#I actually love this so fucking much what the fuck

[ccccatttta]

jegulus fic where james is a youtuber/streamer who does all sorts of pretty crazy pranks and people ADORE him because he's totally shameless.

one day he gets dared to crash a wedding and oppose it, pretending to be in love with either the groom or the bride.

and even though his editor (and bestest friend) remus told him that that's fucking insane, james still chose to do it bc he's a menace. but he does promise to cut it all off if things get messy.

james gets everything ready and, after stalking some of his old school classmates, he finds that one of them is attending a wedding (it's mulciber, who james remembers to despise back then, so it's a win-win situation), which means his plan is all set.

by fate, and fate only, this wedding is regulus' and some girl's his parents chose for him (and mulciber was invited bc his family is very close to the black's)

and obviously, this is a clear forced marriage, regulus would rather kill himself than marry a girl, he's as gay as they come.

[for sake of the plot, sirius and james don't know each other at all, didn't go to school together either, and sirius didn't run away and is also livid with his parents for marrying reg off, but there wasn't anything he could do]

so! prank day, james is live the moment he, very dramatically, stands up and proclaims his love for this.... regulus guy, and how he knows he promised to not come but he just couldn't handle the thought of the love of his life being married to someone else (his followers thought he was going to claim to love the bride, but james found the groom way too cute and he just couldn't hold himself back, he's just a guy)

the 30 seconds of pure silence and shock that follow are almost enough to make james break character and start laughing like crazy.

regulus, who's flabbergasted by the way, knows immediately that it's a prank. however, this might as well be a sign of the gods, because, what are the chances that this (very handsome) random man, chose HIS wedding out of all, and targeted HIM to be the one he "loves"? way to many coincidences.

also, did he mention the dude is unbelievably fit?

he makes a choice right there.

using all his acting abilities, he makes a whole scene tearing up and running to him. it's so well done, james for a second believes they are actual lovers.

hell breaks at that moment, walburga goes absolutely nuts along with orion and their side of the family. the bride's family start a fight, and between the commotion regulus sees his brother laughing maniacally after their mother yells at regulus to stop playing games or he will get disowned.

james, who thinks that this is now along the lines of things getting messy, is about to announce it's all a prank, when regulus sees right through him, panics, and just whispers "im going to kiss you now, sorry" before snogging the life out of him.

remus, who's the camera guy, cuts the live right there.

james, oh james, he doesn't quite hear the screech walburga lets out because this backfired so bad, but jesus chirst can this regulus kiss. this is love at first sight. love at first prank, if you may.

regulus knowing stuff is about to get bad, just grabs james' hand and runs for it. james just follows, he's dizzy. remus also follows because he's NOT getting involved in all that, he's actually quitting james.

sirius follows too, if his little brother is finally disowned, there's no reason to stay, thank you very much.

anyways, this whole idea was just because i want james followers to see his channel thumbnails going:

CRASHING A RANDOM WEDDING 💍 PRANK #56

to

how i met the love of my life ; Q&A

and

REG AND I ARE GETTING MARRIED (im sealing all entries so no-one can crash it) — VLOG

bye

[pedgito]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | Joel's a pain in the ass neighbor, but fortunately he's fond of you. Alternatively, Joel's a creep and you're definitely into it.

author's note | my entry for my womb mate @chaotic-mystery's challenge WIRED 4 YOU. I got Joel Miller, Uh Oh by Tate McRae and a fucked up thought process & a special thank you to my love @gracieheartspedro for looking this over.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, dubcon, no outbreak au, age gap, joel calls you kiddo, creepy borderline pervert!joel, protective!joel, reader is in college and living with a handful of roommates, mentions of partying and hook-ups, we're very sex positive here, voyeurism level: extreme, joel being an absolute fiend, masturbation, public sex, fingering, (1) one slap to the face, subtle breeding kink, creampies, unprotected piv, corruption kink

word count — 8.3k

It’s downright insidious, freaky—the chances of your upstairs bedroom placed directly opposite of his.

Joel Miller, your neighbor. 

The old, crotchety man who’s called the cops on the house five times within the first month of moving in.

You and your small group of friends, three other girls, decided to rent the place out for the second half of your college semester. Better commute, spacier than the cheap accommodation dorm rooms.

And this was the first weekend you’ve actually been able to settle, the inevitable party streak seeming to wane as classes ramped up and work seemed endless.

Joel works weird hours, too—so you’ve noticed. 

Like, there isn’t a sturdy schedule to his job, coming and going as he pleases.

But now, you’re face to face with the gap between your houses holding the tension, spotting the man responsible for you having to charm the town sheriff every weekend. You’ve got it down, obviously. You’re touchy and sweet and laying it on thick before he’s forgetting what the call was even for. 

It never worked, but he still did it.

You’re halfway through pulling your shirt over your head, cloth tight against your chest with your arms through their designated hole when he turns his head, thinking it was a trick of the light—no, it was just him.

You flip him off boldly and refuse to wait for a reaction, swiping the curtain closed before you’re tugging the shirt over your head the rest of the way.

It seemed your luck that you would end up sharing a window with him—praying that the sight of him would be few and far between.

—

As your luck would have it, you saw him again.

And again, until your animosity had melted to a simple acknowledgement, still full of disdain—he’s always freshly showered when you see him, spotting the wet mop of hair even from a distance. 

You try to ignore how his eyes start to linger.

He knows you can’t be that naive, but you don’t offer any signs, curtains often parted as you changed in the comfort and privacy of your own room.

Joel knows it's wrong, but he’s growing curious.

You weren’t like the other girls; not accompanying them on their rowdy nights out or stumbling up to the front door after a late homecoming and not passing out on his front lawn either. 

Though, you are kind enough to wake your friend up the following morning with a disgruntled expression and a slowly cooling cup of coffee in your grip. Patience wearing thin as you attempt to lead them back in the house.

You liked to party and you liked to have fun, but you had a limit—a hard one that you didn’t break, refusing to let distractions steer you in the wrong direction.

But, the reality was that Joel couldn’t stand any of you.

Maybe it was the gap in age, growing up in different times, spending your twenties in a much different manner than he would have. 

Regardless, he could eat shit.

You’re so hopeful of avoiding him for the handful of months you had left on your lease that you swear you’re dreaming when you hear his voice carry up the house from your front door, raised and rather crass for such an early morning after a long night of dealing with rowdy twenty-something year olds with less sense than you.

The birds weren’t even fucking chirping yet.

“Why the hell are we arguing this early in the morning?” You crease, rubbing at tired eyes as you blindly step down the stairs, turning the corner to see your roommate nearly nose to nose, always combative and never one to stop and think.

You loved her, but fuck.

“One of you little shits fucked up my truck,” He griped, thumb jutting angrily over his back, “I need the information for my insurance and this one’s decided violence is easier than cooperatin’—better yet, I’ll just call the damn cops.”

“Woah—wait,” You interject, yawning as you gently pull your friend away from Joel before giving her a look of pathetic plea, hoping she’d scamper off.

Fortunately, she does.

“God—what is it with you and cops, dude?”

Dude? Joel hadn’t heard that one yet.

“Who’s car is it?” He presses, arms crossing over his chest in an authoritative manner that shouldnt intimidate you, but it does, “It’s the one at the end of the drive with the dent on the bumper,”

You peer over his shoulder with a sudden disbelief, eventually reaching out to shove him aside because there is no way…

“Those bitches,” You hiss, “they took my car?”

He knows you’re not asking for an answer, your thoughts becoming audible at the sheer disbelief.

They seemed to take the mantra of sharing everything to a literal sense, forgoing even asking if you were alright with it after you had turned in earlier than the rest of them.

You knew what would come, pitiful excuses masked with fake apologies—it never failed.

We didn’t want to wake you.

It was an accident, swear.

I’ll cover the cost, don’t worry.

“Trouble in paradise?” Joel tries to tease at your expense of misery, running your fingers through sleep-tousled hair before you mirror his position, arms crossed over your chest as you scowl, doing the mental math over the cost.

“Fuck you,” You bite, “I’ll bring the shit you need over later, but for now, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Hey, that ain’t how this works, I need it n—“

“I’m good for it,” You cut him off, not allowing him a word in edgewise before you’re gone, door slamming in his face.

It’s only minutes after you’re gone and Joel is reluctantly turning back toward his house that he realizes you had bested him, forcing him to walk away empty-handed.

And frankly, Joel didn’t like that.

–

He liked it even less when you showed up five hours later looking like hell, the beginnings of spring prickling the air with the sun beating down in the cul-de-sac but the cool breeze satiating the heat. He looked you over, silent judgment in his gaze that made you want to slap him.

He’d probably press charges.

“Slept good, huh?” he drawled.

“Haha. Very funny. Here.” You shoved the folded piece of paper, all information required for his stupid insurance claim, glaring begrudgingly,. “This wasn’t my fault.”

“Was your friend's fault, though—maybe you should keep a better eye on ‘em,” Joel reprimands, “A house full of ya and you aren’t keeping tabs on who’s comin’ and goin’ in your car?”

“I was asleep—and you—mmm, you know what, no—” You laugh to yourself, holding your hand up defensively before you shake your head, “I gave you the info, file your little claim and fuck off. Also, calling the cops isn’t working. So, maybe…I don’t know? Give it a rest?”

There’s a pause where Joel sizes you up, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, as if he’s savoring the way he can needle you.

“We’re one call away from me offering to fuck officer friendly and accuse you of harassment,” you snap at him, hating how smug he looks, “Is it the noise or are you just so old and miserable you can’t allow anyone else to enjoy anything? No one else is calling the cops.”

To be fair, you kept things at a respectable volume inside–however, the capacity in the house occasionally overflowed and you could only contain so much, the responsibility and leadership always defaulting to you.

“Yes, because I’m a miserable old man,” Joel says flatly, “That’s why.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the sturdy frame of his front door, not at all moved by your outburst, letting the silence stretch until you’re squirming beneath his gaze.

“Jesus, you’re such a prick,” you mutter.

You roll your eyes and start stomping towards your house, and even with your back turned, you can feel the weight of his stare burning into you. You flip him off for good measure, aware of Mrs. Madison across the street curious as she waters her petunias, a look of distaste at your sudden outburst.

That’s when you see the new detail: the side mirror on his truck is held together with duct tape. 

You almost feel bad—you didn’t see that much damage after the mess of last night; whoever was responsible did a number backing into it. But, as quickly as the guilt consumes you, it dissipates. 

Joel could stay in his disdain as long as he wished even as the sway of your hips burned themselves into his memory, tongue filling his cheek before he slipped back into his house.

Both of your reprieves come as school busies your days and work occupies his own, in and out of the house without much of a word or glance, the rowdiness now few and far between, but not the visits—occasionally it was the same boy, a few times before another one inserts himself into the mix, and a few girls. 

At first he assumes you may have downgraded your house parties to smaller get-togethers in hopes that Joel wouldn’t call the cops anymore—which truthfully, he does stop. Only as his workload has increased, his mind occupied and less time spent at home—he finally catches sight of you after two weeks of near silence, it’s through the window of his bedroom into yours.

Joel’s breath catches when he realizes you’re not alone. There's a guy, unrecognizable, only his arms visible as you’re nearly naked and strewn out on your sheets, your bra clad against your breasts but your legs bare and parted, hands curled around your thighs and a head working furiously under the guide of your hand.

He watches you throw your head back and laugh, a pure elation. 

He rubs his eyes, certain the late hours must be playing tricks on him.

You’re in his goddamn head, he thinks.

But, what really grabs his attention is your slightly opened window, the sound from your room filtering into his own, through the screen, the shadow of the curtains and his dark room keeping him hidden but he can hear you. See you.

An itch tangles deep in his chest, something raw and consuming trying to claw its way out.

The moans and giggles tangle in his mind like vines, wrapping tighter with every glance. The days pass in this strange voyeuristic rhythm; more nights than not, Joel finds himself watching, captive to your parade of lovers, growing jealous of the returning faces.

He tries to tell himself there isn’t anything wrong with what he’s doing—it was you leaving the window open, you keeping the lights on for him, curtains parted for him, but the build-up eventually makes him cave and the stress from work leads him to palming his cock on a night when you’re climbing on top of your chosen suitor, breasts on full display and bouncing with a delicious rhythm, and Joel’s hardly hidden now, resting back in his desk chair with his jeans pushed down just enough to tuck his briefs underneath his balls, drawn tight as he fisted his cock.

