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scary-grace · 15 hours ago

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Off-Script (Act 3) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Tomura's been Dabi's stunt double for almost a decade, and he's not easily impressed, but when he squares up with you for a fight scene, he finds himself caught off-guard in more ways than one. As the shoot progresses and sparks fly between the two of you, Tomura has to decide if you're worth the risk -- or if the best sparring partner he's ever had is all you'll ever be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Act 1 Act 2

Act 3

The party’s in full swing, and even though you’ve been here for an hour at most, Tomura’s already ready to kill Spinner for forcing him to invite you. You’re the only actor at the party. Everyone keeps asking you why you aren’t at the other party, and Tomura’s getting really sick of listening to you explain that you aren’t important enough to go to that one. Once it’s been established that you’re a nobody like the rest of them, one of two things happens. If the person you’re talking to is a woman, they ask you about the fight scene you filmed with Tomura. If you’re talking to a guy, he asks you to dance – and you say yes.

Tomura thought you’d dance with him, since he’s the one who invited you. He made the mistake of saying that to Magne, who switched out the beer in his hand for the double Malibu shot she was holding and told him that unless he’d asked you to go to the party with him specifically, he hadn’t asked you out. Then Twice came by, stole Tomura’s Malibu shot and replaced it with a Long Island Iced Tea, and informed him that just because you play a mind reader in a movie doesn’t mean you can do it in real life.

Tomura threw down half the Long Island in one swallow and almost gagged. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“She’s not gonna know you want to dance with her unless you ask her to dance,” Twice said. Magne nodded sagely. “So ask her to dance. Or – do that, I guess! That works too!”

Tomura had just finished off the rest of the Long Island. Twice patted him on the pack and he almost threw up. “Go get ‘em, Shigaraki! Or go home!”

Tomura thought about going home. Then he decided that he wanted to be drunker first, so he went back to the makeshift bar for something a little less instantly neurotoxic. But that hit pretty fast, too, and it hit hard enough that Tomura decided to sit down rather than try to walk to the shuttle stop and pass out on the way. So that’s what he’s been doing instead of dancing or talking or even drinking more. Sitting on a rock and watching the only actor at the party make herself at home.

Spinner sits down on the rock next to Tomura. Tomura tries to shove him off. “No. Go away.”

Spinner gets comfortable. “Heard anything from Dabi yet?”

Tomura fumbles his phone out of his pocket to check. “Nothing. He’s going to text you, not me. You’re the nice one.”

“Not hard to be, when you’re the one saying shit like I don’t care about this,” Spinner says. Tomura rolls his eyes and gets dizzy. “Look, it was – not great – when you were just being a dick to her. Now you’re being a dick to everybody.”

“It’s your fault for making me invite her.”

“Nope,” Spinner says. “You’ve been in a shitty mood about this since you guys filmed that scene. We all think you should just –”

“Ladies, and those of you who are not ladies, eyes up front!” Yamada’s in Present Mic mode, which gives Tomura a headache on his best day. “It’s been brought to my attention that everyone is now sufficiently wasted enough for us to begin – drumroll! – the karaoke contest! Who’s up first!”

Nobody wants to be up first, like usual. The first round of the karaoke contest is usually just people bullying their friends onto the stage. Tomura turns to glare at Spinner. “If you even think about it –”

“I wouldn’t do that to you!” Spinner actually looks insulted. “We’re best friends, not mortal enemies!”

“Since you all are being shy, I’m going to pick a volunteer,” Present Mic announces. It’s not volunteering if somebody makes you do it. “And I’m picking somebody who has the pipes for this for sure! Give it up for Jiro Kyoka, who’s going to give us her best Dolly Parton impression on Jolene!”

Jiro smacks Present Mic on her way up to the makeshift stage, and he’s apologizing right up until the music starts. Tomura doesn’t know why, and neither does Spinner, but Jiro’s a good singer even when she’s had a few. The next person who goes up is Mirio, who’s tone-deaf on zero drinks but has had enough to volunteer himself. Attention grabs aren’t really Tomura’s thing – he’d prefer to go unnoticed most of the time – but he knows why the crew gets so into it. They spend all day doing ridiculous amounts of work, only for the actors to get all the credit if the movie does well. If they want to clown around, he’s not going to blame them.

“Room for one more?”

Tomura jumps and so does Spinner. It’s you, holding a water bottle and looking sort of tired. “Go for it,” Spinner says, shoving Tomura to the side and scooting away himself. “Right there.”

You sit down next to Tomura. Tomura hasn’t said a word to you since you got here. He looks around for something to say and comes up with something stupid. “You don’t want to show everybody up at karaoke?”

“If Yamada calls on me I’ll go up,” you say. “If he doesn’t, I’d just look like an asshole for grabbing the spotlight.”

“Isn’t that all actors do? Grab the spotlight?”

“Do you actually want it?” you ask Tomura. Tomura blinks. “You and the other stunt guys are closer to the spotlight than anybody else here. Why stay out of it?”

“That’s the stupidest question anyone’s ever asked me.” Tomura thinks that’s probably an overstatement, but he’s also on the not-fun side of drunk, so he’s giving himself a pass. “Why do you think?”

“So you’re telling me that if I waved a magic wand and changed your face to whatever you think it’s supposed to look like, you’d suddenly want to be famous?”

Tomura should have been paying less attention to who you were dancing with and more to what you were drinking, because while he’s pretty trashed, you’re sober. He’s miscalculated, big-time. “It’s not a trick question,” you say. “I just want to know why you pick on people for chasing something that you don’t even want.”

“Because it’s a waste of time for most of you,” Tomura says. Spinner protests, but Tomura ignores him. You came over here. You started it. “For every big star there’s a thousand people paying union dues who will be extras for their entire careers. How long do you plan on hanging out waiting for a big break that’s not going to happen? Find something else to do that’s – not that – and stop running around getting all starry-eyed. It’s pathetic. Sue me for being annoyed.”

Silence falls. “I’m getting another drink,” Spinner says. “Want anything, Psylocke?”

You shake your head. “I want one,” Tomura says, but Spinner ignores him. Like it’s his fault, somehow, when inviting you was Spinner’s idea in the first place. You haven’t said anything yet. Tomura replays what he just said to you, and guilt strikes him like a sandbag to the back of the head. “Uh –”

“Did you ever think it’s because we love it?”

“Huh?”

“If I was doing this to be famous, I’d have quit a long time ago,” you say. You pass your water bottle to Tomura and lean back on your hands, head tipped to look up at the sky. “Most of us aren’t stupid, or naïve. We know what our odds are like. Making it on the acting side – theatre, movies, TV, whatever – takes getting lucky. Or it takes knowing somebody who knows somebody who owes your mom a favor.”

That’s how Dabi got into it. His dad’s rich, his dad owns a production company, and his dad got him a bit part in some spy movie when he was thirteen that launched his entire career. Dabi’s career is Tomura’s career, so Tomura doesn’t bitch about it. Besides, Dabi’s good at it. But lots of people are good at it. Being good at it doesn’t mean shit, even when it should.

“I know it’s not going to happen,” you say. “Getting steady work is an achievement all on its own, and even that doesn’t pay the greatest. I could make more money doing almost anything else. But I really like what I do. The win for me is getting to do the thing I love every day.”

Tomura tries to wrap his head around that one. It doesn’t work. “Actors want to be famous. That’s why they’re actors.”

“There are other ways to get famous,” you point out. “Do the right kind of porn and you’ll get famous in a hurry.”

Tomura nearly chokes on thin air. “If I wanted money, I’d do something else. If I wanted fame, I’d do something else,” you say. “That leaves you two possible answers. Either I’m really stupid, or I really love what I’m doing. What do you think it is?”

“You’re not stupid,” Tomura says, still coughing. He twists the cap off the water bottle and sucks down a few swallows. “Except maybe for sitting here and putting up with my shit.”

“I’m still trying to figure out what I did to piss you off.” You take the water bottle – your water bottle, Tomura remembers too late – and take a few sips before handing it back. “Is it really just that I’m new?”

“No.” Tomura can’t even remember why. No, he can. “It wasn’t you at first. It was supposed to be Dabi’s fight and he made me do it instead, so I was pissed. And you wouldn’t take the stupid compliment, so I was pissed about that, too.”

“And right now?”

“Who said I’m pissed at you right now?”

“You, five minutes ago, when you were calling me and ninety percent of the actors in the world stupid and naïve,” you say. “What did I do this time?”

Even though Tomura’s starting to sober up, the alcohol smacks him one last time, and it’s a critical hit. “Danced with everybody but me.”

It’s quiet for a second. Then you get to your feet in a smooth, fluid motion that Tomura probably can’t even accomplish sober. “Okay. Now I need that drink.”

You don’t invite Tomura to come with you, but he follows you anyway as you make your way back towards the party. Partway there you stop and he walks into you. You twist around to face him. “You’re mad because I didn’t dance with you? You didn’t ask.”

“I asked you to the party with me, didn’t I?” The sooner Tomura finds something to lean against, the better. He might be sober enough to know he fucked up, but he’s still pretty drunk. Not drunk enough to forget what Magne told him. “If this is just because I didn’t use the exact words –”

“No, it’s because you’ve spent the last two weeks acting like you hate me,” you say. Tomura wants to say you’re exaggerating, but given that Toga and Spinner both called him out, he can’t really say that or anything else. “Now you want to dance? What am I supposed to do with that except get trashed?”

At least now you’re both on the same subject. “Dance.”

“Do you even dance?” You give Tomura a skeptical look. “I don’t know if you can keep up with me.”

Maybe this is how you felt when Tomura acted like you couldn’t swordfight. “I can dance. I was going to go easy on you –”

“Oh, shut up.” You grab Tomura’s hand and pull him towards the dance floor. Tomura barely has time to ditch the empty water bottle before the crowd closes ranks around the two of you, locking you in.

Tomura knows how to dance. More accurately, sober Tomura knows how not to dance, and avoiding that looks enough like knowing how to dance that he can get by. But that’s when he’s sober. When he’s drunk and there’s someone who clearly knows what they’re doing standing in front of him, he’s got absolutely nowhere to hide.

He studies you, trying to see if he can copy your moves, but you don’t really have distinct moves. What you’ve got is pinpoint control over every part of your body, which is what Tomura has, except instead of using it to make it look real when you have to fake getting shot, you’re using it to make dancing look like it’s what you were designed to do. He’d never know you dislocated a rib today if he hadn’t seen the bruise. All he can see is how your moves match the music, how confident you look. It’s hot. Tomura doesn’t think you’re trying to be hot, but he’s still not sober, and he’s paying way too much attention to everything your hips and your ass are doing. He’s supposed to be dancing, too. How is he supposed to look away from that?

Someone bumps into him, and he stumbles forward a few steps, right into your personal space. It doesn’t throw you off even slightly. “I was wondering when you were going to join in,” you say, barely audible over the music. Probably only audible because you’re pressed up against him and your mouth’s barely brushing his ear. “Is this you going easy on me?”

Tomura thinks he could be the best dancer on the planet and he still wouldn’t be able to compete with you. His hands come up of their own accord and settle on your waist, like the two of you are slow-dancing at a junior prom, completely out of sync with the music. You laugh, quiet and dark, but you wrap your arms around Tomura’s neck and rise on your toes to whisper in his ear again. “Pretend we’re fighting.”

You were just fighting. Weren’t you? It takes Tomura a second, but once he gets it, he gets it, along with a rush of adrenaline that’s absolutely insane. He pulls you in tight against him and you lean in, lining your body up with his centimeter by centimeter, limb by limb. One of your arms peels away from around his neck and traces down along the line of his shoulder, and Tomura raises his arm to match, ready to catch your hand by the time you reach his wrist.

Once he takes it, you spin out and away from him, like the two of you are ballroom dancing or some shit. But you come back closer than before, your back pressed to Tomura’s chest, leaning against him. Still holding his hand.

The handholding is fucking with Tomura’s head. He lets go and wraps both arms around your waist, and you twist in his grip to face him, a moment before tipping sideways on purpose. Tomura knew you were going to do it. He felt you telegraph it, the same as you did during the fight scene, and he’s ready to catch you. It looks like you’re ballroom dancing – again – and Tomura’s friends are probably losing their shit watching it, if they’re watching – but you trust Tomura to catch you, and he does.

He sees a smile cross your face before he pulls you back up, and you instantly tip the other way. He’s not as ready for that one, but it doesn’t matter as much, because you’re hooked one leg over his hip and caught yourself.

It’s like you want to break Tomura’s brain. Fuck it. If you’re fighting, he can fight back. He wraps one hand around your back to help you up, but he catches the crook of your knee with his other hand and pulls you tight against him. He feels you startle; then you lean into him again, not quite grinding on him but close enough that his cock doesn’t notice a difference. Or it wouldn’t, if Tomura hadn’t drunk so much earlier. He’s never been so thankful for whiskey dick in his life.

He doesn’t let go of your leg, and you don’t pull away. You wrap your arms around Tomura’s neck again and you tilt your head, studying him, your gaze flicking downwards, then back up. Tomura’s pretty sure you were looking at his mouth, and with your head tilted like that – do you want him to kiss you? Is that why you’re looking at him like that? If he’s reading this wrong, he’s going to fuck everything up, whether he kisses you or not. So he might as well get one kiss in. Tomura squares his shoulders beneath your hands and leans in.

“Hey!”

It’s possible that Tomura’s never been as pissed off at anybody as he is at Spinner right now. Spinner’s standing right there, looking sort of panicked, and you pull away from Tomura instantly, clearly embarrassed. “What?” Tomura shouts at Spinner. It’s lucky that the music’s loud. He can get away with shouting. “What the fuck is –”

Spinner holds up his phone, the screen brightness cranked to maximum. Dabi’s texted – both of them, only Tomura didn’t notice, because he was with you. get me the fuck out of here right now

Shit. Spinner turns and heads off the dance floor, and Tomura follows him. He grabs your hand on the way, so you won’t think he’s ditching you completely, and instead of pulling away, you come along. Once the three of you are clear of the dancers, Spinner turns to Tomura. “If he texted us, that means it’s bad,” he states. Tomura’s not going to argue. “I’m too drunk to drive.”

“So am I,” Tomura says. For a little while longer at least. “If we wait fifteen minutes or something –”

“He said right now,” Spinner says. “It’ll take fifteen minutes at least to get there. He fucked himself over in thirty seconds last time.”

Thirty seconds is generous. Dabi’s managed to get himself into cops-calling trouble in fifteen seconds or less before. Tomura didn’t want to be involved in Dabi’s sobriety, but he didn’t want to fuck him over, either, and this qualifies. That’s not even mentioning what’s going to happen to his career if Dabi drops out of this movie. “We blew it,” Spinner says, his face ashen. “He’s never going to forgive us –”

You tug lightly at Tomura’s hand. “I can drive.”

Tomura looks at you. So does Spinner. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” you say, “but I can tell it’s urgent. I don’t need to know what’s going on to be your designated driver.”

“You didn’t drink?” Spinner asks. You shake your head. “Great. Can you drive stick?”

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #x reader #reader insert #stuntman au #man door hand hook car door

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overrboarrd · 17 hours ago

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UNBREAK MY HEART [ from scratch pt. iii ]

a/n: i’m not jinxing myself no more y’all. every time i say ima post something, i get super busy and it gets pushed back a whole week. so here’s part 4, it’s just as tense as the last part so pls don’t hate me <3

warnings: angstt

"un-break my heart , say you'll love me again undo this hurt you caused when you walked out the door and walked out of my life"

“You look like hell, uce,” Jon finally broke the empty silence that filled his living room.

Joe sat on the edge of Jon’s couch, staring blankly at the bottle of beer in his hand. The condensation dripped down onto his palm, cold and unrelenting, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in his chest. He hadn’t planned to come here, but the quiet echoes of his own house had been unbearable. Jon’s place, noisy with the distant sound of his kids playing in the backyard, at least gave him the illusion of calm. He huffed out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Thanks. That’s exactly what I came to hear.” Joe leaned back. The television played some highlights of last night’s football game, but neither of them paid much attention.

Jon sat in the armchair beside him, his sharp gaze pinned on his cousin. He didn’t push, not yet, but Joe knew the look. It was the same one Jon gave him when they were kids, back when Joe had tried to hide bruises he got from football practice. The look that said Jon could see right through him.

“What’s goin on?”

“Nothing.” Joe shrugged, taking a slow sip of his beer and keeping his gaze fixed on the bottle.

“Bullshit.” Jon’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a challenge.

Joe clenched his jaw. “It’s just the rehab.”

Jon’s brow lifted. “The rehab? Or Camille?”

At her name, Joe’s stomach twisted, and the beer suddenly tasted bitter. He set the bottle down on the coffee table with a thud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, too bad,” Jon said, unfazed. “You’re here, which means you do wanna talk about it. You just don’t know how to start.”

Joe’s head snapped up, anger flaring in his chest. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

Jon shrugged. “I’ve known you your whole life. You bottle everything up, uce. Always have. You keep stuffing things down until they explode. And when they do, you the one left pickin up the pieces.”

Joe scoffed, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s better that way. Some things don’t need to be talked about.”

“Like Camille?” Jon pressed.

Joe glared at him, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it,” Jon said, his tone softening as his posture straightened. “Come on, Joe. What’s really goin on?”

For a moment, Joe said nothing. He stared at the wall, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he didn’t want to feel. The lime-washed wall blurred in his mind, replaced by Camille’s face—the tension in her jaw when she was focused, the way her voice softened just enough when she thought he was in pain.

But he let the words come, sharp and raw, cutting through the silence.

“Seeing her every day is like ripping open a wound that won’t heal,” he said, his voice low and strained. “She’s right there, just trying to fix my shoulder like… like none of it even mattered. Like I didn’t matter. Like she didn’t walk out on me without a damn word.”

Jon hummed, letting a beat pass before speaking. “You think that’s how she really feels?”

“I don’t know,” Joe snapped. “And honestly, I don’t care.” He leaned forward again, his hands gripping his knees. “I gave her everything, Jon. I didn’t hold anything back. I loved her, and she still left. And now she’s just…here. And I’m supposed to just… what? Pretend it didn’t happen? Pretend I’m not still pissed as hell that she didn’t even give me a chance to fix whatever the hell went wrong?”

Jon leaned forward too, his expression serious. “So you gonna tell her all that? Or you just gonna carry it around, hoping she’ll figure it out on her own?”

Joe shook his head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “It wouldn’t matter, she still walked out of that rink. I fought for her, Jon. I fought like hell after that. What’s the point of trying to bring it up?”

“The point,” Jon said, his voice steady, “is that you still care. And don’t try to deny it, uce, ‘cause I can see it all over your face. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be this angry. You wouldn’t be here, venting to me.”

Joe’s chest tightened, and he looked away, his jaw clenching. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Jon agreed. “But the thing is —you got a choice. You can keep holdin on to all this anger, or you can let yourself feel the other stuff too. The hurt, the love, the hope. Yeah, she left, but she’s here now. Don’t you think that might mean something?”

“The hell am I supposed to do about it now? Cause every time I see her, all I feel is this...mix of anger and—” He stopped, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I can’t do that shit again. I won’t.”

Jon sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Look, I’m not sayin you shouldn’t protect yourself. But you’re not just protecting yourself—you’re shutting her out. And maybe she deserves that, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe you just gotta be honest with yourself and Cam. You got her in front of you again, uce. How many people get that kind of second chance? But if you don’t at least try to talk some of it out, you gonna regret it.”

The room fell quiet again, the weight of Jon’s words pressing on Joe’s chest. He didn’t respond, unable to find the right thing to say.

Jon stood, clapping a hand on Joe’s shoulder. As Jon walked back to the kitchen, Joe sat, staring at the condensation pooling on the coffee table. He hated that his cousin was right.

But knowing it and doing something about it were two very different things.

—---

Architect was unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that wrapped around Joe like a vice, squeezing tight and leaving no room to breathe. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead only served to amplify the emptiness. He glanced at the clock on the far wall. 7:45 PM. The place had officially closed fifteen minutes ago, but he and Camille were still here. Alone.

She stood a few feet away, her back to him as she sanitized the treatment table. The sharp smell of cleaning solution filled the air, and her movements were mechanical, almost as if she were trying to avoid looking at him.

“Alright,” she said, her voice clipped as she turned to face him. “Let’s get started. We’ll do some stretches first, then work on the strengthening exercises.”

Joe nodded, the words sticking in his throat as he sat down on the edge of the table. His body ached, not from the rehab, but from the weight he’d been carrying since the moment she walked back into his life. Almost two full weeks of these sessions, of her being so close yet so distant, had worn him down to the raw nerve.

Camille reached for his arm, gently guiding it into position for the stretch. Her touch was clinical, but his skin burned where her fingers brushed against him, igniting a fire he’d been trying to smother since the day she’d left.

“Joe, relax your shoulder, you’re compensating with your back again.” she instructed, her eyes meeting his for a brief second before darting away.

“I got it,” He snapped, his tone sharper than intended.

Camille stepped back, swallowing the urge to bite back. Instead, she softened her voice. “I know you do. But this isn’t about pushing through pain, it’s about healing.”

Joe dropped his arm abruptly, the band snapping back as he let out a frustrated grunt. “Healing?” he said bitterly, his voice low but laced with anger. “You think this is healing? Having to sit here, day after day, while you pretend like nothing happened between us?”

Camille froze, the words slicing through the professional barrier she’d carefully maintained. “Pretending? Joe-”

“I’m not gonna put up with this!” he gestured between them. “This… act you been putting on for the past two weeks. Actin’ like we’re all good. Like you didn’t just walk out of my life without a saying anything.”

Her eyes widened as her face faltered slightly. “Joe, I’m here to help you with your recovery. That’s all.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back, sliding off the table. “You don’t just get to come back into my life and pretend like we’re strangers. You don’t get to act like what you did didn’t wreck me.”

“Can you just lis—”

“No,” he cut her off, creating some distance between them. His broad shoulders heaved as he turned to face her, his eyes blazing. “You don’t get to talk right now. I spent two years with you, Camille. Two years building a life, planning a future, only for you to rip it all away without even telling me why. Do you know how many nights I sat in that empty house, wondering what I did wrong? Wondering why I wasn’t enough for you?”

Her composure cracked, her lips trembling as she took a step back. “It wasn’t about you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then what was it about?” he demanded, his anger boiling over. “Because from where I was standing, it sure as hell felt like it was about me.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them away, straightening her shoulders. “You… you were everything to me, Joe. And that terrified me. I was scared of losing myself in you. I-I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“So you ran,” he said bitterly. “Instead of talking to me, instead of letting me in, you just left.”

“I didn’t know how to stay,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I was afraid I’d ruin everything. Afraid I’d ruin you.”

Joe laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Well, congratulations. You managed to do that anyway.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between them. Camille’s tears finally spilled over, but she held his gaze, refusing to look away. “I know I hurt you. And I’ve hated myself for it every single day. But you were so sure of everything. Your career, your life, your love for me… I didn’t know how to keep up with that. I didn’t know how to be enough for you.”

Joe’s expression softened, though the hurt lingered in his eyes. “You were enough, Camille. You were always enough. But you didn’t even give me the chance to show you that. You didn’t trust me to handle your fears. You just left.”

Camille’s voice broke as she replied, “Because I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t think I deserved the kind of love you were offering. And by the time I realized I was wrong, it felt too late to come back.”

He'd figured this moment would come, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Joe turned away, running a hand over his face as he tried to calm the storm inside him. “I loved you, Camille. I still…” He stopped himself, his chest heaving. “I would’ve never given up on us like that. ”

“I know I made a mistake.” Her voice cracked again, and she quickly wiped at her tears. “And I never stopped loving you. I just—" Her voice rang in his ears, the rawness of her words made his chest tighten. “I don't know if it's too late, but I needed you to know that.”

Joe's eyes fell shut, his mind warring between anger and the yearning he’d tried to bury. Her confession hung in the air, vulnerable and raw like a blade against his skin, carving open old wounds he thought had scarred over. For so long, he had craved those words. In the sleepless nights when the silence was louder than his thoughts, in the moments when he reached for his phone only to remember there was no one waiting on the other end. He wanted to yell, to tell her she was too late, that the man she had left behind didn’t exist anymore. But the truth… the truth was that her absence had never stopped haunting him. He stood rigid, his emotions snarled in a web of anger, longing, and something dangerously close to hope.

Camille searched his face, her own filled with fragile hope and deep regret. "I’m not asking you to forgive me," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m just asking for a chance to show you that I’m not the same person who left.”

“I don't trust you," he admitted, a long silence filled the room before he shook his head softly. "But I…I don’t know if I can let you go again, either.”

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x oc

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haleswallows · 10 hours ago

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coming at you live, with a news series.... Promises, Promises

Part 1: Cross My Heart (Hope to Die) Fandom: DC x DP Crossover Pairing: Dead Tired (Danny Fenton/Tim Drake) Rating: Teen

Teaser:

"Are you really doing the 'FBI, this is our case now' shtick? What are you, a cop?"

Phantom makes a retching sound. "Sorry, reflex. Any sort of implication I'm government adjacent, can't help it."

"You know being Justice League makes you government adjacent," Red Robin helpfully points out. He weighs a net-launcher in his hand. "If not affiliated with the UN, the League works with the organization often to be called an ally."

"Not me," Phantom says with cheer, pushing a narrow cylinder towards him. "That's essentially a light saber, by the way. Nah, they keep me pretty far from the UN shit. I'm not built for it. I'm there to hit things real hard and share tech."

A light saber? Hell yeah. Tim grabs it and wonders if he can keep it.

"Can I keep it?" he blurts out, because why not?

Shrugging, Phantom says, "Sure, I have like five more. This one is green, but I think I can change the color. Red would match your like —," he waves expansively at Red Robin, "Vibes and aesthetic. Very cool branding, by the way. The cape is dope."

