in control.

“General Dreykov said you had…hmm, what was the word he used?” Dr. Morozov goes on. But your arm is already healing, so he cuts it open again and uses a clamp to hold it open. Adrenaline rushes through your veins so strongly you don’t even feel the pain for a moment, and that’s exactly what you need. Dr. Morozov is so busy studying your left arm, he doesn’t notice you tugging on your right arm.

You tense your bicep so hard it feels like it’s going to tear out of your skin. The restraints are too tight so they pinch into your skin as it bunches up at your wrist, but you keep pulling until it starts to cut through. With one last breath to ready yourself for the pain, you yank with all your strength and your skin peels off your hand.The loss of the top layer creates enough room to slip your hand through the restraint, the blood acting like a lubricant.

“Claws!” Dr. Morozov says suddenly.

If you didn’t feel so sick you would’ve laughed at the irony as you swing your right arm up and release your claws into the center of his chest. Dr. Morozov is dead before he collapses onto the floor. You tear the muzzle off your face first, then use your claws to cut through the remaining restraints. By the time you’re free, the skin on your arm and hand has healed back. You stand up, overwhelmed with nausea and pain, but it passes after you steady yourself on the table.

You check if Dr. Morozov has a security badge of some kind and find one in his pocket, stealing it for your own use and leaving the room. You’ve been dressed in a white shirt and sweatpants, now stained with your blood. You’re not sure why you feel so sick, maybe you had been drugged or were still recovering from being shot point-blank in the head. Either way, you don’t have time to sit and recover. You need to find Natasha.

Following Dreykov’s scent down the hall, you dodge around corners and climb a few flights of stairs. It’s a miracle you don’t run into anyone, but something tells you it had been specifically set up this way. You use Dr. Morozov’s badge to pass foot-thick security doors, cautious to stay on guard in case of an ambush. But you hardly have time to be concerned with your own well-being when Natasha is with Dreykov.

The thought of that slimy, vile man putting his hands on your girlfriend makes your stomach knot into a pretzel. Natasha had told you stories of what he had done to her and made other Widows do. While you could no longer be surprised by the vileness of humanity, it broke your heart to hear about the horrible things Natasha had been subjected to. Finding the Red Room would be her way of getting closure from that, but it seemed like whatever plan she had had utterly fallen apart with the surprise of Taskmaster. You have to find her before anything worse can happen to her.

Dreykov’s cologne intensifies and you trace the scent to a large door cracked slightly ajar, where his and Natasha’s voices drift out of.

“Don’t tell me to stop!” Dreykov screams, and his genuine anger causes you to pause in alarm.

“If I don’t tell you when to stop, how will you know to shut up?” Natasha responds, then the unmistakable noise of flesh against bone.

“Natasha!” you yell, going into motion once more. But before you can get through the door, a massive figure drops down from the ceiling and plants their feet against your chest, sending you flying back into a metal wall so hard it dents around your body. For a moment, you can’t even breathe and you’re certain your entire ribcage has collapsed.

Each miniscule breath you manage is like swords shoved through your lungs and you truly feel the weight of the metal on your bones as you struggle to get up. You lose track of Taskmaster until he slams onto the back of your head. Your metal skull rebounds against the floor and despite its added protection, your brain was just as vulnerable as anyone’s. Professor Xavier had warned you numerous times how much more severe brain injuries could be for you because your brain was literally cocooned in a metal shell.

You had never really believed him until now.

No thoughts pass through your mind as you teeth rattle like candy and your vision blurs like someone has taken an eraser to half of it. Taskmaster grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you back to your feet. You hate how he easily he throws you around. Very few people could make you feel like a ragdoll. The claws rip out from between your knuckles and you slash out wildly, but he drops you before you can land a fatal strike. You aren’t focused so much on actually hurting him as you are distracting him. You need to keep him at bay long enough for your brain to heal.

But you have no awareness of your surroundings, out of your environment and in an already-weakened state. The floor trembles beneath Taskmaster’s weight as he closes in on you. You swing without being able to see and feel the pull of your claws as it strikes against something, but it isn’t enough. Taskmaster’s claws stab through your back and steal your breath. You fly through the air, this time colliding with the ceiling and punching right through, landing on the floor above.

You’re so disoriented in the settling dust you don’t see Taskmaster emerge from the hole you came through, stabbing you in the leg to drag you back down. Rage overtakes the pain at the thought that this man has simply turned you into his plaything, so when you fall back through the hole, you give in to your animal instincts and attack him.

You slash and punch and kick in an unpredictable pattern because you aren’t thinking anymore. Taskmaster falls into a defensive mode and you sense hesitation as he backs away from you. Gaining some ground back lulls you into a false sense of security, and you don’t realize until it’s too late that he wasn’t hesitating. He was studying you, picking up on your style and techniques instantly to use back against you.

After a blow that scores three long gouges across his chest plate, he launches at you in a frenzy that rivals your own. You have no protection like he does, and his claws, although not made of adamantium, are still durable and sharp enough to take chunks out of you. Blood splatters the walls and you’re forced to play defensively again after he punctures your lung and cripples both your legs by slicing your hamstrings in half. You crawl away from him, refusing to beg for your life but too scared to fight him more. You’ve never fought anything like him.

Taskmaster looms over you as you shrink down, wheezing, the last fire of a fight fading in your eyes. He grabs the scruff of your neck like he would to a dog, stabbing you in the chest until blood spurts out of your mouth.

Despite that you easily outweigh the average male, he easily drags you into Dreykov’s office and kicks the door open.

Natasha is standing over Dreykov at his desk, blood dripping from her crooked nose. You wish you had the energy to break free and punch Dreykov in the face, but you barely cling onto consciousness as Taskmaster drops you like a sack of bricks.

“Y/N!” Natasha shouts.

Taskmaster pulls out a gun and presses it into the back of your head as you struggle to get up.

“Don’t,” Natasha begs.

You grit your bloody teeth, wanting to tell her that a little lead wouldn’t kill you.

“That is not for her,” Dreykov says, pointing at Taskmaster’s gun. “It’s for you.”

Before you can even blink, Taskmaster removes the gun from your head and aims it at Natasha.

BANG.

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

AN: Sorry to leave yall on ANOTHER cliffhanger. But one more part to go :)

Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

115 notes · View notes

bratzkoo · 3 days ago

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WGM episode 8 | dk

episode 8: amusement park

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: seokmin x reader Genre: fluff Rating: PG-13 Word count: 4.8k~ Warnings/note: fluff, fake marriage, and real feelings. cursing, seokmin curses a lot in his head.

summary: WE GOT MARRIED is back. Seokmin and Y/N pairs up to shoot 10 episodes for a special. Turns out, there are more things happenings off-camera than what meets the eye.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @ateez-atiny380 , @aeerio . @vernons-wifey12 , @odevote118 , @btskzfav , @codeinebelle , @syluslittlecrows , @minghaofied , @ikbennatas , @armycarat2612 , @smiileflower

requests are close, but you can just say hi! | masterlist series masterlist | previous episode | next episode

[Opening sequence: Highlights from Episode 7, focusing on their intimate photoshoot moments and the surprise cheek kiss]

Narrator: "After showing their sweet side to the world in their magazine feature, our favorite couple is heading out for a day of fun and thrills at the amusement park!"

---

Seokmin arrived at the designated meeting spot outside Lotte World twenty minutes early, as had become his habit whenever he was meeting Y/N. He blamed it on professional courtesy, but the members had taken to calling it his "pre-Y/N panic time"—a chance for him to get his nerves under control before the cameras started rolling.

Not that it ever worked. Seven episodes in, and his heart still did that ridiculous flutter when he saw her approaching.

The magazine photoshoot from last week had complicated things further. The physical closeness, the staged intimacy that hadn't felt staged at all, the surprise cheek kiss that he could still feel tingling on his skin days later—it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the mental barrier between reality and the show.

And now they were going to an amusement park. A classic date location straight out of every K-drama ever made. Seokmin had a sneaking suspicion the PD was working through a romance cliché checklist at this point.

"You're thinking too loud again," came Y/N's voice, startling him out of his thoughts.

Seokmin turned to find her standing beside him, looking casual and pretty in jeans, a light sweater, and a baseball cap—a far cry from the glamorous styling of their photoshoot, but somehow even more appealing for its naturalness.