His hand is rough and calloused, opposite to the way he imagines yours might be if you’d ever stoop to touching him this way. The thought is absurd. Dirty. 

He needs your soft hands on him.

It only makes him buck harder into his palm, sweat pouring down his chest and every muscle strung tight with need. Your moans slip through the open window, finding him in the dark of night like a searchlight.

He pretends you know he’s there—wants him to hear, wants him to see—imagines your eyes on his cock as he grinds his palm over the head, his thumb slipping over the slit and suddenly he’s spilling over his hand with a pathetic grunt, breathing out shakily.

It really has become his routine.

When he gets home late at night, it’s the first thing he checks for: the light in your window.

Sometimes it’s on and you’re alone, studying on your bed with a face of focus, brow drawn in tight as you tapped away on your laptop, but the release you crave is never far away. If Joel watches long enough, eventually you succumb to your own insatiable need, pulling out the small, handheld toy from your dresser and locking your door, afraid your friends might interrupt the precious time but not giving half a shit about your open window or the man watching carefully from across the way.

Then it’s just you and the feeble little toy, and Joel can’t look away.

He can’t do anything other than wish he could give you what it does—what it never seems to: the satisfaction his big, experienced hands would. He watches you edge yourself repeatedly, almost to the point of pain, whining and gasping as you work yourself up, on the brink of the release that only a real cock could give. His.

You drive him mad this way.

He fucks his palm until he sees stars some nights, every part of him feeling feral and raw with need, but it’s never quite enough.

You have to know—with him easing up on calls and complaints, rarely heard or seen, giving you the peace you craved as you settled back into your schedule with school and focused on the necessary parts of your life.

It’s his secret, he’d die with it. With as much sin as he’s committed in his lifetime, there wasn’t guilt so much as shame, but you were just so goddamn tempting.

-

The next conversation you have with him is tense, a culmination of events rising to a nasty head of anger and frustration, all the while unfoundedly attracted to the way he asserts himself. 

It’s pathetic, really.

But, you couldn’t help it—it was kinda hot.

Joel likes to smoke on his porch at night occasionally, with summer in full swing and his yard giving him the perfect view of the nightly neighborhood entertainment, he seems to examine the scene critically, that permanent scowl on his face.

Truthfully, you’re thankful the partying has died down and often found the house emptier than normal as your roommate had started to find fun outside of the comfort of home, often leaving you alone—that is, relatively speaking.

Joel’s come to memorize a few names, the one that stands out most is Dean.

He’s a confident little shit, all suave and little empathy, he’s seen him treat you roughly in a few ways but more importantly, he’s an asshole. He’s the same kid he’s caught kissing another one of your roommates behind your back—a classic dick move, but breaking your heart?

Well, Joel wasn’t going to stand for that.

He had to protect his girl—even if you had no idea what that meant to him and his nightly meet-ups with his bedroom window. Joel waits until Dean is alone and your front door is slammed shut after a tense exchange of words and the inevitable fuck you—that you’ve mastered throwing at Joel plenty of times—slips out.

Joel emerges from the shadow of the porch with an air of defiance, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes full of skepticism and Dean is on the defense almost instantly. He’s seen Joel before, always perturbed by his presence.

Dean spins around as he approaches his own car parked at the end of your driveway, face already sour. “You got a problem, old man?”

“I don’t wanna catch you back over here,” Joel explains, approaching with a slow reverence, the hand not occupying the cigarette stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans, “that clear?”

“You think you’re some big protector, huh? She doesn’t need you to fight her battles. She’s fine.” Dean retorts, a forced bravado floats from his chest to his mouth, dismissive of how poorly he had treated you about five minutes prior—how easily the words selfish bitch had flowed from his mouth.

“You leave and don’t come back—I see you around here again and I’ll snap your ass like a twig, got it?” Joel threatens, tapping out the ash over the cement, his face unnaturally relaxed.

“Whatever,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “she isn’t worth this shit, anyways.”

With Dean, you weren’t all that upset.

He ghosted you completely, but he was already on his way out.

Then, there’s a small illness that spreads on campus, leading to a week off strictly online classes that comes as a welcomed break, spending extra time outside as you lounge in gaudy furniture your landlord had left behind, a thick chair that reclines and swivels, curled up in the seat as you work your way through an assignment as Joel’s truck roars up the street and into his driveway, toolbox clutched in his hand as he fished for his keys at his front door.

It wasn’t that Joel had been kind to you as of late, but rather less…frustrated?

He smiled on occasion, filtered through misdelivered mail and stuffed it into your mailbox instead of approaching your front door with annoyance, hell—he even apparently offered to clean up the front lawn last weekend while he mowed his own, knowing that none of your girls even owned a lawn mower.

There had to be a catch.

When he catches you looking, he raises a hand in a half-wave, and you feel an unexpected flutter.

What the fuck was that?

It happens a couple more times, no words, just a simple exchange.

Your roommate, Julia, catches it one morning.

“How’s your boyfriend?” she teases as she passes by, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

She’d yet to have a run-in with Joel, unbothered by his presence and rather clueless.

“Please,” you snort, “he’s like fifty.” But there’s no denying the strange gravitational pull you feel, like the man has some secret to him that you want to discover—curious to what has changed.

Days slide by, punctuated by Joel’s presence.

You’d spent the last few days waiting for it—the favor he’d ask for in return or some comment about how you’d better not let the weeds get out of control again, letting the overgrown grass put a bad mark on the neighbors' normally well-kept lawns. But there’s nothing. 

Absolutely nothing.

Friday afternoon, Joel was back on his porch, quietly watching your house while pretending to tinker with something wrapped in a blue tarp in the back of his truck. You pretended not to notice at first, keeping your head bent over your laptop like it was giving you the meaning of life instead of a LATE warning on your English assignment. 

What did this guy want?

Later that evening, you watch him sand down a piece of wood against a table on his porch, lost in his work. You and your roommates had already enjoyed dinner for the night and cleaned up, the rest of them retired to their rooms but here you were, approaching Joel.

The sun bakes the street, turning everything into a mirage of heat waves and distant hums of cicadas. An impulse catches you; before it fully registers, you’re already at his driveway with a couple cold beers clutched in hand, one already open and half-empty.

“Hey,” you called. Joel squinted up at you like he wasn’t sure who he was looking at for a second before his eyes landed on the beer, even more confused, “—it’s a peace offering.”

“Alright,” he responds slowly, unsure as he reaches for the bottle and twists the cap off with a natural strength, “what’s the catch?”

You shrug and Joel hides his instinct to let his eyes fall upon your breasts as he takes a sip and tilts his head back, wanting to reprimand you for wearing such a revealing top despite the sweltering heat, almost like you were begging him to look, sweat clinging to your chest.

“No—no catch, just…never got to thank you for the lawn,” You tell him, spotting the newly replaced mirror on his truck, “Oh, finally got it fixed?”

Joel turns back over his shoulder and nods, eyes squinting as he spotted the still very visible dent to your car, “Can’t say the same for you—some friends you got,”

“We’re college students—we’re broke,” You reply with ease, “It’s just a dent, anyways. It still drives and—”

“I can try and fix it,” Joel offers, “Next weekend, if you’re around,”

“Aren’t I always?” you tease, testing the waters, a flirtatious smile forcing its way onto your face but you catch it at the last second, reprimanding yourself over it.

What were you even doing?

“Seems that way,” Joel decides, taking another long swig of the beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—he’d know.

Well, it was decided.

 And it seemed after a month of tense interaction, things were finally settling. Joel was less tense, you were less combative. It was great.

Curiosity wins, though. It always does.

Joel doesn’t mean to interfere. Really, he doesn’t. 

But when he’s heading out to his truck Saturday morning, grabbing the tools to approach your front door and start working on your car, a familiar guy slips out your front door, tall and lanky—hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, looking a little too smug for Joel’s liking—he can’t resist.

It’s the same spiel that Dean got, though slightly more effective, filling the younger boy with fear.

It’s only when he glances back toward the house and at the living room window—he sees your narrowed eyes watching him through the glass—that he realizes you saw the whole thing, filling you with a rage you’ve never felt before.

And even moreso, there’s no smile this time—just a quiet challenge in his gaze that makes your pulse skip. Joel knew exactly what he was doing.

“Asshole,” you mutter, slipping on your shoes before bursting out the front door. Joel’s at the curb, hands stuffed in his pockets, like he’s waiting for you to come storming over, the remnants of your friendship dissipating as the car speeds away.

“What was that?” you demand, crossing your arms tight.

He shrugs, a maddening little smirk pulling at his lips. “Who was that?”

You nearly choke on your response. He doesn’t deserve an explanation. 

Instead, you jab a finger in his direction, eyes narrowing as you move into his space, his head turning to squint off into the distance before you let the urge take over and unfurl your hand to smack his across the jaw, the sickening crack catching Joel off-guard.

 “How long have you been doing that? Fucking with my friends?”

Joel looks amused. “The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Friends—alright, sure, he thinks.

Joel catches sight of your wrist as it winds back again, his fingers wrapping around it with ease and tight, a silent warning, you ask through clenched teeth “Do you do this with everyone? Is it some kind of hobby? Being a shitty neighbor? Or are you obsessed with me?”

“Obsessed? Oh, kiddo,” Joel laughs, a low rumble that you feel in your bones. “You think pretty highly of yourself.”

Your stomach flips, and not in the way that you want it to. “Says the guy who can’t keep his nose out of my business. I don’t need your help.”

“You should stay outta trouble,” Joel suggests

"He’s not trouble," you shoot back. "And I don’t need you to play watchdog for me."

“Are you sure about that?” Joel flicks an eyebrow, the challenge in his voice making your skin prickle.

“Is that a threat?” you ask tensely, attempting to wretch your hand away and failing.

"Wasn’t a threat," Joel says, voice dropping lower. "Just know you like to push buttons. Seem real fond of keepin’ your curtains wide open at night." His head tilts slightly, "Almost like you want someone watchin'."

The connection clicks in your mind after a moment, turning to catch the open panels of your bedroom window in the space between your houses before your eyes lock on him, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“You’ve been watching me?”

Joel chuckles, his grip easing enough to let you pull free. “Not like you’re makin’ it hard.”

“You’re sick,” you spit at him, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs help,” Joel counters, taking a step back. “Or, maybe it’s attention.”

The words sting, and it takes everything not to lunge for him again. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m just being honest.” He shrugs, and it infuriates you how little he seems to care.

Your mouth works around a reply that won’t come out right; all that escapes is an angry huff. 

Joel can see it simmering underneath, the realization that he might be right.

“Lemme show you somethin’,” Joel suggests, nodding toward his house.

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” you say, but there’s hesitation in it, a crack that Joel doesn’t miss.

“And you’re curious,” He’s already heading toward his door, leaving you to decide if you’ll follow.

You know you shouldn’t. 

You know this is the worst idea.

But you can already feel the pull—of him—and it’s stronger than anything else.

You trail after him, every step a little betrayal of your better judgment.

Quietly, you follow him into his dark living room and up the stairs, met with a half-open bedroom door that he spears wide with his fingers, footsteps following quietly behind as he leads you to the inevitable window in his room that peers right into your own.

“There’s something wrong with you.” It comes out weaker than you intend, unable to meet his eyes as your fingers wrap over the edge of the windowsill, his presence lingering behind.

Joel just steps aside, gesturing toward the view. “Then I guess there’s somethin’ wrong with both of us.”

You stare through the window into yours and your breath catches. An unmistakable pang hits you when you see it—how clear the sight is in your own room, how well he must have seen everything. Heard everything. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually closed it, annoyed with the constant stuffiness.

“Seems like you want me watchin’,” Joel says, there’s a taunting edge to his voice, but it’s laced with something else you can’t decipher

“Or maybe you’re just lonely,” you suggest, turning to him.

“Maybe,” Joel responds cooly.

“So just like that? You spy on me?” you accuse, but there’s less bite in it than before.

Joel’s grin is slow, infuriatingly confident. “Just lookin’,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d mind much—’round here when we want privacy, we’re intentional about, we don’t leave our windows open while we’re naked and moaning for half the neighborhood to hear,”

The embarrassment hits you quick, palms sweating at the mention as you look away and back out the window, feeling Joel move closer.

“I didn’t think—”

“Yeah, you didn’t think.” he cuts in, but he’s not angry. 