Huh. Tim didn't expect the compliment. He chooses to ignore it, mostly because he just doesn't know what to say in response. 'Thanks, I like your cyber-gothic vibes too'?

"Green's fine, I always wanted to be a Jedi." A red light saber would infinitely more on brand, but Tim would never consider being a Sith. Wait, absolutes. Shit.

It fits perfectly next to his bo staff on his bandoleer. Which, sick and feels like a divine happenstance, as if Red Robin was meant to have the energy blade. He helps Phantom reload the bag, though the ghost keeps the thermos out before pushing the entire duffle back inside his chest.

God, that's even weirder up close. Tim examines Phantom's torso, mind spinning through possibilities on how it works.

"Alright," Phantom's voice breaks his concentration, Red Robin snapping to attention. A truly feral grin spreads across Phantom's face as he lifts into the air, hair swirling and catching the last dredges of sunlight. "Let's go ghost hunting."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

They're wrapping up in one of Tim's more 'civilian' passing safe-houses. Mostly because it was the closest, and Phantom said something about 'ley lines' and 'easier to open a portal'. Cool, whatever. Tim wanted to burn this safe-house soon anyway.

Tim, as always, gets himself into trouble. Chronic Thinking Too Much Disease, they really ought to make a cure for it. He reflects, paused in the middle of writing the report and watching Phantom eat Cheerios right out of the box. Phantom perches on the counter, looking like he belongs there, shoveling cereal into his mouth with the relic sitting innocently at his hip.

When the fuck did Tim get Cheerios?

There's no denying it. Tim likes working with Phantom. The guy is good in a fight, doesn't rely on his powers too much, and kept up with Tim. Not just physically, but intellectually. And he's shockingly earnest when he isn't being a trash-talking little shit.

So. Tim gets an idea.

"Hey," he says before he's even thoroughly thought it out, "we should date."

Phantom pauses, gloved hand suspended in the middle of shoving another handful of cereal into his mouth, wide eyed and gaping. Attractive.

"Huh?" he says eloquently.

"Not for real," Tim scrambles to explain. "I mean fake dating. Just hang around some, be a bit performative, nothing out of masks. We can say we're taking things slow and break up amicably. Nightwing keeps trying to set me up with a date. This will get him off my case."

"Oooooh." Phantom resumes inhaling cereal. Why a ghost needs to eat, Tim would like to know, but it's probably rude to ask. Slowly chewing, Phantom seriously thinks it over. "You know, the council has been bugging me, too. About dating. This could work out for both of us."

Council? Tim would like to know why a council is interested in Phantom dating. So he asks.

Phantom sighs explosively. Finally, he sets the Cheerios down. "OK, so like, this is need to know basis only. I haven't even disclosed it to the League. And like, Nightwing only knows because he's my friend and the Observants crashed one of our missions and outed me. Hard to lie about why a floating eyeball showed up to demand I actually show up to the next council meeting, instead of blowing them all off again to play heroes with my living friend."

Pulling a face, Phantom waves an arm in an arc over his head. A crown appears, spinning and shooting off beams of light like an Aurora Borealis.

Tim doesn't gape, because Red Robin doesn't gape. But, you know, that's unexpected.

"I'm the Ghost King. It's a whole thing, no I am not taking questions on it at this time. Well, technically, I'm the Prince of the Infinite Realms because I'm too young to take the throne. So, there's a council and a regent. Whatever, not important!"

Phantom claps, getting himself back on track. "What that means is there's a council and Observants that are really interested in my personal shit. Including who I date. But like, I'm enjoying my brat girl summer and being single right now, not that they care."

Tim blinks. Then blinks again, slotting the new information in place alongside everything he knows about Phantom. That's... something.

"That sounds annoying," Tim says, instead of one of the approximately 23 questions in his head that are quickly spawning more by the second. "Fake dating would solve both of our problems."

Because Tim is a professional, they make a contract.

Phantom watches with great interest as Tim bustles around the apartment, setting up shop at the kitchen table. He doesn't think he's ever actually sat at this table. Mostly, he's used this apartment to sleep, a crash-out spot that has a nicer bed and isn't as sparse as the other Bat-affiliated safe houses.

As soon as Tim sits, stretching out his wrists, Phantom kicks off from the counter to hover around Tim's shoulders. The box of Cheerios balances precariously on the ghost's stomach. Tim eyes it briefly. Then sets to it.

"So, uh," Phantom starts, arms folded behind his head. "How casual is 'casual'?" Under the weight of Tim's judging eyebrows, Phantom defends himself. "I'm just asking! Like, how far are we both willing to go to sell it? Are we exclusive? Facebook official?"

"Facebook official," Tim echoes, typing. "Christ, is anyone Facebook official? Do ghosts have Facebook?"

"I don't know, I could get one. If, like, you think it'd help." Absurd, this entire thing is absurd. But they're here and committed to the bit. Or committing to the bit. There's 'selling it', and then there's…. whatever Phantom is saying. Facebook, what year is it?

"Red Robin doesn't have a Facebook, and I refuse to make one." Tim barely manages to keep from sounding snide.

"I won't mog on you referring to yourself in the person, even though I'm really tempted." How gracious. "Alright, so just. Seeing each other, feeling it out, not seeing other people."

#dc x dp crossover #dc x dp fic #dc x dp #dead tired #Danny Fenton/Tim Drake #Pretend/Fake Relationship #Promises Promises #my writing #aaaand another hand panting from me

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f14fun · 1 day ago

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A Cowgirl's Stars, Stripes, and Speed (!black-!cowgirl-!singer x dr3) (C2)

synopsis: in which case y/n, a bold African American country singer, crosses paths with Daniel, a charming Australian Formula 1 driver, both tipsy and unwound by the night.

prose + smau (11.6K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡�� ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

author's note: completely forgot that i had chapter two in the drafts, here ya go! (so so so sorry this is literally MONTHS late)

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

Waking up for Free Practice One, or FP1 as Maddie called it, felt a lot like waking up for a rodeo at 5 a.m.—except instead of dust, horses, and the smell of hay, I was getting ready for million-dollar cars, European accents, and a paddock full of people who probably didn’t know what a boot-scootin’ boogie was.

“Am I the first person to ever show up to a Formula 1 event in cowboy boots?” I muttered to myself, staring at my reflection in the mirror. “Because if so, I’m about to make history.”

Maddie barged into my room, her eyes immediately zeroing in on my footwear choice. “You cannot—cannot—be serious,” she said, pointing at the boots like they had personally offended her.

I raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I’m from Texas, right? I’m contractually obligated to wear these.”

She groaned, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Y/N, this isn’t a rodeo. It’s Formula 1. There are literally people there who probably think Texas is just a setting for Western movies.”

“Good,” I replied, giving my boots an extra little stomp for emphasis. “They’re about to learn a thing or two.”

Maddie, fully aware that no amount of persuasion was going to change my mind, sighed and flopped down on my bed. “You’re going to be the most interesting thing to hit the paddock, and I don’t even know if that’s a compliment.”

“I’ll take it,” I said, grabbing my bag. “Besides, I’m sure Daniel’s already prepared for my... unique aesthetic.”

Maddie grinned. “Oh, he’s definitely prepared. The real question is—are you ready for what’s coming?”

I shot her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, nothing. Just that you’re about to be dropped into a world of fast cars, faster drivers, and more champagne than you’ve ever seen in your life. Try not to faint when Daniel shows up in his race suit, though. I've seen you salivate like a dog in a man in a suit before, I better not see this behavior in public again,” she waved her finger and raised her eyebrow.

I snorted. “I’ll try to control myself.”

She followed me to the door, a mischievous grin still plastered on her face. “Don’t worry. If you pass out, I’ll be there to catch you. And get it on camera.”

“Thanks, sister of the year,” I said, rolling my eyes as we headed out to face what was bound to be the weirdest and wildest weekend of my life.

As we pulled up to the track, the sheer size of everything hit me. The grandstands, the noise, the sleekness of it all—it was overwhelming, and we weren’t even at the paddock yet. “This is... a lot,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel tightly. My nerves had kicked in.

Maddie, of course, was completely unfazed. “Oh, yeah. Welcome to the big leagues. Now let’s get you inside before you chicken out and run back to the rodeo.”

“Not a chance,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

As we made our way to the paddock entrance, I kept reminding myself to stay cool. I wasn’t some fangirl—I was here to support Daniel and, okay, maybe enjoy the adrenaline rush of being surrounded by the fastest cars on the planet. But when we reached the paddock gate and I spotted the crowds of stylish people and team members buzzing around, I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place.

“This is... fancy,” I whispered to Maddie as I spotted a group of people sipping espresso like they were at some high-end café instead of a racetrack.

“Yeah, and you’re about to be the wild card,” Maddie replied with a grin.

Before I could say anything, I heard a familiar voice behind me. “Y/N?”

I turned, and there he was—Daniel Ricciardo, in his race suit, smiling like he had all the time in the world. And damn, Maddie wasn’t kidding—he looked good in it.

“Welcome to the circus,” he said with a grin, his eyes flicking down to my boots before meeting mine again. “Nice boots. You ready for your first Formula 1 weekend?”

I smirked. “I mean, as long as no one tries to race me in those things, I think I’ll survive.”

As Daniel chuckled, leading us deeper into the paddock, I started to notice it—the stares. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but no. People were definitely glancing my way, some openly, others stealing curious looks from behind their sunglasses or over the rims of their espresso cups.

I tried to ignore it, focusing on the sound of Daniel’s voice and Maddie’s occasional teasing, but the feeling started to creep up on me. The combination of being the only one in cowboy boots, the only one not decked out in sleek, designer outfits, and, let’s be real, the only Black woman in this sea of European wealth and privilege—it was a lot.

For a split second, my confidence wavered. What am I doing here? This world, with its fast cars and high fashion, felt miles away from anything I’d ever known. I could feel their eyes tracing over my skin, my clothes, my difference. And that old, familiar feeling of not quite fitting in snuck up on me, catching me off guard.

Do they think I don’t belong here? The thought stuck, and I hated that it did.

Maddie, always attuned to my moods, leaned in, her voice low. “You good?”

I forced a smile, trying to shake off the insecurity that had settled over me. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But Maddie wasn’t buying it. She followed my gaze, noticing the same looks I had. “They’re just jealous they don’t have boots as cool as yours,” she said with a wink, her voice light but full of understanding.

Daniel, completely unaware of my sudden internal struggle, turned back to us with a grin. “Everything alright back there?”

I cleared my throat, snapping out of my thoughts. “Yeah, just taking it all in. You weren’t kidding when you called this place a circus.”

He laughed, oblivious to the little battle going on in my head. “It’s a lot at first, I know. But don’t worry—soon enough, you’ll be running this place.”

I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. I wanted to believe him, to feel like I could own this space as easily as he did, but the truth was, I felt like an outsider. It was the same feeling I got sometimes in certain parts of Austin, where people would look at me, sizing me up, wondering how I fit into the picture they had in their heads. But this—Formula 1? This was a whole new level.

We kept walking, Daniel chatting about the weekend ahead, and I did my best to nod and respond when appropriate, but my mind kept drifting back to those stares. I do belong here. Right?

Just when I thought I’d spiral into that uncomfortable feeling, Maddie looped her arm through mine and whispered, “Remember, you’re here because you deserve to be. Plus, you’ve got Daniel freaking Ricciardo practically showing you off. That’s gotta mean something.”

I glanced at her, a small smile tugging at my lips. She always knew how to snap me out of my head. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And just wait until you walk by some of these stuck-up folks in those boots. You’ll have them talking about you for weeks.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Maddie had a point. Maybe I didn’t fit in here the way they did, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe being different was exactly what I needed to be.

As we turned the corner, Daniel slowed his pace, and I noticed a man standing with a group of people, talking animatedly. He had this authoritative air about him, someone who clearly knew his way around the place—definitely important. Daniel gave him a nod as we approached, and the man turned, his face breaking into a smile.

“Daniel!” the man called out, clapping Daniel on the back as we stopped in front of him. His eyes quickly flicked over to me and Maddie, curious but friendly.

Daniel grinned. “Christian, meet Y/N and her sister Maddie. They’re, uh, getting their first taste of the F1 circus.”

Christian turned to us, offering a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, ladies. I’m Christian Horner, team principal at Red Bull Racing.” He extended his hand, and it took me a second to process his name.

I blinked, suddenly realizing who I was standing in front of. The guy who ran one of the most successful teams in Formula 1. Oh, wow. I managed to return the handshake, trying to keep my cool.

"Y/N," I said, trying to sound casual, though my voice was a little more high-pitched than I intended. "Nice to meet you too."

Christian’s gaze shifted between us, still friendly but clearly sizing up the new faces. “I trust Daniel’s showing you around? Not too overwhelmed by all of this, I hope.”

I shrugged, trying to downplay the fact that, yeah, I was definitely overwhelmed. “It’s... a lot to take in. But Daniel’s been helpful.” I shot Daniel a look, raising an eyebrow.

Christian laughed. “That’s good to hear. He tends to make quite the impression.”

Before I could reply, another voice chimed in from behind us. “And who do we have here?” The accent was British, but lighter, more playful.

I turned and found myself looking at a young guy with curly brown hair and a cheeky grin plastered on his face. He was clearly younger, but there was a confidence about him that said he wasn’t new to this. His eyes landed on me, and the grin widened.

Daniel rolled his eyes but didn’t miss a beat. “Y/N, Maddie, this is Lando. Lando Norris. He drives for McLaren.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Lando said, stepping forward and offering a handshake. I took it, trying not to get lost in how friendly his smile was. He definitely had that mischievous look—the kind that said he was always up to something.

“Nice to meet you too,” I said, my grip firm despite my nerves. Maddie, meanwhile, looked like she was about to faint.

Lando’s eyes flicked over me, lingering for just a second longer than necessary, and I suddenly felt like I was back in the bar, dealing with that playful banter all over again. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

I nodded, biting back a grin. “Yeah, first time.”

“Well,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “if you need someone to show you around the paddock, I’m your guy. Daniel’s great, but I can give you the real tour.” He winked, clearly enjoying himself.

Maddie let out a small giggle, and I shot her a don’t you dare look.

Daniel, standing just a little too stiffly beside me, cut in before I could respond. “Yeah, Lando’s an expert at real tours. But I think I’ve got it handled.”

I noticed the slight edge to Daniel’s voice, though he tried to keep it light. Lando, ever the cheeky one, just shrugged.

“Alright, alright,” Lando said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to step on your toes, mate.”

Maddie, always ready to stir the pot, jumped in. “I mean, it doesn’t hurt to have options, right?”

I glared at her, my cheeks heating up. Not helping, Maddie.

Lando chuckled, clearly amused by the whole situation. “Exactly. Always good to have a backup plan.” He shot me a quick grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Daniel, clearly not thrilled with the direction this conversation was going, leaned a little closer to me, his voice low but firm. “I think Y/N’s got all the help she needs, mate.”

The tension was subtle, but it was definitely there. Lando, ever the joker, just smiled and backed off with a shrug. “No worries, Daniel. Just being friendly.”

Christian, watching the exchange with mild amusement, clapped his hands together. “Alright, boys, save the rivalry for the track.”

Daniel, now visibly more relaxed, shot Christian a grin. “No rivalry here. Just making sure Y/N gets the proper tour.”

I smirked, nudging Daniel lightly. “I can handle a little extra attention, you know.”

He glanced down at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, well, some of us don’t need to flirt to make a good impression.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, his grin never faltering. “Flirting’s just a bonus.”

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Oh, this is going to be a long weekend.”

Lando, noticing Maddie’s growing excitement, gave her a mischievous grin. “Well, I suppose I can offer someone a proper tour of the track. Maddie, what do you say? Want to ditch these two and come with me? I’ll show you where the real action is.”

Maddie’s eyes lit up like she had just won the lottery. “Oh, hell yes! I mean, uh, yeah, sure,” she said, trying to act cool, but completely failing at it. This girl was not as nonchalant and mysterious as she thought she was.

I shot her a look, half warning, half amused. “Maddie��”

She waved me off with a grin. “I’ll catch up with you later, sis. I’m in good hands.” Then she leaned in, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t wait up.”

Before I could respond, Lando took her by the arm and started leading her away, his signature cheeky grin firmly in place. “You two behave now,” he called over his shoulder, clearly loving every second of this.

I laughed, shaking my head. “I cannot believe my sister just ditched me for an F1 tour.”

Daniel smirked, watching them disappear into the bustling crowd of the paddock. “Well, I don’t blame her. Lando’s... energetic. Plus, now I get you all to myself.”

I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? That your plan all along?”

He grinned, not even bothering to hide the mischievous glint in his eye. “Maybe. It worked, didn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, Mr. Ricciardo, so what’s next on this grand tour? Or is this where you start charming me with racing facts?”

He chuckled, taking a step closer. “I could give you the whole rundown on tire compounds and aerodynamics, but I’m guessing that’s not why you’re here.”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider. “Actually, I was really hoping for a deep dive into downforce.”

Daniel laughed, the sound easy and genuine. “I can save that for later. Right now, though, how about I take you somewhere a little quieter? Grab a bite?”

My stomach, which had been ignored in all the excitement, grumbled in agreement. “You read my mind.”

Daniel gestured for me to follow him, weaving through the maze of garages and trailers that made up the heart of the paddock. As we walked, people continued to stare, but this time, with Daniel by my side, I felt more at ease. He had a way of making everything feel less intimidating, like I could handle whatever this crazy world threw at me.

As we continued walking, weaving through the bustling paddock, Daniel’s arm brushed against mine, and before I knew it, his hand found mine. The move was casual, like he’d done it a thousand times, but it caught me off guard. His fingers intertwined with mine, and I immediately noticed how smooth his skin was, warm against my palm.

I glanced down at our hands, surprised at how perfectly they fit together, like this was the most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t just the physical contact—it was the feeling that came with it, a mix of warmth and comfort that settled over me, making the chaotic energy of the paddock fade into the background.

I looked up at him, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled that easy, confident smile, his thumb gently brushing the back of my hand as we walked. It was such a simple gesture, but my heart did a little flip anyway.

“So,” he said, his voice light and teasing, “you still expecting that downforce lecture?”

I laughed, trying to keep my cool despite the butterflies in my stomach. “You know, I think I’m good for now. I’ll save the nerdy questions for later.”

He gave my hand a small squeeze, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Good call. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with all that F1 knowledge right away.”

I shook my head, grinning as we walked. My brain was still half-focused on how nice his hand felt in mine, but I was doing my best to keep up the conversation. “I think I’ve had enough new information for one day.”

We continued strolling through the paddock, and though the stares hadn’t completely stopped, they no longer made me feel out of place. With Daniel holding my hand, the looks from other people didn’t matter as much. It was like there was this invisible bubble around us, and for the first time that day, I felt like I actually belonged in this world.

He led me toward a quieter section of the paddock, where the energy was less frantic, and it was easier to talk without being drowned out by the roar of engines. The sounds of mechanics working and conversations happening in every direction became a soft background noise.

Daniel glanced over at me, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping just a bit, “I’m really glad you’re here. It’s nice to have someone... different around.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Different how?”

He smirked, his eyes scanning my face for a second before he answered. “You’re not trying to impress anyone. You’re just... yourself. I like that.”

I felt my cheeks flush at his words, and I looked away, trying to hide the smile creeping up on my lips. “I guess it’s hard to impress people when you barely know what’s going on.”

He laughed softly, his thumb still absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of my hand. “Trust me, you’re doing better than half the people here.”

I glanced back up at him, our eyes locking for a brief moment. There was something deeper in his gaze, something that made me feel like I wasn’t just a guest in his world—I was someone he actually wanted to be around.

Before I could come up with a reply, we reached the small café area he had mentioned earlier. The space was quiet, tucked away from the hustle of the paddock, and the smell of food was enough to make my stomach grumble again.

Daniel smiled, clearly hearing my stomach. “Guess I made a good call bringing you here. Let’s grab something to eat.”

We found a cozy little table in the corner of the café, and I immediately felt the tension from the rest of the day melt away. The smell of freshly cooked food filled the air, and the quiet buzz of conversation hummed softly in the background. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the paddock just outside.

Daniel sat across from me, still wearing that easy smile that made it impossible for me to stay nervous. As we flipped through the menus, his eyes flicked up toward me. “So, any idea what you’re in the mood for, or should I make a recommendation?”

I smirked, lowering my menu to meet his gaze. “You recommending something non-Texan? I don’t know, that might be risky.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair with an amused glint in his eyes. “I think I can manage. This might not be BBQ or Tex-Mex, but I promise, the food here won’t disappoint.”

I raised an eyebrow, still pretending to be skeptical. “Alright, Ricciardo, hit me with your best suggestion. What’s the must-have paddock dish?”

Without missing a beat, he leaned in, dropping his voice to a mock-serious tone. “You’ve gotta try the... ham sandwich.”

I blinked, staring at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “The ham sandwich? Seriously?”

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, sometimes the simple things in life are the best. And I’d argue a good ham sandwich can be life-changing.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, still chuckling. “I’ll take your word for it. But I think I’ll stick with something that sounds a little more... adventurous.”

Daniel smiled, leaning his elbows on the table, clearly enjoying the banter. “You’re adventurous, huh? I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before I could respond, a waiter appeared, and we placed our orders—him going with the infamous ham sandwich, me opting for something a little more exciting. As we waited for the food, the conversation turned a little more personal.

“So,” Daniel began, his tone shifting from playful to genuinely curious, “tell me more about you. We’ve talked a lot about my world today, but I feel like I don’t know enough about yours. What’s it like being a country singer in Texas?”

I shrugged, fiddling with the edge of my napkin. “It’s definitely... different from this.” I gestured around, indicating the world of Formula 1 we were sitting in. “It’s a lot of late-night gigs, long drives between towns, and trying to get people to listen to your music. But I love it. There’s something special about connecting with people through songs.”

He nodded, his eyes intent on mine. “I get that. Racing’s a lot like that, actually. You’ve got all this hard work behind the scenes, but it’s those moments on track when everything comes together that make it all worth it.”

I smiled, appreciating the parallel. “Yeah, I guess it’s similar. Although I doubt people scream your name at the end of a concert the way they do when you’re on the podium.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’d be surprised. People get pretty wild over a good performance, no matter what the stage looks like.”

I tilted my head, studying him. “What about you, though? You’ve been doing this for so long. Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

Daniel’s expression softened, and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes. “There are times when it’s exhausting, yeah. The travel, the pressure, all of it can be overwhelming. But at the end of the day, I love it. The thrill of being on track, the competition... it’s hard to give that up.”

I nodded, feeling a newfound respect for him. “It sounds like a crazy life, but I can see why you love it.”

He smiled again, this time more sincere, and leaned forward slightly. “Enough about me, though. What’s the craziest thing that’s ever happened to you on stage?”

I laughed, thinking back to some of the more ridiculous moments. “Oh, there are so many. But probably the time when a guy tried to propose to his girlfriend in the middle of my set, and she said no. Talk about awkward.”

Daniel’s eyes widened. “No way. That actually happened?”

I nodded, laughing. “Yep. Right in the middle of a ballad, too. The whole crowd went silent, and I just stood there like, ‘Do I keep playing?’”

He winced, clearly feeling the secondhand embarrassment. “That’s brutal. I don’t know if I could’ve kept going.”

I grinned, leaning back in my chair. “It’s a tough gig, but someone’s gotta do it.”

He shook his head, laughing again. “I’m impressed. I don’t think I’ve had anything that cringey happen on track, but now I’m kinda hoping for it.”

I smirked. “Be careful what you wish for.”

The waiter returned with our food, and as we started eating, the conversation flowed easily. It wasn’t forced or awkward—it just felt natural, like we’d known each other longer than just a couple of days. Between bites of food, we joked about everything from our weirdest fan encounters to the quirks of our respective worlds.

At one point, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and gave me that cheeky grin again. “Alright, I’ve gotta ask—how are you handling this whole F1 thing? It’s gotta be a little overwhelming.”

I swallowed my bite of food, considering his question. “Honestly? It’s wild. It’s like being dropped into a completely different universe. But... I’m kinda enjoying it. It’s different, but in a good way.”

Daniel’s eyes sparkled, and I could tell he was pleased with my answer. “Good. I was hoping you’d like it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Worried I’d bail halfway through the weekend?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. I just wanted you to have fun. I know it’s not easy being thrown into all of this.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle in my chest. “I am having fun. More than I expected, actually.”

He reached across the table and gave my hand a quick squeeze, his touch sending a little jolt of electricity through me. “Good. Because this weekend’s only just getting started.”

I couldn’t help but grin, my heart racing a little faster than it should have been. Something told me he wasn’t just talking about the race.

“Guess I’d better buckle up, then,” I said, the flirtatious edge in my voice impossible to hide.

Daniel leaned back, his grin widening. “Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.”

Daniel stood up, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape against the floor. “I’ll be right back. Don’t miss me too much,” he teased, giving me a playful wink before heading toward the back of the café.

I rolled my eyes, chuckling as I watched him go. But as soon as he disappeared out of sight, my attention shifted to the door of the café, and my heart nearly stopped.

Johnny.

There he was, casually strolling into the café like it was the most normal thing in the world. The same Johnny I hadn’t seen in months—the guy I thought I’d left in the past—was now standing less than ten feet away from me.

What the actual hell?

First Carrie yesterday, now Johnny today? It was like the universe was conspiring against me. Why were these two popping up like ghosts from my past all of a sudden? And more importantly—why here?

Fuck me man, I felt like that one story that had Ebenezer Scrooge in it—that's right, that weird story my Mom read to me when I was younger, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. But instead of the Ghost of Christmas Past and the Ghost of Jacob Marley, I was haunted by the ghosts of bad decisions and unresolved drama. Carrie, with her biting sarcasm and unfinished business, and Johnny, the walking reminder of every poor choice I’d ever made. They weren’t here to show me the errors of my ways—they were here to twist the knife.