"I wasn't thinking," Seokmin defended automatically. "I was... strategizing."

"Strategizing what? Optimal cotton candy consumption techniques?" Y/N teased.

"Exactly that," Seokmin agreed with mock seriousness. "It's all about the fluffy-to-sugar ratio. Very scientific."

Y/N laughed, the sound still doing dangerous things to his cardiac rhythm even after all this time. "Well, I'm glad one of us is prepared."

The production crew approached, cameras already rolling to capture their meeting. The PD handed them each a small envelope.

"Today's mission is simple," the PD explained. "Enjoy a day at the amusement park together! But there's a twist—in these envelopes are three challenges you need to complete throughout the day."

Seokmin opened his envelope, reading the card inside:

1. Win a prize for Y/N at a game booth

2. Take a selca at the top of the Ferris wheel

3. Share one cotton candy (one stick, two people)

Easy enough. Though the Ferris wheel part made his stomach flip with nerves—not because of the height, but because of the romantic implications. Ferris wheels were where drama couples confessed feelings or shared first kisses. The setting was laden with expectations.

Stop overthinking. It's just a theme park date for a TV show.

Y/N showed him her card, which had similar couple-oriented challenges:

1. Buy matching accessories to wear

2. Feed each other some amusement park food

3. Hold hands on a scary ride

"Looks like we're hitting all the couple clichés today," Y/N observed with a wry smile.

"The PD is nothing if not thorough," Seokmin agreed. "Shall we start with the matching accessories? Get that one out of the way early?"

"Lead the way, fake husband."

The term "fake husband" had become something of an inside joke between them, but lately it had started to pinch a little each time she said it—a reminder of the temporary, manufactured nature of their relationship.

As they walked through the entrance gates, cameras trailing discreetly behind them, Seokmin was acutely aware of the public setting. Unlike their previous filmings in controlled environments, this one would have regular people in the background, potentially recognizing them.

Sure enough, he caught the whispers almost immediately.

"Isn't that Lee Seokmin from SEVENTEEN?"

"And Y/N Y/L/N? The actress?"

"They're the couple from that marriage show!"

"Are they filming right now?"

"Ignore them," Y/N murmured, noticing his discomfort. "Just focus on me."

Focus on me. As if that wasn't what he'd been doing helplessly for the past seven episodes.

"Right," Seokmin agreed, straightening his shoulders. "Just us, having fun. Nothing to see here, folks. Just your average idol and actress fake-married for television, wandering around an amusement park with a camera crew. Totally normal Tuesday."

Y/N laughed, linking her arm through his with casual ease that made his heart skip. "Exactly. Now, about those matching accessories..."

They found a souvenir shop near the entrance and browsed the options. Couple headbands? Too obvious. Matching t-shirts? Too committed. Finally, they settled on simple matching wristbands with the park's logo.

"Subtle but identifiable," Y/N approved as they tied them on each other's wrists. "Perfect for a couple who's been married for approximately five minutes of real time spread across seven episodes."

"When you put it that way, our relationship sounds very efficient," Seokmin joked. "Most couples take years to go through what we've experienced in a few filming days."

"The wonders of television time compression," Y/N agreed, her fingers lingering perhaps a second longer than necessary as she finished securing his wristband.

With one challenge completed, they headed deeper into the park. The atmosphere was lively, with cheerful music playing through speakers and the excited screams from nearby rides creating a backdrop of joyful chaos. Despite his initial nervousness about the public setting, Seokmin found himself relaxing as they walked, falling into easy conversation.

"What rides do you like?" he asked. "Thrill seeker or more of a merry-go-round enthusiast?"

"Somewhere in between," Y/N replied. "I like rides that go fast, but I'm not a fan of ones that spin or go upside down too much."

"What about heights?" Seokmin asked, thinking of their pending Ferris wheel mission.

Something flickered across Y/N's expression. "Heights are... not my favorite thing."

"Really?" Seokmin asked, surprised. "But we have to take a selca on the Ferris wheel."

"I know," Y/N said, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I'll be fine. It's just not something I'd choose voluntarily."

Seokmin filed this information away carefully. "We can save that for last, then. Build up to it."

"My hero," Y/N said with a playful smile, but there was genuine appreciation in her eyes.

They decided to start with some of the gentler rides to warm up. The bumper cars provided an opportunity for Seokmin to showcase his terrible driving skills, while Y/N proved unexpectedly aggressive, targeting him mercilessly.

"I thought we were on the same team!" Seokmin protested after she rammed into him for the third time.

"All's fair in love and bumper cars," Y/N called back, circling around for another attack.

The cameras captured their competitive banter, the PD giving approving nods at their natural chemistry. After bumper cars came the spinning teacups (moderately successful) and a carousel ride (during which Seokmin pretended his horse was in an intense race with Y/N's).

"I think it's time for something more thrilling," Y/N suggested after they'd exhausted the tamer options. "Maybe we can tackle the 'hold hands on a scary ride' challenge?"

Seokmin's heart rate picked up at the thought. "Sure, what did you have in mind?"

Y/N pointed to a massive roller coaster that featured multiple loops and a near-vertical drop. "That one."

"You're sure heights aren't your thing?" Seokmin asked skeptically. "Because that seems very... high."

"Roller coasters are different," Y/N explained. "You're moving too fast to really register the height. It's the slow ascent and hovering at the top that bothers me."

"Like on a Ferris wheel," Seokmin concluded, understanding dawning.

"Exactly," Y/N confirmed with a small smile. "But I'll be brave for the mission."

"We'll tackle it together," Seokmin promised, feeling a surge of protectiveness. "But first, let's see if I scream higher than you on this death trap."

The line for the roller coaster was long, giving them time to chat while the cameras captured their anticipation. Seokmin found himself sharing stories about amusement park trips with his members, while Y/N told him about a disastrous high school field trip where she'd gotten separated from her class and ended up accidentally joining a tour group of elderly tourists.

"They were so nice," she recalled with a laugh. "They kept offering me candies and asking if I needed to rest. I spent two hours looking at flower arrangements with them before my teacher found me."

"That's adorable," Seokmin said, genuinely charmed by the mental image of teenage Y/N being adopted by a group of grandparents.

As they approached the front of the line, Y/N's nervous glances at the coaster's imposing structure became more frequent. When they finally boarded and the safety bars lowered into place, she took a deep breath that was slightly shakier than her usual confident demeanor.

"You okay?" Seokmin asked, suddenly concerned that this might be more than just mild nerves.

"Fine," Y/N insisted, though her knuckles were white where she gripped the safety bar. "Just channeling my inner thrill-seeker."

"We can get off if you want," Seokmin offered, but the ride attendant was already moving down the line checking restraints.

"No backing out now," Y/N said with a tight smile. "Besides, we have a mission to complete."

Right. The hand-holding challenge. Though at this point, Seokmin was more concerned with Y/N's comfort than completing missions.

As the coaster began its initial ascent, he quietly offered his hand. Y/N looked at it for a brief moment before entwining her fingers with his, holding on with what might have been more force than strictly necessary for the show.

"I've got you," Seokmin said softly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Y/N's smile was small but genuine. "I know."

And then they were at the top, teetering on the edge of the first drop, and there was no more time for conversation. The coaster plunged downward, and Seokmin found himself screaming at a pitch that would have made his vocal coach weep. Beside him, Y/N's initial scream of terror quickly transformed into shrieks of laughter as they whipped through loops and corkscrews at dizzying speeds.

Through it all, she never let go of his hand.

When they finally jerked to a stop back at the loading platform, both were breathless and laughing, hair windblown and cheeks flushed with adrenaline.

"That was AMAZING!" Y/N exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement. "Can we go again?"

Seokmin stared at her in disbelief. "You were terrified thirty seconds ago!"

"And now I'm exhilarated," Y/N countered. "That's the whole point of these rides."

They exited to where the camera crew waited, still holding hands without seeming to realize it until the PD pointedly looked down at their entwined fingers. They separated quickly, both suddenly finding the exit signs fascinating.

"Challenge completed," the PD noted with satisfaction. "What's next?"

"I think I need to restore my dignity by winning something at a game booth," Seokmin declared. "My screams on that ride were not my most masculine moment."

"I don't know, I found them endearing," Y/N teased. "Like a pterodactyl discovering it can fly."