There’s a hint of laughter in it, and it makes you tense, but not in a fight or flight type of way, rather, anticipating his next move, expecting it.

“So, what?” you challenge, “What happens now?”

“Depends on you,” Joel says, his voice low now. Dangerous, almost. “You gonna close it?”

“What if I don’t?”

There it was.

Joel’s eyes darken with interest. 

“Then, I guess you’ll know I’m watchin’ you,” he admits, the words sending a shiver down your spine, his hand soothing the shock as it spreads over the small of your back and down, curving over your jeans as he squeezed your ass between the heel of his palm and fingers, “that alright with you?”

Your heart hammers in your chest as you turn to hold his gaze, feeling the heat of him so close. 

It’s a game—a risky one—and he’s playing it well. You’re hooked, unable to challenge him.

Now that he’s presented you with his reasoning, his motives, you’re entranced. 

He’s always had a rugged way about him, devastatingly attractive despite his age—not that had any affect anyways, but you found yourself intimidated because of it, admiring from a distance before he showed how much of an asshole he could be.

Still, you weren’t blind. 

If he was lonely, it was by choice. Not by lack of interest.

You’re aware of his wandering hands as they slide around your hips to unbutton your shorts, the zipper following quietly before the warmth of his hand is pressing against your mound as his fingers slide into the front of your underwear, simmering with the same heat as his middle finger slides through your obvious slick, a laugh catching in his throat as he crowds you against the open window, his chin hooking over your shoulder as your lips part in a gasp.

“Guess I got my answer,” he teases, voice thick with satisfaction.

You feel exposed and alive, heat pooling low and your fingers clutch at his arm, needing an anchor as your knees threaten to give way.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you breathe, but the tremor in your voice betrays you.

“Yeah?” His middle finger slides up, circles slow and deliberate, “feels good, don’t it?”

His words are like a spark; you tilt your hips into him, a silent plea for more.

Joel obliges with a low chuckle, teasing you with expert precision. 

“How are they?” Joel asks curiously, unsurprisingly calm as he quietly shifts your shorts down until they fall, pooling at your ankles while he unoccupied hand squeezes at the inside of your thigh, “Do they touch you this good?”

“Good enough, they can make me come,” You admit, eyes falling shut at his practiced movements, the hand squeezing at your thigh sliding up to press inside of you, two thick fingers spreading you open while his other works over your swollen clit, rubbing in furious rhythm with his fingers

“Are you good enough, Joel?” You ask tauntingly, a small waver in your voice, “Or is that why you live alone?”

“I am, kiddo,” Joel reassures, “And I do because s’better for me that way.”

“Or you can’t make a girl come, can’t keep them around so you watch me through your window,” you explain to him, momentarily pausing as his finger rubs over your clit harshly, no circles or practiced motion, just pressure—delicious fucking pressure, “Do the neighbors know you like to be a creep?”

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” he bites, his hand moves with a kind of confident hunger, your breath hitches as you feel it building, raw and electric.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you manage, voice shaking.

“Am I?” Joel’s lips skim the side of your neck, a hot whisper against your skin as his finger presses rough and insistent. “Seems like you wanted me to see just how needy you were. Somethin’ about those boys ain’t satisfying or you wouldn’t fuckin’ be here lettin’ me touch you like this,”

He’s good—fuck, he’s good.

You can’t find the words to deny it, not when he’s curling inside you in perfect tandem with the dizzying friction on your clit. The heat is coiling tight in your belly, pulling you closer to the edge.

“Admit it,” he pushes, “let me hear what those pretty little cries sound like up close as you come around my fingers,”

You’re panting now, thighs trembling under his relentless pace.

“I—fuck—” The admission is lost in a choked moan, grabbing blindly for his wrist as your orgasm crashes into you, eyes squeezed shut as you gasp, hips moving insistently into the motion of his hands as he guides you through intensity of it, almost like he’s rocking you in place, soothing you.

“Good enough?” Joel murmurs, the cockiness in his voice matches the satisfaction flooding through you.

His fingers slide out slowly, leaving you empty but tingling with sharp aftershocks. 

He shifts beside you, smirking like the self-assured asshole he is.

“Admit it,” Joel encourages, “only time I’ve ever seen you come like that is when you’re playin’ with that cheap little toy, alone in your room.”

“Just stop meddling, alright?” you plead with him, quietly adjusting your shorts back over your hips with a small modicum of shame, but the look on Joel’s face reads as insatiable.

“I’ll keep scarin’ ‘em off,” Joel admits, “‘til you realise you don’t deserve to be treated the way they’re treatin’ you—yellin’ and sneaking around behind your back. I see everything, kiddo.”

“Well, stop,” you reply without much bite, “just—go back to being insufferable—”

Joel smirks at the small revelation on your behalf, “I thought you were aimin’ for a peace offering the other day, I’m keepin’ the peace. For you and for me,”

The back and forth was pointless, you begin to realize.

Joel was a natural protector, whether you needed it or not.

–

He does keep his word, though.

It takes a week for you to face him again, but eventually you’re wandering back to his front door and accepting defeat, hushed on the fact your bedroom window has stayed closed since the day in his bedroom and not a single person for Joel to run off.

He answers the door shirtless, thin shorts hung low on his waist and the scowl you return to his own is too natural, trying desperately to stuff down your ego. He must have been sleeping, hair mused and his eyes blinking rapidly as he rubbed at his thick facial hair, scratching at his cheek.

“Whaddya need, kiddo?”

You roll your eyes and turn your head impishly over your shoulder.

Joel chuckles lightly, though tired.

You don’t even have to ask.

“Let me eat dinner and I’ll be over,” he tells you, “no plans tonight?”

“We’re all studying for some big tests coming up so no, I just—I don’t wanna look at it anymore.”

“Gotcha,” he replies easily, “go on—I’ll come knockin’ later.”

He throws the orders around with such ease, ones that you follow without argument.

Joel shows up later that night, hand rapping at the door at the same time you pull it open.

You follow him outside, listen to him explain, and then you’re turning on your heels and half a second from escaping the torture of having to be around him any longer before he speaks up and the inevitable comes out.

“Oh, you’re helpin’,” Joel explains, “get your ass back here—teach you a thing or two this way.”

“Uh huh,” you reply tersely and while it is excruciating to sit through, Joel gets the dent out and fixes your dimming taillight free of charge, that is, for the moment. He’s well-versed with cars and his hands work quickly, and frankly, the way he moves is distracting.

Annoyingly.

You can’t help staring at the expanse of his back and the taut muscle underneath, only able to imagine it and clearing your throat awkwardly as he has to repeat himself a couple times before you realize he’s talking to you again.

“Pop your trunk,” he repeats, following the order quietly before he’s stuffing a few tools in the back that has you eyeing him skeptically, “just a few things, in case you end up with a flat or something, you won’t be completely helpless,”

“O-kay,” you reply with hesitance, watching his fingers curl around the trunk as he shoves it closed, “is that all?”

“A thank you’d be nice,” Joel admits, lowering his tone as he murmurs, “fuckin’ kids these days,”

Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you approach him again, hand mirroring his as it curls around your trunk and you invade his space, nearly chest to chest as you retort, “Oh, boo-hoo,” there’s a faux frown forming, “do I need to remind you of your behavior? I think this is payment for being a total dick to me for the past couple months.”

You catch the glimpse of his hand flexing as you stand your ground, mouth opening in another sharp sting of words before his hand is squeezing at your cheeks, the curve between his thumb and pointer finger curling around your chin as he forces it up.

“I’ll scream,” you threaten, fingers twisting into his shirt as you attempt to shove him back but he’s completely unmoving, “let—me—go,”

“Do it,” he challenges, “or—I deal with that little problem you got goin’ on,”

He knows it—how unsatisfied you felt, even without having to voice it.

Your silence is the answer, slumping slightly in defeat as you wait him out.

“Let me see your hand,” he asks, surprisingly softer, his palm extending in wait.

As you offer your hand, his fingers curl around it, guiding it to the front of his cotton shorts and you can feel the heat of his cock underneath, hard against the fabric and tucked up to avoid showing the obvious arousal he was dealing with—you weren’t sure how long he’s been sporting it, but the rigidness of it has your breath catch, intimidatingly large even by the feel as your eyes flicker down slightly,

“It’s a shame,” Joel says, “how disrespectful you’re being—seems like you need to learn manners, kiddo.”

“Stop. Calling me that—” you struggle to say, the words half-daring and half-pleading. He slides his thumb down, brushing your bottom lip as his eyes flash with something dark and dangerous.

“What?” he teases, watching you squirm as he keeps your hand pinned to his shorts, “you don’t like that?”

“I’m not a kid,” you insist, trying for defiance but it comes out breathless.

He grins, and you’re startled by how it transforms his face—softening all those hard edges you’ve come to know. For a moment, there’s a flicker of sweetness before he leans in close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath, whispering low.

“Then quit actin’ like one.”

His mouth is over yours before you can find more words, catching on the gasp that slips out as instinct takes over. His kiss is rough but not forceful; it’s got a bruising sort of gentleness that makes your knees weak and you wobble slightly, his hand removing from your face as they wrap under your elbows, keeping you upright.

You’re not surprised by how quickly you melt into him. Your hand never leaves the front of his shorts despite his own hands now elsewhere, one creeping around your waist, pulling you tighter and tighter until there’s nowhere left to go.

His body is a wall, hot and solid, against yours.

Your fingers twitch where they’re trapped against him, squeezing at his shaft as your finger grazes the clothed head, weeping under the fabric, and he makes a noise in his throat that surprises you—a low, gravelly sound that sends a shiver down your spine. 

You feel that dark edge of satisfaction from him, knowing how affected you are.

 How predictable.

“Ain’t got much to say now,” he murmurs against your mouth,

His grip changes, dragging your hand up under his shirt until it’s pressed against the bare skin of his stomach. You can feel him breathing, deep and steady.

It’s not fair how calm he is while you're barely hanging on.

Suddenly, his tongue traces your lower lip and a whimper escapes you, muffled against his mouth. Joel groans, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, “Lift your dress up,” he directs, quietly guiding your chest flush with the trunk as he shuffles with the fabric of his shorts under the darkened sky, thankful the streetlights in the cul-de-sac needed a fresh set, barely buzzing.

“You’re makin’ a mess,” Joel mutters, voice low and rough. It sends you reeling, your face hot as he slides the fabric aside, parting you with his fingers, testing your resistance as you welcome the gentle press as the digits slip inside, your hand squeezing desperately at his cock, a silent plea, “we’re gonna rectify that, alright?” 

You nod dumbly, filled with an undeniable lust for him, even if you couldn’t admit it out loud.

“Ain’t got protection, do ya?” He asks, suspects, “Damn shame you’re lettin’ them fuck you like that, sweetheart,”

“It’s none—none of your business, just because I don’t doesn’t mean—”

“You lettin’ them fuck you raw?” he asks curiously, noting the way your thighs spread to accommodate another finger, you shake your head weakly.

“S’good,” he decides, “but you’re gonna let me aren’t you?”

Your nod is too quick, proudly pathetic.

“That’s right—no need worryin’ about me, right? “Cause, I’ll take care of ya,”

“I just—don’t—dunno if it will fit, Joel,” you admit and Joel chuckles, a subtle noise of agreement before he soothes your worries.

“It’s fine,” he assures, eyes locked on yours as you turn to look at him, voice both commanding and reassuring, trading his fingers for the head of his cock as he pushes you forward and forces your ass on display, pushing the thickness of himself through your folds, coating it with your slick, “You can—fuck—you can handle it.”

There’s something reckless in the way he moves—only Joel could get this from you. Only him.

He eases into you slowly, each inch coaxed through the tight resistance until he’s seated, until you’re stuffed full and squirming. His breath hitches, a low groan vibrating through his chest as he holds there for a moment, letting you adjust to the heavy stretch.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, a hint of pride in the words as he draws back slightly, hand bunched in your dress to enjoy the view as he rocks forward again, “Takin’ it so damn well—it’s like you were made for me.”

He builds a rhythm with each of his ragged exhales, using the weight of his body to keep you pinned beneath him, to bury himself deeper than you’ve ever felt. 

“You like this,” he decides, “no fuckin’ denyin’ it—your friends could look at those windows, open that door, and they’d catch you like this, cryin’ over gettin’ fucked just like you deserve—”

“Joel, please,” you’re not sure what you’re even begging about, but you are, gasping with each rapid thrust he makes, his fingers working in tandem over your clit like he’s done this a million times over, knowing your body better than you do,

“Could be watchin’ right now, but I know you,” he taunts, “You like being watched, don’tcha?”