The Ghost of Missed Opportunities, and the Ghost of "What the hell was I thinking?" Great. Just great. All I needed was one more, the Ghost of Emotional Baggage, to complete the haunting trifecta. Maybe they’d hold hands and sing carols while I watched my dignity fade into oblivion.

Panic fluttered in my chest, and without thinking, I shifted in my seat, tilting my head down so that my hair fell forward, obscuring as much of my face as possible. I pulled the menu up as an extra barrier, mentally chanting, please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

I peeked through a small gap between the strands of my hair, watching as Johnny scanned the room. For a second, I thought I was safe—he seemed to be looking past me, like he hadn’t noticed me at all.

But then his eyes stopped. And locked directly onto me.

Shit.

What are the odds…Nevermind, I actually do not want to know.

His brows furrowed in recognition, and I saw the exact moment he realized who I was. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by what could only be described as mild amusement. My heart sank as he started walking toward me, his steps slow but deliberate.

“Y/N?” His voice was hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure if it was really me, but I knew that tone all too well.

I kept my face half-hidden, silently hoping for some kind of divine intervention. But this was real, and there was no escaping it now.

“Johnny,” I said, my voice as neutral as I could muster, finally dropping the menu and brushing the hair back from my face.

He stopped in front of me, a small smirk forming on his lips. “I thought that was you. Didn’t expect to see you... here.”

I forced a tight smile, trying to keep my composure. “Yeah, well... here I am.”

He crossed his arms, glancing around the café. “F1 paddock, huh? You sure are full of surprises these days.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “I could say the same thing. What are you doing here, Johnny?”

He shrugged, his smirk deepening. “Business. Just checking things out. You know how it is.”

I raised an eyebrow. “At the Formula 1 paddock?”

“Hey, I get around,” he said with a casual shrug, but I could see that smugness in his eyes—the same look that used to drive me crazy. “But what about you? Last I checked, you weren’t into fast cars and fancy races.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Things change. People change.”

He let out a low chuckle, clearly amused. “So I see. You always were full of surprises.”

I could feel the heat rising in my chest, the mix of annoyance and nerves bubbling up. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my day. Not with Johnny, of all people. And definitely not here.

Before I could come up with a response, his eyes flicked to the empty seat across from me. “You mind if I sit?”

Yes, I mind, I thought, but instead I nodded, forcing a polite smile. “Go ahead.”

Johnny slid into the chair, leaning forward on his elbows like this was some kind of casual catch-up, his eyes studying me. “So, who’re you here with? Anyone special?” His tone was light, but I could hear the curiosity behind it.

I hesitated for a second, not sure how much to say. “Just... here for the weekend.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “That’s vague.”

I shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the back of the café, half-hoping Daniel would miraculously reappear and save me from this awkward situation. “It’s not really important, Johnny.”

But he wasn’t about to drop it. “You know, I ran into Carrie yesterday. Small world, huh?”

My heart sank further. Of course he’d bring up Carrie. The two of them had always been close, and after everything that went down, the last thing I wanted was for them to be talking about me.

“Yeah, it’s a small world,” I said, my voice tight.

Johnny leaned back in his chair, studying me with that familiar look—like he knew something I didn’t. “You and Carrie… didn’t exactly end on the best terms, huh?”

I stiffened, narrowing my eyes. “You know exactly why, Johnny.”

He gave a slow nod, as if savoring the tension in the air. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Before I could respond, the sound of footsteps approaching made me glance up—and there was Daniel, walking back toward the table with an easy grin on his face. But the second he spotted Johnny sitting there, his smile faltered, replaced by a look of confusion. “Everything alright here?” Daniel asked, his tone polite but edged with something sharper. Johnny’s smirk didn’t waver as he glanced over his shoulder at Daniel. “Just catching up with an old friend.” He turned back to me, his eyes still locked on mine. “Didn’t realize you’d moved on so quickly.”

The tension in the air became palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Daniel stood there, his posture casual but his eyes sharp, flicking between Johnny and me, clearly trying to assess the situation. Johnny, on the other hand, seemed to relish the discomfort, leaning back in his chair with that insufferable smirk still plastered on his face.

I felt my pulse quicken, the unease settling deep in my stomach. “Johnny, this isn’t—”

He interrupted me, tilting his head slightly. “No need to explain, Y/N. We all move on, right?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, like he knew exactly how to twist the knife. “Though, from what I hear, you didn’t waste any time.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened just slightly, and I saw the flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I think she’s already made it clear that this isn’t your business,” he said, his voice cool but laced with warning.

Johnny didn’t seem fazed by Daniel’s calm exterior. If anything, it seemed to fuel his smugness. He glanced at Daniel, sizing him up in that subtle, passive-aggressive way I knew all too well. “Oh, no offense, mate. Just curious is all. I mean, I didn’t think I’d be seeing her here in the middle of the Formula 1 paddock, much less sitting with you.”

My stomach churned as Johnny’s words hung in the air. He wasn’t just trying to get under my skin anymore—he was trying to provoke Daniel. And judging by the way Daniel’s hand flexed slightly at his side, I could tell it was working.

“Y/N’s welcome wherever she wants to be,” Daniel replied, his voice steady but with an edge that I hadn’t heard before. “You should probably get that through your head.”

Johnny’s smirk faltered for the first time, and a flicker of something darker passed through his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze locking onto mine. “It’s just funny, you know? How you can spend years with someone, thinking you know them, and then one day...” He snapped his fingers. “They’re gone. Just like that.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on me. This wasn’t about me and Daniel anymore. This was Johnny’s way of dredging up old wounds, reminding me of the past, and making sure Daniel knew that he wasn’t just some random ex-boyfriend. He wanted to make this personal.

“I didn’t just leave, Johnny,” I said quietly, but firmly. “We both know why it ended.”

Johnny leaned back, that smirk creeping back onto his face as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, yes. My bad. You’ve got it all figured out now, huh? Living the high life, new man, new world.”

Daniel, who had been standing next to me, finally stepped forward, positioning himself closer to Johnny, his eyes narrowing. “I think you’ve said enough.”

The air between them crackled with tension, and for a split second, I thought things might actually escalate. Daniel’s easygoing demeanor had shifted, and he wasn’t playing around anymore. I could feel the protective energy radiating from him, like he was ready to step in if Johnny pushed any further.

Johnny met Daniel’s gaze, the smirk still on his face but his eyes cold. “Just having a conversation, mate. No need to get worked up.”

Daniel didn’t back down, his voice dropping lower. “You’re not here to talk. You’re here to stir things up. I get it. But it’s not going to work.”

Johnny chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. He stood up, adjusting his jacket as he looked down at both of us. “Well, it’s been enlightening, Y/N. Really. I’ll see you around.”

He glanced at Daniel one last time before turning on his heel and walking out of the café, his presence leaving a bitter taste in the air.

I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my body slowly unraveling as Johnny disappeared from view. Daniel sat down across from me, his expression still hard, his jaw clenched. He looked at me, his concern evident in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

I nodded, but I couldn’t hide the lingering frustration. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t expect to see him here, or... Carrie yesterday. It’s like they’re everywhere all of a sudden.”

Daniel reached across the table, taking my hand in his. His grip was firm, grounding me. “You don’t have to apologize for him. He’s clearly got some unresolved issues, but that’s not on you.”

I sighed, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah, well, I thought I’d left all of that behind. Guess it’s harder to outrun than I thought.”

Daniel’s thumb gently brushed the back of my hand, his touch reassuring. “You’re not running anymore. You’re here, with me. And he can’t touch that.”

I met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. There was something in the way he said it, in the way he was looking at me, that made me feel like everything was going to be okay. Like I wasn’t alone in dealing with this.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He smiled, a small, genuine smile that chased away the lingering tension. “You don’t have to thank me. I’ve got your back.”

We sat there for a moment, the café’s gentle hum returning as the intensity of Johnny’s presence faded. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time I’d be seeing him—or Carrie. They were still a part of this tangled mess, and somehow, I knew they wouldn’t let me move on that easily.

But with Daniel sitting across from me, his hand still in mine, I felt stronger. Like whatever came next, I wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Daniel leaned in with a playful grin. “You seriously dated that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Like, in your songs, I thought you were being dramatic, but…” He trailed off, failing miserably as he attempted to imitate Johnny’s gruff accent, his voice cracking mid-sentence. “Oi, I’m Johnny, and I’m here to ruin your day,” he added with an exaggerated scowl, dramatically puffing out his chest.

I couldn’t help it. Laughter bubbled up from my chest, loud and unexpected, catching me off guard. It was the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt, the kind that came out when you were least expecting it. Daniel’s terrible impression was so far off that it was hilarious, and for the first time today, I felt a little lighter. The knot in my chest loosened, and for a moment, the awkwardness of running into Johnny and Carrie faded away.

“Okay, okay, that was terrible,” I said, still laughing, wiping the corner of my eye. “But thank you. I needed that.”

Daniel grinned wide, obviously pleased with himself. “Glad to be of service, love,” he replied, his Australian drawl carrying the words in that easy, effortless way that made everything sound a little more charming than it should. He puffed his chest out again, still half-committed to the ridiculous Johnny impersonation. “Come on now, I thought I nailed it. Pretty sure Johnny sounds exactly like that.”

I shook my head, a smile still tugging at my lips. “Trust me, you’re way off. But, for the record, I think you just made him sound better than he deserves.” I raised an eyebrow playfully, feeling the lingering tension ease just a little more.

“Ah, well, it’s a talent, I suppose,” Daniel shot back, with a wink. “Making your exes sound like halfway decent humans. Maybe I’ve missed my calling.” He reached over, gently nudging my shoulder, and the warmth of his touch felt more grounding than I expected.

For a second, I just watched him, marveling at how easily he could turn the mood around, how quickly he could shift the energy in the room with just a few lighthearted comments. His accent—God, his accent—made everything sound smoother, softer, even when he was trying to joke around. I didn’t realize how much I needed someone to break through the storm cloud that had been hovering over me all day.

I couldn’t help but admire it. There was something about the way Daniel spoke that made me want to listen to him, to let myself be carried away by the sound of his voice. “You know,” I said, my smile lingering, “that accent of yours… it’s kind of unfair.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking mock-offended. “Unfair? You wound me, love. I thought it was my best asset.”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” I teased, tilting my head. “You could probably get away with saying anything and still sound charming.”

Daniel smirked, leaning back a little, clearly enjoying the banter. “Well then, I suppose I better be careful with my words, huh? Don’t want to waste this so-called ‘charm’ of mine on just anything.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t deny the smile that kept creeping up on me. “Too late. You’ve already wasted it on that horrendous Johnny impression.”

Daniel chuckled, leaning in closer, his grin still firmly in place. “Ah, but see, now I know my limits. No more terrible Johnny impressions—unless, of course, you ask for them.”

“Not a chance,” I shot back, shaking my head, though the playful glint in his eyes made it hard to keep a straight face. “I think I’ve suffered enough today, thank you very much.”

“Fair enough,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll stick to my strengths then—making you laugh and, apparently, charming my way through this conversation.”

I crossed my arms, leaning back against the bar, my gaze locking with his. “Is that what this is? A charm offensive?”

Daniel’s smirk deepened, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well, it seems to be working, doesn’t it?”

I couldn’t argue with that. He had a way of lightening the mood, of making everything feel less… heavy. His presence was like a breath of fresh air, cutting through the lingering tension from my earlier run-in with Johnny and Carrie.

“You’ve got a point,” I admitted, trying to play it cool despite the fact that I could feel a blush creeping up my neck. “But don’t get too cocky. You’re only as charming as I let you be.”

“Oh, is that how it works?” Daniel asked, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “So, you’re saying I need your permission to be charming?”

I tilted my head, giving him a playful smile. “Something like that.”

He leaned in just a little, the space between us narrowing as his voice dropped to a low murmur. “Well then, I’ll just have to make sure I stay on your good side.”

For a moment, I felt the air shift between us, a subtle tension weaving its way through the playful banter. His eyes locked on mine, and for the first time, I noticed the way his gaze softened just a fraction, as if he wasn’t just joking anymore.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could find the words, Daniel’s smirk returned, breaking the moment with a wink. “What do you say? Think I’ve got a chance at staying charming for a while longer?”

I laughed, shaking my head, the tension easing back into lightheartedness. “We’ll see. You’re off to a decent start, though.”

“Good to know,” he said, his grin widening as he took a sip from his drink. “Guess I’ll just have to keep working at it then, won’t I?”

“Looks like it,” I replied, feeling a warmth settle in my chest that had nothing to do with the whiskey I’d been sipping. It was strange, how easy it was to talk to him, how natural the conversation felt.

Maybe it was the accent. Or maybe it was the way he made me forget about everything else, even if just for a little while.

Either way, I found myself wanting the moment to last just a little longer. The ease of being with Daniel, his playful charm, made everything feel lighter. We left the café, wandering toward the paddock, with the hum of the race world buzzing around us.

Suddenly, a group of teenage boys—five of them, no older than seventeen—approached us, all wearing different variations of Formula 1 gear. They were grinning like they’d just hit the jackpot.

“Y/N?” one of them asked, his voice cracking slightly, clearly nervous. “Is it really you?”

I blinked, taken aback. “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

They exchanged excited looks, practically bouncing on the spot. “No way! We’re huge fans!” another boy chimed in. “We listen to your music all the time!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Teenage boys? Really? I mean, sure, I had a decent fan base, but I’d always pictured my listeners as mostly women around my age, maybe a few guys here and there. But these boys—decked out in their racing caps and track jackets—didn’t exactly scream “Y/N fan club.”

“Wait, seriously?” I asked, grinning. “You guys listen to my music?”

“Are you kidding?” one of them replied, his eyes wide. “Your last album? Fire. We’ve had it on repeat for weeks!”

The others nodded enthusiastically in agreement. “Yeah! ‘Falling Apart’—that’s our anthem, man. We play it before our soccer games to hype up.”

I laughed again, shaking my head in disbelief. “Well, I’m glad it gets you pumped.”

Daniel, who’d been silently observing with a smirk on his face, suddenly leaned closer to me, slipping effortlessly into his role as the comic relief. “You see that?” he said loudly, nudging me with his elbow. “Even teenage boys can’t resist your charm. Should I be worried?”

One of the boys looked between us, his eyes narrowing slightly as he realized what Daniel was implying. “Wait… are you two… like, a thing?”

Before I could respond, Daniel flashed a wicked grin and draped his arm over my shoulders. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teased, his accent making the words sound far more suggestive than necessary.

I elbowed him lightly in the ribs, rolling my eyes but unable to hide my smile. “Don’t listen to him,” I said, shaking my head at the boys. “He’s just messing with you.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Daniel continued, winking at me as if the boys weren’t even there. “I think they can see the chemistry. It’s undeniable, right, lads?”

The boys burst into laughter, clearly amused by Daniel’s antics. One of them, the tallest of the group, gave Daniel a playful thumbs-up. “Yeah, mate! You’re doing great!”

Daniel puffed out his chest, acting like he’d just been handed an award. “See? They approve. Guess I’m winning today.”

“Winning what exactly?” I asked, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Your heart, obviously,” Daniel shot back without missing a beat, his grin growing even wider.

I rolled my eyes again, but I couldn’t help the blush that crept up my neck. The boys all snickered like they were in on some private joke. This was turning into a full-blown comedy sketch, but to my surprise, I didn’t mind. In fact, I was kind of enjoying it.

“Alright, alright,” I said, laughing. “How about I sign something for you guys before Daniel’s ego gets too big?”

The boys eagerly handed me a couple of hats and a marker, still buzzing with excitement. As I scribbled my signature, they chatted excitedly among themselves about the race, about my music, and about Daniel’s antics, like we were all old friends.

When I handed back the hats, one of the boys asked, “So, are you gonna write a song about Formula 1 next?”

I chuckled, glancing sideways at Daniel. “Who knows? I’ve been getting a lot of inspiration lately.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, catching onto the innuendo. “Inspiration, huh? Does this inspiration happen to have a devilishly handsome accent and a knack for making terrible impressions?”

I smirked, giving him a playful shove. “Don’t flatter yourself. My inspiration doesn’t come from bad impressions.”

One of the boys, who had clearly been paying way too much attention, chimed in, “Oi, are you saying he’s not handsome? Because, like, I wouldn’t mind if someone called me devilishly handsome.”

Daniel burst out laughing. “Well, look at this guy! You’ve got some competition, Y/N. He’s coming for my title.”

I shook my head, but the whole group had descended into laughter. “Careful, Daniel. I think your reign as the charming one might be short-lived,” I teased, still grinning.

The boys exchanged exaggerated glances, clearly loving every moment. “We’ve got the charm too, you know!” another one of them piped up. “We listen to your music—‘Falling Apart’? Yeah, it’s practically our anthem, so that should earn us some points!”

“Ah, points system now? I see how it is.” Daniel folded his arms, looking mock-serious. “Alright, lads, who can do the best Y/N song impersonation? Whoever wins might just dethrone me as the most charming one here.”

Before I could object, the tallest boy cleared his throat dramatically, striking a pose that was almost too ridiculous to believe. “I got this,” he declared, then proceeded to belt out the chorus of Falling Apart with all the wrong notes, completely off-key, but with so much passion that it was impossible not to laugh.

The rest of the boys joined in, not with singing but with over-the-top interpretive dance moves that had nothing to do with the song at all. One of them even pretended to play an imaginary guitar solo, thrashing around like he was on stage at a rock concert.

I was doubled over in laughter at this point, tears in my eyes. “Oh my God, what is happening right now?” I gasped between fits of giggles.

Daniel wiped a fake tear from his cheek, trying to hold back his laughter. “I think we’ve just witnessed the most beautiful rendition of your song. I’m sorry, love, but I’ve officially been out-charmed.”

One of the boys puffed out his chest proudly. “Told ya, we’ve got the charm. Now, where’s our prize?”

“Prize?” Daniel asked, feigning confusion. “Mate, your prize is the satisfaction of knowing you’ve ruined one of Y/N’s greatest hits for her forever.”

The boys erupted in laughter, but one of them wasn’t quite done. “Wait, wait, I can do better!” He jumped forward, clearing his throat dramatically. “I’m Johnny, and I’m here to—” His attempt at an impression was so bad that he immediately started laughing halfway through.

I groaned, but I couldn’t stop laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. “Oh no, not this again!”

Daniel, with his grin practically splitting his face, leaned in toward me, speaking loud enough for the boys to hear. “See, they’ve got nothing on my Johnny impression. I think I still win.”

I rolled my eyes, but the heat from his closeness wasn’t lost on me. “That’s a pretty low bar to clear,” I teased, trying to maintain my cool despite the way he was looking at me, like I was the only person in the world at that moment.

One of the boys noticed the shift in energy and grinned slyly. “Ooh, I see what’s happening here. You two are flirting! Caught in the act!”

Daniel placed a hand on his chest dramatically. “Flirting? With me? Surely not.”

“Can you blame her though?” another one chimed in, wagging his eyebrows. “I mean, with that accent…”

I let out a laugh that was part amusement, part embarrassment. “Alright, alright, enough of this! You’re all officially the worst hype men ever.”

Daniel, still enjoying the show, winked at the boys. “See, lads? She can’t resist my charm—neither can you, apparently.”

“We’re just trying to help you out, mate,” one of them said with a smirk. “You can thank us later.”

Daniel chuckled, leaning in even closer, that mischievous glint in his eyes only growing more intense. “Oh, trust me,” he said, his voice dropping just low enough for me to catch the playful tone, “I think I’ve already thanked her… once or twice.”

I froze for a split second, my eyes widening as I realized what he was hinting at. A quick glance at the boys confirmed that they had caught on too—one of them let out a loud, exaggerated gasp, while the others exchanged knowing looks.

“Ohhhhhh!” one of the boys practically shouted, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Wait, man this is definitely is a thing, you can't deny it now!”

Another one interrupted, smirking as he threw in, “Sounds like someone’s been thanking her a little more than once.”

I felt my face heat up, the blush creeping up my neck as the teasing started in full force. “Guys—no, it’s not like that!” I tried to defend, but my stammering only fueled their amusement.

“Oh, sure, sure,” one of them said, clearly enjoying every second of this. “We totally believe you.”

Daniel, completely unfazed, leaned back with a satisfied smirk. “Don’t worry, lads, I’m a gentleman. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re literally telling right now!” I shot back, my embarrassment only making the boys laugh harder.

“Wait, wait,” one of the boys interjected, barely holding back his laughter. “So, like… when you sing about late nights in your songs, is that about him?” He pointed at Daniel with mock seriousness.

“Yeah, is Daniel the muse?” another one chimed in, mimicking air quotes.

“Oh my God,” I groaned, hiding my face in my hands as the boys dissolved into laughter. “This is not happening right now.”

Daniel, ever the instigator, gave a mock-innocent shrug. “Hey, I didn’t say anything specific. You’re the one who’s giving them ideas.”

I shot him a look, trying to hide my smile. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here we are,” he replied, winking at me before turning back to the boys. “You lot are getting way too much joy out of this, by the way.”

“We can’t help it!” one of them exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “This is, like, the best day ever. Formula 1 and relationship gossip in the same day? We’re thriving!”

Another one crossed his arms, nodding sagely. “Yeah, it’s like our favorite artist just dropped a new track, and it’s all about a secret romance.”

“Oh God, don’t give them any more ideas,” I muttered, still blushing furiously.

“Too late!” one of the boys shot back. “I’m calling it now—next album’s gonna have a song called Thank You, Daniel.”

Daniel burst out laughing, clearly loving every second of this. “I’m not opposed,” he said with a grin. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied firmly, shaking my head even as I laughed.

“Come on, Y/N,” one of the boys teased. “You gotta admit, it’s catchy.”

“Yeah, and it could go something like…” another one started singing, completely off-key. “Thank you, Daniel, for the wild night we had…”

The rest of the boys immediately jumped in, adding to the absurdity of it all. They clapped and hollered, half-singing, half-laughing. “You swept me off my feet, oh yeah, Daniel, you complete me!”

I groaned, covering my face in my hands. “Please stop, this is painful.”

But they were on a roll now, clearly loving every second of tormenting me. Another one joined in, singing in a terrible falsetto, “Oh, Daniel, why’d you have to go and make me fall so hard?”

Daniel was barely holding it together, his laugh ringing out loud enough to draw a few curious glances from people passing by. He turned to me, shaking his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I think you’ve just been given your next hit, love. They’re writing it for you.”

I shot him a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “This is not helping.”

Daniel chuckled, clearly enjoying the show. “Come on, Y/N. At least they’re being creative. They’ve even got choreography,” he said, gesturing toward one of the boys, who had started twirling around dramatically.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, still laughing despite myself. “This is officially out of control.”

One of the boys, apparently the self-proclaimed leader of the group, stepped forward with an exaggerated flourish. “You see, Y/N, we’re just trying to get you and Daniel to release a collab album. Think of the potential—‘Duets with Daniel!’ We’d be the first to buy it.”

“Yeah, we’ll even design the album cover!” another one added, miming holding a camera. “You, all serious with your guitar, and Daniel in the background with his race car and a rose between his teeth.”

I burst out laughing at the image they were painting, unable to take any of this seriously. “You guys are ridiculous,” I said, still shaking my head. “But I’ve gotta admit, you’ve got some... interesting ideas.”

Daniel, however, wasn’t about to let this moment pass without making it even worse for me. He leaned in close, lowering his voice just enough for the boys to hear but making it sound extra suggestive. “You know, Y/N, I’m not entirely opposed to a duet. I mean, we’ve already had one great performance together, haven’t we?”

I whipped around to glare at him, my cheeks burning. “Daniel—”

The boys absolutely lost it. “OOOOOH!” they chorused, practically falling over each other in laughter. One of them clapped his hands together, howling, “He said it! He went there!”

“Performance, huh?” one of them teased, waggling his eyebrows. “Oh, we definitely need to hear that track next.”

“Guys!” I exclaimed, feeling my face heat up even more. “It’s not like that!”

But Daniel wasn’t about to let me off the hook. “Oh, I dunno,” he said casually, shooting me a cheeky grin. “Depends on who you ask.”

I could feel my blush spreading down to my neck now, but I couldn’t help laughing at how absurd the whole situation had become. The boys were having the time of their lives, and Daniel—well, he was clearly loving every second of my flustered reaction.

“Okay, okay, we’re done,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “No more duet ideas, no more wild night theories. I think we’ve reached our quota for embarrassing moments today.”

One of the boys, still grinning from ear to ear, nodded sagely. “Alright, we’ll stop... for now.”

Another one, clearly still riding the high of the whole thing, added, “But just know, we’re expecting a wild new album soon. Maybe call it Songs from the Paddock.”

Daniel chuckled, nudging me playfully. “There’s your next hit, love. Courtesy of your biggest fans.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be sure to give you guys credit in the liner notes.”

The boys beamed as if I’d just promised them the world, and as they finally wandered off, still singing their ridiculous makeshift song, I let out a deep breath, glancing at Daniel.

“I can’t believe you,” I said, half-joking, half-serious. “You are way too good at making things awkward.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Hey, if I can make you blush like that, I consider it a win.”

I sighed dramatically, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, echoing the same words he’d used earlier, with that damn grin still plastered on his face.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice softening despite myself. “Here I am.”

As we walked back toward the Red Bull garage, the cool breeze picked up, making me shiver slightly. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ignore it, but Daniel, ever observant, noticed right away.

“You cold, love?” he asked, already shrugging off his jacket before I could protest.

“No, I’m fine—” I started, but he cut me off, draping the jacket over my shoulders with a firm but gentle touch.

“There,” he said, adjusting it around me. “Can’t have you freezing on my watch.”

The jacket was warm and smelled faintly of him—something I couldn’t quite place, but it was comforting. I pulled it tighter around myself, feeling the fabric practically swallow me up. It was way too big, the sleeves hanging well past my hands and the collar brushing against my chin, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I kind of liked it. The way it enveloped me made me feel oddly safe, cocooned in something that was entirely his.