"That's... not the flattering comparison you think it is," Seokmin replied, but he was laughing too.

They made their way to the game section of the park, where various booths offered prizes for throwing darts, shooting water guns, or knocking down bottles. Seokmin surveyed the options, trying to determine which game gave him the best chance of success.

"How about that one?" Y/N suggested, pointing to a ring toss booth where players tried to loop rings around the necks of bottles.

Seokmin eyed it doubtfully. "Those are notoriously rigged, you know."

"All the more impressive when you win," Y/N countered with a challenging smile. "Unless you don't think you can..."

"Oh, it's ON," Seokmin declared, immediately falling for her obvious manipulation. "I am about to ring toss my way into the history books."

They approached the booth, where an array of stuffed animals hung as prizes. Y/N's eyes lingered on a large plush dog with floppy ears and a goofy expression.

"That one's cute," she commented casually.

Message received. Seokmin paid for a round of rings and took aim at the bottles, determined to win that specific prize for her.

His first attempt sailed completely over the bottles and hit the back wall of the booth.

"Just warming up," he assured Y/N, who was poorly concealing her amusement.

The second throw bounced off the rim of a bottle and ricocheted in an impressive series of bounces before landing on the ground.

"Physics is clearly working against me," Seokmin reasoned.

The third attempt actually made it around a bottle, but it was one of the ones that only won a small consolation prize.

"Progress!" Y/N encouraged.

The fourth and fifth attempts were similarly unsuccessful, leaving Seokmin with empty hands and wounded pride.

"One more round," he insisted, paying for another set of rings. "I'm getting that dog if it's the last thing I do."

Six more failed attempts later, Seokmin was beginning to understand why these games had a reputation for being impossible. The booth operator was watching with increasing amusement, while the camera crew had settled in for what was clearly going to be an extended segment.

"Maybe we should try a different game," Y/N suggested gently.

"No," Seokmin replied, a look of determination settling on his face. "I said I would win you that prize, and I'm going to do it. No matter how many tries it takes."

"My hero," Y/N said, and though there was teasing in her tone, there was something warm in her eyes that made Seokmin's resolve strengthen.

Three more rounds and fifteen more failed attempts later, Seokmin was contemplating whether it would be easier to just climb over the counter and steal the plush dog when he finally, FINALLY landed a ring around the center bottle—the one that won the grand prize.

"I DID IT!" he shouted, jumping up and down with more excitement than the achievement probably warranted. "DID YOU SEE THAT? I AM THE RING TOSS CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!"

Y/N was laughing, clapping her hands in genuine delight at his childlike enthusiasm. "That was amazing! I can't believe you actually did it!"

The booth operator handed over the coveted plush dog with a look of mild surprise, clearly not having expected anyone to actually win it. Seokmin accepted it triumphantly and presented it to Y/N with an exaggerated bow.

"For you, my lady. Only took half my yearly salary and possibly the development of a gambling addiction, but totally worth it."

Y/N accepted the stuffed dog, hugging it to her chest with a smile that made all those failed attempts completely worthwhile. "I shall treasure him forever. What should we name him?"

"Persistence," Seokmin suggested. "Or perhaps 'Financial Ruin.'"

"How about 'Lucky'?" Y/N countered. "Since it was lucky throw number twenty-something that won him."

"Lucky it is," Seokmin agreed, feeling oddly touched that she wanted to name it together, as if it were their shared pet rather than just a carnival prize.

With the ring toss challenge completed (albeit at great cost to Seokmin's wallet and dignity), they moved on to the food section of the park. The "feed each other" challenge from Y/N's card was next on their list.

They surveyed the options—corn dogs, ice cream, various fried foods on sticks—before settling on a stall selling hotteok, the sweet pancakes filled with sugar, cinnamon, and nuts.

"These look dangerous," Y/N observed as they received their order. "Very messy potential."

"That's half the fun," Seokmin replied. "Nothing says romance like getting syrup all over your face while cameras document your humiliation."

They found a table and sat down, the hotteok steaming between them. The cameras positioned to capture the feeding moment, which suddenly felt more intimate than Seokmin had anticipated.

"Ladies first," he said, breaking off a piece and holding it up for Y/N.

She leaned forward, eyes locked with his as she took the bite from his fingers. There was something deliberate in the way she maintained eye contact, something that made Seokmin's breath catch in his throat.

"Your turn," she said after a moment, breaking off her own piece and offering it to him.

Seokmin leaned in, hyperaware of her fingers brushing against his lips as he accepted the bite. The sweetness of the hotteok was almost overwhelmed by the rush of emotions flooding his system.

It's just for the show. It's just for the cameras. It doesn't mean anything.

But the soft smile Y/N gave him as she wiped a bit of sugar from the corner of his mouth with her thumb felt anything but staged.

"Two challenges left," she said, glancing at their mission cards. "Cotton candy and the Ferris wheel."

"Let's get the cotton candy now and save the Ferris wheel for sunset," Seokmin suggested. "It'll look better for the photos."

And give Y/N more time to prepare for her fear of heights, though he didn't say that part aloud.

They found a cotton candy vendor and ordered a single stick, the fluffy pink cloud almost comically large between them.

"How exactly are we supposed to share this?" Y/N wondered, eyeing the sugary confection.

"With great difficulty and maximum stickiness," Seokmin predicted. "Want first bite?"

Y/N tore off a piece, the sugar immediately dissolving on her tongue. "So sweet!"

"That's kind of the whole point," Seokmin laughed, taking his own piece.

They wandered through the park, passing the cotton candy back and forth, occasionally tearing off pieces for each other in a continuation of their feeding challenge. It was simple, silly fun, but Seokmin found himself treasuring these lighthearted moments even more than the more obviously couple-oriented challenges.

As the afternoon wore on and the cotton candy dwindled to nothing but a sticky paper cone, they found themselves approaching the final challenge—the Ferris wheel. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, creating the perfect romantic backdrop.

Too perfect, in Seokmin's opinion. It felt like a setup, a manufactured moment designed to push them into something neither was ready to acknowledge.

"We don't have to do this if you're really uncomfortable with heights," he told Y/N quietly as they approached the imposing wheel.

Y/N took a deep breath, clutching Lucky the plush dog a little tighter. "It's fine. I can handle it. It's just a slow-moving wheel, right?"

"Right," Seokmin agreed. "And I'll be right there with you."

The line moved quickly, and soon they were being ushered into a glass-enclosed carriage. The camera crew couldn't join them in the small space, instead giving them a handheld camera to capture their own footage. This created an unexpected sense of privacy, despite knowing the footage would be viewed later.

As the wheel began to turn, lifting them higher into the evening sky, Y/N's knuckles whitened where she gripped the edge of the seat.

"Hey," Seokmin said softly, covering her hand with his. "Look at me, not down."

Y/N's eyes found his, gratitude clear in her expression. "Sorry. It's silly, I know."

"It's not silly," Seokmin assured her. "Everyone's afraid of something."

"What are you afraid of?" she asked, seemingly grateful for the distraction as they continued to ascend.

Seokmin considered this. "Professionally? Losing my voice before a big performance. It's my recurring nightmare."

"And personally?" Y/N pressed gently.

The question caught him off guard. They'd shared a lot over the past few months, but rarely ventured into territory this vulnerable. The privacy of their current situation made it easier to be honest.

"Being forgotten, I guess," he admitted after a moment. "Not just as an idol, but as a person. The thought that I might not leave any meaningful mark on the people I care about."

Y/N's eyes softened. "I don't think you need to worry about that. You're pretty unforgettable, Lee Seokmin."

The simple sincerity in her voice made his heart constrict. "What about you? Besides heights."

Y/N was quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting to the sunset visible through the glass, though she kept her hand firmly in his. "Becoming irrelevant, I think. Not necessarily in my career, though that's part of it. But more... being someone people can easily replace or move on from."

The vulnerability in her admission struck a chord in Seokmin. Without thinking, he squeezed her hand. "Also not something you need to worry about."

Their eyes met, and Seokmin was suddenly acutely aware of how alone they were, suspended high above the world in their glass bubble. The moment felt weighted with possibility, with unspoken words hovering between them.

Then the carriage jerked to a stop as they reached the very top of the wheel, and Y/N's fear resurfaced as she glanced down reflexively.