You nod again, absentminded as he moves against you. There’s nothing gentle about the way he fucks you toward oblivion; it’s intense and raw, overwhelming in a way you’ve never experienced before. He’s got you teetering the line, your orgasm begging for release.

“There it is,” he says in a low rasp, feeling you clench tightly around him, “she’s beggin’ for it, you need me to fill ‘er up, sweetheart? She need to be stuffed full ‘f me?”

“Y—huh, yesyes, please,” you ramble, your eyes falling shut as your climax washes over, his finger insistent on your clit as he pumps his hips lazily, his warm seed spreading inside of you.

“I’ll take that as thank you,” Joel decides with a lazy tone, pulling out of you without warning and adjusting your panties and dress back over your body, “though—still would be nice to hear it.”

“Thank you,” you reply breathlessly, unable to meet his eye, “thank you—for…yeah, thank you.”

“You know where to find me,” Joel tells you with an amused smirk.

And unfortunately, that was often.

–

It's a bad habit—coming to Joel when you need things.

But, he just fixes the problem so easily.

Sprinklers broken, Joel’s got a tool to replace it.

Squeaky hinges? Joel’s got just the fix to quiet the insistent noise.

A hole in your bathroom wall after a fight that wasn’t your fault at all, but ultimately ended up being your responsibility to fix—well, that was a bigger ask.

And your roommates' jaws can’t even begin to remain shut as he walks through the front door on a free weekend, all of them lounging on the couch with admiration in their eyes.

There was a similar sentiment of disdain for Joel, but they could all agree he was attractive.

You tried your best to ignore the strew of late assignments that have become more and more apparent as Joel invaded your life—moments when you would try to slip away and Joel would beg for a little bit more, coerce you into staying over for the night when your mind was battling with the idea.

He was good like that, convincing you of making the bad choices you normally wouldn’t.

“Ignore them,” you tell him over your shoulder as he offers a kind wave, guiding him toward the bathroom and showing him the sizable hole in the drywall.

He whistles low, rubbing the back of his neck, "Hell of a punch."

You shrug, "You can fix it, right?"

Of course, your roommates weren’t oblivious to your growing absence over the following weeks into now, eager to ask questions but knowing you weren’t the type of person to share. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out and ultimately, they couldn’t even blame you.

It was your education and social life that had taken the hit, but for Joel, you couldn’t complain.

Given the opportunity, they would have jumped his bones just as quick, though, you’re not sure if Joel had eyes for anyone but you, always watchful even from a distance.

He still met you at his window on occasion, but you’re more purposeful with your performance.

As is he, watching as he fists his cock to your fingers spreading down the seam of your cunt, pressing the brightly colored toy inside of you wish it was him filling you out.

You always moan a little louder than necessary, letting him know just what he does to you even from afar. He’s perfect in his window—broad shoulders and strong arms flexing as he strokes himself, pumping in time with the rhythm you set. His free hand grips the frame, knuckles white like he needs the support.

The anticipation builds slowly and sweetly. You drag it out for him, teasing your clit with languid circles, hips lifting off the bed. He swears again, and you can almost taste the frustration rolling off him.

“More,” you mouth, knowing it’ll drive him wild.

He doesn’t disappoint you. 

His pace quickens, and you can see every detail—the veins in his forearm tensing, thumb swiping over the head of his cock. Your cunt clenches around the toy at the sight of his impatience.

It always ends the same way, though. Not nearly as satisfying as the real thing.

When you girlfriends catch you sneaking in late on occasion, it’s matched with a smirk that you brush off with a fond insult, an endearment you’ve all come to use out of love.

“Bitch, I swear,” you warn, “not a fucking word. I’m serious.”

“No judgement,” She shrugs, “The dick must be good if you’re leaving the house for it.”

You snort, “Fuck you.”

He’s nearly got the whole patched when you peek your head through the closed bathroom door, house empty for the evening and a curious look on your face as he peers over his shoulder, shirt stripped from his body as he wipes the sweat from his face.

You’ve got that look, one he’s come to read well.

“Can’t even wait until I’m finished?” Joel asks.

“You’re almost done,” you shrug, “finish up after.”

“Bet they’d die if they knew you were sneakin’ around for old man dick,” he taunts, settling you back on the counter as you push your spandex shorts down, spreading your legs out as he moves between them and kneels, already mouthing at the inside of your thigh, “Payin’ for my labor with this,” his fingers spread through your folds, exposing yourself to the cool air as he licks at you teasingly, “delectable little thing.”

“Bet you’d die if I stopped,” you shoot back, breathless but defiant, “fuckin’ heart attack, aneurysm, take your pick—fuck!”

His teeth nip at your clit in warning, eyes flickering up to you as they crinkled around the edges in amusement, “Quiet, unless I speak to you,”

You nod shakily, giving over to his dominance fully like you have plenty of times now.

He’s relentless, holding you right there as you twist and writhe against his mouth, hands gripping his hair to try and guide him, but he pins your hips with a low growl that almost undoes you on the spot.

“Tight little pussy,” Joel pants, thumb circling your clit while he watches intently for the next crack in your composure. It doesn’t take long before you’re clutching at his shoulders, incoherent curses spilling from mouth.

“Of course,,” Joel drawls, “can’t keep that damn mouth shut for nothin’.”

You pull him towards you, needy, as he rises to his feet, fingers hooked into his waistband as you fumble with the button of his jeans, eagerly pulling his cock from the confines, his mouth opening with another witty retort that never comes.

“Shut up,” you mutter, “just—”

He presses inside of you in one harsh thrust, your gasp cutting off the rest of your response and echoing through the house. He grins down at you, smug and rough and exactly what you wanted, your hand slamming against the mirror as you wince, his hand immediately coming up to soothe the ache.

“Shit, babygirl,” He groans, for a few reasons, “you okay?”

“Better, if you’d shut up and fuck me,” you retort, “take a lesson out of your own damn book,”

“Got it,” he agrees tauntingly, before his pace changes on a dime, relentlessly pounding into you, “not a fuckin’ word.”

And it continues like that, his gaze intense on your face and quiet aside from his occasional strained grunt, his eyes staring you down like he’s trying to challenge you, determined to win a battle you weren’t trying to fight—either way, he always seemed to win.

Because, as much as you tried to fight the urge to stay away from him.

You always ended up like this.

And bad, impulsive choices like Joel have become your new normal.

[whosmariaaa]

— part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 !

college! sukuna took his chance as soon as he saw one. there was an upcoming project in english class, the one where you coincidentally were in too. and the best of it all, it was a partnered project.

“are you seriously this down bad, sukuna?” gojo asked, raising one of his eyebrows. sukuna glared at his friend in response. “shut the fuck up, gojo. i’m just saying. you can go with fushiguro, and i’ll find a new partner,” he replied.

“you’re pathetic,” toji chimed in with a smirk. all three of them were very aware of sukuna’s plan. honestly, he wasn’t even all secretive about it either.

still, sukuna didn’t take any insults and got on his feet. “say that again, fushiguro. i dare you,” he warned threateningly. toji huffed, and jokingly shot his hands up in defence.

“you two are fucking losers. i should go find other friends,” sukuna snarled as he got up and left. gojo just chuckled and waved him off, and toji seemed unbothered by his attitude.

so, plan in action. sukuna went to one of the professors, and requested if he could be working with you for the project. how can the professor say no to this 6 foot something, tattooed, menacing man cornering him? safe to say, sukuna left the classroom in satisfaction.

the next day, when you found out you were partnered with him for the project, you were on the point of actually throwing that chair to his head. but, you stayed calm, cool and collected (you were seething).

“what’s got you in such a foul mood, hm?” sukuna queried, his stupid smirk evident.

“what the hell do you think?” you snapped.

“calm your tits, woman. it’s just a little project,” he teased. you grabbed your book, and threw it at him. he caught it with ease.

you had come to the agreement to stay in the library after school, even though he tried convincing you to come to his or your dorm. you were not moved in the slightest. so, sukuna reluctantly came to the library.

“fuck are we even supposed to do?” he asked after a moment of silence. you turned your head to him, “are you actually serious? i just spend the last hour explaining this shit to you!” you retorted in annoyance. he just shrugged and watched you in amusement.

“you’re so insufferable, sukuna! how fucking stupid are you? why am i even paired up with you? you literally can’t do dogshit, and you’re just sitting there, doing nothing, while i have to do this entire dumb project!” you rambled in anger. he leaned his head in his palm, looking at you. man, if he wasn’t in love before, he surely was now.

“you’re kinda hot when you’re mad, sweetheart,” he smiled. you had to physically restrain yourself from beating his ass right here, right now.

“what the hell is your problem?” you jeered.

“don’t play dumb. you’re sitting here, all cute and concentrated, and you expect me to fucking listen to a word you say? i’d rather be doing something else with you,” he replied. you stared at him, speechless.

while sukuna wanted to kiss you senseless, you wanted to punch him senseless. this guy was seriously pissing you off.

“man, whatever. you can do this part of the project, and you better have it finished by tomorrow, or i’ll beat your ass, got it?” you huffed.

“mhm, i got it, baby,” sukuna hummed playfully. your fists clenched. you grabbed your stuff and your bag and got the hell out of here before you actually punched him senseless.

gojo and toji were right, sukuna thought. he was definitely very, very down bad for this girl.

──★˙🍓̟!! i’m not very sure what to think of this part, but i do hope it’s readable! thank you all so so so so much for all the likes, comments and reblogs! 💗

[bbokicidal]

skz + cucking

You read the title. Synopsis: Based off of a request asking who SKZ would most want to be cucked by and why.

Genre: Smut Pairing: OT8 x Afab!Reader Warnings: 18+ (MDNI) Notes: None ~

Chan: Minho. Honestly, I think he would be totally fine being cucked by any of the boys; But if it were up to him, and the one that would rile him up the most, is Minho. He's just a little bit younger, and he's the 'uptight, stoic, older brother but somehow mom' of the group - And Chan just thinks Minho deserves a little break and to be able to relax for a while instead of looking out for the Youngers of the group. So, naturally, Chan tells you to ride Minho until he's pink in the ears and near to tears.

Minho: Jeongin. Guy gets off on seeing you with the youngest. He partially likes watching you two get it on because he likes seeing the way Jeongin fumbles with you and is a little surprised that you're so bratty and pushing his patience to see what riles him up and gets him rough. Jeongin expected you to be more submissive, given he figured Minho was the more dominant person in the relationship. Little did he know; This was just what happened when you had two tops who bit at each other and pushed the limits. Jeongin just had to figure out how to handle you.

Changbin: Seungmin. He loves seeing you with Seungmin; Either using his favorite younger to get yourself off, or letting the vocalist take out some of his frustrations on you. Seungmin didn't have a partner of his own so he always came to Changbin if he was needing to blow off some steam, asking if he could borrow you for the night - And Changbin always agreed on the condition that he could be in the room. Seungmin never minded, he actually kind of liked having his favorite Hyung watching. Even if it felt a little dirty using his sweetheart like this...

Hyunjin: Chan. Chan, all the way - but not for the reasons you may be thinking. Hyunjin wants you with Chan and Chan only because he trusts the eldest with everything he has. He trusts Chan to take care of you the way you deserve, to be as romantic as him and to be careful with you when something happens that might be a little more rough. He wants you in good hands and he trusts Chan to be delicate with you. (I'm sure you were hoping I'd say you get devoured and fucked hard the by Red Lights duo and you do, but only when they both need to let off some steam. Otherwise it's usually more romantic and soft.)

Jisung: Hyunjin. Jisung is antsy when it comes to sex; He's touchy, fumbling, rushing ahead of himself and always trying to get the most he can out of the time he has with you - so Hyunjin being with you is perfect because he is the complete opposite. Hyunjin's a romantic and is setting the room up with candles and rose petals, taking you by the hand and kissing you so sweetly while Jisung sits helpless in the corner. Jisung loves watching it all, sitting out and just observing, but because he's so antsy you do have to tie his hands to the armrests of the chair so he can't get up and try to join.