As I adjusted the jacket around my shoulders, I could feel his eyes on me. Not just a casual glance either—he was scanning me, his gaze slowly trailing over how the oversized jacket hugged my frame, his lips curving into a small, knowing smirk. Heat rushed to my face, and I could feel the blush creeping up my neck, spreading to my cheeks. I focused on tugging the sleeves, trying to act unaffected, but the way his eyes lingered left my pulse racing.

“You look good in my colors, you know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, the words sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

I blushed harder, feeling like the jacket wasn’t just covering me, but almost amplifying the attention he was giving me. I kept my head down for a second, pretending to fiddle with the zipper, but inside, my heart was doing somersaults.

I pulled the jacket tighter around myself, feeling his gaze still on me. Way too big, I thought. But in that moment, I kind of liked the way it made me feel—small, and maybe, just maybe, like I wasn’t so invisible to him after all.

Before I could say anything, he took my hands in his, rubbing them between his palms to warm them up. “Gotta make sure you’re properly taken care of,” he teased, his voice low and playful. “Can’t have you getting frostbite in front of the whole paddock.”

I laughed awkwardly, but the truth was, his hands felt so warm against mine that I didn’t pull away. Instead, I let him keep rubbing them, the casual intimacy of the gesture making my heart beat a little faster.

And then, out of nowhere, he pulled me into a hug. Tight. His arms wrapped around me as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like he’d done it a thousand times before. My face pressed against his chest, and I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the layers of fabric.

I stiffened at first, aware of all the people milling around us, some of whom were definitely watching. This was the paddock, after all—eyes were always on us. I could feel the stares, the curious glances from the crew members, the fans in the distance, even some of the drivers. But Daniel didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Daniel,” I muttered, trying to sound calm but utterly failing as my voice wavered. “Everyone’s watching…”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against the top of my head. “Let them watch,” he said, his tone light, but with an edge of seriousness. “I don’t mind.”

I pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. “But I—”

He cut me off with a grin that sent a shiver down my spine, and not from the cold. “You look even cuter when you’re embarrassed, you know that?” he teased, brushing a stray piece of hair away from my face.

I felt my face burn even hotter. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said softly, leaning in just a little closer, “here we are.”

My heart pounded in my chest, confused by the swirl of emotions coursing through me. Was he serious? Was this just more of his playful flirting, or was there something more behind it?

Before I could untangle the thoughts running through my mind, he closed the gap between us and kissed me.

Sure we had kissed so many times the night prior, but there was something about today's kiss, that was so different. It wasn't rushed. It was gentle. It was sweet.

It was soft at first, almost like he was testing the waters, his lips brushing against mine in a way that made my breath hitch. The world seemed to pause around us, the only thing I could focus on was the feel of him—his warmth, the subtle scent of his skin, the steady pressure of his lips as they moved against mine. His kiss was gentle, like he wasn’t rushing but savoring the moment, allowing me to feel the full weight of it, as if this wasn’t just a casual flirtation.

For a second, my mind raced, shocked at the boldness of it, but my body reacted before my thoughts could catch up. I felt myself relax into him, every ounce of tension I’d been holding onto melting away as he pulled me closer. His hands slid up, warm and confident, until they found the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair. He held me gently, but there was a firmness to his grip that made my heart race even faster, grounding me in the moment, making it clear that this was no accident.

The kiss deepened, his lips pressing more firmly against mine now, and I melted—literally melted into him, my body softening as my hands instinctively gripped the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. My mind went blank, thoughts dissolving into the sensation of him, the way he tasted, the slow, deliberate way his mouth moved over mine, coaxing a response from me that I hadn’t even realized I was capable of.

I barely registered the fact that we were still in the middle of the paddock, surrounded by people who were definitely watching. But none of it mattered. The noise, the bustling crowd, the potential whispers—everything faded into the background, like static, as the world narrowed down to just the two of us. All I could focus on was the way his lips felt—warm and commanding, yet somehow soft, his breath mingling with mine in a way that made my head spin.

His body pressed against mine, and I could feel his heartbeat—steady, strong, completely unfazed by the fact that we were very much in public. Meanwhile, mine was racing like I’d just run a marathon, a nervous excitement coursing through me that left me breathless. His hand tightened slightly on the back of my neck, as if he didn’t want to let go, as if he was silently telling me, Stay here, with me, in this moment.

When he finally pulled away, it was gradual, his lips lingering on mine for just a beat longer, as if he wasn’t quite ready to break the connection. His forehead rested gently against mine, our breaths mingling, and I realized I was gasping for air, like I’d forgotten to breathe during the kiss. My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears that I could barely hear the scattered murmurs around us. My mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but nothing seemed to make sense except for him. The feel of him. The warmth still radiating between us.

“You alright there?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, though there was a softness in his eyes that made my stomach flip. His thumb brushed along my cheek, tender and intimate, the gesture sending a ripple of warmth through me. The smug look on his face made it clear that he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on me.

I blinked, still trying to gather my scattered thoughts. “I… um… what?”

He grinned, clearly amused by my confusion. “I think I made my point,” he said, his voice dropping even lower, like we were sharing some kind of secret that no one else was privy to. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along my cheek before he finally stepped back, leaving me standing there, dazed and breathless, still reeling from the kiss.

The world around us started to come back into focus—people passing by, fans in the distance, the low hum of engines in the paddock. I could hear the murmurs, the whispers of those who had witnessed the entire thing. A few curious glances were thrown our way, but Daniel didn’t seem to care. In fact, he looked completely unbothered, as if kissing me in the middle of the paddock was the most natural thing in the world.

He winked at me, his grin still firmly in place as he turned toward the garage, his confidence as unshakable as ever. “You coming, love?” he called over his shoulder, acting like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, like he hadn’t just completely scrambled my brain with one kiss.

I stood there for a moment, trying to gather my bearings, still feeling the heat from his kiss lingering on my lips, the way his hands had cradled my neck so gently but possessively. My fingers absently brushed against my mouth, still tingling from where his lips had been, and my pulse quickened all over again.

What just happened?

I tried to replay the moment in my head, tried to figure out how something so simple as a kiss had turned my entire world upside down in a matter of seconds. And why, despite the embarrassment of being kissed in front of so many people, did I already want it to happen again?

My heart was still pounding as I looked up to see Daniel waiting for me, hands casually tucked in his pockets, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He raised an eyebrow as if daring me to make the next move.

I swallowed hard, my thoughts still jumbled, but there was one thing I knew for sure: this day had just taken a turn I never saw coming.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

taglist: @gyarubunny

author's note: comment to be added to the taglist! i'll probably update after a few more fics about NEW DRIVERS (wow!)

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mieczyhale · 9 months ago

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#I WASN'T THINKING ABOUT THIS AND NOW I AM AND I DO NOT WISH TO SEE #I MEAN IT CROSSED MY MIND IN PASSING BUT NOW #N O W #I COULD BARELY HANDLE IT IN THE BOOK #SEEING IT ON SCREEN?? ESP AFTER THE SWEETNESS OF S1 AND S2??? NO THANKS #sidenote - i got nick's frustration and other Negatives but like... i am charlie and i really wish there had been a little more #understanding for what the entire situation was like for charlie #not in a 'charlie's feelings matter more' kind of a but in a 'all of this is hard for both of them and some patience or attempt to #understand would have gone a long way' when you have negative self esteem and abandonment issues.. idk man. i'd have trouble articulating #how i was feeling / what my thinking was too. i can barely express inconsequential or simple thoughts let alone big emotions #especially big emotions driven in part by mental illness. especially 2.0 with ocd where changes can be so fucking No #especially ESPECIALLY if the changes are negative #i love nick but im too charlie to not be hit on a personal level by their fight #maison speaks #myhsposts

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coridallasmultipass · 4 months ago

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It took me, ugh, MONTHS (2), to get to cleaning the two shrimp tanks I have... I had IRL issues going on that would have made it extremely difficult to do a water change especially while injured, and I just had to keep putting it off. It's just shrimp, so it wasn't like, the worst situation, especially since I have established plants and the tanks are a couple years old. There was just a lot of algae build-up on the glass, and, well... Let me just say it was not contributing to my mental health and well-being while the tanks were in that state.

I tested the water before I started cleaning and the parameters were fine (like, I could have left the tanks even longer if I would be okay with selling my soul to the Algae Collective), and the plants and shrimp look fine, too (I mean, I've obviously been keeping an eye on the tanks bc I sit right next to them). Actually, I'd wager to say that the plants are looking really great (the lilies haven't died off [yet? This is the longest period of time I've seen them stay... foliage... fol... foliated? Idk.] and the cryptocoryne in the 10gal is fucking huge and needs to be rearranged, just not right now). That fucking algae was a motherfucker to get off the 10gal (it's a plastic tank and I think that makes the algae grip harder than the glass 5gal).

[Also, fyi, depending on the tank's needs and stability, recommended water changes are a small one every week or every other week. My parameters don't seem to do anything dramatic, so I usually aim for a 20-30% water change every third week (just depends on how much vacuuming needs to be done and how cooperative the shrimp are with moving aside). So 2 months is still a lot. I still did the normal 30% ish amount, since doing more will risk the shrimp's well-being if there's a sudden change in everything, and my water parameters indicated a change was unnecessary - but I don't test for more than the minimum freshwater tests, so there could be a buildup of some mineral I'm not testing for, which is why the change IS actually necessary regardless of what my test kit says - because these tanks were evaporating a lot in summer, it condenses the minerals added with each water addition, even tho I usually top up with R.O. water.]

My back is fucking killing me lol. It has been killing me since spring when it 'went out' for the first time, and I'm not getting any relief, it sucks. But this had to be done.

The 5gal is looking pretty cloudy still, since the filter was super gunked up and I accidentally spilled gunk back in, so I may need to retest the 5gal parameters tomorrow just to make sure I don't have to do another water change, but it'll probably be fine, right? Shrimp love mulm and detritus. I did give both tanks a big ole algae tab for their trouble, tho. (I need a fuckening dish for the big tank. I really wanna clean off that white quartz rock again, but being white means it's an algae magnet, and it's just gonna go green again after a month or two.)

Anyway, shrimp tax:

I lov thees widdle oange bebies.

Wish I could take better pictures rn, but I am. Like. Dying. My recommendation: never live in an A-frame style room if you have the option. The wall above my tanks is slanted, and NOT fun for my back to bend underneath the wall for maintenance. (My only flat wall in the room is for my TV/PC.) Also, treat your back nicely, in general. I unfortunately have not had the option to treat my back nicely since spring (fall now), because 'when it rains it pours,' and heavy shit that needs to be moved will not move itself. Once I get a few more things in my room in order, I will hopefully be done with the IRL chaos, bc I have Halloween socks to knit, and I'm not putting that off for another year. (I'm still mad that I couldn't make the ones I planned last year. And I found more Halloween yarn I forgot I bought, so I'm gonna try to make multiple socks.) And I just really need to fucking chill and knit and stop having panic attacks and meltdowns.

#me earlier today: oh i should bleach my hair since i havent been able to shower for 2 days it wont damage it as much #me now: i dont know if i can even stand long enough to shower after this #anyway im gonna try to eat something and then shower and pass tf out.#maybe i shouldve taken a before picture to show how much i did...#...but i do Not want to remember 'that one time i didnt do a water change for 2 months' the algae was gross lol i couldnt even get it all #but honestly idc ab the back wall having algae as long as the front and most of the sides are clear #seriously the algae was textured like sandpaper tho. does algae do pearling? if it does then its calcium buildup too #edit while typing bc i looked it up. yes algae pearls. so the bubbles it was making were drying enough to cause calcium deposits #oH also lmao i found the tiniest pinch of hornwort left in the 10gal. idk why the hornwort doesnt like that tank but its hilarious that...#...that one little fingernail sized piece is still alive floating in there. i stuck it next to the lily but the shrimp will prob dislodge it #the hornwort in the 5gal is just freefloating i cant get that shit to stick #the shrimp love that stuff and they look like little birds in a pine tree #im in so much pain im procrastinating food lmao 'order pizza' crossed my mind but my jaw wont let me eat pizza so fml #anyway. just wanted to show an accomplishment even if its not a praise worthy one since i didnt go the extra 10 miles to water change sooner #awwww tho i love seeing them glide around the tank and now i can see them clearly its so chill #shrimp #aquariums #crustaceans #bugs #Cori.exe #Post.exe #Image.exe #also my therapist started cracking up this morning when i said like 'i can finally rest now tht i dont have a Saw trap bathroom to navigate'#seriously tho it was bad and then another issue in the bathroom came up 2 days ago but theyre both fixed now. my br is normal now.#im not normal tho (normal for myself i mean) and unfortunately thats not gonna be an easy fix but im trying #man can i ever make a post where i dont type a million words lmao. inability to focus and then i start typing more stuff #oh ab the hair bleach man my roots are so dark i just trimmed off the last of the bleach from last time so i got 2tone hair rn #idk when ill get to that. dependsnon my back. i already wasnt in a great state of being when i did the aquariums but i needed to clean them #ok i rly need to try n make food and shower before i start growing algae on myself

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stil-lindigo · 9 months ago

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lead balloon (the tumblr post that saved me)

if this comic resonated with you, it would mean the world to me if you donated to this palestinian family's escape fund.

no creative notes because this isn't that kind of comic.

I know I don’t owe any of you anything but I still felt compelled to write about my long term absence. And I feel far enough away from the dangerous spot I was in to be able to make this comic. I have a therapist now, and she agreed that making this could be a very cathartic gesture, and the start of properly leaving these thoughts behind me. I am still, at seemingly random times, blindsided by fleeting desires to kill myself. They’re always passing urges, but it’s disarming, and uncomfortable. I worry sometimes that my brain’s spent so long thinking only about suicide that it’s forgotten how to think about anything else. Like, now that I've opened that door for myself, I'll never be able to fully shut it again. But I’m trying my best to encourage my mind in other directions. We'll see how that goes.

I am still donating all proceeds from my store to Palestinian causes. So far, I've donated over $15K, not including donations coming from my own pocket or the fundraising streams which jointly raised around $10K. In the time since I made my initial post about where this money would be going, the focus has shifted from aid organisations to directly donating to escape funds.

If you'd like to do the same, you can look at Operation Olive Branch, which hosts hundreds of Palestinian escape funds or donate to Safebow, which has helped facilitate the safe crossing and securing of important medical procedures for over 150 at-risk palestinians since the beginning of the genocide.

#cw: suicidal ideation #cw: suicide #cw: self harm #cw: mental health #cw: depression #i made the balloon the main representation of my self destructive urges for a reason but im not going to explain it #i tried to keep a lot of the details in this vague #it would be my worst nightmare if this comic encouraged someone to hurt themselves #so. please dont #for a long time even the thought of making this comic felt so insipid and narcissistic #with the state of the world as it is #having the only threat to your life be yourself felt so privileged and trite and shameful #but doing this comic made me sit down and process things in full #and im just. very grateful i didn't give in to my thoughts back when i sincerely felt i'd be more useful to the world dead #i also feel the need to say that this wont represent everyone's battle with mental illness. its unfortunately different for all of us #there is no fix-all #and im afraid this might be one of those comics that either resonates a lot or misses the target by a mile #i made it for myself foremost. and now that its done im glad i did it #thank you for reading #and please stay alive #stillindigo art #stillindigo comics

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enfinizatics · 2 months ago

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dear americans,

as a polish queer woman and human rights activist, i know exactly how you're feeling right now and what to expect from these elections. i lived through the 2015-2023 regime of pis, a right-wing populist party that divided families in the same way trump did. i’ve experienced the rise of fascism in poland, the influence of far-right parties like konfederacja, and their “santa’s little helpers”—ordo iuris, an ultra-conservative catholic organization (banned in many countries, mind you) that helped enforce a near-total abortion ban and runs anti-queer campaigns in public spaces. i supported the black protests in 2016 as a middle schooler when they first tried to ban abortion. as an adult, i actively participated in the 2020 women’s strike, running from police tear gas daily after they finally passed the ban. i supported friends who faced charges.

i’ve lived through intense homophobia in poland as a queer teen and adult. i survived the first pride march in my hometown, where far-right extremists threw stones and glass at us. i endured the anti-queer propaganda spread by the ruling party in state-owned media. i survived the “rainbow night,” poland’s own stonewall moment in summer 2020, when police arrested around 50 queer activists following the arrest of margo, a nonbinary activist. i survived the "lgbt-free zones," the targeted violence, the slurs from strangers on the street, and the protests i held against queerphobia. it was hard as fuck, but i survived.

but just because i survived, it doesn’t mean others did. many women died because of the abortion ban—marta, justyna, izabela, dorota, joanna, maria, and many others who didn’t survive pis’s draconian anti-abortion laws. milo, kacper, michał, zuzia (she was 12), wiktor, and other queer and trans kids and young adults took their own lives because of the relentless queerphobia.

despite all of this, our experience in poland can serve as a guide now. here are some tips for staying safe and how we, polish queers and women, organized under the regime:

safety first, always. if you know someone who’s had an abortion, no you don’t. if you know someone is trans, no you don’t. if you know people who help with safe abortions, no you don’t—at least not until you know it’s 100% safe to share. if you are queer or have had an abortion, only share this with people you trust fully. most importantly, not everyone has to be an activist just because they’re part of a minority. if it feels unsafe to share that you're queer, trans, etc., then don’t. it doesn’t make you any less queer.

use secure, encrypted messaging like signal for conversations on potentially risky topics, such as queerness, abortion, organizing counter-actions, protests—anything that might be used against you.

stay anonymous online. if you want to research or report something without surveillance, do not use regular internet. get a vpn (mullvad is affordable and reliable), download the tor browser (for both onion and standard links), and if you plan to whistleblow, consider using a riseup email account.

organize and build networks. community is everything now. support each other, foster independence, because your government won’t have your back. set up collectives, grassroots movements. create lists of trusted professionals—lawyers, doctors, etc.—who can offer support.

to lawyers and doctors: please consider pro-bono work. this is what got us through poland’s hardest times. your work will be needed now more than ever.

for protests or risky actions: always write a pro-bono lawyer’s number on your arm with a permanent marker.

get to know the anarchist black cross federation and other resources on safety culture: "Starting an anarchist black cross group: A guide"; Still We Rise - A resource pack for transgender and non-gender conforming people in prison; Safe OUTside the system by the Audre Lorde Project;

for safe abortion info or involvement: get familiar with womenhelpwomen.

stay radical, stay strong, stay informed: The Anarchist Library

if i forgot to (or didn't) include something, don't hesitate to reblog this post with other resources.

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seumyo · 22 days ago

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bakugou “do it yourself—no—i’ll do it” katsuki.

In simple theory, you have your husband, Bakugou Katsuki, wrapped around your finger. And he can fight it all he wants, but it’s nothing if not the wholehearted truth.

“Hey, can you grab me some coffee?”

Bakugou didn’t even look up from his phone. “No. Get your own damn coffee.”

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically, turning your attention back to your work. You didn’t miss the way Bakugou grumbled under his breath as he stood up a few moments later. When he returned, he placed a steaming cup of coffee on your desk without a word.

You hid your smile behind the rim of the cup. “Thanks, Katsuki.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, glaring at you.

Later that afternoon, you two were sparring in the gym in the comfort of your home—courtesy to your husband insisting that it’s a non-negotiable when arranging the first designs of your dream home together. You were struggling to move one of the heavier training dummies back into its original position, and once again you had the brilliant idea of putting your theory to the test.

What’s the point of having a husband if he doesn’t let you do things like these?

You let out an exaggerated sigh and turned to Bakugou, who was wiping sweat from his brow. For a moment, you forgot what you were about to say—momentarily distracted by how good he looks, muscles glistening and all with his signature black tank top.

Goddamn, you scored a hottie.

“Katsuki, help me move this,” you called, pointing at the dummy.

“No way,” he shot back immediately. “You’re the one who moved it there, so you deal with it.”

“Fine,” you sighed, turning back to the dummy and giving it an exaggerated shove. Before you could try again, Bakugou had stormed over, cursing at the dummy under his breath. He grabbed the dummy with one hand and effortlessly dragged it back into place.

“There. Happy now?” he grunted.

Oh, so it could be resist, then actually do it, or refuse while doing it anyway.

You smiled. “Very. Thanks, Katsuki.”

“Shut up,” he growled, his ears slightly tinged with pink.

By the end of the week, it had become a game for you. You’d ask for the simplest things, knowing full well that Bakugou would always refuse—only to do it anyway. Maybe it’s his love language to refuse but comply nevertheless.

“Can you pass me the remote?”

“No. Use your legs.” Hands it over.

“Can you open this jar for me?”

“Do it yourself.” Opens it in one twist.

“Can you get groceries on your way home?”

“Fuck no.” What do you mean he’s already loading the grocery bags in his car?

“Can you carry my bag for a second?”

“Die. I’m not your damn pack mule.” Carries it all the way home.

One evening, you two were sitting on the couch of your home, eating takeout and watching a movie. You were cuddled up with a freshly ironed blanket—thanks to Bakugou, who had done the laundry yesterday while you did the ironing when everything had dried enough—poking at your food lazily. You turned to Bakugou, your head resting on the couch cushion.

“Hey, can you grab me some water?” you asked with a sweet smile.

Bakugou glared at you, pausing mid-bite, his usual scowl in place. “No. You’ve got legs. Use ‘em.”

“Okay,” you said simply, turning your attention back to the movie.

You decided that you’ll get water once you finish this specific scene.

Bakugou lasted all of five minutes before he let out a loud groan, stomping to the kitchen and returning with a glass of water. He shoved it into your hands, his expression equal parts annoyed and resigned.

“There,” he grumbled. “Happy now?”

You took the glass with a smug grin. “Thanks, Katsuki. You’re the best.”

He sank back onto the couch, crossing his arms and glaring at the screen. “You’re so damn annoying.”

“You love me,” you said teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his ears turning red. But he didn’t deny it.

“Married me, too. So I don’t think you mind at all.”

“Die.”

“‘til death do we part, Kats.”

And despite all his protests, you knew the truth. Katsuki Bakugou might have sworn you’d never have him wrapped around your finger, but with every little thing he did for you—grudgingly or not—you knew you had your conclusion.

Even if it’s a little bit.

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whereisthedamndaddymanual · 1 year ago

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We're in our early 20's and I'm taken into a deceptive web of a child psychologist who spends a lot of time describing her lacy bra and panties.

And she is convinced I'm Hung. So strange when she's never seen the size of it.

Me: *sigh* it would be great if Andrea would get online on top for the top and still somehow remain a bottom feeding sub.

#hold on need to go get ham #does that mean you licked it I hope so #mmm #hell yeah #you know how dirty I get with you #sometime in the near future to pass past and such #it opens at the close yes that is cryptic #yeah there is still the whole listen bro you're ass is for real gonnabe flying #and that is just too much to believe and yet it is pretty insistent a want for stratos was not in vein #it is possible I require a decent dose #op's...well I would just like I dunno oass out nodded or whatever #but mix that with some snow from Colorado (ok I get it you gotta cold need a hanky)#odd the thought of Arthur crossed my mind in that room #you: oh my grandpa thoughts together you're great #this old one seems to know #he is the one that said not long now #blackened whatever in the toaster #3 and 7....like the man almost knows they look the same on the knib position #10 year warranty... classic #these keyboards Lenovo #boy: playing keyboards #*shrugs* with him? you never know with wiki Cooper #weird old manager on the graveyard shift playing coast to coast #Galactica space ghost(s)#if you are inside his mind smh good grief #(btw I think they got some like hella freaky shit going on)#what kinda my boyfriend is the most important thing in the world (I wasn't there)#but he definitely liked her amd was confused about the statement #A lot of feelings from her to him to conclude but this is what she said #hey bud look at her I don't care ok alright sorry tell your dom I'm sorry but I you're both mine so kiss my ass

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wheresarizona · 1 month ago

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but he’s the one I want

summary: All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch.

His brown eyes squeeze shut. “Lord help me,” he says under his breath. A second passes, and then he’s looking at you. “Fuck it—I’m already goin’ to hell.” Joel’s large palms grab your face, pulling you in to crush his lips against yours, muffling your surprised sound.

pairing: DBF!Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller/College Student f!reader (no physical descriptions)

rating: E (18+!!! No y/n, DBF!Joel Miller, slightly possessive Joel Miller, pre-Outbreak, age gap, explicit consent, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, spit as lube, overstimulation, sex on stairs, body worship, slight body insecurity, getting caught, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, Die Hard is a Christmas movie debate)

word count: 11.5k+

a/n: Alexa, play “But Daddy I Love Him” by Taylor Swift. I don’t know where this came from (daddy issues), but I hope you enjoy it! Reader is freshly 21 in my head, Joel is 35 (it’s months before his birthday), and Tommy is 29. Let me know what you think! Big shoutout to @devineconjuring for going on this journey with me and betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Main Masterlist

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s a Friday night; the sky is dark, but the porch light is on. You hug your jacket a little closer to your body to stave off the chill in the air as you wait outside the front door for someone to answer it. A masculine voice calls out, "Comin’!" Footsteps thud on the hardwood floor as they head your way.

Seconds later, the door is cracked open, and you’re met with the home’s owner, Joel Miller. Just the sight of him in his jeans and navy blue t-shirt has your heart rate picking up in speed, the man looking as handsome as ever.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion when he sees you.

"Hey," he greets. "What are you doin' here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

University of Houston—go, Cougars!

You smile. "Three-day weekend—I have Monday off. I thought I'd surprise my dad since it's his birthday."

The confused look doesn’t disappear. "I coulda sworn he told me they were goin' to Vegas to celebrate a few days ago." ‘They’ being your father, stepmother, and your teenage half-brother.

“Well, I guess it slipped his mind to tell me they were going out of town. He must be getting forgetful in his old age.”