"Oh god, we're so high up," she breathed, her grip on his hand tightening painfully.

"Hey, it's okay," Seokmin soothed, shifting closer to put an arm around her shoulders. "Don't look down. Look out at the sunset instead. Or at me. I've been told I have a very distracting face."

That earned a small laugh from Y/N, though it was tinged with nervousness. "You do have a distracting face," she agreed, turning to look at him rather than the view. "Very expressive."

"One of my many talents," Seokmin confirmed seriously. "Along with pterodactyl screaming on roller coasters and spending obscene amounts of money on rigged carnival games."

Y/N's laugh was more genuine this time, her body relaxing slightly against his. "Don't forget your superior cotton candy sharing skills."

"A comprehensive skill set," Seokmin agreed. "I'm quite the catch."

"You are," Y/N said, and something in her tone made him pause. There was a sincerity there that didn't sound like part of their usual banter.

Before he could respond, she seemed to remember the camera in his free hand. "We should take that selca now, while we're at the top."

"Right," Seokmin agreed, grateful for the distraction from the suddenly charged atmosphere. He held up the camera, angling it to capture both them and the sunset behind them. "Smile!"

Y/N pressed close against his side, her face next to his, smile bright despite her fear of heights. Seokmin took several photos, wanting to make sure they got at least one good one.

"Perfect," Y/N declared, reviewing the images. "Mission accomplished."

As if on cue, the Ferris wheel began moving again, beginning its descent back to the ground. Y/N visibly relaxed as they moved downward, though she didn't pull away from Seokmin's side.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"For helping me through that. For distracting me."

"Anytime," Seokmin replied honestly. "That's what fake husbands are for, right?"

There it was again—that slight pinch at the reminder of their arrangement. But Y/N's smile didn't falter as she nodded. "Right."

When they reached the bottom and exited the carriage, the PD was waiting with an approving smile. "Did you get good footage up there?"

"I think so," Seokmin replied, handing over the camera. "All challenges completed successfully!"

"Great work, both of you," the PD said. "That's a wrap for today's episode!"

As the crew began packing up equipment, Seokmin and Y/N found themselves standing together in the fading twilight, the park's lights beginning to twinkle on around them.

"That was fun," Y/N said, still holding Lucky the stuffed dog to her chest. "Even the terrifying parts."

"Especially the terrifying parts," Seokmin corrected with a smile. "Those make the best stories later."

"True," Y/N agreed. "No one wants to hear about the time everything went perfectly according to plan."

There was a moment of comfortable silence between them, neither quite ready for the day to end.

"Do you want to grab dinner?" Seokmin found himself asking before he could overthink it. "The cameras are off, but we could still..."

He trailed off, suddenly unsure if he was overstepping. They rarely spent time together off-camera, though their text conversations had become increasingly frequent.

Y/N hesitated, and for a terrible moment Seokmin thought she was going to decline. Then she smiled, nodding. "I'd like that. I'm starving after all that cotton candy and hotteok."

"A balanced meal of pure sugar," Seokmin agreed with relief. "The cornerstone of any nutritious diet."

They ended up at a small restaurant near the park, tucked into a corner booth away from prying eyes. The conversation flowed easily, moving from reflections on their day to stories from their respective careers to childhood memories. It was the first time they'd spent significant time together without cameras recording their every word, and Seokmin found himself cherishing the authenticity of it.

"Can I ask you something?" Y/N said after their food had arrived. "And you don't have to answer if it's too personal."

"Sure," Seokmin replied, curious.

"Why did you agree to do 'We Got Married'? You mentioned losing at rock-paper-scissors, but was that really it?"

Seokmin considered the question, wanting to give her an honest answer. "Partly, yes. The members volunteered me when the offer came in. But I could have refused if I'd really wanted to."

"So why didn't you?"

"I thought it would be good exposure," Seokmin admitted. "Both for me personally and for the group. And I thought it might be fun, in a terrifying sort of way." He paused, then added, "I didn't expect..."

"What?" Y/N prompted when he trailed off.

Seokmin met her eyes. "I didn't expect to enjoy it as much as I have. Or to..."

Like you as much as I do. The words hovered unspoken between them.

"Me neither," Y/N said softly, seemingly understanding what he couldn't quite say. "It's been... unexpectedly nice."

There was that word again. Nice. Such a simple word for the complex emotions swirling between them.

The moment was interrupted by the arrival of their check, breaking the spell that had settled over their conversation. They split the bill and made their way outside, where reality awaited in the form of their respective managers parked nearby.

"Thank you for today," Y/N said as they prepared to part ways. "For winning Lucky, and for helping me on the Ferris wheel, and... everything."

"Thank you for making it so easy," Seokmin replied honestly. "Being married to you, even just for a TV show, has been... nice."

Y/N smiled at his echo of her earlier word. "See you for episode nine?"

"I'll be there," Seokmin promised. "With bells on, probably, knowing our PD's penchant for increasingly elaborate scenarios."

Y/N laughed, then surprised him by stepping forward and giving him a quick hug, Lucky the stuffed dog squished between them. "Goodnight, Seokmin."

"Goodnight," he replied, watching as she walked to her manager's car.

Later that night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his phone buzzed with a message. It was from Y/N—a selca of her with Lucky the stuffed dog positioned on her pillow.

Y/N: Lucky says goodnight. He also says thanks to his ring toss champion dad.

Ring toss champion dad. The casual implication of shared parenthood, even of a stuffed animal, made Seokmin's heart do a complicated flip.

Seokmin: Tell Lucky he's welcome, and that his Ferris wheel survivor mom is the real hero of the day.

Y/N: We make a good team, don't we?

Such a simple question, laden with potential meanings.

Seokmin: The best team. Even if we disagree on rug colors.

Y/N: Especially when we disagree on rug colors.

Seokmin smiled at the callback to their decoration argument. There was something comforting about these inside jokes they'd developed, these shared references that belonged just to them.

Y/N: I had fun tonight. Both on and off camera.

Seokmin: Me too. We should do it again sometime.

Y/N: I'd like that.

Three simple words that made Seokmin's chest tighten with hope and fear in equal measure. As he set his phone aside, he couldn't help but wonder where this was heading. Two episodes left, and then what? Back to their separate lives, with nothing but memories of a fake marriage that had begun to feel anything but fake?

For the first time since the show began, Seokmin allowed himself to admit what he'd been trying to deny for weeks now: he was falling for Y/N. Not for the cameras, not for the show, but for real.

And that realization was both the most thrilling and terrifying thought he'd had all day—far scarier than any roller coaster or Ferris wheel could ever be.

45 notes · View notes

dadupbuck · 12 hours ago

Text

April bookmarks wrap up!

First post with the new username! (Used to be evanbuckleyrecs)

Here are all the 911 fics I bookmarked in April :) the order is from most recently read to the beginning of the month

If you're the author or any of these fics, let me know and I'll add a tag :) however tumblr keeps removing tags in my posts randomly

WARNING: some summaries may have spoilers for 8b. In the 'tag' part I'm putting when fics take place or were published. If you're avoiding spoilers, check that before reading the summary!

Don't let the tide rush over and wash us away by writerforlife

* TW frequent mention of canon past suicide attempt (Maddie) and suicidal thoughts

Buck develops a relationship with the ocean, avoids talking about the day Eddie was shot, realizes he might be in love, and drives.

Order may vary.

(a fic for the "Buck is going to break all the way down in season 6" truthers)

Can't leave me alone by 42hrb

Buddie | rated E | 3,3k | roommates, minor spoilers until 8x14, first time, accidental voyeurism, fluff and smut |

“There wasn’t a line at the DMV, it was a miracle. I —” The words die on Eddie’s lips as he takes in the scene in front of him, his eyes go wide and his mouth drops open, a flush spreads over his cheeks.

Buck must look a fucking sight and he knows it, his face hot with a mix of shame and arousal. He can’t look at Eddie, not when he’s still got a fucking dildo buried in his ass. Not when his cock is fucking leaking against his stomach. Not when looking at Eddie might be what sends him tipping over the edge, so Buck carefully looks at the wall behind him instead. “Y-you’re not supposed to be home yet."

“The DMV didn’t have a line,” Eddie says again, taking a step into the room instead of turning around like Buck is expecting him too. If Eddie leaves Buck can take the dildo out of his ass and they can maybe pretend this never happened, or at the very least ignore it for 6 to 12 months, until it’s funny to joke about.