Felix: Changbin. Felix is NOT going to pass up the chance to see you with his favorite Hyung. He isn't super huge on being sucked in general but if it's Changbin, he'll let anything slide. And seeing Changbin being able to manhandle you so easily (not that Felix can't, he just can't toss you and lift you all that easily because of his back) makes Felix determined to work out more often. His favorite part to see is when Changbin literally folds you in half to fuck you easier. He's always learning new positions and techniques from his Hyung. <3

Seungmin: Jisung. Seungmin doesn't trust many of the guys with you because some of them can be so rough in the bedroom and he knows that because he swears he's heard all of them fucking at least once through the years of living together and swapping roommates. He likes listening sometimes, but watching one of his group members with you is so much more exhilarating. And of course he's picking Jisung to ask if he wants to join because he knows the answer will be yes and because he trusts Jisung to not rip you in half in bed. He also finds it a bit amusing how quickly Jisung moves with you, grabbing at your body to try and feel over every inch before his time with you is up.

Jeongin: Felix. His favorite Hyung is always welcome to join the two of you in the bedroom, but Jeongin knows well that he himself isn't interested in a threesome. Not with another guy, at least. So when Felix asks to join in some nights, Jeongin is always happy to say yes and invite him over to the apartment; And Jeongin is never upset about not being able to have sex with you because he's just as happy watching his favorite member taking care of you. Though he always ends up being a bit surprised by how feral Felix can get when it comes to you.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix

[no-144444]

cherry kisses- l.norris

summary: all's fair in love and fake relationships, yet Lando Norris somehow still finds a way to play dirty

pairing: fakeboyfriend! lando norris x fem! fakegirlfriend! actress! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Falling for Lando Norris was a disaster waiting to happen, and one you chose to avoid. On paper, you two were the perfect power couple, your instagram pages meticulously curated with a snippet of each other in every post, perfectly planned paparazzi picture of you kissing outside pubs or bars or award shows, engagement rumours every few months- rumours that weren’t helped by Lando constantly choosing to get himself a new watch or piece of jewellery a week before you were seen together.

But in the real world, you two were simply business ventures to the other. Entirely uninterested in each other's lives unless it pertained to the contract. He came to support you at award shows or showed up on set to snap some photos, and you went to races to support him. 

Nothing else. No need for it in your life anyway. No room for silly boys, and Lando Norris was the silliest of all boys. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“You look pretty,” he smirked from across the room. He had the damn smirk that he always thought would make you break, but it never did. 

“Thank you,” you smiled pleasantly, the image of a perfectly PR-trained celebrity. You really did wonder what they taught F1 drivers about PR, and then you realised it was probably just Lando enjoying breaking the rules. 

“What’s the occasion?” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. You two were bound for a Ralph Lauren event. Lucky you! 

“Have to look good for my boyfriend, don’t I?” you faked a bright smile, which made him laugh, and you rolled your eyes. You pushed his arms off of you and took another sip of your tea.

“So I’m officially your boyfriend now?” he teased. 

You sighed, exasperated. “That’s what it says in the contract, doesn’t it?” You watched as his smirk fell for a split second, almost… upset? Hardly. He didn’t care, and neither did you.  “And anyway, I was talking about Keegan.” 

He giggled behind you in the mirror. You looked up and met his eyes with an awkward smile, and you felt his hand rest on your hip. 

And you felt it. You felt the burn of your skin under his touch. You felt the way his breathing was much too quick for someone calm. You felt the way he was cautiously wanting more. 

“We’re a pretty good-looking couple when you think about it,” he spoke slowly, but that same playfulness laced his tone. “Keegan’s too short for you.”

You scoffed, laughing. “Alright 5’9. Christ,” you chuckled, breaking away from him. “Alright, I have everything, ready?” 

He stared at you for a moment, then turned towards the door of his hotel room with a smirk. He opened it, waiting for you to walk through. What a-. “Always ready, Sugar.” 

That damned nickname, you thought, It was one time. You walked through the door with your head held high, then grabbed his hand when you got to the foyer. 

It was going to be a long day. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He watched as you made your way around the room, dutifully greeting those who needed greeting, introducing yourself to people you had to, and generally being your perfect self. It was annoying, you annoyed him. But there was one thing he liked above all else, which was annoying you, which he seemed to be pretty spectacular at. 

“You keep staring,” Keegan leaned in. “You do realise she’s not your actual girlfriend, right?” he chuckled, and Lando joined in, but he couldn’t help but feel the tightness in his chest worsen when he saw one of your old cast mates put his hand on your shoulder. 

He frowned at the scene in front of him, then brushed it off. He knew you’d never do anything to fuck up the contract. While yes, he technically got more professional benefit from it (exposure, more fans, etc.), you got more personal benefits (aka, money), and you wanted to fully fund your directorial debut, so you needed all the cash you could get. “I know,” he chuckled. “It’d look weird if I wasn’t looking at her though,” he explained as he took another sip of his milkshake. “She’s supposed to be my one and only true love, after all.” 

Keegan scoffed. “Tell that to the girls in Miami.”

The guilt in Lando’s gut twisted, making his last sip go down funny. Miami was a mistake, one he hadn’t told you about, but a mistake all the same. “Shut up man-”

“Keegan!” you smiled, wrapping him up in one of your hugs. He hugged you right back, just as tight. Lando frowned. You turned to him. “Hey baby,” you smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, which he accepted gratefully by pulling you into his side. 

“Hey Sugar,” he smirked as you rolled your eyes. 

“Where does that come from?” Keegan asked. You slapped a hand over Lando’s smirking mouth before he could explain.

“Don’t ask,” you scoffed, dropping your hand when he licked it. “You’re a child, y’know that?” 

“How was Jer?” he asked, his eyes levelling you. Was he seriously jealous here? Was he jealous of you and Jeremy? 

“He was great. Was wondering where you were, actually,” you answered through gritted teeth. 

“Maybe I’ll see him before the end of the night,” he shrugged, but he was anything but calm. “Go say hi.” 

“You should,” you nodded, taking a sip of his milkshake. “He’d love to see you.” 

Keegan stared at the two of you with a confused expression, then ultimately decided to slowly back away as you two played 5D chess with your words. 

“Taste this,” Lando offered out a cherry from the top of his milkshake, a wicked plan forming in his head. “I know how much you love cherries.” 

You did, in fact, love cherries. Despite your reason to doubt him, Lando would never do anything to break the contract, you knew that. You leaned in to catch the cherry in your mouth, noticing the camera on you two. He pulled it out of your reach until he captured your lips with his own in a gross, open-mouthed kiss. 

The kind that sets your entire body on fire. The kind you leaned in to. The kind that made his other hand circle your waist and distract you enough so that he could slip it further down. The kind that made him feel completely and utterly fucked for you. 

You both pulled back, just staring at each other, until you finally bit the cherry, and turned back to the party, knowing that clip would be all over social media by the next day. You huffed and plastered your best fake smile back on your face, and Lando was left feeling distraught by the counter. 

Like you said, long night. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

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[natsaffection]

Redline. pt 6 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), 18+! MINORS DNI! sexual tension, trauma, violence, crashs

Word count: 12,1k

A/N: Okay…a really great time has now come to an end. I want to thank everyone who interacted with the fic, it literally blew up so much, I never expected it. I gained so many new people here and some lovely anons because of it, and I’m truly grateful. Thank you!

I hope I made the ending worthy of the story (even though Tumblr shortened it due to the word limit). I really hope it doesn’t feel too rushed. 🫶🏼🍾

Part 5

1 Month later

You were lying in Natasha’s bed scrolling through your phone, half-awake when the articles started popping up.

Romanoff’s Favorite – The Relationship Between Natasha and Her Rising Star.

Not Just Business? Photos Capture Natasha Romanoff’s Rare Smile at Y/N’s Victory.

More Than Just Racing? The Paddock Buzzes Over Y/N and Natasha’s Dynamic.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t new that people speculated about you and Natasha. The media was always looking for a story. Always waiting for something to tear apart.

But this? This was the first time they had proof. There were pictures.. Natasha, standing with the team, a champagne glass in hand, watching you on the podium. Natasha, smiling. Actually smiling. Natasha, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Your breath caught. Oh, fuck…

“You’re up early.”

You nearly jumped at the sound of Natasha’s voice. She was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, still in the loose sweats she wore when she wasn’t dressed to terrify the entire paddock.

“Did you see this?” you blurted out, shoving your phone in her direction.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, stepping closer to take the device from your hand. She scanned the articles, lips pressing into a thin line. “Of course they’d make a story out of this.” she muttered.

“This is bad..” you groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “The press conference today is going to be a fucking disaster.”

Natasha hummed. Then, to your absolute horror, she smirked. “What?” you demanded.

She tilted her head slightly, tossing your phone onto the bed before leaning in closer, so close that you could feel her breath against your cheek. “You’re nervous.” she murmured, clearly amused.

“Of course I am, Natasha, this is a mess-”She cut you off with a chuckle, straightening up. “Let them talk.”

Your stomach flipped. She wasn’t worried. She wasn’t freaking out. She was enjoying this.

“You’re not serious..”

Natasha shrugged. “It’s inevitable. They were always going to figure it out.”

You blinked. “Figure what out?”

Her smirk widened, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned towards the door, pausing just long enough to glance at you over her shoulder.

“Get dressed. We have a press conference.”

The room was buzzing with anticipation by the time you stepped in. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured among themselves, and the air carried the weight of a dozen unanswered questions. The energy was different today, sharper, more expectant. You knew exactly why.

Natasha walked beside you, her presence as commanding as ever, a steady force in the chaos. Dressed in her usual sleek suit, she radiated an untouchable authority, but there was something else today. Something in the way she moved, the way her gaze flickered across the room before settling on you.

She was prepared. Always. But this wasn’t just about the race anymore. You took your seat, adjusting the mic in front of you, your fingers brushing over the cold surface as the press officer nodded for the first question.

A journalist from Racing Line leaned forward, eyes sharp with intrigue. “Y/n, first of all, congratulations on your win yesterday. A phenomenal drive. But beyond that, there’s been a lot of talk about your dynamic with your team principal.”

He paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Care to comment on the pictures circulating? Romanoff looking unusually pleased with your performance?”

You clenched your jaw, pulse spiking. Of course. The photos had been everywhere this morning. Natasha, standing at the pit wall, watching you with a look that was unmistakably soft. For her, at least. And then on the podium, the way she’d lingered, the rare glimpse of a smile.

Natasha’s presence beside you remained steady. No reaction. Just sharp focus, like she was calculating every possible outcome of this moment. You exhaled slowly, forcing a small smirk as you leaned forward. “I think any team principal would be happy when their driver wins.” you said, voice level, playful even. “It’s kind of their job.”

A few chuckles echoed through the room, but the journalist wasn’t backing down. “True, but this seemed more personal. Some might say.. more invested than usual.”

You barely had time to process it before Natasha spoke. “If you’re implying that I don’t take every win personally, then you clearly don’t know me.” she said coolly, her gaze locking onto the journalist with a pointed sharpness. “I push my drivers to win. That’s my job. Y/n delivers. That’s hers.”

The response was effortless, perfectly calculated to dismiss any rumors while still standing firm. But you knew her too well now. The way her fingers tapped lightly against her leg under the table, the slight tick in her jaw, it was irritation masked under absolute control.

Another journalist jumped in. “Y/n, this season has been a defining one for you, but given your history with crashes and the challenges you’ve faced, do you ever feel like you still have something to prove?”

Your stomach twisted at the question, but you didn’t let it show. You straightened, fingers flexing against the table. “Every driver on this grid has something to prove. That’s why we’re here. But if you’re asking if I doubt myself? No. I wouldn’t be sitting here if I did.”

The room went still for a second, the weight of your words settling before another voice cut in. “Natasha, you’ve worked with some of the best drivers in the sport. Where does Y/n rank among them?”

Your breath caught. Oh. That was a trap. Natasha didn’t play favorites. Ever. Her entire brand of leadership was built on ruthlessness, on absolute control, on never showing anything that could be perceived as bias. But then, she turned her head slightly, eyes locking with yours, just for a fraction of a second.

“She fights harder than most..” Natasha said finally, voice even, measured. But there was something in her tone, something more. “And no. She hasn’t finished proving herself yet.”

The tension in the room shifted. You weren’t sure if anyone else caught the unspoken weight behind her words. But you did. The questions continued, each one sharp, some pressing about the championship fight, others about your rivalry with Walker, about strategy, about what came next. You answered, playing the game, maintaining your composure, even when the topic of your previous crash came up again.