The relationship you have with your father is… complicated. It’s not bad by any means—you get along and love each other. He just wasn’t very present when you were growing up—he lived in Austin while you were with your mom in Houston, only seeing him a few times per year. Now that you have a car and your mom moved out of state last year with her new husband, you occasionally made the three-hour drive to your dad’s to visit and do your laundry free of charge. It was also where you now stayed on your breaks from school.

Joel opens the door a little wider and crosses his arms over his chest, your eyes moving from his face to admire the broadness in his shoulders and the muscles in his forearms. Having his full attention on you makes the nerves in your belly flutter around like a bunch of butterflies were let loose.

“He’s not much older than me,” Joel says. His eyebrow lifts. “Are you callin’ me old?”

The man in question happens to be one of your father’s best friends—or so you’ve been told. In all of the visits to your dad’s growing up, you could count the number of times you saw Joel on one hand. Over the past year that you’ve been coming to Austin regularly, you’ve had much more interaction with him, which has led to you developing a little bit of a crush. Who can blame you, though? He’s gorgeous—the chocolate-colored eyes, the hair that looks so soft, that perfect nose, and those kissable lips.

“If the shoe fits,” you reply with a shrug and a smile.

“Kids these days,” Joel grumbles under his breath, shaking his head. “Did you come by just to call me old?” he asks.

“Oh, no. I was expecting at least one person to be at my dad’s, so I didn’t bother bringing my house key. I’m here to see if you possibly have a spare I could borrow—I would’ve called, but I don’t have your number.”

Maybe he’d give it to you now…

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I don’t.”

Hot and a sweetheart—how is he single? Is he single?

You frown, feeling annoyed that you drove all this way to Austin for no reason. You should’ve called ahead, but that was your mistake, assuming your family would stay in town for your father’s birthday. “This was a waste of gas,” you muse. “Love that for me. Well, it looks like I’m heading home, or maybe I’ll get a cheap motel room. Thanks anyway, Joel. Have a nice rest of your night!” You do a little wave at him.

You start to turn, but stop when he says, “Wait,” and you face him again. He opens the door wider. “It’s too late for you to be drivin’ all that way, and there’s no reason you should pay for a motel when I’ve got a guest room you can stay in. You can get a good night's sleep and leave tomorrow mornin’ when the sun’s shinin’.”

Again, a sweetheart—why hasn’t anyone snatched him up? Or have they?

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He finally offers you a friendly smile and moves to open the door all the way. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I was feelin’ lonely anyway with Sarah gone at a sleepover. It’ll be nice to have some company that isn’t my brother.”

Lonely? Nice to have some company? That sounds pretty single to you. Your night just got a lot more interesting. “Thank you so much! I’ll do my best to be better company than your brother.”

With that, you make your way inside, toeing off your shoes next to a pair of his work boots.

“That won’t be too hard,” Joel says as he shuts the door.

You stop in the entryway because you’re not quite sure where you should be going since you've never actually been inside his house. You only know where he lives because your father once asked you to drop something off here.

“Let me get your coat and bag.” You hand him your small purse, and he moves behind you, helping as you shrug off the long jacket you’re wearing, which he hangs up on a nearby coat hook with your bag. “Oh.” He stops in his tracks, and you look at him, seeing his widened eyes staring at your body. “Were you plannin’ on goin’ out tonight?”

You glance down at your outfit, and you can understand why he’d make that assumption at the sight of the cute little black dress you’re wearing—it only reaches mid-thigh and has a V-neckline to show off your breasts.

“Not going out—it’s laundry day. I do my laundry when I come to Austin, and this was literally the last clean thing I had.” Your eyes lift to see his glued to your chest, and you think that’s an interesting development. “I have spare clothes I keep at my dad’s that I planned on changing into.”

It’s the truth, and you’re a little thankful this was your last clean outfit. You can only imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been coming over here in a ratty old T-shirt, granny panties, and your Spongebob Squarepants pajama pants.

He clears his throat and looks away. A rosy blush appears on his cheeks as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I can put my jacket back on,” you tell him, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable.

“No, no.” He meets your gaze, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s fine—do you need to use my washer and dryer?”

“You’re already being nice, letting me stay over. I can wash my clothes at the laundromat when I get home.”

“It’s really no big deal.”

“Thank you, but I’m good.”

“Okay.” His hands go in his pockets, and he seems to get very interested in the short console table against the wall, staring at the contents lying atop it—a stack of unopened mail and what you assume are his keys and wallet.

“So, what were you doing before I interrupted your evening?”

“Oh—” He looks at you again. “—I was watchin’ a movie. Would you like to join me?”

You smile. “Sure—lead the way.”

He takes you to the living room, where a movie is paused on the television, and lets you know you can sit anywhere. Your choices are one of two armchairs and a maroon leather sofa, and you choose the sofa while he heads for the kitchen.

“Would ya like a beer?” he calls out on his way to the other room. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond because a second later, he’s back at the doorway to the living room with a confused expression again. “Wait, are you old enough to drink…?”

The question makes you smile. “Yes, Joel. I’m old enough to drink.”

“Legally…?”

You giggle. “Yes. I can legally drink. You wanna card me?”

“No.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Beer?”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay.” He nods.

As you sit on the couch waiting, you become very aware of the situation you’re in. You’ve spoken to Joel one-on-one a handful of times over the last year, but it always happened at a barbecue or a holiday party—places where there were other people around—you’ve never been alone with Joel. This is new territory, and you’re not entirely sure what to expect, especially considering how he was staring at your chest.

Would you fuck him if given the chance? Yes, zero hesitation. Do you think you have a chance with him? Maybe, and that thrills you. Just two things are working against you: your age and the fact he’s your father’s best friend. Those are two hurdles you’re not entirely sure how to get over, but you’re definitely game to try.

Your conversations were always friendly in the past, and you’re proud to say you’ve made him laugh a few times. You think you could possibly charm him. What you know for sure is he’ll need to be very aware that you’re interested; otherwise, he won’t even fathom trying anything with you—thank god you’re wearing this dress. Nerves are swirling in your tummy at what could happen tonight, and you’re eager to see where things go.

Joel returns with two open bottles of beer, handing you one, and you thank him as he takes a seat right next to you. He leans forward to grab the remote and hits play before sitting back and taking a drink.

He’s so close to you that you get a whiff of his cologne—it has a spiciness to it and some citrusy notes that, when combined, smell amazing. It makes you think he took a shower when he got home from work today—and, suddenly remembering he’s a contractor, you imagine him shirtless and sweaty while using a hammer. The thought causes your mouth to go dry, so you lift your bottle to your lips for a sip, focusing on the TV.

It’s easy to figure out what he’s watching when you see Josh Hartnett in clothes from the 1940s.

“Pearl Harbor?” you ask, now holding your drink on your lap, picking at the label with your fingernail.

“Yeah.” His head turns your way, his beer resting on his thigh. “Have you seen it?”

Meeting his eyes, you answer, “Oh, yeah.”

He frowns. “Because it’s a girly movie?”

“Um, kinda? The guys are pretty easy on the eyes, and the story is interesting. I wouldn't say it’s super girly. Sure, it’s a romance, but there’s so much action and drama about the war in it.”

“The back of the DVD said nothin’ about it bein’ a romance.”

“Are you enjoying it, at least?” you ask.

He sighs and looks back at the television. “Yeah, I am.”

“Then enjoy it! If anyone asks what we watched, I’ll tell them Die Hard.” You lightly pat his thigh closest to you, feeling the muscles tense under your palm.

His gaze returns to you. “You’ve seen Die Hard?”

“Yes. A few times.”

Because it’s your dad’s favorite movie.

His upper body slightly turns your way, his arm going behind you on the couch. The closeness and the attention he’s giving you make your skin heat.

“I want you to settle somethin’ my brother Tommy and I disagree on—have you met Tommy?”

“Once.” At a barbecue. He didn’t catch your attention like Joel did. “What am I settling?”

“Do you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie?”

“What…?”

“Tommy is fuckin’ convinced that Die Hard is a Christmas movie, and I say it’s just another action flick. A good one, but definitely not a Christmas movie.”

It takes you a second to process what he asked.

“I mean,” you start, “it takes place on Christmas Eve, at a Christmas party, and I’d say it’s a Christmas miracle that John McClane happened to be there to save the day. So, yeah, it’s totally a Christmas movie.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me. Just ‘cause it takes place on Christmas Eve at a Christmas party doesn’t mean it’s a Christmas movie.”

You point the neck of your beer at him. “You forgot John McClane being a Christmas miracle. Makes sense to me that it’s a Christmas movie.”

He takes a deep breath. “So, are you tellin’ me that—what the fuck is that movie called?” His eyes leave you as he thinks, trying to remember the name. “Lethal Weapon!” He looks at you again. “So, you’re tellin’ me that Lethal Weapon would also be a Christmas movie? Have you seen that one?”

Yep, with your father.

“I have, and yeah, it’s a Christmas movie. You’ve got drug dealers using a Christmas tree business as a front, Christmas is mentioned all throughout, they use a bunch of Christmas songs, and it ends at Christmas dinner. Absolutely a Christmas movie.”

“Say you’re messin’ with me, darlin’. You know what a Christmas movie is, right?

“Yeah, you’ve got the heavy hitters—It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, A Christmas Carol—then those stop-motion ones that are delightful. I’d put Die Hard and Lethal Weapon in the same category as Home Alone.”

“Why the hell do you think Home Alone is a Christmas movie?”

“It’s set during the holiday season, and there’s a ton of Christmas imagery and music. Plus, you’ve got Kevin going on a similar journey as the main character in It’s a Wonderful Life where, in the end, he realizes how much he loves and needs his family—sounds pretty Christmas-y to me.”

His jaw clenches, and it’s seconds before he inhales deeply and looks back at the TV.

“Son of a bitch,” he sighs, shaking his head. “They’re fuckin’ Christmas movies.” He takes a long drink of his beer.

You grin. “They are indeed,” you reply and pat his thigh again.

His bottle lowers, and he looks over at you. “Even though you somehow made a dumbass like Tommy make sense, you’re definitely better company than him. He’d never let me live this down.”

He’s visibly relaxed, and you have, too. The fact he’s enjoying you being there has calmed your nerves, and you’re having a great time talking to him. Plus, he’s nice to look at.

“Then it’ll be our secret,” you say. “Like how we’re totally watching Die Hard right now, and not—” Your eyes go to the TV, and they widen. “—the one sex scene in Pearl Harbor.” It’s nothing too risque and honestly kind of lame.

Joel looks, too. “They’re just rollin’ around on the ground…”

“It’s PG-13, Joel. I don’t know what you’re expecting from a movie where they can only say fuck once, and titties are prohibited.”

His head turns your way. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he says, and when your eyes land on his, you find that he’s smiling—your heart skips a beat.

“A good something or a bad something?”

“A good somethin’.”

You share his expression. “You’re something else, too.”

“A good somethin’ or a bad somethin’?”

“A very good something.”

His eyes darken, and suddenly, his attention returns to the movie. Joel clears his throat, then chugs the rest of his beer, leaning forward to set the empty bottle on the coffee table.

When he sits back, his arm is still behind you on the top of the couch, and he scoots the tiniest bit your way to have your bodies touching.

It’s clear that there’s a shift to the energy in the room, and the tension becomes palpable—he likes you, and you think there’s a possibility he more than likes you with how close he is. The thought has your heart pounding, and you’re unsure what to do next. You’ve only been with boys your own age, and Joel is so much older and more experienced.

The panic has you blurting out, “Are you seeing anyone?” Then, backpedaling, “Not that it’s any of my business, so don’t feel obligated to answer.”

He looks at you, and you keep staring at the TV, almost wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

“Why do you wanna know?”

“I’m nosy.”

He huffs in amusement. “You only wanna know ‘cause you’re nosy?”

“That’s what I said.”

“No other reason?”

“Can’t think of any.”

“Okay—no, I’m not seein’ anyone. What about you? You got a boy back in Houston worryin’ about you?”

“Nope.”

“Really?” The genuine surprise in his voice has your head turning to see the matching expression.

“What’s so shocking about that?”

He frowns. “I beg your pardon, darlin’. It just doesn’t make much sense that someone as pretty and fun as you doesn’t have a line of boys waitin’ their turn to take you out.”

Those butterflies in your stomach are flapping around again.

“Not really.” You shrug. “Plus, the guys my age usually only want sex but aren’t very, um, giving, if you know what I mean.”

Now he looks grumpy. “Selfish boys,” he grumbles, and it makes you smile.

“So, not an issue with someone older like you. Good to know.” You squeeze his thigh and keep speaking so he can’t reply, “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you single?”

For some reason, he can’t look at you now, focusing on your hand. He reaches across his body to grab yours with his larger one, staring at your fingers. He lets out a long, weary sigh, his thumb rubbing against each of your dark blue-painted fingernails.

“Women don’t particularly like that Sarah is the most important person in my life and my top priority…”

“But she’s your daughter, she should be your top priority.”

“That’s the logic, but they want me all to themselves and don’t like sharing.”

“Joel?”

His face lifts to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve dated some truly shitty women.”

He smiles. “I guess I have. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve given up on datin’. It’s just a waste of time.”

“That is such a shame.”

His dark eyes get even darker. “You’re trouble.”

“Why am I trouble?”

His eyebrow arches. “Your daddy would kill me.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second as you take in the statement—he’s into you, he’s really into you. Now, what are you going to do?

“Don’t you remember, Joel?” you ask and move to put your beer on the table. When you sit back, you cuddle a little closer into his side. “You were worried about me driving home in the dark, so you offered me your guest room—we watched Die Hard, then turned in for the night. You’re a stand-up guy for keeping your friend’s daughter safe.”

His eyes move from yours to your mouth, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face—his palm is so big his fingertips almost reach the back of your head. He starts leaning in, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought that he’s going to kiss you, and you stop breathing when his lips are only a hair’s breadth away from yours.

And then he pauses.

“Tell me why you really came here tonight,” he rasps.

That confuses you, your brows pulling together, and you sit back to see his face. “I did? I needed to see if you had a spare key to my dad’s house.”

His eyes are on yours. “Bullshit—there’s no way this just happened to be the last outfit you had.” He looks directly at your tits.

“It is if you wait super last minute to do your laundry, and I told you, I have other clothes at my dad’s. Why do you think I came over here?”

His gaze goes back to yours. “With that dress you’re wearin’ and how you keep lookin’ at me, for a lot more than needin’ a key.”

“You thought I came over here to seduce you…?”

“Yeah…?”

“Wow.” You gently pat his cheek. “You think I’m way bolder than I actually am—me coming here and the outfit was not premeditated.” You shake your head.

His eyes round, and you’d think he was burned by how quickly his hand leaves you and how he moves away a little to put space between you. “Fuck, have I been readin’ this wrong?”

You scoot to have yourself against him again. “The assumption I came here specifically to seduce you was very wrong. But you’re right that I definitely want you to fuck me, Joel.”

“Shit,” he breathes out and scrubs a palm over his face. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble.”

Turning his way, you rub your hand along his jeans-covered thigh. “No, I’m not,” you tell him. “Stop thinking, and kiss me.”

His hand lowers. “Not thinkin’ is gonna get me killed.”

“Not thinking is going to get you a blow job and pussy.” You press your palm between his legs over where you can feel he’s already hardening. “Hell, I’ll sweeten the deal—you can come anywhere you want.”

His eyes go wide. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and you smile. His reaction makes you brave.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and we’ll go back to watching the movie and pretend nothing happened. Or—and I like this option more—you kiss me, and we’ll go as far as you’re willing to go.” Your hand moves up to hold his cheek, and it’s a good sign when he leans into your touch as you stare into his eyes. “But I’m going to make myself crystal clear, Joel. I want you—badly. You’re beyond sexy, and the fact you’re older and have a lot more experience than me is a big turn-on. I’d love to know what good sex is like for once and maybe have you teach me some things.” You shrug your shoulder. “It’s up to you, though. Just know I’m more than willing.”

This kiss is unlike any you’ve experienced before. You’re used to overeager boys practically shoving their tongues down your throat the first chance they get, yet here’s Joel claiming your lips—you can feel his every want and his desire for you with how thoroughly he kisses you. The soft pillow of his mouth moves with yours, his scent filling your nose—hints of the beer he drank and his spicy cologne imprinting this moment in your mind. Your eyes flutter closed, and your head goes dizzy from the arousal igniting in your belly.

Just one kiss and you know you’re ruined for anyone else.

His arms go around you, and he mouths at your chin. “Come here,” he says against your skin. “Get in my lap.”

You do as you’re told, bunching up the bottom of your dress at your waist and moving to straddle his thighs. His hands go under your clothes to grab your ass, and he’s so surprised to feel bare skin he leans back with the confused expression you’re becoming intimately familiar with.

“You really didn’t come over just to fuck me?” he asks. His palms wander, and you know he’s discovered your thong when he hooks a thumb under its stretchy waistband—they were the last clean pair of underwear you had.

“I really didn’t.” You’re curious about something. “But if I had, what are the chances that I would’ve succeeded…?”

“With this dress and a little convincin’? Pretty good.”

You smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and smart. I know this is a bad idea, and it’ll probably bite me in the ass later, but I’m so fuckin’ lonely, and you’re just too damn temptin’ to pass up.”

The truth is clear in his eyes and makes you kiss him—your fingers comb into the hair at the back of his head, finding it softer than you thought it’d be. It starts off slow and tender, just lips to lips, until Joel deepens it, the tip of his tongue making it past your lower lip. Hearing that he’s lonely tugs at your heart, and you want to do everything you can to make that loneliness disappear. Things start to heat up, and all you can do is follow his lead, moaning as he explores your mouth with his tongue. With his palms on your backside, he helps you rock your hips, grinding yourself against his hard cock beneath his jeans, rubbing your clit just right to fan the flames growing in your core.

When you finally need to come up for air, his hand grips your chin to turn your head as you pant, Joel kissing and nipping at your skin from the base of your neck up—tingles wash down your spine when he nibbles on your jaw. He gently bites your earlobe, and you gasp when his hot breath tickles your ear.

He huskily whispers into it, “You want me?” His hand fondles your breast.

“Yes.”

“I can touch you?”

“Anywhere.”

“I need you to be a good girl and tell me when you do and don’t like things—understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he purrs.

The way those two words make your cunt clench has you moaning, ”Fuck.”

He easily unzips the back of your dress, tugging the garment up and over your head, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. You’re sitting astride his lap, the dark pools of his eyes taking in your mostly naked body, his big hands massaging your bra-covered breasts. It’s surprising that being under his gaze, you don’t immediately feel self-conscious, and you think that has to do with how he’s looking at you—the desire and appreciation clear as he admires you.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, nodding towards what he’s touching.

“Yes.”

He sits up straighter, and it’s quick work for him to get your bra off, it landing on top of your dress. He’s focused on your tits, holding them in his palms, weighing them. He leans forward, sucking your nipple into his mouth, and the sudden shock of pleasure has your breath catching in your throat, your fingers grabbing handfuls of his shirt for something to hold onto. When he grazes his teeth over the stiff bud, your entire body shivers—your panties have a wet spot from your pussy leaking your arousal for him. He gives your other breast the same attention, leaving your skin shiny from spit when he comes off of it with a wet pop to look at you.

“Lie down on the couch, baby.” He pats the empty seat next to him. “Your head all the way at the other end.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. You scramble out of his lap, the couch’s leather creaking as you crawl over to where he instructed and sit back on your elbows to see what’s happening. Joel grunts as he gets up to stand, watching in interest when he squeezes the noticeable bulge at the front of his jeans. His arm goes behind his head to grab his shirt, pulling it up and off of his body to bare his torso.

At seeing so much of his golden skin, your jaw goes slack—his freckled chest is so broad, tapering down to his trim waist, his abs showing a little bit of muscle definition you think is from doing manual labor and not working out. Your eyes fixate on the happy trail of hair below his belly button that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Sure could get used to you lookin’ at me like that.”

That has your attention snapping up to his face, where you find him smirking, and you close your mouth.

“Sorry,” you apologize, your eyes darting away from him.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, darlin’. Makes me feel pretty fuckin’ great about the shape I’m in.”

You look at him again. “Hate to break it to you, babe, but you’re in great shape and so hot—you’re really down to fuck me?” You point at yourself.

He kneels on the sofa by your feet, his hand on the back of it to steady himself.

“Darlin’, if I didn’t know your daddy, and you were a stranger I met in a bar, I’d bring you home in a heartbeat. I feel like a real lucky son of a bitch that someone as young and pretty as you has any interest in an old guy like me.” He lifts one of your legs and gently kisses the inside of your ankle, the sweetness of it making you melt a little.

“Oh, I’m very interested in you.”

“Is that so?” he asks and spreads open your legs. He crawls over you, and you lie back, Joel nestling his hips between your thighs for you to feel how hard he is as he dips his head, kissing up the column of your throat—the nerves in your stomach flutter wildly.

“Yes,” you whisper and need to touch him, wrapping your arms around his torso to press your palms against the warm skin on his shoulders—his body shudders, a rumbling groan coming from his chest.

You squeak in surprise when his lips are suddenly on yours, kissing you hard.

He takes over all of your senses—he’s all you see, he’s all you feel, he’s all you taste, he’s all you hear, he’s all you smell. It’s him, and him alone—his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his weight on top of you. Your fingers thread into his hair, moaning as he takes over your very world, reveling in this feeling of being wanted.

His lips leave yours, both of you breathing a little heavier. His teeth gently sink into your chin before kissing along the underside of your jaw.

He speaks into your skin, his words muffled, “I’m very interested in you, too. I shouldn’t be, but I am.” His mouth ends up at your ear, and he quietly asks, “Can I eat your pussy?”

“Oh.” The question surprises you. “I’m usually the one who asks. Do you want me to blow you first?” There was always a quid pro quo when it came to oral.

His head lifts to look you in the eye.

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?”

“You’ve been with some truly shitty boys.”

It makes you laugh, and he smiles.

“Ain’t that the truth,” you reply.

“It should always be ladies first—may I?”

What a gentleman.

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” he says and pecks you on the lips.

He doesn’t immediately move off of you, and it catches you off guard. Instead, his mouth blazes a trail, kissing down your body—your neck, your chest, and your belly. This is when your self-consciousness rears its ugly head. Joel is getting up close and personal with your imperfections—your scars, stretch marks, cellulite, all those little details you normally kept hidden in the safety of dark rooms or under shirts when you hooked up with someone. Now, you’re basically naked, the lamp is on, and he can see it all, which makes you feel uneasy.

He kisses just above your belly button, then below it, going lower and lower until he places one last kiss on your panties, over your mound. He sits up on his knees, tracing the lines and curves of your thighs and hips with his large palms while he drinks you in as you lie there—you have to fight the urge to cover yourself, unable to meet his gaze.

The silence is broken when Joel speaks. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your eyes seek out his face where you don’t find any deception, but you have to ask, “Really?”

“Really.” He nods. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His attention goes to the apex of your thighs, and the pink of his tongue swipes along his bottom lip as if he’s imagining how you’ll taste. He strokes the pad of his thumb over the visible damp spot on your underwear, his other hand squeezing his cock that’s straining in his jeans.

“I bet you have the prettiest pussy, too,” he says, and gets his fingers under the elastic waistband on your panties, pulling them down and off your legs, the air cool against your now bared skin. He shuffles back a little, then bends forward, spreading your lips open with two fingers as his face hovers over it. You think your heart might beat out of your chest with how fast it’s thudding, your skin feeling so hot. “I fuckin’ knew it, such a pretty pussy,” Joel murmurs. He circles your clit with his thumb, and the pleasure has every muscle in your body tensing and your eyes closing. “You’re gonna taste so good.”

He loudly groans as he drags the flat of his tongue along your cunt, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

“Oh, god,” you moan, your body squirming at how good it feels.

Joel has to pin down your hips with an arm across them to keep you still, his face buried in your pussy. He goes straight to the source, lapping at your entrance to taste your arousal while the tip of his perfect nose rubs against your bundle of nerves, his facial hair prickling your skin.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’re fucked.

It’s not even a minute in, and you can already feel your orgasm taking shape low in your belly, the muscles beginning to wind up. If you thought the first kiss ruined you, you know you’re ruined by how eagerly he’s eating you out—who knew this could be so good? You have to wonder how you’ll ever be able to fool around with anyone else when Joel is all you’ll be able to think about or compare it to—this is the only moment doubt invades your mind. You feel like this is all a mistake, but it’s quickly squashed by how unbelievably horny and curious you are.

His mouth lifts, and you whine at its loss. “Gimme a second,” he pants. “I gotta see how tight you are.” That’s when one of his thick fingers presses to your soaked opening, and he slowly starts to push it inside.

The slight stretch makes you gasp his name, your fingers clawing at the sofa’s maroon leather.

“Christ,” Joel says. “You’re squeezin’ me. With how fuckin’ tight you are, I’d think this is your first time.”

You sit back up on your elbows and open your eyes to look at him.

“You just have massive fingers, and it’s been a while.”

His gaze meets yours as he smirks. “Well, I’m gonna loosen you up with my massive fingers, and I think you’ll enjoy it.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. His head dips, flicking his tongue side-to-side against your clit when you feel the sudden pressure of his second digit pushing into you—there’s even more of a stretch and the delicious feeling of being full. You fall back on the couch, tangling your fingers into the brown waves of hair on his head, moans falling unbidden from your lips. His digits crook as they pump in and out of you, sliding along your upper wall when they press into something that elicits white-hot pleasure, making you keen and wiggle under the hold he has on your lower half.

Yeah, you’re totally and completely fucked.

He’s relentless with his mouth and fingers as you careen toward your end, free-falling in the throes of pleasure. He’s really going to get you off, and you think you might be in love with him. Is that crazy? Falling for the guy you absolutely should not fall for—that you can’t even have any kind of future with—because it’d ruin both of your lives, especially his.

Why does that make you want him more?

You definitely understand now why Eve ate the forbidden fruit—the temptation leads to such sweet gratification when you give in.