Face the burnin' heat by EiraLloyd @unlifeira

Buddie | rated T | 2k | post 8x15 | funeral, tommy kinard bashing, pre-relationship Buddie, grief/mourning

* Warning: main character death

At Bobby's funeral, Buck witnesses Eddie punching Tommy right after Tommy says something particularly hurtful. Buck knows there has to be more to this than just anger—and it turns out, he's right.

Forever is the sweetest con by @becausebuckley

Buddie, Buck & Ravi | Rated E | 37,8K | post s8a | marriage of convenience, friends to husbands, practice kissing, sharing a bed, cuddling, wedding rings, family reunions, humor

“Buck,” Eddie says, a small smile curving at the edge of his mouth, “wanna get married? For our honeymoon, we’ll scam your parents out of some money and make Ravi’s accountant do our taxes.”

“Well,” Buck says drily, “that sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, in his very best – meaning very bad – impression of Buck when he gets his hands on a clipboard. “What was that?”

“Yes, Eddie,” Buck says, putting on an air of suffering despite the butterflies making themselves at home in his stomach. Man, whoever Eddie ends up proposing to for realsies is gonna be so lucky. “I’ll marry you.”

or: buck is invited to a family reunion and realises that there's a good chunk of money waiting for him. there’s one issue, though: he has to be married to claim it, and right now, he’s painfully single. it’s a good thing he has such a great best friend in eddie, right?

What a View by maybeamystery

Buddie | rated G | 3k | 2022 | hurt buck, temporary loss of vision, didn't know they were dating, idiots in love, misunderstanding, migraines, holding hands

They’re coming back from a late call for a shift that was supposed to end at two-thirty but didn’t, and Buck has been keeping a close eye on the time. He’s a busy guy with things to do and places to be. One minute he’s glancing at his phone for the two hundredth time in the last thirty minutes, and the next, the whole world goes blurry and out of focus.

I can't believe my eyes (I must be seeing blind) by calvingseason

Buddie | rated T | 5,9k | 2022 | crack treated seriously, gay disaster buck, glasses, getting together, idiots in love

Buck never thought he had this kink. He’s like, pretty convinced he knows everything there is to know about his own likes and dislikes and attractions and whatnot, but this? This fucking weird fantasy that’s playing in his head like he’s the subject of a strange student-teacher love affair? Buck’s going to Google the highest bridge in Los Angeles and jump off. Because it’s fucking glasses that are doing it for him. Glasses.

or, eddie gets glasses. buck is normal about it.

Allergic to love by notetonote

Buddie | rated G | 4,5k | 8x05 Masks | Tommy bashing, bucktommy break up, protective Eddie, hurt Buck, allergic reactions, soft Eddie, fix it fic, oblivious Buck, oblivious Eddie, Eddie takes care of Buck

“What’s going on? Did I miss something, or–” Tommy starts, chuckling lightly.

“Yeah actually, I think you did.” Eddie’s voice carries across the loft, shutting up Tommy immediately. It’s much more accusatory and pointed than before, not a hint of wariness to it. Eddie takes his time as he stalks back over into the open plan kitchen and dining room area, shaking the bottle in front of him as he does.

“Ibuprofen.”

Tommy looks between the bottle and Eddie’s stoic face, still completely clueless. “Yeah? That’s what it says on the label.”

Buck hardly hears Tommy say this to Eddie, the word Ibuprofen echoing around the walls of his mind. Oh, God.

— — —

When Buck wakes up with boils on his face, he calls Eddie to check it out. It is when Eddie finds out that Tommy gave Buck ibuprofen, one of the medications that can trigger Buck’s allergy to naproxen, that hell breaks loose.

Eddie Diaz vs the Buck's Boyfriend Agenda by songbvrd

Buddie | rated M | 23,4k | post s7 | tommy bashing, pining, not actually unrequited love, unhinged Eddie, jealous Eddie, Eddie goes to therapy, gay Eddie, 118 as family

* warning: infidelity (not buck/buddie)

“Asked me if I was the Chinese food delivery guy on my first day.” Chim contributed in a whisper, like he was afraid Buck might wake up and hear. Maybe he felt disloyal admitting it now. It was no secret to anyone paying attention how much Chim loved Buck, even if he often pretended to be exasperated with him.

Hen nodded solemnly. “One of the many people who wouldn’t even acknowledge me when I started.”

It was news to Eddie, and apparently Ravi too, but not Cap, who resolutely stared down at the table in front of him, shaking his head.

“Oh, so he fucking sucks.” Ravi contributed casually, never one to pull punches with his thoughts.

No one responded, but the agreement was in the air.

OR -

Eddie starts gathering information about why no one trusts Tommy. As he grows to hate their relationship more, he learns more about himself and what he wants.

I'll show you mine (will you show me yours?) By @becausebuckley

Buddie | rated E | 5,7k | 2024 | getting together, phone sex, nude photos, dirty talk

“What if... what if he's right, Eddie? What if my nudes really do look weird and everyone’s just been too polite to say anything? Cause, like, I used to send them a lot, you know? Before we met, when I was still Buck 1.0? What if I’ve been sharing really bad pictures with everyone? Shit, what if my dick really does look weird?”

“Buck, your dick doesn’t look weird,” Eddie says.

“See, but here’s the thing, I wouldn’t know,” Buck stresses. “Like, I used to sext with women, you know? I haven’t seen that many hard dicks. Maybe there’s something super wrong with mine, and I’ve gone all my life going ooh, look at me, I call myself Firehose, my dick is so cool and big and stuff, and everyone was just making fun of me behind my back!”

or: when buck feels insecure about his nudes, he asks eddie for help. for 911 kinktober day 27: non-penetrative sex!

I'm Going To Try My Best To Figure It Out For Myself by @aspecbuddie

Buck & Hen, Buddie (background) | post 8x11 | feelings realization (sort of), pre relationship Buddie, Buck loves Eddie

After ten minutes of silence, ten minutes of thinking about the thing he’s trying not to think about, Buck cracks.

“Anyone ever think you were in love with Athena?”

He’s still staring straight ahead, but in his peripheral, he sees Hen’s head jerk in his direction.

“What the hell?!”

or; Buck talks to Hen after that conversation with Tommy

He's Got Stars In His Eyes by @gaydadeddie

Buddie | rated E | 3,8k | post 8x11 | Eddie's silver star, freak4freak buddie, jealousy, possessive Eddie, smut, religious guilt

Eddie wants Buck to wear his Silver Star, which would be cool and normal, except Eddie's a freak.

I touch myself, I dream by Excalipurr

The text he receives is simple.

you took my LAFD t-shirt, man

Are you sure?

pretty sure

Attached there is a picture. In it, Buck stands in front of his bathroom mirror with a t-shirt two sizes too small, his birthmark eyebrow raised in an I told you so expression. Eddie is oddly impressed by the size of Buck’s biceps and chest straining hard against the frail-looking material, like he’s about to burst out of it. And he’s also a little mesmerized by the way the fabric fails to fully cover the bottom area of his waist, his stomach just slightly peeking out, happy trail going down like an invitation.

or: Eddie accidentally takes Buck's LAFD t-shirt to El Paso.

Rodeo queen by okanus

Buddie | rated E | 15,6k | 2024 | sexual tension, flirting, first kiss, halloween, cowboy hats, getting together, first time, possessive eddie

“What’s the saying again? Save a horse…hm, y’know, I don't quite remember the rest of it.” Eddie can’t help the smile curving up the corner of his mouth.

“You’re an asshole,” Buck says, scowling. The tips of his ears are pink.

“Come on, Buck,” Eddie murmurs, something white-hot and hungry snaking through him at Buck’s faltering gaze, at the way Buck reaches up to tug at his suit collar. “Save a horse…I know you can do it.”

“Ride a cowboy,” Buck says finally, his voice husky like Eddie’s never heard it before.

Sunday morning, got me looking crazy by @lovesicktaxi

Buddie | rated G | 10,9k | pre s8x06 | tommy bashing, pre-relationship Buddie, getting together, sweet Eddie, oblivious Buck, feelings realization, crack, ADHD Buck, good sibling Maddie, soft Buddie, overwhelmed Buck

Buck spirals on a Sunday morning over his boyfriend, his best friend, a Tiktok, and what it means to show up for others.