By the time you made it back to the team’s facility, you barely managed to get your stuff done before heading straight for Natasha’s office, needing to breathe, to think, and the moment you stepped inside, she was already there.

Natasha stood near her desk, arms crossed, watching you. The way her eyes scanned you, calm, assessing made your stomach twist. She had felt it. She had seen it.

“What’s wrong?”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “It’s just..They talked like they know anything!”

“They don’t.”

You huffed, pacing the room. “But they think they do! They’re making this entire thing into some huge scandal, ‘Natasha Romanoff smiles? Must be because of Y/N L/N-

Natasha smirked slightly. “It’s not entirely false.”

You froze mid-step, whipping around to face her. “Natasha.”

She shrugged, completely unbothered. “What?”

Your frustration only grew. “How are you so calm about this? You know what people are saying-”

“I don’t care what people are saying.” Her voice was steady, unwavering. You stared at her, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides. “Well, I do.”

Silence stretched between you till Natasha moved. One second, she was standing by her desk, and the next, she was right in front of you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from her.

“You do?” she murmured, voice dropping. You swallowed hard. She tilted her head slightly, studying you, her gaze flickering to your lips for just a second before locking back onto your eyes. “What exactly is it that’s bothering you?”

Your breath hitched. “The attention?” she continued, her voice softer now. “The rumors? Or the fact that they might be right?”

Your stomach twisted, your body betraying you with the way your pulse spiked. She saw it. Of course, she saw it. Her fingers brushed against your wrist, light, teasing, but enough to make you shiver.

“I..” You didn’t know what you were going to say. Didn’t get the chance to find out. Because Natasha took another step forward, crowding into your space, her presence consuming, her scent, leather and something unmistakably her wrapping around you like a trap you didn’t want to escape.

“Tell me.” she murmured, her breath brushing against your cheek. You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could lie. You should lie. But you didn’t. Instead, you whispered, “I don’t know what this is..”

Natasha’s lips curved into a smirk, but her eyes softened just enough that your chest ached. “You will.” And then she kissed you. Slow. Purposeful. Like she had decided. Like she had always known. And for once, you stopped thinking.

Race 22

The moment you crossed the finish line, your grip on the steering wheel tightened. P2. Not the win, but damn close. And after the chaos of the rain, the battle with Walker, and the near spin that nearly sent you into the barriers, you’d take it.

“P2, Y/n! Well done!” Your race engineer’s voice crackled through the radio, but there was something else beneath it. A small pause.

Then Natasha. “Good job, Y/n.” her voice was controlled, professional, but you swore there was something more. A flicker of pride just under the surface. “You handled the conditions well.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, a slow grin tugging at your lips as you leaned back against the seat, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. P2. The points were crucial, but more than that? Your parents were here today.

You knew exactly where they were standing in the paddock, right at the edge, watching from behind the barriers. Your dad had always been more subtle with his pride, but you could imagine the small nod of approval he was giving right now. Your mother, on the other hand, had probably been clutching his arm the entire race, barely breathing each time you overtook.

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you pulled into the pit lane, the sound of the crowd still roaring around you. The podium celebration was nothing short of euphoric. The champagne bottle was cold against your palm, the pressure inside ready to burst. You popped it, aiming the spray at the crowd, the golden bubbles soaking into your race suit as you laughed, high off the victory, the energy, the moment.

Walker was there, of course. You could feel his presence, could practically sense his frustration at not clinching the championship today. It fueled you. And then, the press again. It happened fast. The podium celebrations ended, and before you could even get a second to breathe, the paparazzi descended.

“Y/N! P2 today, how do you feel after that battle with Walker?”

You expected the questions. You were prepared for them. You kept walking, still riding the high, your team’s mechanics clapping you on the back as you moved toward the garage.

“Were you worried about the rain conditions?”

“Your spin almost cost you the podium- what was going through your mind?”

You answered, giving them just enough without revealing too much, your voice still buzzing with the rush of the race.

“The next race is at Silverstone. Your Silverstone. Are you ready for that?”

You froze. The air in your lungs thinned, and suddenly, the roaring of the crowd, the flashing cameras, the overwhelming everything..felt too loud. The wreckage. The fire. It slammed into you all at once. You blinked hard, forced the memories down, and made yourself breathe. Your voice, when it came, was calm. Controlled. “It’s just another race.”

A lie. But one the world didn’t need to know. You started moving again, Natasha keeping pace beside you, her presence unwavering. She didn’t say anything, but you felt her watching. And when the press had finally been left behind, when the cameras were no longer in your face, when it was just you and her walking toward the garage, she finally spoke.

“You okay?”

You nodded, too quickly. “Yeah, let’s go.” Her silence was sharp. Calculating. You knew she didn’t believe you.

The road stretched ahead in quiet darkness, the soft hum of the engine filling the air. The city lights flickered past the windows, casting brief flashes of neon against your skin. The rain had stopped, but the roads were still damp, the reflections of streetlights shimmering on the slick asphalt. You barely noticed. Your mind was elsewhere.

Silverstone.

Every corner. Every turn. Every shadow of the past that lurked beneath the floodlights of that track. You could see it. Feel it.

The way the car had snapped away from you in that fraction of a second, how the wall had rushed toward you. The helplessness, the terror. The excruciating pain that had followed. The fire. The pressure of the seatbelts locking you in place as you fought to stay conscious. The memories clawed at the edges of your mind, threatening to pull you under.

Would it feel the same next weekend? Would you hesitate when you reached that same turn? Would you flinch- You didn’t get to spiral too far before a hand suddenly waved something in front of your face.

A phone.

You blinked, snapping back into the present. The scent of Natasha’s car, the low music playing through the speakers, the woman herself sitting beside you with an expectant look.

“Order food.” Natasha instructed, smirking slightly. You furrowed your brows, still trying to shake off the ghosts of your past thoughts. “What?”

Natasha waved the phone again. “Food. You know, the thing we eat to survive?”

“Right..” you muttered, grabbing the device and pulling up the app. You scrolled through options, selecting your usual choices, though your mind was still distant. It wasn’t until you reached the address confirmation screen that you hesitated.

“Nat…” you said slowly, glancing toward her. “This isn’t the track. Where are we going?”

Natasha’s smirk widened as she turned onto a quieter road, one that led away from the team facilities and the usual places you stayed.

“My place.” she answered simply.

You stilled. Natasha’s home. You had spent countless nights together, hotels, at Natasha’s track, but never at Natasha’s place. It was private. Personal. Hers.

You swallowed. “Your place?”

“That’s what I said.”

You could feel your heart beating a little faster. Natasha flicked you a knowing glance, clearly sensing the shift in your demeanor. Then, with a devilish smirk, she added, “Relax, printsessa. If you’re thinking about it, I wouldn’t have bothered ordering food.”

Your face heated instantly. “I-I was not thinking about..!”

Natasha let out a low, amused chuckle, her fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Sure you weren’t.” You groaned, slumping back into your seat. God, this woman.

When you arrived, Natasha pulled into the private driveway of a sleek, modern home tucked behind high walls and tall trees. The moment you stepped inside, you were hit with a sense of quiet intimacy.

The place was hers. Clean, organized, yet undeniably lived-in. The walls were lined with dark wooden shelves, books and old records stacked neatly. But what caught your attention the most were the photos.

One by the entrance, Natasha in her racing suit, helmet under her arm, a victorious smirk on her face. Another by the bookshelf, her with her family, a rare moment of unguarded happiness shining in her eyes. A framed picture of her and another driver, a teammate from years ago, grinning with champagne in hand. You took it all in, feeling something warm settle in your chest. This was Natasha’s life. The parts she didn’t show to just anyone.

“You gonna stand there all night?”

You turned to find Natasha leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that same infuriatingly attractive smirk.

“Just looking…” you murmured.

Natasha’s expression softened. “I don’t let just anyone in here, you know.”

Yeah, you knew. Your eyes met, and the air between you shifted. The teasing edge faded, replaced by something warmer. Deeper.

Natasha pushed off the counter and stepped toward you, slow and deliberate. You tilted your head up, your breath hitching slightly as Natasha’s fingers brushed against your jaw.

The kiss started soft, gentle, unrushed. But as soon as your hands found Natasha’s waist, pulling her closer, the heat between you ignited. Natasha’s hands were firm, sliding against your waist, gripping just enough to make your stomach tighten with anticipation. The kiss deepened, needier, hungrier. Your fingers tangled into Natasha’s jacket, pulling her in-

The doorbell rang, and you both froze. Natasha exhaled through her nose, dropping her forehead against your shoulder. “Are you kidding me?”

You laughed breathlessly, still gripping her jacket. “Food’s here.”

Natasha groaned but finally pulled away, muttering something about terrible timing as she went to get the food.

You sat on the couch, food spread between you, the glow of warm light casting soft shadows on the walls. The tension between you had shifted, not gone, but different now. It simmered beneath the surface, intertwined with something softer, more vulnerable.

Natasha watched you pick at your food, your fingers tracing absent patterns against the edge of the takeout container. You weren’t fully present, still lost in thought.

“Talk to me.” Natasha said quietly, resting her arm against the back of the couch.

You hesitated, then exhaled, setting your food aside. “It’s just…”

Natasha said nothing, just watching and waiting. “It’s not just another race..” you continued. “I know I should be past it by now, but… I don’t know…”

“You don’t just ‘get past’ something like that.” Natasha interrupted gently.

You huffed a soft laugh. “You’d think nearly dying would be enough for me to quit racing.”

Natasha tilted her head. “But you didn’t.”

“Yeah…” Natasha reached out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary, her touch soft. “Because it’s who you are. You’re not afraid of fighting for what you want.”

You met her eyes, something settling in your chest. Then Natasha smirked. “And for the record? You’ll be fine. I’ll be there the whole time.”

You let out a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help.”

The tension had lightened, but it still buzzed beneath the surface, the kind of pull that never really went away between you. Then, in one smooth, calculated move, you climbed onto Natasha’s lap. Enough with depression.

Natasha raised a brow, but didn’t move, didn’t protest, just watched. You settled yourself, your legs bracketing Natasha’s hips, your hands pressing lightly against the older woman’s shoulders.

“Thought you were nervous.” Natasha murmured, tilting her head up slightly, amusement flickering in her green eyes.

You smirked. “Maybe you’re just really good at distracting me.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her fingers instinctively settling against your waist. “Mm. And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Natasha asked, voice low, teasing, her hands barely moving, just resting there, warm and steady. You leaned in slightly, your lips just close enough to brush against Natasha’s ear. “Distracting myself.”

Your voice was soft, sultry..a promise and a challenge all at once. Natasha exhaled, her grip tightening just the slightest bit. But she didn’t move to take control. No..she was going to let you play your game.

And you took your time. You let your fingertips graze down Natasha’s arms, featherlight, teasing, slow. You leaned in again, pressing an almost nonexistent kiss just below Natasha’s jawline, barely there, just enough to make Natasha’s breath hitch, before pulling back again with an innocent expression.

Natasha smirked, tilting her head. “You’re dangerous, printsessa.”

You smiled, shifting just enough that you could feel the reaction you were pulling from Natasha. A slow, deliberate roll of your hips, just a fraction of movement, but it was enough to make Natasha’s jaw tighten. She was watching. Letting you put on a show. Not stopping you. Not rushing you.

You ran a hand up Natasha’s chest, fingers lingering at the collar of her shirt. You played with the fabric for a second before leaning down, just close enough that your lips barely brushed.

Natasha wasn’t chasing. Not yet. You smirked. “Something wrong, boss?”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her control almost infuriating. “Not at all.”

A challenge. You leaned down again, pressing a slow, unhurried kiss to the corner of Natasha’s mouth, not quite giving in.

Natasha’s grip on you tightened just slightly. You were playing with fire now. You kissed along Natasha’s jaw, soft, teasing, dragging it out. You could feel Natasha’s patience thinning, the way her breath was a little heavier, the way her fingers dug just slightly into your hips.

You smirked against her skin. You were winning. Or at least you thought you were, until Natasha’s hands suddenly shifted, flipping your positions in one swift move. Now, you were on your back against the couch, Natasha leaning over you, hands braced on either side of your head.

You swallowed. Your heart stuttered and Natasha smirked. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing?”

You licked your lips, looking up at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about..”

Natasha leaned in, not kissing you, just hovering, watching. Watching your breath hitch, watching you squirm just slightly under her gaze.