He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, sweeping his tongue around it, and you can hear the wet squelch of him fucking his fingers into your cunt. Your thighs are trembling—you’re so close, the coil inside you winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, and you’re coming with an unintelligible cry. Your body seizes up, euphoria exploding out from your center, radiating to your fingers and toes. Joel removes his digits, his tongue taking their place to catch every bit of your slick he can get, groaning as he lets no drop go to waste.

You’ve never come so hard, feeling a little floaty as you ride out your high, your chest heaving heavy breaths. With how shaky your arms and legs are, you’d think you were out in the freezing cold.

Joel’s mouth comes off of you and he sits up, rubbing his hands along the outside of your legs.

“Such a good girl for me,” he says. “Was it good?”

“Was it good?” you parrot back at him and push yourself up into a sitting position. “It was more than good, Joel—oh my god, it was amazing.”

The bottom half of his face glistens in the lamplight, his shiny lips turning up in a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You still wanna fuck?”

“I think I will die if you don’t fuck me.”

He chuckles, and that’s all the answer he needs. He’s off the couch instantly, and you watch as he hurriedly unbuckles his belt and gets his jeans undone, shoving them and his boxers down his legs so fast it makes you giggle. He’s balancing on one foot, peeling off his sock, and you finally get a good look at his dick—it’s hard and bobbing between his legs, the tip flushed red and shiny from precum, and your eyes round at how big he is.

“Second thoughts?” he asks, taking off his other sock.

Your gaze rises to his, seeing he’s frowning. “No.” You shake your head. “It’s more, ‘I sure hope that thing fits inside me.’”

He crookedly smiles, his chest puffing up a little. “It’ll fit—I promise.” And he has the audacity to wink at you.

Just as quickly as he got off the sofa, he’s getting back on it, kneeling in the space between your spread thighs. His attention is on your pussy, rubbing the tip of himself against your swollen clit and through your wetness. Nerves swirl in your belly, along with arousal, his free hand giving your hip a reassuring squeeze before he’s spitting on his fingers and slicking up his cock. He notches himself at your entrance, and your heart is in your throat as you hold your breath.

“Just relax, baby,” he says. “You can take me.”

He slowly starts feeding his hard length into you, making you gasp when the fat head breaches your slick cunt, your eyes squeezing shut, your fingers digging into the couch’s leather cushions. A groan rumbles from his throat, and you answer with a drawn-out moan as he burrows his thick cock deep inside you, your tight walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. Full doesn’t even begin to describe how stuffed you are—he’s hot inside you, almost searing, and you can feel him pulsing. He bottoms out and goes completely still, his hands on your hips in a bruising grip.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he rasps. “You okay?” His thumbs stroke circles on your skin.

“Yes.” It comes out as more of a squeak. “I just need a second.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Darlin’, baby, and now sweetheart when his dick is inside you? Is he trying to make you fall in love with him?

He bends at the waist, one hand on the couch holding up his weight while the other massages your breast, his lips wrapping around your pebbled nipple, the sparks of pleasure going straight to your pussy. Your fingers wind up in his hair; what he’s doing to you has you whimpering at how good it feels and only makes you wetter where you’re joined. He pulls each of your legs up to rest on his ribs while his mouth moves higher, kissing your sternum and up the arch of your neck, sucking on your pulse point and making you squirm underneath him.

His hands end up on either side of your head, his lips leaving behind a wet streak of kisses along the hinge of your jaw to finally ghost over yours—you can feel his breaths and smell your musk. He’s so close it wouldn’t take much more for your mouths to meet.

His nose nudges yours. “Need more time?” he whispers.

Enough has passed that you don’t feel as overwhelmed. You slide your palms up his back to his shoulders.

“No,” you answer just as quietly. “You can move.”

He pulls out almost all the way and pushes back in as his mouth claims yours, muffling your sounds when he sets up a rhythm of long, hard strokes. You’re gone—all rational thoughts go out the window, and the only thing you can think about is how his cock is moving in and out of you. It’s so distracting you’re having trouble kissing Joel back because your brain keeps screaming, ‘so big, so full, so good.’

You’re feverishly clutching at his shoulder blades, your nails leaving crescent moon imprints and scratches you’re sure will bleed on his golden skin, Joel moaning into your mouth. It surprises you when you feel the familiar tension of another orgasm making itself known deep in your core, the pressure rising with each thrust, the angle of them causing him to slide against spots you never knew existed, and you don’t ever want this to end.

His lips leave yours, pressing his forehead to your cheek. He’s breathing hard, sweat beginning to bead on his skin as he keeps the same pace.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he pants. “Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this pussy. Just wanna stay inside it until my dick is all it knows.”

Your legs are quivering, your body is burning up, and you can’t get enough of how fucking good this feels. One time—one time—and you’re addicted, you’re drunk on the pleasure and will do anything—anything—for this to happen again.

“It’s yours,” you gasp. “Oh, god, it’s yours!”

His lips move to your ear, huskily asking, “It’s mine, baby? Your pussy is mine? I’m fuckin’ ya that good?”

You’re so out of it and lost in the lust you start babbling, “Yes, it’s yours—fuck, ruin me,” you whine.

“That’s what you want, for me to ruin your perfect little pussy?”

“Please—make me feel it. Make me ache to have your cock inside me again. Make me yours.”

He growls, and you think you’ve said the wrong thing because he’s immediately pulling out, your eyes springing open in time to see him sit up on his knees.

His big hands grab hold of your waist. “Flip,” is all he says, and you find yourself getting manhandled onto your front, Joel tugging you up onto your hands and knees. He wastes no time sheathing himself back inside you, pushing in so deep that your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl.

Joel’s hips are flush against your ass, the full length of him seated all the way inside of you—you can’t think, your mouth open in a silent cry. He’s filling you to the absolute brim, and it becomes evident your cup has truly runneth over.

He was right, though. It did fit.

A shuddery breath escapes you. He only allows you a moment to get used to the new fullness before he’s pulling out until just the tip of him remains and snapping his hips forward hard enough it knocks the air from your lungs—this is how you learn what it’s like to really be fucked, and fucked good.

His fingers dig into the skin on your waist, pulling you back as he thrusts forward at a pace that has you lightheaded, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids each time he presses against that heavenly spot inside you.

Warmth grows in your belly, the sounds from the TV overshadowed by the filthy cacophony of skin hitting skin and the audible wetness of his cock working in and out of your used cunt—he’s grunting with each stroke, your moans stuttering from the onslaught.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks through gritted teeth, emphasizing each word with a hard thrust.

It’s a struggle to gather your thoughts and form a response with how good he’s fucking you.

A palm lands on the side of your ass in a loud smack, the sweet sting causing you to clench around him and whimper.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he says. “Is this what you wanted?”

All you can gasp out is a single word. “Yes!”

“Am I fuckin’ you good?”

“Yes!”

He’s pounding into you at a near-brutal pace, the fire inside you only getting hotter as each second passes.

“Look at me,” he orders.

It takes everything in you to turn your head and look over your shoulder. Joel is a sight to behold—a flush rising from his chest to his cheeks, the sweat on his skin making it glisten under the lamp’s light, and his hair sticking wetly to his forehead. His eyes are heavy-lidded and glazed over, his jaw clenched.

He slows, his gaze on yours.

“You wanna be mine?” he asks.

“Yes.”

The moment your answer leaves your lips, he’s blanketing your back, holding himself up with a hand on the couch, the other going under you to palm your breast and tweak your stiff nipple with his fingers.

He lightly bites your earlobe, his facial hair scratching your cheek when he kisses it.

“I’m gonna make you come,” he says through heavy breaths. “Then I’m gonna fuck you full of me—you want that?”

A shiver moves through you, and you gulp.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

His hand smooths down your front over your stomach to between your legs, where he starts circling your clit with two fingers. It’s like a live wire along your spine, electricity sparking in your core—that added to the sensations of his cock splitting you open and pushing in and out of you has you rocketing toward your release.

“You gonna come for me?” His hot breaths fan over your ear. “You gonna let me feel you come all over my cock? Come on, let me have it—come for me.”

Joel’s bent over you, fucking into you harder and faster, his fingers deliciously swirling around your throbbing bud as he grunts in your ear with every thrust, all of it driving you higher and higher to your end.

You’re so worked up that it doesn’t take much to have you falling over the edge—the muscles in your belly pull tight, your orgasm ripping through you, gasping Joel’s name. He sucks in a breath when your pussy clamps down on him, then loudly groans, continuing to fuck you through your high, and doesn’t stop—his fingers keep up their assault on your clit, and his hips snap into you in quick, short bursts that extend your high. You come, and come, and come to the point your arms give out, and your body shakes and twitches from all of the pleasure coursing through it.

When you think you can’t take any more, relief washes over you that Joel follows suit. With one last thrust, he buries himself all the way to the hilt inside you as he falls forward, his front framing your back, his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder. He comes with a dirty, rumbling groan—you feel his dick thicken and pulse, hot spurts of his spend filling you. He grinds his hips, fucking it as deep as it will go, then stills.

The movie’s ending credits are playing, hearing the music and your and Joel’s ragged breaths as you both come down. He’s at the same awkward angle as you, with your hips up and your faces down—his sweaty chest is pressed to your back, your bodies sticking together everywhere they touch. It’s not the most comfortable position, but with how your limbs tremble, you’re not entirely sure you can even move.

You asked him to ruin you, and oh boy, did he deliver—you’re absolutely, positively ruined. It kills you that after whatever this night is, you’ll have to go back to subpar sex with guys who couldn’t find the clit if they were given a map and detailed directions. This is the second time tonight that you fear you’ve made a grave mistake hooking up with Joel, and the post-sex clarity is not helping the situation at all.

What were you thinking?

That’s easy; you weren’t. Or, at the very least, you weren’t thinking with your brain. Your pussy took the lead on this one, and it looks like she’s gotten you into a bit of a situation.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Joel’s arm wraps around your middle, and he turns you two onto your sides, the couch just barely wide enough to fit you both.

“Tha’s better,” Joel slurs, nuzzling his face into your hair. His hand over your stomach feels around until he finds your smaller one, lacing your fingers together and holding it to your chest—oh, he’s cuddling with you. It’s unexpected and nice. You close your eyes and enjoy this taste of intimacy.

Many minutes pass before he mumbles something you can’t make out.

“I’m sorry,” you start and are immediately embarrassed by how hoarse and scratchy your voice sounds from all the sounds you made tonight. You clear your throat and try again, “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

He turns his face so it’s out of your hair.

“I asked if you wanna stay over,” he says.

You smile. “Are you getting forgetful, Joel? You said I could stay over when I got here.”

“Fuckin’ smartass,” he grumbles, and you giggle. “What I meant was, do you wanna stay in my room? With me,” he clarifies.

“Only if you’re okay that I sleep naked—I’m not wearing my dress to bed.”

“Was kinda hopin’ you’d be naked.” He kisses your shoulder. “But if you’re more comfortable wearin’ somethin’, I can get you one of my t-shirts—it’s no big deal.”

“It baffles me that you’re single.”

“Why?”

“Uh, because you’re incredibly sweet, amazing in bed, a great father, very handsome, hardworking, and just an all-around catch. If I had the opportunity, and you know, there wasn’t the elephant in the room—” The fact he’s much older than you and one of your dad’s best friends. “—I’d date you in a heartbeat. If you ever give dating a shot again, you’re going to make one lucky woman very happy.”

“Fuck,” Joel groans, letting go of your hand to press his palm to his face. “What the hell am I doin’?”

That makes your stomach drop, and you frown—he’s regretting everything, and you can’t blame him. The post-sex clarity is a real bitch sometimes.

“Stressing for no reason,” you reply. You’re pretty sure you can walk, so you get up from the sofa, ignoring how wobbly your legs feel and his come leaking down your thigh. “Don’t you remember, Joel?” you ask, looking toward the floor for your clothes. “You let me stay the night ‘cause you were worried about me driving home in the dark.” You carefully bend down to pick up your thong, followed by your bra and dress. “We watched Die Hard,” you continue, straightening to stand. “Then turned in for the night to our respective bedrooms. You’re a real stand-up guy for caring so much about your friend’s daughter’s safety.”

You can’t even look at him, focusing instead on the TV where the Pearl Harbor DVD’s menu is on screen.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Tryin’ to pretend nothin’ happened.”

“You clearly wish nothing happened, so nothing happened—where’s the bathroom?” You need to clean up, and you’re tempted to just leave altogether.

“Up the stairs, second door on the right—when the hell did I say I wished nothin’ happened?”

“You didn’t have to. Your ‘what the hell am I doin’?’ was enough for me to get it.” You hug your clothes closer to your body. “Anyways, thanks for tonight. I think I’m just gonna use the bathroom and get out of here. I don’t want you to worry, so I’ll stay at that cheap motel by the highway.” The sign said it was twenty-something dollars a night, and you can swing that. You start heading toward the stairs.

“Hey, stop.” You don’t. You keep walking, willing the unshed tears in your eyes not to fall.

Why are you so upset? You’re well aware that this can only be a one-time thing. It was something fun and sexy where you got to fuck the older, unattainable guy you’ve been crushing on for a while. It wasn’t anything serious, and couldn’t be anything serious, because there’s no future for you two together. Not when he’s a good friend of your father’s. That kills any chance of having a relationship with Joel.

What hurts is he regrets it and wishes it never happened—you’re a mistake, and who wants to be someone’s mistake?

His heavy footsteps sound behind you. “Darlin’, stop,” he says again, and you continue ignoring him. Fingers latch around your bicep and lightly tug. “Please, stop for a second. Talk to me.” Finally, you do as he’s requested, standing still in front of the staircase. He turns you to look at him in his big brown eyes, his hands holding your arms.

“I don’t wish nothin’ happened,” he says. “You were talkin’ about how if things were different, you’d date me, but since they are the way they are, you won’t. I was thinkin’ to myself ‘what the hell am I doin’ wishin’ you’d change your mind,’ when I know it’s for the best.”

“Oh—really?”

Hope swells in your chest, butterflies fluttering around in your tummy.

“Yeah.” He nods. “Tell me you want nothin’ more to do with me, and I’ll grab you a towel and some of my clothes so you can wash up and retire to the guest room unless you’re truly set on stayin’ in a motel. In that case, I’ll pay for your room somewhere safer and much nicer, so I know you’ll be okay. Or—and I like this option more—you kiss me, and I’ll take you up to my bedroom so we can shower, either together or separately, whatever you’re comfortable with. Then we can get into my bed where we can talk and figure things out.”

It sounds like he doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing, either, and that makes you so happy you let your clothes fall to the floor to throw your arms around his neck, crashing your lips to his. Joel groans, his arm sliding behind your back, hugging you closer to him, his other hand cradling your cheek. Suddenly, he’s backing you up until your heels hit the first step, and he guides you to sit on a higher one, Joel kneeling on a lower stair to be at the right height that his hips slot between your thighs when he lays you back. He licks into your mouth, deepening the kiss, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

With how good he made you feel tonight, how wanted, you need more of him. There’s a looming fear in the back of your mind that this is too good to be true—that you’ll never be with him like this again, which makes you desperate for him. Your hand snakes its way between your bodies, taking his half-hard cock into your palm, slowly stroking it—a low rumble comes from the back of Joel’s throat. He gets his hand to the juncture of your thighs, sliding his fingers through the puffy lips of your sex, gathering your arousal and his come on his fingertips to rub at your swollen clit.

“You’re mine,” he says into your lips.

“I’m yours,” you answer.

This is how you end up fucking on the stairs, Joel thrusting into you at a pace that has your toes curled and your fingers gripping his ass—your spine tingles from his mouth exploring your neck, mapping out the spots that make you gasp and moan, and you’re in heaven.

A door slams shut on the other side of the railing, and your eyes fly open.

“Hey, Asshole!” a man calls.

Joel’s hand covers your mouth, and you watch the intruder walk through the dining room to the kitchen without seeing you.

“I brought over pizza so you can stop bein’ a sad and lonely sonofabitch!”

Joel immediately pulls out and gets off you, using his strength to help you flip over. “Upstairs,” he whispers, tapping you on the hip, and you go as quickly and quietly as you can with Joel following.

You make it to the second-story landing, and he grabs your hand, tugging you all the way down the hall into what you know is his bedroom by how it smells like him. He closes the door and locks it before beelining to his dresser, roughly pulling out one drawer from which he grabs a burgundy t-shirt, then another that he gets a pair of stretchy gray sweatpants.

“Is this a dress?!” Is yelled from downstairs. “Do you have a girl over?! Who’d wanna fuck your sorry ass?!”

Surprisingly, the clothes in Joel’s hands are not for him; he shoves them into your arms and ushers you over to his bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” he says, flicking on the light, the fan automatically turning on. “It’s Tommy. Stay in here, and I’ll kick him out.” Obnoxiously loud footsteps are coming up the stairs, and he has to take a deep breath, his eyes to the sky like he’s praying God will smite his brother right this second. “Lord, give me strength,” he breathes.

“Where would you even meet a girl?!” Tommy asks from the hallway. “All you do is work—you never go out.”

Joel pecks you on the lips. “I’ll be right back—stay in here,” he tells you again, and this time, he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

There’s banging on the bedroom door, and your ears perk up as you put on the clothes.

“Go home, Tommy,” he says.

“Not until I know who this pretty dress belongs to.”

“Give me that—it’s none of your fuckin’ business. Leave.”

“Come on, Joel—we know the same people. Did you finally give in to Nikki? She’s wanted to go out with you for a long fuckin’ time.”

“No, and it’s still none of your fuckin’ business who I have in the house I pay for. So, get goin’, or I’m gonna make you go.”

“You can be a real dick, Joel. Why are you bein’ so fuckin’ secretive?”

“Do I ask about who you take home from the bar?”

“No, but—”

“Exactly,” Joel interrupts. “I don’t give a fuck what you do in your spare time, and I sure as hell don’t need to tell you what I do in mine, so leave, Tommy—I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“With how fuckin’ grouchy you are, I don’t think you got laid at all—I’m gonna get goin’ ‘cause you clearly need the company of a woman. Bye, mystery woman with the pretty dress hidin’ in Joel’s bathroom!” he yells. “Hopefully you can cheer this fucker up! Enjoy the pizza!”

It goes quiet, and you think Joel left the room, too. You can’t go anywhere, so you decide to take in your surroundings—the bathroom is cleaner than you’d expect from a single man, you have to put the toilet seat down when you pee, and as you’re washing your hands, you notice there’s only one toothbrush in a cup.

You know you shouldn’t snoop, but you pull open the medicine cabinet and find an extra tube of toothpaste, some Tylenol, Ibuprofen, a thing of pain relief cream, then a shelf with a few medicine bottles that intrigues you—prescription pain pills, antidepressants, and heartburn medication. No red flags, but you’re a little worried about how much pain he’s in. You close the cabinet, and soft knocking on the bathroom door makes you jump.

“You can come out,” Joel’s muffled voice says. “He’s gone.”

Walking over to the door, you open it, Joel leaning against the doorframe in a white t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants he must’ve put on before talking to Tommy.

He sighs. “So, that was my brother.”

“Seems nice—if I remember correctly, he’s younger, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That explains how annoying he is.”

He smiles, and an amused huff leaves him. “Yeah, he’s annoyin’ alright.”

“We have the house to ourselves?”

“We do—I walked him out myself.”

You grin. “Wonderful.” You grab a fistful of his shirt. “Because I think you said something about us showering together, and I’d like to do that right now, then go eat pizza—I’ve somehow worked up an appetite,” you tell him and pull him forward; he happily comes your way with a smirk.

“Worked up an appetite, huh?” he asks, his eyes on your mouth.

“Yes. No clue how.”

He closes the distance, his lips almost touching yours, when he replies, “Let me remind you how,” and kisses you.

An hour later, you’re walking down the stairs clean and in your borrowed clothes.

“Can we eat then go to bed?” you ask, through a yawn. “I had classes today, and that long ass drive, plus all the sex. I’m so damn tired.”

Joel’s behind you in just his sweatpants.

“I’m fuckin’ tired, too. That sounds good to me.”

The only lights on downstairs are the lamps in the living room. You walk into the dark kitchen, Joel flipping on the light as he follows, and you head for the stove where the pizza is, popping open the box to see it’s pepperoni.

“I’ll grab us some plates,” Joel says, rubbing your upper arms. He kisses the top of your head before stepping over to a cabinet.

Turning around, you’re about to ask Joel where the cups are when the dining room light comes on, Tommy standing by the switch. You gasp in shock; Joel’s immediate reaction is to grab a knife from the knife block and get between you and the unwanted visitor—it takes him a second to recognize it’s his brother.

“Goddammit, Tommy!” Joel shouts and slams the butcher knife onto the countertop. “Are you tryin’ to get yourself killed?!”

“No,” his brother answers, shaking his head, and he looks a little too amused. “But you sure the hell are! Her?!” He points at you and has the audacity to laugh. “Oh, god, Joel,” he says through his glee and grabs the back of a chair, his other hand on his chest as he chuckles. “Her daddy is gonna kill you—you’re fucked!”

Joel sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, perching a palm on his hip. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he says. “I’m a dead man walking.”

“You are!” Tommy calms down, and his shit-eating grin annoys you. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” he asks. “I mean, I know what you were thinkin’. I just can’t get over you not only robbin’ the fuckin’ cradle, but bangin’ your best buddy’s daughter. How long has whatever this is—” He gestures at you both. “—been goin’ on?”

“It just happened tonight—I don’t need you lecturin’ me on right and wrong. I know it’s a fucked up situation.”

A fucked up situation? Ouch. The comment has you crossing your arms over your chest, staring at the floor.

“Fucked up is right, and I’ve got no fuckin’ idea how you’re gonna get out of it. Her daddy finds out about this, and he’s gonna shoot you deader than dead.”

“I told you I didn’t want you lecturin’ me.”

Tommy puts his hands up. “Hey, I’m not lecturin’. I’m just statin’ the facts. I wanna make sure you know this thing between you two could get you killed. You’ve got a daughter, Joel—what would you do in this situation?”

“Woah,” you interrupt, moving to stand beside Joel—Tommy’s comment about Sarah is a fucking nuke you need to try and hopefully defuse. “First of all, I just want to point out that I am a consenting adult and can fuck whoever I want. Second, I need to set the record straight and say that my dad isn’t going to kill anyone. He’ll be mad as hell if he finds out, but he isn’t going to commit murder because, truth be told, he’s never given a fuck about my life choices. I’d also like to add that this is kinda his fault for not having me visit more often because now Joel and I are pretty much strangers, and this whole thing isn’t as bad as it sounds.”

“It’s still pretty bad, honey,” Tommy replies, his attention turning to you, smiling.

“Maybe, but it’s also nobody’s business who I fuck.”

“Sure, but this person you fucked is one of your daddy’s best friends whose—no offense—way too old for you.”

“Why does everyone keep callin’ me old?” Joel grumbles.

Tommy looks at his brother. “‘Cause you are, you old man.” He suddenly looks like he just realized something. “Wait a goddamn minute,” Tommy says. “Joel, are you havin’ a midlife crisis? You’re around the age people have those, right? It’d make sense why you’d risk your life to fuck her.”

“Get out, Tommy,” Joel replies, pointing toward the front door. “I’ve had enough of you.”

His younger brother pouts. “‘Cause I called you old?”

“Out.”

“Fine.” He slowly starts walking toward the hallway that leads to the front door. “I’ll get out of your hair so the two of you can enjoy the rest of your night. Bye!”

The door loudly closes as he leaves.

Well, you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen now. Between the comment about Sarah and the other things that had been said, you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel ends this. You might as well cut your losses and get it over with to save yourself from more heartbreak.

Your eyes are on the ground, the first tear falling down your cheek. “After all that, I know whatever this is is probably over,” you quietly say. “But is there a chance I can still sleep in your bed with you tonight? And if you’re willing, have you hold me?”

He turns and pulls you into his arms.

“Yeah, you can sleep with me,” he answers and kisses your hair. “But I’m gonna need you to stop.”

You lean back to look at him with watery eyes. “Stop what?”

A sad smile is on his lips. “Jumpin’ to conclusions without talkin’ to me. You’ve already got one foot out the door, and I haven’t even opened it.”

“It’s just everything Tommy said.”

He lightly squeezes your biceps. “Tommy was bein’ a little shit. You were right when you said this isn’t as bad as it sounds, but you gotta be honest with me about somethin’.”

“What?” you ask.

His hands come up to hold your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that have fallen. “Are you positive your daddy won’t kill me? I’ve got Sarah to think about, and even though I like you a lot, I’m not gonna risk dyin’ to be happy.��

The sweetest man and the best father.

You think about it for a second, and the sad truth is you can’t imagine your dad killing anyone for you—he doesn’t love you that much. He doesn’t love you to the same degree that Joel loves Sarah. With how easily Joel grabbed a knife to protect you, there’s no doubt in your mind he’d kill for his daughter without hesitation.

“He’ll be pissed off, but he isn’t going to kill you. We also don’t need to tell him anything unless this turns into something. We can keep it to ourselves for now.”

He hums in agreement. “You know, if you wanted, you could start comin’ here to do your laundry...”

You smile. “How will you explain that to Sarah?”

“That I’m helpin’ you out, which is true. Plus, I’ve got the guest room.”

“Uh huh, the guest room that I’ll sleep in?”

“Yes.” He nods.

“Alone?”

“I sleepwalk.”

You snort. “Stop it.” You playfully push his chest. “Sarah is not gonna believe you sleepwalked into the guest room.”

He snatches your hand, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles. “Who said anythin’ about Sarah knowin’ I’m in the guest room, or you bein’ in my room for that matter, while she’s sleepin’? There are also nights like tonight she spends with friends.”

“You really want me to hang out here?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to have company that isn’t Tommy.”

“I believe that. As long as I’m not a bother, I’ll do my laundry here.”