And his laundry is still not dry.

Paint on your face by paleredheadinascifi

Buddie | rated T | 4,9k | AU, getting together, fluff, different first meeting, adorable Chris, teacher Buck, meet cute

“Yeah. Craziest thing. My kid comes home a few weeks ago with a birthmark on his eyebrow. Looks suspiciously like a smudge of paint, but he assures me it’s a birthmark.”

“Ah,” Buck cringes. "Mr Diaz - -"

"Eddie."

Or, if you ask Christopher, that smudge on his eyebrow is a birthmark. If you ask Eddie, his kid won't stop painting on his face and he has no idea why.

Wanna see your body on mine (and collide) by @becausebuckley

Buddie | Rated E | 4,6k | first time, established relationship, top eddie, bottom buck

They fit perfectly together, Buck can’t help but think. It’s like they’re two puzzle pieces that have been reunited, like they were always meant to collide like this.

or: buddie sleep together for the first time. for the 911 kinktober prompt first time!

Promises to Keep by @catmomjudy

Buddie, Eddie & Bobby, Eddie & Chris | rated T | 4,6k | post 8x15 | main character death, pre relationship Buddie, Bobby ships Buddie

* Warning: main character death

Eddie gets a strange and disturbing text, followed by a phone call from a worrying source.

And through it all, he realizes that being a man means more than sucking it up in a sucky house in sucky El Paso.

Because he made a promise, and he's going to keep it.

All the quiet nights by @becausebuckley

Buddie | rated T | 3,8k | mild hurt/comfort, sharing a bed, bathing/washing, fluff, getting together, forehead kissing, cuddling, eddie takes care of buck, hair washing

“You don’t have to do that,” Buck says, averting his eyes as Eddie’s fingers begin working at his belt. “It’s just my wrist.”

“Just- just let me take care of you,” Eddie says. It’s a question, but it comes out somewhere between a statement and a plea. “Please.”

or: eddie takes care of buck.

Stay Right Here (Life's Not the Same Without You) by amACEinglyordinary

Buddie | rated G | 2,2k | post 8a | getting together, mutual pining, fluff, cuddling, couch theory

Eddie and Chris come back home from Texas. Buck is slightly panicking about the discovery of his feelings for Eddie. Eddie is suspiciously tactile, even for him. Chris is used to their antics.

My wishes come true (whenever I'm with you) by @becausebuckley

Buddie | rated T | 3,6k | sharing a bed, getting together, cuddling, first kiss

“Yeah, I get that,” he says softly. “It’s been a while for me too. But it’s kind of nice, isn’t it? Having someone there?”

“It is,” Eddie says. “I- I always liked that. It feels safer.”

“I feel safer, too.”

or: buck and eddie have to share a bed in a hotel. for flufftober day 31, make a wish!

I'll give you my clothes (because you already have my heart) by @becausebuckley

Buddie | rated T | 5,5k | fluff, 5+1, sharing clothes, first kiss

“Sure thing, bud,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. “Till then, put this on, will you?”

He lobs a bundle of fabric at Buck. Buck scrambles to catch it, then unfolds it to find a blue button-up, the version of their uniform that Eddie usually prefers.

He holds it out in front of him. On the label in the back of the neck, he sees Diaz written in Eddie’s spiky handwriting.

“I figured you wouldn’t have any spares left,” Eddie explains, “and the ones in that pile tend to run smaller, cause B-shift always forgets to do the laundry and we never have any larger sizes left because of them. This should still fit you, I think.”

or: five times buck wears eddie's clothes, and one time he wears his own.

Not so crazy (not tonight) by @becausebuckley

Buddie | rated T | 1,7k | post 8x11 | feelings realization, getting together, phone calls, love confessions

Because of all people, the most likely one to know who Buck is in love with is Eddie himself.

It’s just what they do. Years ago, they’d promised to have each other’s backs, and since then, they’ve been like this. Buck knows Eddie, and Eddie knows Buck, and somewhere along the way, they became BuckandEddie and they haven’t looked back since.

or: buck tells eddie about maddie's question. eddie has some thoughts about it.

Teach me how to dance with you by @becausebuckley

Buddie | Rated M | 5,2k | slow dancing, getting together, horny Buck, first kiss, competent Eddie, fluff and humor, oblivious Buck

“Okay, come here,” Eddie says, dropping the sponge and dish he was cleaning into the soapy water with a splash. He’s tugging on Buck’s elbow, then, the wetness from his fingers seeping into Buck’s clothes and all the way through to his skin.

“Uh, what?” Buck brings out, but he’s helpless to do anything but follow Eddie’s lead and let go of the tea towel.

“We’re dancing,” Eddie says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Or: Eddie teaches Buck to dance.

Keeping it quiet by @bellabrady

Buddie | rated G | 3,2k | love confessions, getting together, humor, idiots in love, first kiss

He can’t handle standing next to Eddie for however long it takes to clean the engine, he just can’t. He’s going to lose it. And he’s going to lose Eddie, too, because he’ll inevitably either kiss him or confess his undying love. He can’t even guarantee he won’t just drop down on one knee and propose.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be right there, Bobby!” Buck yells before dropping his rag into the bucket and taking off towards the loft, leaving Eddie standing there dumbfounded.

“Buck, no one was calling for you!” he shouts, exasperated. Buck ignores him and bounds up the stairs.

Or: Buck realizes he's in love with Eddie shortly before a 24 hour shift. Out of fear of accidentally confessing his love, Buck tries to avoid him at all costs. If only Eddie wasn't so derermined to talk to him.

Bring me to your altar (drop me to my knees) by justhockey

Buddie | rated E | 5,5k | s8 | jealous Eddie, possessive Eddie, love confessions, first kiss, first time, fluff and smut, getting together, friends to lovers, religious imagery and symbolism

Eddie takes a breath, and he pushes down on Buck’s shoulders until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Then Eddie drops to his knees between Buck’s thighs, like he’s ready to pray.

Back in El Paso, Eddie got used to Sunday mornings in church. It was surprisingly easy to fall back into the rhythm of it, even though Eddie has been beating out of sync for his entire life. He still doesn’t believe - not in god, or sin, or hell. He does believe in heaven, though. Thinks he’s found it right here, in Buck.

Because nothing - no god, or church, or prayer - has ever felt as holy as this.

His Father(s) by xompeii

Eddie & Chris | rated G | 1,3k | post 8x12 | family, fluff, coda, feelings realization, Chris has 2 dads

“I’m sorry, so you’re saying Chris has two fathers?” The redheaded woman from earlier says. It’s not in a bad way, it’s more confused than anything else.

“No, I’m his father. Ramon is his grandfather,” Eddie is pretty calm about this. Somehow he still feels the need to add, “There would be nothing wrong if he did, but it’s just me.”

Or - After Chris and Eddie talk at the Chess Tournament, they keep talking.

Chasing butterflies by rizcriz

Buddie | rated T | 5,7k | post 8a | feelings realization, Eddie in El Paso, coming out

How long have you been in love with her?

Is sitting in the air as they laugh, turning to each other like they’ve done something, and dropping the subject entirely in favor of grilling Grant on his upcoming wedding.

How long have you been in love with her?

Is sitting in the air as he blindly grabs for his beer, dragging it to his mouth and downing what’s left in the bottle in one desperate gulp.

How long have you been in love with her?

Is rewording itself, reworking itself, translating itself until it fits;

How long have you been in love with him?

Or, Eddie's in El Paso and suddenly everything makes sense.

Wherever you go, that's where I am by spiritsontheroof

Buddie | rated T | 4,7k | post 8x13/8x14 (alternate 8x15) | getting together, mutual pining, holding hands, moving in together, tenderness, first kiss, sharing a bed, non sexual intimacy

Ravi follows Buck’s line of sight and jerks his head in Hen and Karen’s direction. “You ever wish you had that?”

“Had what?” Buck asks. “A wife?”

“Yeah, I guess. Or,” Ravi shrugs, twisting the shock blanket he’s supposed to be wrapped in between his hands. “Just someone to go home to.”

Buck rubs at his sternum as a sudden sharp pain shoots through it. “Yeah."

OR, Buck gets someone to go home to.