“I let you have your fun..” Natasha murmured. “Now, it’s my turn.”

You barely had time to react before Natasha’s lips finally crashed into yours. This time, there was no hesitation. Natasha kissed you like she was claiming you, like she was making up for every second you had made her wait. It was deep, hungry.

Her hands moved, no longer still, no longer restrained. One gripping your waist, the other sliding up your back, pulling you in as close as possible.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers digging into Natasha’s shoulders, trying to keep up. You had started the game. But Natasha was the one finishing it. You barely noticed the way Natasha’s lips moved lower, kissing along your jaw, trailing down just enough to make your toes curl.

Until..The phone rang.

The sound cut through the moment like a blade. You both froze, Natasha’s lips still pressed against your skin. You groaned. “Nooo!!”

Natasha let out a low chuckle against your collarbone before pressing a quick kiss there and pulling back. She reached for the phone, but you grabbed her wrist, shaking your head. “No. It can wait.”

Natasha smirked. “Impatient?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t start something you’re not going to finish!”

The phone rang again. Natasha sighed, glancing at the screen. She smirked, then, a knowing, smug little smile.

“Oh, this one can’t wait.” she murmured, amusement flickering in her gaze.

You frowned, still breathless. “Why?”

Natasha picked up the call, holding you in place. “Because, it’s for you.” she murmured against your lips before answering.

Here voice was low, calm, businesslike..echoed from the hallway as she wrapped up whatever conversation had interrupted you. You barely registered the words, still feeling the ghost of Natasha’s hands on your skin, the heat that had been building, building, building before that damn phone had stolen her attention away. The soft sound of the phone being set down made you glance toward the doorway.

Natasha was back.

She stood at the edge of the dimly lit living room, watching. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without a word, Natasha moved. She crossed the room with the same quiet, predatory grace that made her dangerous both on and off the track. Unrushed and in control.

You barely had time to process it before Natasha was climbing over you, bracing her weight on the couch, her hands framing your face, her knee pressing just enough between your legs. The breath hitched in your throat.

Natasha smirked. “Now.” she murmured, her voice like velvet and steel, “where were we?” And this time, nothing stopped her from finishing what she started.

—

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the sheets. You stirred, feeling the warmth of the bed beneath you, the soreness that came with exactly how last night had gone. A lazy, satisfied smile curled on your lips as you stretched, fingers reaching for the familiar presence beside you-

Only to find empty sheets. You cracked one eye open, frowning slightly. Natasha’s side of the bed was cool. She had been up for a while. You groaned, rolling onto your stomach, letting yourself melt into the mattress for a moment longer before you finally forced yourself upright. Your muscles ached in the best way, your body still humming from the night before.

That’s when you saw her. Natasha stood near the dresser, already fully dressed, the perfect picture of composure. She fastened the last button of her team-issued shirt, the usual red and black livery fitted perfectly to her frame, like the night before hadn’t just happened.

You huffed, your voice still rough with sleep. “You really have a habit of getting up and leaving.”

Natasha glanced over, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “I didn’t leave.” she countered smoothly.

You raised a brow. “You weren’t in bed when I woke up. Feels the same.”

Natasha chuckled, stepping closer. She leaned down, one hand braced against the mattress, the other tilting your chin up so your eyes met.

“I finished what I started, didn’t I?” she murmured, her tone edged with amusement.

Heat flashed through you at the memory. Natasha took full advantage of your silence, pressing a brief but thorough kiss to your lips before pulling back, still smirking.

“Come on..” she said, straightening. “We have to leave.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the pillow. “Too earlyyy..”

Natasha nudged the blanket off of you, ignoring the way you tried to pull it back up. “It’s not early, you just don’t want to get up.”

You peeked up at her, eyes playful, teasing. “And whose fault is that?”

Natasha only tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “Mine, obviously.”

You rolled onto your back with a sigh. “Where are we even going?”

Natasha simply grabbed her phone, checked something quickly, then looked at you. “You’ll see.”

You sat in the passenger seat, your fingers curled into your lap, your gaze fixed out the window as the world passed by in a blur of muted colors. The closer you got, the more the tension coiled in your chest, wrapping tight around your ribs.

You had already seen it. From a distance. The track. The place where it happened. Even from far away, it stood like a specter in the distance, a shadow of something you had never fully escaped. The floodlights, the sharp turns you once knew like the back of your hand, the long straights that had once filled your veins with nothing but adrenaline.

But now..now, it was different. You hadn’t set foot here since the crash. Since you had nearly lost everything. Your chest tightened. The closer you got, the harder it became to breathe, the air suddenly too thick, too heavy. Your fingers curled against your thigh, your body going rigid as the memories threatened to surface.

Natasha sensed it. Of course she did. Without a word, she slowed the car, pulling over to the side of the empty road leading toward the track’s private entrance. The engine idled in the quiet, but she didn’t move to keep driving.

Instead, she turned her head. “Hey.”

You exhaled shakily, keeping your eyes forward. Natasha didn’t push. She just watched, her voice low, steady. Grounding.

“Look at me.”

You hesitated, your pulse still hammering. But you turned. And there it was. The thing that always managed to steady you no matter how loud the world got. Her eyes. Green. Certain. Unshaken. Like there was not a single doubt in her mind.

“You’re safe.” Natasha said softly, reaching over, her fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

You swallowed. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Natasha challenged gently, her fingers tightening just slightly. “Because you’re acting like you’re back in that car two years ago.”

You pressed your lips together, inhaling sharply through your nose. The older woman’s thumb traced slow circles against your skin, her voice unwavering. “You already won this battle, Detka. You made it out.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling. “I thought I was past this. I hate it.”

“You will be.” Natasha assured. “But not by running from it.”

Silence settled between you, thick, heavy. But Natasha waited. She always did. And eventually, you nodded. Natasha studied you for another beat, then, without another word, she put the car back in gear and drove.

The entrance to the track loomed closer. Your fingers curled against your knee again, but you kept your breathing steady. Inhaling, exhaling. The gates opened as Natasha pulled through, leading into the pit lane, the vast emptiness of the track stretching out before you.

She stopped the car near the garage. For a second, neither of you moved. Then, Natasha unbuckled her seatbelt, stepping out. You watched as she rounded the car, her movements unhurried, purposeful. When Natasha reached your door, she opened it, the cool air from outside slipping in. And then, she stepped back.

She didn’t say anything. Just tilted her head slightly, gesturing to the driver’s seat. Your heart stuttered. You looked at Natasha, eyes wide, uncertain. But Natasha’s gaze didn’t waver.

You took a slow breath as you slid into the driver’s seat, fingers wrapping around the wheel. It felt familiar. The weight of it, the smooth material beneath your hands..it should have been comforting.

But it wasn’t. Not here. Not on this track.

Natasha shut the door behind you. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. She simply slid into the passenger seat, settling in like this was any other drive. Like this wasn’t the place where everything fell apart.

You swallowed, shifting the car into gear. You started slow. The track was eerily quiet, so unlike the last time you had been here. No roaring engines, no deafening crowd, no radio crackling in your ear. Just the low hum of the car beneath you, the whisper of tires on asphalt.

But you already felt it. The weight. The pull of the past creeping in. Every turn was one you had memorized. Your body still knew the angles, the braking points, the racing line that had once been second nature to you. But then, The trees. They appeared in the distance. And you knew. You knew what was coming.

The curve.

Your breath caught, your grip on the wheel tightening. Far before you even reached it, you saw it. You saw everything. The way the road bent, the familiar angle of the wall. You saw the moment your car had lost control, the sickening snap of the tires, the helpless spin.

You saw fire. And suddenly, it wasn’t just memories. The beep of machines. The sterile scent of antiseptic. Pain. A deep, agonizing pain that wrapped around your body like it would never leave. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the voices. Your parents. You couldn’t open your eyes fully, but you heard them.

“Will she walk again?” Your mother’s voice, raw, desperate.

A pause. Too long. Then, the doctor’s voice, flat, measured, carefully spoken like he was trying not to shatter them completely.

“We don’t know yet.”

Not a real answer. Not the one they wanted. Silence. Your father, his voice quieter, heavier. “You mean she might n-not?”

Another pause. “We can’t say never. But the spinal damage, the nerve trauma, her body went through extreme conditions. It will be a long recovery. She may regain movement, but returning to full functionality? To racing?” He shook his head. “It’s unlikely.”

You wanted to scream. You weren’t a body. You weren’t something to assess. You were here. You could hear them. You could feel the pain, the weight of your own broken body on the hospital bed. But you couldn’t move.

Your mother’s breath hitched. “S-She just turned twenty-one..” she whispered. “She..she’s supposed to have her whole life ahead of her!! Her career. Her dreams. You’re saying that’s just- gone-“

“You’ll race again!” It wasn’t a doctor. It wasn’t your father. It was Natasha. Her voice was sharp, unwavering. Unshaken. You gasped, staggering back into reality. You blinked rapidly, hands trembling at your sides. The track was still there. The sky was still open, the wind still cool against your skin. You weren’t in that hospital bed. You weren’t trapped. You were here. Alive. Walking. Racing. And..Natasha was here, too.

You blinked rapidly, gasping as reality slammed back into you, but it wasn’t enough. The car felt too small, too tight. The air too thick. You needed to get out. Now.

Before Natasha could say anything else, you ripped off your seatbelt and shoved open the door. The rush of cool air hit you as you stumbled out, barely keeping your balance as you walked away, fast.

Your boots scraped against the asphalt as you stopped a few feet from the car, your back turned to the curve. You placed your hands on your knees, trying to breathe, trying to focus on the present, but the past kept clawing at you.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t, not yet. But you heard Natasha’s breath as she stepped closer, heard the patience in her voice as she spoke.

“You’re not there anymore, Y/n.”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “I..know.”

Natasha didn’t correct you, didn’t push you to turn around just yet. Instead, she took another step, coming close enough that your arms nearly brushed.

“You think this track is what almost killed you.” Natasha murmured. “But it’s not.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shaky. “You made it out.” Natasha continued. “You fought. You survived. And now…”

You felt the warmth of Natasha’s fingers grazing against yours. “You came back.”

Your chest tightened. You exhaled. Slowly, cautiously, you turned around. And this time, You didn’t look away. The fear was still there, pressing against your ribs. The memories still whispered in the back of your mind. But they weren’t pulling you under anymore. They weren’t controlling you.

“Go finish your round.”

You glanced back at the curve. Then at Natasha. She just raised a brow, her smile soft, knowing. Like she already knew your answer. You inhaled deeply. And then, you nodded.

Without a word, Natasha gestured back toward the car. And this time, you got back in. You settled into the driver’s seat, your hands firm on the wheel. Your pulse still pounded, but this time, it wasn’t from fear.

It was from something else. Determination. Natasha shut the door beside you and leaned in slightly through the open window. “You good?”

You exhaled slowly, your grip tightening. “Yeah.” Natasha studied you for a beat, green eyes sharp, assessing. Then, without another word, she stepped back. You pressed your foot to the accelerator.

The car moved. The track stretched ahead, the tires gliding smoothly over the asphalt as you built up speed. The engine hummed beneath you, steady and strong, your hands guiding the car as if it was an extension of yourself.

And then, the curve. It came into view, and for a split second, you felt the flicker of hesitation, the whisper of memories trying to crawl back in. But you didn’t let them. Not this time. Your body knew what to do. You adjusted the wheel, keeping your line smooth. You hit the apex.

And you took it cleanly. No fear. No ghosts. Just racing. As you exited the turn, your heartbeat steadied. Your breathing evened. And for the first time since the crash, it felt like yours again. The track. The moment. The control. You slowed as you reached the pit lane, pulling up where Natasha stood waiting. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers flexing against the wheel.

“Again.”

You blinked, catching your breath. “What?”

“Do another lap.” Natasha said, tilting her head. “This time, without stopping.”

You gripped the wheel and pressed your foot to the accelerator, feeling the car respond instantly. The low growl of the engine vibrated through your chest as you sped down the straight, the track stretching endlessly in front of you.

This time, it felt different. This time, there was no fear clawing at your throat. No weight pressing on your chest. No ghosts chasing you. Only you. And the car. Natasha’s words echoed in the back of your mind.

“Again. This time, without stopping.”

So you did. The corners came faster now, the rhythm of the track flowing beneath your fingertips. You moved through each turn with precision, your body and mind in sync, your breathing controlled. Like you had never left. And then, the curve.