He smiles. “Not a bother, and you can wash your clothes tomorrow and stay another night. You could even stay over Sunday, too, since you have Monday off—you’re more than welcome.”

You loop your arms around his neck. “Yes, Joel. I will spend my long weekend with you.”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours. “Good.”

Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #wheresarizona writes #joel miller fanfiction

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slytherinslut0 · 1 month ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 10th. tom riddle — oral sex, experienced!tom.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: your ex couldn’t make you orgasm, so you were certain you were broken. tom shows you just how wrong you are.

warnings: 18+, SMUTTT MDNI, tom riddle can eat me aliv—sorry who tf said that?, tom riddle is such a realist; he sees a problem and he finds a solution, tom is a munch, praise kink, oral f!receiving, experienced tom, hufflepuff!reader.

Months pass, and your project remains the only thing Tom ever prioritizes when it's you asking.

Progress is slow—slow because you're usually far too busy talking to actually focus—yet, he always stays. He listens, even when the things you say should bore him, even when they mean nothing at all. He sits there—giving you hardly the barest scraps of himself in return as you fill the space between you with everything that crosses your mind.

Things he'd never waste a second hearing from anyone else.

And tonight, to no-one's surprise, you're doing it again—rambling on about nothing and everything all at once. You've got this way of talking—weaving tangents into something almost poetic, and usually, he lets it fade into the background as he works. You're saying something about the differences between the seasons, or maybe it's just some other kind of sentimental nonsense—at this point, he's not entirely sure.

It's easy to tune out. He tells himself he's not really listening.

Until—

"Actually, I guess I should clarify that—it's all hypothetical. I don't date," he doesn't know what you said before this, but he's certainly intrigued by it now. "And really, it has nothing to do with like, self esteem or anything, I'm just broken. Best to save someone the trouble."

That stops him cold. It's not so much the declaration that you don't date—he could have guessed that himself—but more so the way you've just called yourself broken.

It's not a word he's ever heard you use before.

"What do you mean, broken?" He asks, the question coming out far more blunt than he probably intended.

It just seems so out of character for you—you've always been an optimist, far too annoyingly positive to speak of anything this way. He blinks when you freeze, and blinks again when a moment of self consciousness seems to pass over your face—and he notes how that's a first for you, too.

"Broken...as in, uh, not normal," your eyes flit down to your lap, tracing the wood beneath where you're seated on the floor in his dorm. "My ex made that very clear in his assessment of me."

The mention of an ex is something he'd been anticipating—you're in your twenties, after all—but it's the idea that your ex is the source of you calling yourself broken, that he can't quite swallow.

"You're 'broken' because of one ex?" He says, and he can't stop how derisive and skeptical his voice sounds. He doesn't care to try. "I'm not following."

"I'm what you'd call, damaged goods, I think," you murmur, and there's an almost self-deprecating smirk on your face. He can't help but think how he's never seen that look on you, either. "I've got a slew of unhealthy baggage that comes along with me. You know, childhood traumas, abandonment issues, daddy issues—"

He snorts at that—daddy issues—and your head snaps up, smirk deepening despite yourself.

"Don't snort at my daddy issues," you huff, and there's a familiar annoyance in your voice that puts him at ease. "They're valid and real."

"I'm not denying their validity," he counters, his own smirk beginning to surface. "But daddy issues? Come on. You're not some tired cliché ripped out of a teenage romance novel. I refuse to accept your declaration of brokenness until you give me factual reasoning."

You laugh at that—alive and genuine—and for a moment, he's reminded of why he even tolerates you in his space at all.

"Fine," you cross your arms over your chest. "What do you want to know then?"

He makes a low, contemplative sound at that—because there's a million questions that come to mind with the words damaged goods—and after a moment, he settles on the one that falls out first.

"What is it, precisely, that makes you broken?"

You sigh, a bit theatrically—he knows you're just putting on a show and he wants to laugh at you for it—but he reigns that in, for now, while you figure out how you're going to respond to that.

The truth is, you don't know how to tell him the real reason you're broken—the part that has nothing to do with the laundry list of emotional baggage you could rattle off with ease. It's something...different.

Something more physical.

"I don't know, okay?" You're getting defensive. You're not sure why but you are. "Just—forget I said anything. We have this assignment to—"

"You dodging the question tells me it's more than just psychological," he cuts you off, leaning back into the couch. The way he's looking at you makes it clear—there's no way he's letting this go. "You getting defensive tells me you're embarrassed by it."

You sigh again, leaning back on your palms to mirror his body language, though it doesn't feel half as natural on you as it does on him.

"And you, being an insufferable arse, is telling me I never should have mentioned it in the first place."

His smirk at that makes you want to glare at him.

"Stop dodging," he says. "You brought it up. You don't get to take it back."

It's a challenge—the gleam in his eyes is practically screaming so. You're not sure why the sight of it makes something low in your stomach clench, and you're even less sure of why you want to tell him something like this—something you haven't told anyone else—not friends, certainly not family.

Whatever the reasoning, you can feel yourself relent.

"Maybe," you pause, the look on his face makes you second guess yourself. "...maybe I don't want to tell you because I'm afraid you'll look at me differently." You glance down at your lap, fingers twitching against the yellow pleats of your skirt before finally meeting his eyes again. "And I kind of like the way you look at me now."

Something like curiosity passes over his expression at that—but it's quickly hidden by the type of skepticism that tells you he still doesn't believe you're being serious.

"You're overthinking it," he replies, unmoving. "Whatever it is you think you're going to tell me, I'm not going to look at you differently. You're still you—no filter, unabashedly verbal—"

"Too verbal. Too positive, too loud," you finish his sentence for him—because you know that's how he thinks of you. "Too annoyingly optimistic. Far too hufflepuff for your cold snake skin. I know."

"Exactly," he says, tongue running over his bottom lip in attempt to quell his smirk. "So I reiterate. There's nothing you could tell me that would change that."

"Fine," you relent, giving in begrudgingly because you know there's no other option. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He just lifts a hand at that, as if to say; whatever you think it is, I can handle it. The action makes you suck a breath into your lungs, trapping it there.

"You're right," you say after a long exhale. "I have a slew of psychological bullshit that would take the span of a year for me to fully go over in one sitting—but, I'm fine with it. That's...that's not the thing that made me call myself broken."

He says nothing, just makes a motion with his eyes for you to keep going.

"It's, uhm...physical." You whisper, and your brain is moving too much and too fast and you're not even completely sure how to say it without sounding insane. "And...I don't know, I just...I can't orgasm. No matter what. I just can't—it's frustrating and embarrassing and it's the reason my ex ended things."

There's a silence that follows, and he knows if it were anyone else, they'd probably find a way to comfort you. Reassure you. Tom, however, isn't anyone else—

"You're joking," he says, and his tone is incredulous again.

A self-depreciating laugh leaves your lips involuntarily, the sound of it making you almost want to cringe.

"Would it be less embarrassing if I was?"

He's still just watching you, dissecting your words as if waiting for you to crack a smile and confess this was all some stupid joke—and the vulnerability of it aches like a stab to the gut.

"This is the reason you think you're broken?" Is what he goes with when he finally realizes you're being serious. "Because you haven’t orgasmed?"

The bluntness of it makes you flush, makes you wish you could sink into the floor. "I know it's not normal, okay—"

"It's not an abnormality, either," he asserts, with casualty. "You might just have a disconnect."

You blink, caught off guard—not just by his choice of words, but by how matter-of-fact he sounds, like this isn't the mortifying confession it feels like.

"A disconnect?"

"A disconnect," he repeats, looking you over, something clinical slipping into his eyes. "Between mind and body. And considering how loud your thoughts are—"

"Hey—" you snap, suddenly feeling a bit indignant, but he just continues on.

"—it's not surprising that you can't get out of your own head."

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him he's not a therapist, so what the hell does he know? But the certainty in his expression makes you pause. He doesn't look patronizing or condescending, just...assured. Like he knows exactly what he's talking about.

You hesitate, lips parting, a protest forming on your tongue. Before you can say anything, though, he raises a hand to stop you.

"Come here," he says, standing up from the couch.

You blink, trying to decipher what the hell he's implying—because if anything, the last thing that's going to make you less paranoid about intimacy is proximity.

"What?"

He just looks at you, making a motion with two fingers, beckoning you to stand.

"Don't ask questions. Just come here."

It's an order, and it makes your spine tingle in a way that's definitely not comfortable—but you get up from the floor, and move closer to him anyway, closing the distance between you with only a few steps until you're close enough to him that you can practically feel the heat that seems to come off him in waves.

It's weird—he's suddenly too much all at once—you're so much more aware of him being in front of you than you think you've ever been before and it does not help that he's just looking at you—as if studying you—blinking only once as he raises those same two fingers to your neck, resting them against the pulse point at your throat.

Your entire body tenses. His touch is far more gentle than you ever imagined it being, something disarming that makes your pulse beat faster against his fingers as a result—and because this is Tom, with all his smug and certainty—he gives you a look that tells you he can feel it before he slides his fingers up to rest on your forehead.

You scowl at the motion, but he clicks his tongue, the sound as condescending as it is amused.

"I told you, you're an overthinker." He murmurs, eyes dipping to your lips. "Too much noise."

You want to refute that—mostly because you're not overthinking, you can't be—he's just so unequivocally overwhelming—

"I'm not—"

You start, but he moves his fingers from your forehead and places them against your lips—

"Quiet." He scolds, and that makes something low in your stomach clench. "Your body knows what to do. You're just letting your thoughts get in the way."

You long to protest again, just for the sake of defiance—but then his fingers are against your collarbone, and that motion in your stomach becomes a bit more of a squirm—

"Your body is trying to tell you something," he whispers, watching each little hitch in your breath. "But you're too busy talking over it to hear what it's saying."

You realize—with a sort of horror that's laced with something a little more uncomfortable—that he's right. Your body is trying to say something. It's communicating through the unsteady force of your breaths, through the clench of your fists against your skirt—

Of course, he notices. He's noticing far too much.

"Relax," he murmurs, and now he's trailing those same two fingers in an unhurried path down your shoulder. You suddenly regret every decision that led to you wearing a T-shirt. "I'm not going to bite you."

Something about the way he says it makes you wish he wasn't quite so convincing—the familiar banter you long for gone with the sharp exhale that comes out of your mouth as his fingers encircle your wrist—

"Your pulse is racing," he says casually, far too casually for how much effort it's taking you not to scream. "Does that seem broken to you?"

Gods—you want to respond—you really, really do— but your thoughts flatline when you realize his touch has shifted. He's no longer just holding your wrist; he's guiding your hands to rest against his chest, and—

"There you go," he whispers, and the tone of it tells you he knows exactly what it is he's doing to you. "See? Your body's doing exactly what it's meant to do. You—" his fingers trail up your arms, and his voice gets lower. "—are not broken."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of your hands on his chest and the way your palms are clammy against the fabric of his shirt. He's shifting you now, deliberately crowding you, and it's only when you feel the edge of the couch press against the back of your calves that you realize—perhaps a second too late—exactly what it is he's doing.

You stumble back onto the leather, and he follows—crushing his lips to yours.

You gasp, startled, because despite everything you truly hadn't seen this coming. The kiss is messy, clumsy, and his hand finds the nape of your neck, tugging at your hair with just enough force to make it sting. And inevitably, when you gasp again, he takes it as an invitation to work his tongue into your mouth, other hand slipping under your shirt—trailing up your stomach.

You're trembling now, and he makes a low sound at the realization. Your brain is racing to catch up, and the irony of this isn't lost on you—he'd just claimed you weren't broken, but he might as well be destroying you himself.

He parts from your lips only to trail his own across your jaw—

"You're shaking," he murmurs with a smirk against your throat—as if he's taking immense pleasure in the fact—you hate how smug it makes him sound. "Do you want me to stop?"

You want to tell him he's being a bastard, but then his lips press to that spot on your neck—the one that makes your breath hitch and your pulse stutter—and you find yourself whimpering at the sensation.

"No," you breathe, and you'd be embarrassed by the pleading tone in your voice if you weren't so lost in the moment. "Don't stop."

He makes another low, satisfied noise at that.

"Good," he whispers. "No thinking. Just feel."

You swallow—throat dry. It's unfair how easily he's dismantling you with nothing but his mouth and hands. Unfair how he's leaving you breathless and unraveling while somehow making you feel seen in a way you can't explain, even with your eyes shut.

"Tom," you find yourself whimpering, and you aren't even sure what you're asking for—you just know you want more as his lips trail lower—as his fingers work to tug down your skirt. "Gods."

"Shh. Feel me," he murmurs, almost possessively, his lips brushing lower, grazing over your stomach, then your pelvis. "Let your body do the talking."

You've got your hands tangled in his hair before you even know what you're doing, and you hate the fact that you're pretty sure you'd melt into a puddle if he weren't holding you together.

"I feel you," you whimper as he kisses lower. "You're all I feel."

He makes another low sound at that, and you just know it's the response of ‘yeah, that’s right’—but then he's between your legs, panties shifted out of the way, and the first sweep of his tongue against your clit makes all coherent thought shift to static.

"Oh! God," you gasp, the word barely escaping before dissolving into a whimper when he does something with his tongue that makes your vision blur. "Tom—oh, fuck."

He just makes that smug, satisfied noise against you again before his tongue swirls over your clit and you find yourself almost cursing whatever deity made him so good at this, because it's not fair how quickly he reduced you to a whimpering, shaking mess beneath him and—

"Don't stop," you find yourself babbling, digging your nails into his scalp and knowing you look like a goddamn wreck as he makes a meal out of you—tongue lapping up your slick and swirling your clit before sealing his lips around it and forcing your back off the leather beneath it. "Please, don't stop, please—"

It's all you can manage to say. Your thighs are shaking now, and you're sure he's got you dripping all over his face with how soaked you are. He knows you're falling apart and he just keeps going— your brain ceasing function in favour of just focusing on how fucking close you are—how close you are to something you've never felt before in your life—and you're not even sure what you're begging for anymore but it's incoherent and loud—

"I need—" you whimper, your hands tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan against you. You don't know what you're asking for, but you know he has it. "I need—I need—“

"Let go," he murmurs against you, the roughness in it vibrating up into your belly. "I dare you."

There's still a little bit of you functioning on autopilot, just enough to tell you that when he murmurs those words—vibrations rattling up your cunt and into your chest—you're completely done for.

It’s merely a few seconds later that your high reaches its peak and he just keeps lapping as you shake apart beneath him with an intensity you've never felt before in your life—orgasm shredding you apart at the seams. Your thighs clamp around his face, your eyes squeezed shut, ears ringing so loud you barely register his low, muttered praises: "good girl," "so good," "there you go."

You’re fairly positive your legs will never be able to support you again when you finally come back down, feeling entirely like jelly as he pulls back, tongue flicking over his lips to clean off whatever's left of you.

And without thinking, you grab him and pull him up, crashing your lips against his in a messy, desperate kiss. He tastes like you, like him, like something you can't quite describe—and it makes everything feel intense and unbearably real all at once.

He gives you a moment, as if letting you recover, just languidly kissing you back—and you have to be honest with yourself and admit that this kind of makes you want to scream.

"A disconnect," he smirks against your mouth, the tone still smug. You manage a weak smack to his shoulder, though it does nothing to wipe the satisfaction off his face. "Still sure you're broken?"

You hate that he's right. Hate that he's managed to pull a reaction from you that you didn't think was possible. But as you sit there, shaky and spent, you know you can't deny the truth: no, you're not broken.

"Not broken." You whisper back. "You will be though, if you don't stop smirking at me like that."

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2hightocare · 3 months ago

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COFFEE!

“I think I'm past obsessed at this point, there has to be another word in the dictionary that tops obsessed.”

Synopsis: in which a hopeless romantic falls in love with the man of her dreams…

Pairings: boyfriend!jeongguk x fem!reader

Genre: established relationship.. non idol au

Warnings: literally the most sappy thing I could have possibly written, was listening to ‘coffee’ by miguel while writing, they’re such a gentle love, reader is a book worm, Jungkook likes drawing (doodling) plus points when his drawings are about oc, mentions of their first time having sex, usage of book quotes (read nltm, had to use the mia and sebastian line for my own sanity) <3333333

authors note: this is so simple but my book worm hopeless romantic needed this.. wrote this while high so nothing new 🤍

They say falling in love is the most beautiful feeling in the world.

You couldn’t explain the immediate sensation, the feeling that spreads throughout your chest as if you were a black-and-white picture that suddenly starts to fill with vibrant colors anytime his eyes lock with yours.

It was astonishing how the universe works—the idea that you are destined for someone ever since you are born, and that all the hardships along the way shape you into the person you need to be to meet them.

Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears as you watched him laugh from across the room, an oversized hoodie and baggy jeans covering his lean, muscular figure—one you’d memorized to the tiniest detail. You knew every freckle and scar. His head was thrown back, arms crossed, as he paid attention to whatever the guy in front of him was saying.

You scrunched your nose, using your index finger to push your glasses up as you studied your boyfriend from afar. You weren’t sure whether to call it pathetic or endearing, the way you noticed every little crease on his forehead and the way he toyed with his bottom lip absentmindedly. You even took note of his long eyelashes, and nearly died of jealousy every time you counted them when he slept beside you.

It was gut-wrenching to imagine anyone else feeling about him the way you did. The thought alone made you want to puke in the nearest trash can.

You were lovesick for this man, and you could already feel the heat rising to your cheeks whenever you looked at him or heard his laugh. Not only did you want to scream and freak out over every little thing he did, but he also had you daydreaming constantly. You found yourself thinking of silly song lyrics that resonated with how you felt about him. Staring at his side profile, you finally understood the meaning behind Suki Waterhouse’s lyrics: “Oh, my good looking boy,” echoed in your mind.

Before you could form another lyric or recall a favorite book quote to describe your feelings, his eyes found yours. A small smile tugged at his lips as his gaze scanned your expressions, reading you as if you were an open book. You smiled, tilting your head to the side, trying to hide the makeshift fireworks going off in your tummy.

His gaze softened, and it made your breath waver. You had never understood the meaning of “his gaze softened” in books, but now, you understood every syllable of those words after experiencing it firsthand.

You honestly couldn’t think of a single thing you didn’t love about him. You loved everything about him, even the parts he claimed were too “broken” or “damaged” to be loved.

A few seconds passed before he finally said his goodbyes and began making his way back to you. Your eyes followed every step, catching the grin he wore.

“I don’t know, I pretty much think you’re obsessed with me,” your boyfriend teased, his straight teeth on full display as he stopped in front of you, looking down at you on the couch.

“In your dreams.” You laughed, craning your neck to look up at him.

Instead of getting mad, he let out a low chuckle, leaning down with both arms on either side of the couch, caging you in.

“Every night, baby.” He whispered softly, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips before moving to your cheek, delivering another soft kiss. You sighed in contentment as his lips ghosted over your skin, the pet name making your head feel dizzy.

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before standing up straight again, looking down at you. Your eyelids felt heavy as you looked up at him through your lashes. He was already smiling, and you didn’t even need to ask “what?”—you already knew. Anyone in their right mind could tell how obsessed you were with him, and it was no surprise to him either.

As you both walked out of the bookstore, carrying a bag full of psychological and romance books (and, of course, the box of transparent sticky notes Jungkook got for you to annotate your books without writing on the actual pages), it was clear this was one of his favorite things to do. In his free time, when he wasn’t working or with you, he loved opening one of your books and reading your thoughts scribbled in the margins. Half of his camera roll was pictures of you, but the other half was just pictures of your annotations, scribbles, and drawings.

It was as if he was inside your mind, reading every thought, and he loved it.

He could still recall the first book he opened that sent his heart racing, like a teenage boy with a crush.

“I couldn’t see him, but his laugh was unmistakable. I could close my eyes and be in so many places with that laugh. That laugh was the cohesive thread, the little recurring melody that showed up in so many scenes of my life, like Mia and Sebastian’s theme in La La Land. Always there, playing in the background.”

Those words were highlighted in the prettiest shade of pink, with two small hearts drawn beside them. But it was your handwriting at the bottom that got him: “The feeling I’ve been trying to put into words about how I feel every time I look at him has just been done for me, oh my.” He remembered feeling his heart stop for a second. And when it started again, it was for you—his heart was for you and only you.

That wasn’t all. It had become one of your shared love languages. Jungkook started buying books he thought you’d like. He even asked your little sister what your favorite highlighters were so he could buy them for both of you.

Your heart did somersaults when you opened a book on his bedside table and saw a drawing—a pair of eyes in black ink, long lashes making them look bigger and more innocent. Your breath hitched as you noticed the small freckle just below the eyebrow, realizing it was you.

It didn’t help the overwhelming sensation of adoration when you saw his handwriting in the margins.

“You remembered?” she said softly.

“I remember every second of us.”

The text was underlined, and in small letters, he had written, “Gosh, she made me fall so hard that I’m reading sappy words and thinking ‘us’ out loud. #sendhelp,” with a frowning emoji next to the hashtag. Before you knew it, you were on page one, reading every single line and note he had left.

Also, the multiple drawings on the pages where there was extra space had your heart thumping hard in your chest. There were so many drawings— each one tied to you or him. It was impossible to describe every feeling surging through your chest, every emotion racing in your bloodstream, as your fingertips traced the drawing of you.

This time, it was an image of you on your back, lying on a bed. Only part of your side profile was visible, with your hair spilling across the bed, covering most of your back. At first, you didn't want to assume it was you he'd drawn-being self-centered wasn't your style. But it was impossible to deny it when he'd sketched every freckle, even the small half-moon tattoo on your shoulder blade, matching the real one inked on your skin.

You smiled at the memory but snapped back to the present as your boyfriend instinctively switched you to the other side of the sidewalk when you two turned toward Target. You held tight to his index finger as he squeezed between people, leading you behind him with a soft "excuse me" to anyone in the way.

Automatically, you found yourself smiling as you picked up your pace to match his longer strides. He pulled you in closer, his arm snaking around your waist, his hand resting over your belly—a little lower than usual, sending butterflies flitting wildly in your stomach. You suppressed a shiver as he gently guided you to the side, allowing an older couple to pass by.

"Us when we're eighty, baby," Jungkook leaned down and whispered into your ear, making you playfully roll your eyes at him. His smile only widened at your reaction.

"Won't be us if you keep watching Young Sheldon without me," you pouted, giving him a playful glare, which only made him smile more.

"Why are you smiling?" you asked, maybe even whining a little as you walked into the store and heard the employee greet you both.

"Because you're so beautiful, and my brain goes in circles when I stare at you," he shrugged casually, giving your waist a small squeeze before untangling his arm to grab a cart.

You tried so hard not to melt, holding onto his bicep as he leaned forward on the cart, making him closer to your height.

"Don't know it you're down, but l've been wanting to learn how to crochet," you said as you glanced around the aisles. Your boyfriend immediately started nodding excitedly.

"Baby, oh my god. I'm so down. We need to make those big-ass blankets," he rambled, looking at your face for a reaction, like a puppy with its ears perked up and tail wagging.

"I think that's knitting, baby," you corrected him, smiling as his eyebrows raised before he let out a small laugh.

"Wait, are those two not the same thing?" His dimple deepened as he bit his lower lip, stopping in front of the craft aisle.

"I actually have no clue," you admitted with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. "But I know you can crochet a blanket because you once told me about those pattern blocks you saw on your explore page.”

Jungkook's gaze softened as he made eye contact with you, his pupils dilated with so much adoration that it made your heart swell.

"And I remember because I searched them on TikTok to see what you were talking about. I saw people connecting them into blankets. Also, I remember you pretending to sleep so you didn't have to scratch my back anymore-before my one minute was up. You swear you're slick, but I know when you're really asleep," he said with a grin, teasingly biting your cheek as you tried not to smile.

"How do you know I'm not sleeping?" you teased, and he chuckled, ghosting his lips over yours.

"Because every time you fall asleep, you make this little sound, and then slowly, you start snoring," he laughed, watching your cheeks turn a shade of red before burying his laughing face in the crook of your neck.

To be loved is to be seen.

That phrase had never felt more accurate. No one else had ever seen you the way Jungkook did. He knew you so well, down to the tiniest details that sometimes even surprised you.

Your eyes practically turned into hearts as Jungkook kissed your neck innocently before turning his attention to the yarns.

This was the kind of love you had always dreamed of

-better than the movies or books. Nothing could top the overwhelming feelings of gratitude, love, and appreciation that coursed through your body whenever you looked at him. Your brain practically played the instrumental of "Video Games" by Lana Del Rey whenever you spent time with him.

It was as if even a natural disaster couldn't faze you

-so long as you could experience it with him.

The connection between you two was beyond what you ever imagined existed in real life. It felt like something out of a fairy tale. From the moment you locked eyes with him across the room, you both knew there was no turning back.

After checking out and getting to Jungkook's car, he opened the door for you, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt before putting the bags in the back.

Once he climbed into the driver's seat, his hand instinctively found its place on your thigh after starting the car. His thumb rubbed your bare skin, sending sparks flying through your body. It was such a natural gesture for him, but the butterflies never ceased. You bit your lip, trying not to whine when his hand moved closer to your inner thigh.

As he softly sang along to "Creep" by Radiohead, it was just another thing you'd become morally obsessed with-his voice. You had always known he could sing, but everything changed the night you were first intimate.

It was as if your entire perspective on love and sex shifted. Simply calling it "sex" seemed absurd now, because it was so much more. Everything felt heightened, more intense, making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

"F-fuck, baby..." he whimpered into your ear, his hips moving slowly into yours, leaving your mouth hanging open.

His little groans and moans made you dizzy, like notes of a lullaby. The feeling of skin against skin was the most addicting sensation, made even more special by the way he always checked in on you.

"Shhh, I'm sorry. Am I being too rough, baby?" His voice was strained as his hips halted, his breath heavy as he moved your hair to kiss your neck.

He resumed slowly, making your legs shake and grip the sheets, and you couldn't help but moan, asking for more. His chuckle against your skin was the same one you’d hear when he rested his head on your stomach, expecting you to scratch his back or read to him.