You're taking me out of the ordinary by wafflesofdoom

Buddie | rated G | 1,8k | post 8x13 | first kiss, getting together

“Ballroom kind of requires a partner,” Eddie pointed out, and for a second, his words hung heavy in the air between them, a metaphor so heavy-handed that it almost made Eddie cringe – he’d gone so long, without a partner, a real one who was all in, and then he’d met Buck, and he’d found the perfect partner, in the other man.

Buck gestured vaguely at himself. “I’ll be your partner.”

Your hands, my hips by farfromthstars

Buddie | rated E | 1,6k | post 8x12 | feelings realization, Introspection, phone calls, pre relationship Buddie

Eddie draws in a sharp breath and, all of a sudden, realizes that he’s hard, or getting there at least. He glances at his phone screen again, at Buck’s peaceful face, still fast asleep, and hits the red button in a panicked daze.

He must’ve gotten his wires crossed somehow, maybe he dreamt something or he’s just– pent up, or whatever, and then the thought of Buck’s chest, and his thighs–

eddie wakes up with buck still on facetime. he's not normal about it.

Ooff that was long 😅 it took me hours to make this post

#911 #buddie #911 on abc #buddie fanfic rec #buddie fanfiction #911 fanfiction #911 abc #buddie fanfic #911 fanfic #monthly wrap up

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derocatem · 1 day ago

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Y Si Fuera Ellos || Anaxa

summary: one last night, together, have let your life to change in more ways than you could ever expect.

content warnings | smut + angst + fluff (minors dni), chubby reader, genderfluid reader (reader have both vagina and penis in this (could be read as afab with a (magical) strap or intersex), switch top reader, reader is a scholar alongside Anaxa, Anaxa and reader are in established relationship already and their relationship developed is showed in bits and pieces, intersex Anaxa (praise dear Cerces for it), switch bottom Anaxa, mentions of 3.0 to 3.2 information and POSSIBLE spoilers for ahead versions (?), reader and anaxa spends quality time together (bathing, studying together, ect.), breast play, body worship, fingering, receiving + giving handjobs, piv sex, missionary sex, passionate + emotional sex, rough sex, overstimulation, supernatural male pregnancy and non explicit birth mentioned but not described, body horror in a way(?), death, original child oc, family and domestic life + possible more (?)…

a/n - #1 “magical” strap is a strap that is worn by afab individuals and mimics dick, can produce cum and you could feel it like it’s connected to your body (pls i don’t want to elaborate more you get it 💔)

#2 - i tried to give all important details but not to spoil anything too much, please say if i should tag something 🙏

#3 - it’s very bad, i haven’t written in a long while i just wanted to write something for my man coming out today

“Was it all worth it?”

“Every single second of it? Was it?”

You ponder on that question again in your own mind when you remember…everything, this usually happens not too regularly yet not quite irregular either, once in a while if you have to actually think about it when you’re free that these days don't really happen often but it’s okay.

As harsh sun of the eternal land landed upon you early this morning through the open window, much to your energy barely made you to flip around in the bed like a lazy teenager as your hand pulled onto the thin curtains and pulled them lightly as you now definitely used all of your energy to flip back around onto your stomach and close your eyes just for a moment longer as you thought to yourself”

“Was it worth it?”

“If you think that you are not worth it, why would you be here in the first place? You must be either really dumb or really stubborn to not give up?”

Anaxagoras spoke, his tone factual and full as he looked at you, his gaze unwavering as he clearly mentally judged you for whatever reason that you clearly can’t even remember how long passed since then. Your first meeting. A year older yet so far away from you in studies that it made you believe that you won’t ever finish. Much to your horror back then, you were forced to work on many experiments and projects in the Grove together due similarly to your courses that you shared together. Now it brings you a small smile as you now noticed some things that you didn't back then.

It was kind of adorable how he started looking out for you, you could actually give a decent argument to his question and express your support to his…blasphemous comments and started arguing with others scholars about gods that you held so dear to your heart when you were a child yet…sky is fake, isn’t it? you know that now really well.

Even when you started actually getting more confident and understanding of all knowledge around you as your studies progressed, you got comfortable in getting uncomfortable and getting out of your comfort zone of comfort that you actually started…being able to actually explore your own ideas and experiences.

By the end of the academic days, you and Anaxa just like…silently understood that you understood each other’s minds much better than others could ever. Even that memory of when you were doing the research, the fleeting touches and comforting night spent looking at each other’s faces longer than supposed to when you should study were clear to both, last your of your academic studies, first kiss finally came as they finally sit too close to each other’s, your head on his shoulder before looking at him with those eyes and fuck, why are trying to tug on strings of his heart.

Even when you guys had your first time together after you both graduated and got accepted back into the groove as the staff members. It makes you chuckle now that you know that you were both virgins AND having unprotected intercorse? Were you trying to procreate so quickly or?

Jokes aside, youth madness as people would say it, isn’t it?

“Was it worth it?”

Your smile faltered just a bit as you remembered the time that Anaxa got the information that he’s supposed to be next crysos heir for titan of reason, the future is making fun of you isn’t it?

Though it might be a selfish thing, you couldn’t help to feel like…you haven’t deserved such a thing? You were young and in love, sometimes even crying to yourself when you knew that he accepted it. In back of your selfish part of yourself, you wanted him to yourself.

He is yours, isn’t he? Your partner, someone who lays in the bed next to you late at night, stargaze together as you hopelessly daydream about your future together and someone that actually likes to bottom instead of top? you found yourself a perfect person to co-exist till the end.

Your smile falters a bit more when he starts…changing. Physically changing at least, that void that started forming on his chest and other parts of his body like cracks in the ground, chipping away from him as endless greenish void continued showing, growing as you could only partially rest your head on his chest deep in night as you curled around him like a needy child, craving a reminder that he’s still next to you.

Amused dry chuckle left your lips as you thought about the star-shaped hole in his chest…you loved to tease him about it in more ways than one.

When your fingers danced around his chest as you rode him almost silly. When his hair was sprayed on the pillow around his head, almost like a halo as his reddish blue eyes could barely hold eye contact with you before rolling back to back of his head from the pleasure of your walls squeezing around his girth. His eyes always turned a bit more to red, his natural eye color when he was with you. You always bring out his human side so selfishly, so greedily making him crave you like a forbidden fruit from the finest lands that galaxy could ever offer. Making him love yet hate mornings that you wake up next to him, beautiful like a dream as your head rests on his chest, your voice still heavy with sleep as you speak, your eyes glossy as you look up at him and hold him closer to your heart.

“Was it worth it?”

Your expression now neutral your eyes slightly opened, glancing at the nothing in particular as you remembered that…time. Last time actually. Last time you got to hold body of your beloved in your hands selfishly.

You knew very well what Anaxa planned. You weren’t a dummy, maybe not an crysos heir but your endless nights full of reading and learning history made you understand clues and read through the actions that made you understand what your partner was meaning to do.

Even Cerces—…or rather Calypso were now residing inside your partner’s body like she found it, a corpse that is now used for keeping her alive gave you a little privacy for your own sake. She might be the titan of reason but she also loved, now dead titan of love, her beloved one.

Resting against Anaxa’s body you bathe together, your fingers gently brushing through his hair you washed his hair from behind him. Tips of your fingers rubbing through hair and massaging his scalp before rinsing it off. luke warm water softly splashing against the walls of the bathtub as you moved when washing each other’s bodies, innocently appreciating the beauty of the human body together as you guided his head to rest between your breasts when you finished, deciding to spend some more time together here. Your lips pressed against his scalp as your fingers slowly moved from his hands to forearms, then his upper arms and shoulders as you gently squeezed and worshiped skin underneath your fingertips.

After it your hands slowly circled around to his front as you lowered your head and started pressing light, butterfly kisses on back oh his neck as your fingers went over the length of his neck, feeling up his adam's apple before brushing his collar bones softly before going over his chest and stopping against now slightly prominent ribs, one hand rubbed over his ribs as other went up and cupped one of his breasts, gently rubbing it as a soft noise slipped through his mouth but he decided to stay silent and let you continue your little ministration. You hummed against his neck, you pressed lingering kisses on his neck as that hand that lingered went towards the crack in his chest before two of your fingers slowly slipped into the void.