"You're sweaty," you pouted at him, both of you basking in the afterglow.

"I know. Do you still want me?" He smiled, mimicking your expression before pulling the covers over both your naked bodies and pulling you in as close as possible.

"Yes, I'll forever want you," you replied, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, savoring the warmth he radiated.

As sleepiness began to overtake you, you felt his fingertips tracing letters and shapes on your hip.

Just before drifting off, he began singing again. It was like entering another universe where only you and he existed

"I want you to notice," he sang softly, "when I'm not around."

"So fucking special... I wish I was special." He pressed a kiss to your temple, the sound of his voice and your matching heartbeats lulling you both to sleep.

You snapped back to reality when the car stopped at a red light.

"Is it bad that I always hope to get red lights so I can kiss you?" he asked, flashing a grin that had you laughing.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his as his eyes fluttered shut, his finger lifting your chin gently.

"Not bad, but a little weird. You want to spend so much time with me," you teased, pulling back to your seat. "Some might even think you're pretty obsessed."

"I'm past obsessed at this point. There's got to be another word that tops it," he admitted, stealing another kiss just before the light turned green.

As you gazed at him, you couldn't help but wish there was another word, stronger than "love," to describe how you felt about him.

2K notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 3 months ago

Text

Dumb & Poetic

Summary: You like Logan, but he likes Jean. Right?

Word Count: 6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: honestly, this isn't one of my favorites, but i just needed to write it to get it out of my head.

also, this is after the sabrina carpenter song, but this story has no relation to the lyrics whatsoever, i just thought the title was fitting

reader's powers are manipulating atoms (it'll make sense when you read)

warnings/tags: some uses of y/n, pet name (princess, sweetheart), miscommunication, light violence, blood, implied age gap

Even after going on ten missions and counting, you always found yourself nervous. Especially when you were getting onto the Blackbird, clad in your matching suits. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the air, but your mind was on Logan. He sat across from you, legs spread out, arms crossed over his chest, that usual scowl on his face. It was the way he always looked before a mission, but you couldn’t help but glance over a little too often.

Ororo slid into the seat next to you, her sharp eyes catching your lingering stare. “You know,” she said softly, leaning over slightly, “if you keep looking at him like that, you might as well say something.”

You blinked, face heating up. “What? I wasn’t—”

“Oh, please, Y/N,” Ororo chuckled under her breath. “I’m not blind.”

You sighed and slouched back into your seat, fiddling with the straps. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s Logan,” Ororo shrugged. “Everything about him is complicated. But that doesn’t mean you should hold back.”

You cast another glance across the cabin at him. Logan was still quiet, staring out the window now, completely unaware of the butterflies flipping around in your stomach. You didn’t want to admit it, but Ororo was right. There was something about Logan that made you pause. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be in his own world, like he was still holding onto things from his past. Or maybe it was because of the way he looked at Jean sometimes, like there was still something unresolved there.

“I don’t think he’s over her,” you murmured, feeling the familiar weight of doubt settle in.

“Jean?” Ororo raised an eyebrow. “Please, Jean and Scott are practically married. Logan isn’t hung up on her anymore. If anything, he’s just... Logan.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered. It was hard to let yourself hope for something that seemed impossible. Besides, Logan saw you as the kid, didn’t he? He always called you ‘princess’ or ‘sweetheart’- terms of endearment, sure, but you figured he used them with everyone.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Hank’s voice came over the intercom, snapping everyone to attention. “We’re approaching the target. This should be a routine recon and hopefully data extraction but keep your guard up.”

Logan stood, moving to the front of the cabin. “You heard him. We get in, get the intel, and get out. No heroics.”

You stood with Ororo, adjusting your gloves and trying to ignore the fact that your heart rate had picked up. It wasn’t the mission that had you on edge, but Logan’s presence, the way he effortlessly took command of the room. You hated how easily he affected you.

The Blackbird landed with a soft jolt, and the team moved into action. Logan gave you a nod as you passed, and you swore you saw something in his eyes—concern? Or maybe you were just seeing what you wanted to see.

As the team fanned out, you stayed close to Jean and Scott, your senses heightened. You were supposed to keep it simple, in and out. But things rarely went that smoothly.

A flicker of movement caught your eye just as Jean’s telepathy brushed against your mind. Y/N, we’re not alone. Be ready.

And then all hell broke loose.

Explosions rocked the compound as enemies swarmed in from every direction. You threw up your hands, quickly manipulating the air around you, converting oxygen molecules to corrosive acids to fend off the attackers. Beside you, Scott fired his optic blasts, and Jean’s telekinesis sent debris flying.

You ducked behind a large pole of concrete, peeking out at the attackers behind you. “Alchemy, think you can get to the data room and get what we came for?” Hank asked over comms, as he and Logan fought a group of attackers.

You took a deep breath and peeked out at the attackers. "I’ll do my best, Hank," you responded, scanning for a clear path to the data room. The explosions and gunfire made it difficult to focus, but you knew you had to move.

“Cover her!” Logan’s voice barked out, and you felt a small surge of determination. He was counting on you. The team was counting on you. It was almost too much pressure to bear.

Ororo and Jean moved to provide cover as you darted toward the entrance of the data room. You manipulated the chemicals in the air around you, creating a thick fog to obscure the attackers' vision, but it wouldn’t last long.

You slipped into the room and immediately went to work on the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. The download started, but it was slow, and you could hear the chaos outside intensifying.

“Hurry it up, Alchemy!” Scott’s voice came over the comms, tension clear in his tone.

“Almost there,” you muttered, eyes glued to the screen. The progress bar crept forward, painfully slow. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting an attacker to burst through the door at any moment.

A loud crash echoed through the room as part of the hallway imploded, sending dust and debris flying. You ducked, covering your head with your arms as the force of the blast knocked you off balance. The data was still downloading—just a few more seconds. But the chaos outside was getting worse.

"Y/N!" Logan's voice crackled through the comms, barely audible over the noise. "Get out of there, now!"

"Almost done!" you yelled back, heart pounding. The progress bar was at 95%. You just needed a little more time.

Another explosion rocked the compound, and you heard Logan shout something to the others. You could hear gunfire and the clash of metal against metal as the team fought off the attackers. Every second felt like an eternity.

"Got it!" you exclaimed as the download completed. You yanked the USB drive from the computer and turned to make your escape. You entered the open area where the rest of the team was fighting, just as part of the ceiling fell. Instinctively, you raised your hands and quickly converted the falling cement into water, which drenched you from head to toe.

You grimaced, pushing your wet hair from your face, but there was no time to focus on the discomfort. The fight was still raging, and Logan’s voice crackled over the comms again, "Princess, get out of there. Now."

“On my way!” you shouted, breaking into a sprint to rejoin the team. You dodged debris, your heartbeat in your ears, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As you rounded the corner, Scott called out through comms, “everyone get dow- ”

Before you could react or shield yourself, a blast came from all around you, an explosion of some kind. You watched as Logan tackled Jean to the ground, shielding her. It was instinctual, he was only protecting a teammate, and Jean was the closest one to him. At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

You hit the ground hard, your body skidding across the concrete before colliding with a pile of debris. Pain exploded in your side as you groaned, gasping for breath. Dazed, you tried to push yourself up, but your vision swam.

Your hand came down to your side, fingers grazing the sticky warmth on your glove. It wasn’t the water from earlier—you knew that now. The sharp pain spreading through your body confirmed it. You blinked, vision blurring for a second, but your focus quickly snapped back as your instincts kicked in.

"Princess, come in! Y/N!" Logan’s voice crackled over the comms, but it sounded distant, like he was yelling from the other side of a tunnel.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, struggling to push yourself to your feet. Your side screamed in protest, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You couldn’t afford to be down for long. Not when everything around you was falling apart.

You looked up to see Logan pulling Jean to her feet, his eyes scanning the battlefield before locking onto you. For a split second, his eyes widened, and then his expression darkened.

“Stay where you are,” Logan barked, already moving toward you, cutting through the debris and chaos like a force of nature. His claws were out, gleaming even in the dim light, but it wasn’t the enemies he was focused on. It was you.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though the words felt weaker this time. The pain was growing worse, and you stumbled as you tried to take a step forward.

Logan was in front of you in an instant, his hands on your shoulders, steadying you before you could fall. “You’re not fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He looked down at your side, and his lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch,” you lied, even as the pain in your side flared again, making it harder to breathe. You tried to step back, to shake off his hands, but Logan wouldn’t let you move.

“You are not fine,” Logan repeated, his eyes dark as they focused on the piece of metal lodged in your side. His hand hovered over it, the blood seeping from the wound making his jaw clench.

“Logan, seriously,” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

You tried to brush him off, to act like the sharp, burning pain radiating from your side wasn’t there, but Logan’s hands didn’t move from your shoulders. His grip was firm, almost like he was grounding you.

“Stop lying to me, Princess,” he growled softly, his eyes flicking from your face to the metal in your side. “It’s not nothing. I can smell the blood.”

The way he said it made your face flush, and for a second, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was worried. It was written all over his face, in the tension of his body, in the way his claws were still out, ready to strike at anything that came near.

“Logan- ” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding. “I’m getting this out.”

He knelt down in front of you, his large hands gently holding your waist. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine despite the situation. You bit your lip, trying to focus on something- anything- other than the way his hands felt on you.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, glancing up at you. His eyes softened just a bit, as if he was trying to reassure you.

“I’ll be fine,” you muttered, though the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. It wasn’t the pain you were worried about.

Logan gave you a quick nod, then, with a sharp tug, he pulled the metal shard from your side. You bit down on a groan, your vision blurring for a moment as the pain shot through you. The wound was deeper than you’d realized, and the blood quickly soaked through your suit.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, pressing his hand against your side to try and stop the bleeding. “We need to get you back to the jet. You’re losing too much blood.”

“I can handle it,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to stand up straighter. “We still have enemies out there. I’m not leaving the fight.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The hell you aren’t.”

You tried to argue, but the pain flared again, and your vision swam. You stumbled, and Logan caught you easily, pulling you against him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, his voice close to your ear now. “You’re as bad as me.”

“I learned from the best,” you said, trying to force a smile through the pain. But it was hard to keep the act up when your body was screaming at you to lie down, to rest.

Logan’s grip tightened on you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him. His body was solid and warm, and despite the chaos around you, there was something comforting about his presence.

“We’re getting you back to the jet, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not staying out here like this.”

“But- ” you started to protest, but Logan cut you off again.

“No ‘buts,’ princess. You’re hurt. Let the rest of us handle it.”

Before you could argue again, he gently but firmly hoisted you up into his arms. The movement made your side burn, but you were too stunned by the fact that Logan was carrying you to care.

“Logan, put me down,” you said, your face heating up in embarrassment. “I can walk.”

“Not happening,” he grunted, his arms strong and steady around you. “You can yell at me later if you want. Right now, we’re getting you patched up.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. His face was set in that familiar scowl, but there was something else in his eyes. Concern? Maybe even fear?

“Logan, I’m fine,” you tried again, but your voice was weaker this time. The truth was, you were exhausted. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore.

Logan didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he carried you through the debris and chaos. You caught sight of Ororo and Scott still fighting off the last of the enemies, and Jean was using her telekinesis to hold back another explosion.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jean’s voice cut through the noise, her eyes widening as she saw you in Logan’s arms.

“She’s hurt,” Logan said, not stopping as he headed for the jet. “I’m getting her out of here.”

Jean looked like she wanted to protest, but she gave a quick nod, her focus shifting back to the battle. “Go. We’ll finish up here.”

As Logan carried you back to the Blackbird, you couldn’t help but glance up at him again. His face was still set in that determined, protective expression, and your heart did another flip.

This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. There was something else between you two, something you had been too scared to admit to yourself. But now, with Logan holding you close, the weight of his concern for you pressing down on your heart, it was impossible to ignore.

So, for now, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of him around you, lingering in it for as long as you could. Because you knew this is the closest you were ever going to get to him holding you like he cared.

---

You blinked, hearing muffled arguing coming from outside the medbay, Jean coming over to your side. “Hey, there. You’ve been out for a day.”

“A day?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

“You sustained significant blood loss, but luckily the metal didn’t hit any organs, or it would be a much different story,” Jean said gently, her eyes watching you with concern.

You blinked a few times, your head still foggy from the whole ordeal. “A day? I’ve been out for a day?”

Jean nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. “You’re tougher than you think, Y/N. You just need to rest.”

You sighed, glancing around the medbay. The arguing from outside caught your attention again. Jean seemed to notice it too, her expression turning slightly more serious.

“Logan’s been a little... on edge since you were brought back,” she said carefully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Logan. You tried not to let it show, but you’d always been bad at hiding your feelings. Jean gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. He just- well, you know Logan.”

You chuckled softly, though it hurt to do so. “Yeah, I know Logan.”

Jean gave you a sympathetic look, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “He’s been worried. More than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “More than usual?”

Jean nodded. “You know how he gets. All gruff and ‘I don’t care,’ but it’s just a front. He was pacing outside the medbay the entire time we were patching you up.”

The idea of Logan pacing, stressed about you, felt both strange and oddly comforting. It was hard to imagine him being that concerned over anyone—let alone you.

The door to the medbay creaked open, and Logan’s familiar, rugged form stepped inside. His eyes immediately locked on you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told you he was angry. And worried.

Jean gave you a quick smile and a soft pat on your arm before standing. “I’ll give you two some space.”

As Jean left, the room fell into an awkward silence. Logan stood by the door for a moment, arms crossed, not moving. His eyes scanned you, probably taking in the bandages, the way you were still propped up on the medbay bed, looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey,” you said quietly, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Logan muttered, walking over to your bed with heavy steps. He didn’t sit, just loomed at the foot of the bed, arms still crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked up at him, trying to push past the discomfort. “I’m fine, really. Jean said I’m tougher than I think.”

“Yeah, and you’re also reckless,” Logan shot back, his voice rough. “You almost got yourself killed out there, Princess.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, and you looked away, fiddling with the blanket. You liked it when he called you that, but at the same time it almost felt like he still saw you as a kid. “I didn’t mean to. I was just doing my job.”

Logan let out a sharp breath, and for a second, you thought he was going to start yelling at you. Instead, he sighed and finally sat down on the chair next to your bed. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired.

“I know you were doing your job,” Logan said, his voice quieter now. “But you gotta be more careful. I thought—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor. “I thought I lost you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, like the very idea of you being gone was unbearable to him. You swallowed, unsure of what to say. You’d never seen Logan like this—so raw, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Logan glanced up at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “You scared the hell outta me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent a familiar warmth through your chest, but this time it wasn’t just the usual flustered feeling. There was something more behind it, something deeper that you’d never allowed yourself to believe was possible.

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeated, feeling small under his gaze. “I just... I wanted to do my part.”

Logan’s expression softened even more, and he leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I get that. You’re tough, Princess. But you’re also important. To the team... and to me.”

You blinked, your heart pounding. Did he just say that? Did Logan—Logan, of all people—just admit you were important to him? Your mind was racing, trying to process what he meant, but before you could say anything, Logan stood up abruptly, like he regretted letting those words slip.

“You need rest,” he said, his voice gruff again as he turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Logan left the medbay, leaving you alone with the beeping machines.

---

A few days later you were released from the medbay and told to take it easy by Jean. Which you took to heart, perhaps a little too much.

You stayed in your room, only leaving at abnormal times to get food and water since you didn’t want to run into Logan. After all, you were young, practically a child to him, and all you wanted was for your crush on him to fade away like so many others did before.

That’s what you kept telling yourself. It didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to handle. Your crush on Logan had always been this quiet thing, something you never intended to act on. But now, after everything, it felt like it had grown louder, more noticeable. And that scared you.

You sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed, idly fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Maybe you just needed to... talk to him. Be normal again. You’d been friends before, hadn’t you? It wasn’t like he knew how you felt, anyway.

Just as you were considering going for a walk to clear your head, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

“Y/N?” Ororo’s voice came from the other side, soft but steady. “You in there?”

You quickly got up, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Ororo stood there, arms crossed, giving you that look—like she knew exactly what was going on with you. It was unnerving, how she always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone emotionally.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at nonchalance. “You’ve been hiding.”

You blinked. “I haven’t been hiding.”

Ororo gave you a look. “Please. I haven’t seen you at meal times, and Logan’s been extra grumpy. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

You felt your face heat up. “Logan’s grumpy all the time.”

“He’s more grumpy than usual,” Ororo said, stepping into your room and closing the door behind her. “He’s been asking around. Wants to know why you’re avoiding him.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “He said that?”

Ororo nodded, leaning against your desk. “He won’t admit it’s bothering him, but it is. What’s going on?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat back down on the bed. “I just... I don’t know, okay? Things got weird after the mission, and I needed space.”

“Logan didn’t do anything wrong,” Ororo pointed out gently.

“I know,” you mumbled. “It’s not him. It’s me.”

Ororo tilted her head, studying you for a moment before sitting beside you on the bed. “You’re worried about how he sees you, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I mean, kinda of. He doesn’t see me in the way I see him, y’know?”

Ororo gave you a knowing look, her lips quirking up slightly. "And how do you see him?"

You hesitated, feeling your face heat up again. "I... I don’t know. It's just... he’s Logan. He’s been through so much, seen so much, and I’m just… me. The kid who got lucky with mutant powers and likes chemistry too much."

Ororo smiled gently, shaking her head. "You’re selling yourself short, Y/N. You're a lot more than that. And Logan sees it."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Ororo held up a hand. "I’m not saying he knows exactly what he's feeling, but he's not as oblivious as you think. And trust me, the way he’s been acting lately, it’s clear you’re important to him."

You sighed, flopping back on the bed. "Maybe, but it’s not like that. It can’t be. He’s Logan—he doesn’t do the whole feelings thing."

Ororo chuckled softly. "You’d be surprised. He’s more in tune with his feelings than he lets on. He’s just… not used to showing them."

You frowned up at the ceiling. "Then why does it feel like I’m the only one getting all messed up over this?"

Ororo stood up, crossing her arms as she looked down at you. "Because you’re thinking too much, Alchemy. Maybe you should try talking to him instead of hiding."

"I’m not hiding!" you protested weakly.

"Uh-huh," Ororo said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, hiding or not, he’s not going to let this go. Logan’s stubborn like that."

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. "Great. That’s exactly what I need."

Ororo chuckled again. "Just… talk to him. It might help. You can’t avoid him forever."

You sighed, peeking out from under the pillow. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it."

Ororo smiled softly before heading toward the door. "Good. And Y/N?"

You looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Give yourself a little more credit," Ororo said gently. "You’re not just some kid to him. He cares about you. Maybe more than either of you realizes."

Before you could respond, she slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the knot of nervousness growing in your stomach.

---

The next day, you were wandering through the mansion’s empty halls after lunch. You weren’t hiding per se, but you were definitely avoiding a certain someone. Ororo’s words kept echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. Talking to Logan was probably the only way to clear this weird tension between you, but the thought of actually doing it made you want to curl up and disappear.

As you turned a corner, lost in thought, you almost walked straight into him.

"Whoa, easy there, Princess," Logan’s gruff voice startled you as he steadied you with a hand on your arm. "Where you off to in such a hurry?"

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I-I wasn’t—uh, just wandering."

Logan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but amused. "You’ve been ‘just wandering’ a lot lately."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. This was it. The moment you’d been dreading. He was right here, and there was no avoiding him now.

Logan sighed, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. "You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart."

There it was. The thing you’d been trying to dodge. Your heart raced, and you shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "I haven’t been avoiding you."

Logan huffed, his expression softening a little. "I ain’t stupid, Y/N. You haven’t been around much since the mission. What’s goin’ on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms start to sweat. "It’s nothing. I just... needed some space. That’s all."

Logan narrowed his eyes slightly, studying you. "Space from me?"

You looked down at your shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting. "Not exactly. I just... things got a little weird, okay?"

"Weird how?" Logan’s voice was still rough, but there was a hint of something gentler beneath it. Concern, maybe?

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. How were you supposed to explain that the reason you’d been avoiding him was because your stupid crush had spiraled into something much more confusing and intense? You couldn’t just blurt that out. Could you?

Logan’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, and he took a step closer, his voice low. "Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you glanced up at him. He was so close now, and the familiar warmth in his eyes was making it hard to think straight.

"I just... I didn’t want to make things awkward between us," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing. "Why would things be awkward?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Because I... I care about you, Logan. A lot. And I know you don’t feel the same way because you still like Jean- ”

Logan's frown deepened, and he shook his head almost immediately. "Jean? What’re you talkin’ about?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you bit your lip, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I mean, I just assumed... everyone knows you used to have feelings for her, and it’s fine, really. I get it. I just didn’t want to make things weird by—"

"Y/N," Logan cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. He stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours. "I ain’t thinkin’ about Jean like that anymore."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You’re not?"

Logan shook his head again, a hint of frustration slipping through. "No, sweetheart. That’s done with. It’s been done with for a while."

Your mind raced, trying to process what he was saying. If he wasn’t still hung up on Jean, then... What did that mean? Why had he been acting so tense around you?

"Then why have you been so... distant?" you asked softly, your voice wavering. "You’ve been acting weird too, Logan. It’s not just me."

Logan looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare sign of discomfort from him. When he spoke again, his voice was a little gruffer. "I’ve been... tryin’ to figure some stuff out, alright?"

"Figure what out?" you pressed gently, taking a step closer to him now. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, but you didn’t back down. "Logan, just talk to me."

He sighed, his eyes meeting yours again, and for a second, you saw something vulnerable flash through his expression—something raw. He was quiet for a beat before he finally spoke.

"After that mission," he said slowly, his voice low, "when I saw you get hurt... somethin’ in me snapped. I couldn’t... I couldn’t handle it, Y/N. The thought of losin’ you like that—" He broke off, his jaw tightening, and you could see the tension in his shoulders. "I’ve been through a lotta shit in my life. Seen people come and go. But you? The idea of you bein’ gone—it messed me up more than I thought it would."

You stood there, staring at him, trying to absorb what he was saying. He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. This was more than that.

"Logan..." you whispered, feeling a knot form in your throat. "I didn’t know you—"

"I didn’t know it either," he interrupted, his voice rough but sincere. "I didn’t know I felt like this ‘til it hit me. I care about you, Princess. More than I care to admit, sometimes. And I ain’t exactly good at this... feelings thing, y’know that."

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you were convinced you’d misheard him. Logan cared about you? Like that? It felt surreal.

"You... you care about me?" you asked cautiously, your voice small.

Logan huffed, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. "Hell yeah, I do. I’ve been tryin’ to push it down for a while now, but it ain’t workin’. Not anymore."

You stared at him in disbelief, your pulse racing. "But... I’m just—"

"Don’t even start with that ‘I’m just me’ bullshit," Logan cut you off again, his tone more serious. "You ain’t ‘just’ anything, Y/N. You’re smart, tough as nails, and you’ve got a good heart. You matter to me. And not in some ‘kid sister’ kinda way either, if that’s what you’re thinkin’."

Your cheeks flushed, and your heart skipped a beat. He was being so direct, so honest, and it left you completely speechless.

Logan shifted a little closer, his gaze softening even more as he looked down at you. "I don’t know when it happened, but it did. You got under my skin, sweetheart. And as much as I tried to ignore it... I can’t."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. This was really happening. Logan—gruff, stoic Logan—was telling you that he had feelings for you. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like a kid around him. You felt like someone who mattered, someone he saw.

"I..." you started, your voice shaking a little. "I didn’t think you’d ever... I mean, I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, but I just figured—"

Logan chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to brush your cheek gently. The touch was gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "You figured wrong, Princess."

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t just teasing or friendly banter. It was something deeper, something real. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was just… I don’t know, bothering you or something.”

Logan’s hand lingered near your face, his thumb brushing your cheek softly. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the sincerity in them, the raw emotion he wasn’t hiding anymore. “You ain’t a bother, sweetheart. Far from it. And if I’ve been actin’ like I don’t care, that’s on me. But I do care. A lot.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His touch, his words—it was all too much, too overwhelming. You’d been crushing on Logan for what felt like forever, and now he was standing here, telling you he felt the same way. It didn’t feel real.

“Logan, I…” You started, but your words trailed off as his hand slid down to your neck, his rough palm warm against your skin. The way he was looking at you, the intensity in his gaze, made it impossible to think straight.

“Stop thinkin’ so hard,” Logan murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just… be here. With me.”

Your heart pounded as you met his eyes, your stomach doing flips. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until you let it out in a shaky exhale. “Okay.”

For a moment, everything felt like it slowed down—the air between you humming with tension. Logan leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, and you could feel his breath warm against your lips. It felt like time had stopped, like nothing else in the world mattered but this moment.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his.

Logan responded instantly, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he kissed you with a kind of intensity that made your knees weak. It wasn’t slow or hesitant—it was rough, urgent, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

You kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping his shirt as you melted into him. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and the way he kissed you sent a shock of electricity through your entire body. It was everything you’d imagined and more.

Logan’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until there was no space left between your bodies. You could feel the strength in him, the raw power that he usually kept under tight control, but there was also a tenderness in the way he touched you, like he was afraid of hurting you.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, you lost yourself in him—in the way he tasted, the way he smelled like leather and pine, the way his hands moved over your body like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Logan’s hands were still on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You really are somethin’, Princess.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little dizzy from the kiss, from everything. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wolverine.”

Logan smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “Could’ve told me sooner, y’know. Saved me a lotta trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, well, you could’ve said something too. You had me thinking I was crazy this whole time.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

You bit your lip, still trying to process everything. You’d kissed Logan. Actually kissed him. And he’d kissed you back. It felt like a dream, like any second now you were going to wake up and realize none of this had happened.

But it had. He was still here, his arms around you, his eyes on you, his lips still tingling from the kiss. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel nervous or uncertain around him. You felt… right.

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