Moan slipped his lips as his head lulled back on your shoulder, letting you press more open mouth kisses against his skin as your fingers slowly slipped in and out of his chest, making him practically whimper as your hand found its way over his stomach towards between his legs, your hand softly grabbing his cock as you give a few experimental squeezes around the shaft and head before pumping it up and down, letting him feel a bit of the pleasure of act of pleasure that usually happens between you.

You decided to tease him, after just a bit you slowly pulled away your hands from his body as you pulled out the plug of the drain as you turned his head towards you and gave you a dirty look while looking like a wet cat. You giggled before kissing him apologetically before helping each other out of the bath and you two didn’t even bother to put on the clothes as you entered your shared room together.

“Sun” was slowly setting down on the city as you two stared at it wordlessly before you took a step closer to him, taking his hands into yours as you pulled his body against yours together as you rested your forehead against his for a long moment.

Your breast pressed against his, soft tummy resting against his stomach and his cock slightly twitching as it brushed against your thigh. His own hands slowly followed almost the exact same route that you did, slightly rough tips of fingers caressing your skin like it’s a sacred thing, gently rolling mounds of your breast between his fingers and brushing though rolls of your back gently, rubbing your thighs and squeezing around your hips and waist as you own body got excited from his touch.

After a shared kiss, you took the lead as you guided him towards the bed before making you face him as you got a hold of his butt, squeezing it before lowering your beloved into the sheets. Your lips quickly found his as you two made out.

You pulled back as you started at the beautiful man underneath you, your hands gently spread his legs as shifted between them, your fingers rubbing over the length of his things as you spoke as you lowered yourself down, kissing down his stomach and slowly pulling down as your lips pressed a few lingering kisses over the length of his already erected cock before gently probing against the hole underneath his cock before slowly inserting your fingers in, drawing a moan from him as you lifted yourself back, fingering him slowly before picking up the peace.

“I-wish for you to stay here with me, very much so, y’know?”

You spoke, your voice neutral and light but a hint of genuine emotion in your voice as you worked him open. There was always an elephant in the room, even when you don’t address it. Always looming over both, especially the last 14 days since he betrayed Crisos Heirs and seemingly joined the Council of Elders, you know it wasn’t the complete truth yet you know the real reasons why he did it, you could only put hope and faith in his experiments. He will die in the end either way.

“It’s a selfish thing, I'm aware, but it’s still a wish.”

You chuckled, keeping your emotions in check barely as your fingers didn’t waver from it’s peace as you flexed them inside Anaxa before pulling them away and practically shamelessly licking them clean before him as a light blush appeared on his chest and cheeks.

You moved slightly, getting into a more comfortable position as your hand grasped your shaft, giving it a few pumps before centering it on his entrance as another held onto Anaxa’s waist to keep him in place, his legs instinctively moving around your waist as you pushed inside.

Giving his waist a squeeze you slowly pushed your hips forward as he mewled at the size, his hand clasping around your arm on his waist as the other hand kept his legs open as you gave a couple of trusts, as you couldn’t help but to moan as he was practically sucking you. Your voice stuttered as you spoke again, gaze fixated on him as your feelings grew harder to hide as you picked up your speed, your frustration over everything around you finally getting to you as Anaxa moaned and gasped as his legs quivered from each slaps of skin against each other as you blabbered about.

“Fuck- i just wish to keep you next to me. Keep you here—..”

You spoke as every thrust of your hips makes his head fall back into the pillow as breathless moans escape his lips if your lips weren’t on his, mouthing every single reaction from him and engraving them into your memory.

Even when you already finish so deep inside of his body, your hips don’t stop. Going far and beyond as you greedily pump him full of your seed as his cunt greedily squeeze and relish in the warmth substance that was now so deep inside of him. Your hand on his member, helping him ride out his high as his stomach gets coated with his own cum as an almost filthy ring of combined releases slips away from his gaping core as it slides down his skin into the sheets when you pull out.

Finally you let yourself cry, almost pathetic sounds emerge from depths of your poor, human heart as you weakly flop next to his breathless body as you sob, not wanting to wake up tomorrow to your partner, love of your life not existing as he get sentenced to the execution by Aglaea because of mingling with Kephalie’s body to find the answer to his life long question.

“I don’t want to-…i don’t want to not have you next to me Anaxagoras. I want to hold you to my side for the rest of my life. I could only love someone like you and that’s it. And no one like that exists.”

You spoke your heart out, most words barely understandable as you sobbed into his chest as you curled around him. His hands now gently rubbed against your back, letting you cry out your fears and troubles to him. After a while, when your tears dried out and your head rested on his chest again, you whispered softly as your head felt too heavy for your eyes to stay open to for much longer. Your words broke the pained silence as a tear slipped over your cheek towards his chest before it slipped into the endless greenish void inside his chest.

“Please…just don’t leave me alone.” I love you.

It was almost silly, Anaxa thought to himself as he watched you slowly slip into the dreamland as his hand gently cupped your face, his thumb passing over your cheek as he brushed away draid tears from your skin as he kissed your forehead as he whispered against your skin softly.

“Don’t leave you alone?…What a surprise tomorrow will have to you, my dear.” I love you too.

Even when you wake up the next day, your body as usually turning around automatically to greet the love of your life just for your breath to catch as you see empty…not empty sheets?

A soft sound greeted you as your heart skipped a beat as you were greeted by…a baby? Newborn baby curled into the soft blanket as it fluttered her eyelashes open and looked at you before cooing softly, greeting you like you were the guest in your own bed as she smiled at you, immediately recognizing who you are.

Your voice got lost on you as you almost abruptly sat up, not even caring to cover your naked body with sheets as you cradled the little baby to your chest as the little head rested on your chest as you felt your heart beating in your ears. You finally dated to look down at the baby within your chest more deeply and…stare at her. She had just a light bit of the hair on top of her head as her eyes showed a mix of your own eyes color mixed with Anaxa’s natural eye color. Soft futures mix of both. A sound akin to sob left your lips as you couldn’t help but to smile at the little being in your arms.

You brought a little baby to your heart after checking if she needed anything quickly before laying down and just…feeling the moment. You glanced finally outside towards the Downcloud whose entrance was still visible from the window of your room of the house where you and Anaxa used to live together when you finally became officially together when you and him weren’t working in the Grove of Epiphany. You took a deep breath as you knew what would happen next.

He was…indeed very much dead. You got a full story from other people after the entire “show” went down with tricking council of elders and Caenis and entire all of other crysos heirs and citizens and how he practically ripped out the coreflame from his heart for his to get the crysos heir journey could continue. He was called a great performer for a reason.

You would probably sink down some rabbit holes after that and never show your figure again in public but you know that you couldn’t. You know that Anaxagoraa would want and you do have now a couple months old baby, Aurora. Only so little and young but you can see her father within her as she was going ahead her age, already standing up and walking at 9 months with little help from you, not even a month later she called out for you with her words being your name and funny version of Anaxagoras names as you showed her picture of you and him from the years back as you introduced her to him, not wanting her to not know her other parent. You know that Anaxa would like that.

He literally used the state of his body, power and knowledge to actually make his daughter from within him AND birth her from the gaping hole in his chest in the middle of the night of his last day being alive…so it’s only fair, i guess?

You would like to to remember more of your dear partner but a little grabby hands doesn’t give you a chance to think about him too much as she demands your attention, or politely said requests your mind to be on here as she curl into your chest as she slept next to you as she giggled into your skin as you smiled at her. you two had a lazy and comfortable cuddle session with a droma plushie she carried with herself like a lucky charm.

You finally pulled yourself and her out of the bed, her body resting onto your hip as you carried herself towards the window as you two grazed upon the holy city. She rested her head on your shoulder as you kissed her head and glanced over the Castrum Kremons one last time as you smiled to yourself as you let yourself relax and get comfortable as you knew what was coming to happen in just seconds.

“Was it worth it?”

And you finally had the answer to that question on your last breath as the world around you crumbled as Trailblazer cracked the truth of this world and you hugged your daughter closer to you and her plushie before finally answering.

“…I think it was worth it every single minute.”

“May we…all reunite in the new world before the gates of truth together.”

#bambi ᝰ #honkai star rail #hsr #anaxa #anaxagoras #anaxa x reader #anaxagoras x reader #anaxa x you #anaxagoras x you #anaxa x y/n

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