It came up ahead, just like before. But this time, you didn’t brace for impact. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t freeze. You just took it. Clean. Smooth. Fast. You barely registered the moment you exited the turn. Because suddenly, it didn’t feel like a monster in the dark. It was just a turn.. Just a part of the track. And you had taken it like you were born for it.

You exhaled, gripping the wheel tighter as you pushed forward. One more sector. One more straight. The finish line appeared before you, this time, not a symbol of survival, but of victory. You crossed it at full speed. And for the first time in years, you felt free. The car rolled to a stop. The sudden silence was almost deafening, the echoes of the lap still buzzing in your ears.

Your hands were still on the wheel. Your heart was still pounding. But you weren’t shaking anymore. You exhaled, letting your head fall back against the seat for just a second before finally pulling yourself together. You pushed the door open, stepping out, the cool air hitting your flushed skin. You turned, and before you could even speak, Natasha was there.

Close and proud. There was no teasing remark. No smug comment. Just a look. A look that said everything. You swallowed, your throat thick. “I did it.”

Natasha’s smirk softened. “You did.”

You blinked up at her, your chest still rising and falling with the weight of everything that had just happened. Natasha studied you for a moment, and, without warning, she reached forward.

Her hands cupped your face, pulling you in. And she kissed you. Slow. Deep. Unrushed. Not like the night before, not with heat, not with hunger. But with something else. Something heavier.

Something that tasted like pride. Like relief. Like I knew you could do it. When you finally pulled apart, Natasha rested her forehead against yours, exhaling softly. “That’s my brave girl.” she murmured. You smiled, breathless. And for the first time in two years, you really believed it.

Race 23

The paddock was alive with the chaotic energy of race day. Engines roaring in the distance, mechanics scrambling over last-minute checks, media teams swarming in every direction. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. But you? You had drowned it all out. Headphones in. Music blasting.

Your fingers tapped against your thigh in rhythm with the beat as you leaned against the side of the garage, eyes closed, trying to steady yourself.

Silverstone.

The track where everything almost ended. You had studied the turns, visualized every sector, forced yourself to relive the crash over and over until it didn’t hold power over you anymore.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. Natasha stood just a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes trained on you, her gaze calculating, unreadable. She was watching. And she wasn’t letting anyone interfere. Every few minutes, someone tried. Engineers, strategists, team personnel, all waiting to talk to you.

To brief you. To check in. To discuss last-minute adjustments. And every single time, Natasha stopped them. One sharp glance. One curt shake of her head. Not now. She wasn’t letting anyone break your focus. She’d made sure everything was in place. That all your data was locked in. That your team was prepped.

That you were untouchable. Until he appeared. “Still seeing the wall in your sleep?”

Your entire body went still. The music still played, but you weren’t listening anymore. Your breath hitched, hands clenching into fists. And that was when Natasha turned.

She saw the way your body stiffened. She saw your reaction. And in less than a second, she was on him. She grabbed him by the front of his race suit, shoved him backwards against the garage wall, the force of it making his head jolt.

Hard. His smirk vanished. Natasha leaned in, her voice a razor-sharp whisper. “I should have done this the moment you put her in the wall last time.”

Walker tried to mask the fear flickering in his eyes, but Natasha saw it. And she fed off it. She tightened her grip, voice deadly calm.

“You think you’re clever?” she murmured. “You think you can get in her head?”

Walker swallowed. “Romanoff-”

“I am not one of these fucking PR reps who’s going to slap you on the wrist and tell you to play nice.” Her nails dug into his race suit, jaw clenching.

Walker scoffed. “You’re losing it..”

Natasha’s lips curled into something dark. “I haven’t even started.”

Cameras were on them. Photographers had gathered outside the garage. Whispers spread like wildfire. But Natasha didn’t care. She was seething. Yelena was the first to try to pull her back. “Nat.” Her voice was sharp. “Let it go.”

But Natasha wasn’t letting go. Not yet. Not until he understood. Not until he felt what she had felt. Not until he knew, without a doubt- That if he touched you again, if he even so much as breathed the wrong way in your direction— She would end him.

“Stay the fuck away from her.”

The second you and Natasha stepped into the privacy of the team garage, the noise of the paddock muffled behind the heavy doors, the weight of what had just happened came crashing down on both of you.

Her jaw was tight, eyes burning with residual fury, her breath coming in short, sharp exhales. She was holding back. Holding everything in. Because she had lost control. And Natasha Romanoff never lost control. The second the doors shut behind you, she yanked her arm free, running a hand through her hair.

You had never seen her like this. Not like this. She had always been calm, sharp, precise. Every move calculated, every emotion locked down.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Yelena threw her hands up, her Russian accent thick with frustration. “Are you trying to get suspended before the championship? Or, I don’t know, arrested?”

Natasha didn’t react. She just stood there, silent. Yelena scoffed, shaking her head. “Jesus, Natasha.”

Then she turned to you, eyes scanning you up and down. “And you.” she muttered, gesturing vaguely. “Why the hell are you letting her act like your attack dog?”

You blinked. “I- what?”

“You know she would burn the entire paddock down for you, right?” Yelena said bluntly. “Like, full villain origin story.”

Natasha sighed. “Yelena.”

Yelena ignored her. “You have her wrapped around your little driver finger.”

Your face heated. Natasha shot her sister a warning glare. “I will kill you.”

Yelena smirked. “See? She’s in denial.”

You bit back a laugh, rubbing your face. “Can we focus on the fact that the media just saw that?”

Yelena shrugged. “Oh, yeah, you’re screwed.”

You groaned. Natasha ran a hand over her face. “How bad is it?”

Yelena pulled out her phone and tilted the screen toward you.

BREAKING NEWS: ROMANOFF EXPLODES ON WALKER IN PRE-RACE CONFRONTATION!

“Natasha Romanoff LOSES CONTROL—DRAMA before the final races!”

“TENSION RISES: WALKER VS. L/N, BUT IS ROMANOFF THE REAL FIGHT?”

Before you could say something, Your parents stepped in and Natasha’s blood ran cold. She recognized them instantly. She had met your parents once before, but this? This was different. Your father’s eyes flickered to the scene again behind him, the cameras, the tension, the way Walker was still adjusting his suit, trying to shake off the encounter.

And then? He turned back to you. He searched your face for a moment. And then, he sighed, shaking his head with a small, tired smile. “You never did back down from a fight, did you?”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t realize you had been holding it until then. And for the first time that day, You let out a laugh. Your father stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. And suddenly? You weren’t a racing driver. You weren’t the girl who had just been shoved into the spotlight again.

You weren’t the girl who had almost died here last time. You were just his daughter. And God, you had missed this. When he pulled back, he placed both hands on your shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. And he believed you. Your mother was next. She didn’t hug you. She didn’t smile. But she stepped forward. And that, alone, was enough.

“I still hate this.” The words weren’t cruel. They weren’t judgmental. They were just honest. You exhaled, nodding. “I know.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “But.”

Your heart stuttered. “But I also know how much you love it.”

She looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time since your accident, she saw the joy in your eyes instead of the scars. And when she spoke again, it was softer. “Just promise me you’ll be careful this time.”

Your throat tightened. But you nodded. “I promise.”

Natasha had been standing just a few feet away. She had given you space. But now? She stepped closer, until she was by your side. Your father looked at her. Then at you. And then? A slow smirk. “Romanoff causing trouble for you?”

You let out a soft laugh. And Natasha? For the first time since she nearly killed Walker, her lips twitched into something close to a smile.

“She does that.” And for the first time, your mother didn’t argue. She just sighed. “Then I guess you two are a good match.”

The roar of the crowd was deafening as you sat in your cockpit, hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity. Even through your helmet, you could hear the thunderous energy of the fans, the commentators hyping up the moment.

“After years of fighting her way back, Y/N L/N is back at Silverstone, the very track that nearly ended her career. And now, she has a chance to take another victory here.”

“The nerves must be unreal. This is the track of her nightmare.”

You exhaled sharply, steadying yourself. This wasn’t just any race. This was Silverstone. The last stepping stone before the championship. And even more than that, it was the race. The one that left scars on your body, that nearly stole everything from you.

Your fingers twitched against the steering wheel, tension coiling in your chest. A voice crackled through the radio.

“Radio check.”

It was Natasha. Firm, steady. The only anchor keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts. You pressed the button on the wheel, your voice tight. “Copy.”

A pause. “You good?”

Your throat was dry. “I don’t know.”

Another pause. Then, softer. “Breathe, Detka. I’m right here with you.”

The Russian curled around you, grounding you. It wasn’t something she used often, only in moments like these, when she knew you needed something solid to hold onto. You inhaled deeply. Held it. Exhaled slowly.

“Just another race.” Natasha murmured, voice smooth. “Just another grid. Just another set of lights. You know what to do.”

You clenched your jaw, nodding slightly. “I know.” But before you could settle into that thought-Walker. He was right in-front of you, P1 on the grid, his presence a venomous reminder that he was still in the fight. You caught a glimpse of him over the halo of your car, his smug expression barely visible under his helmet. Even from here, you knew he was going to make this difficult.

A tap on your helmet made you turn your head, Yelena. She crouched beside your car, her green eyes searching yours. “You ready?”

You scoffed. “Yes.”

She grinned. “Good. Now go kick his ass.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “That’s the plan.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the comms again. “Grid up.”

You pulled your visor down, locked in, fingers twitching on the wheel. This was it. “Let’s hunt.”

Five red lights flickered overhead.

Five… Four… Three…

Your breath caught in your throat.

Two… One…

The world held still.

Lights out.

The explosion of sound and movement was immediate. Engines howled, tires screeched, the smell of burnt rubber filling the air as the pack lunged forward. Your reflexes kicked in, instincts sharper than thought.

“Nice start.” Natasha’s voice was smooth over the radio. “Hold it, don’t rush.”

Turn 1 was pure carnage. Cars dove aggressively, desperate to gain positions before the field settled. You barely had time to process before reacting, threading through the chaos.

Lap 3 emerging worked perfectly.

Lap 7 Box stop. Your team executed flawlessly, barely 2.4 seconds before they released you back into the fray.

“Perfect stop.” Natasha praised, her voice low in your ear.

Lap 10 Walker was directly in front of you, his car a flashing red target in your sights.

“Don’t rush it.” Natasha warned, already anticipating your aggression. “You’ll get him.”

Lap 18. Your breath stilled. The curve. The very turn that had nearly taken your life was right in front of you.

Your fingers clenched around the wheel. Flashes of the past crept in, the moment you lost control. The helpless spin. The wall rushing toward you. The sound of metal crushing.

Your vision blurred for half a second. Terror curled its fingers around your throat. “Breathe.” Natasha’s voice was softer now, private. Just for you. “You’re in control.”

Your chest rose and fell too fast. “Let it go, Y/n.” Natasha coaxed. “This track doesn’t own you anymore. You own it.”

Your breath hitched. The car rocketed toward the turn. This was it. You committed. Full throttle. The car hugged the track, smooth, controlled, perfect. No oversteer. No panic. No fear. A single tear slipped down your cheek. You did it. The pit wall erupted. Mechanics cheered, Yelena whooped in celebration.

Lap 20 You held firm, but he was defending every inch.

Lap 25 Final lap.

He lunged, reckless, aggressive. But you knew him. You baited him into Turn 6, letting him think he had the overtake. At the last second, you switched lines, cutting back perfectly. The move was flawless. You heard the frustration in Walker’s engine as he locked up behind you.

And then, the checkered flag.

“Y/N L/N WINS AT SILVERSTONE!”

Your vision blurred, heart slamming against your ribs. The radio exploded. Shouts. Cheers. Yelena screaming. “You did it.”

You exhaled sharply, swallowing the lump in your throat. You did it.. The car rolled into the pit lane. The moment you stopped, you ripped off the wheel, launching yourself out of the cockpit. A sea of bodies swallowed you, mechanics, engineers, your team, screaming, shaking you, holding you.

Natasha stood at the pit wall, arms crossed, her lips twitching at the corners. And for the first time, in front of the entire world, She smiled. And in that moment, you knew. You weren’t just fighting for yourself anymore. You were fighting for her.

And fuck..You were going to win this championship.

——

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but when you walked into the team’s headquarters the morning after Silverstone, still buzzing from the victory, you were met with something entirely unfamiliar. Silence. No scheduled briefings. No physical drills. No mechanical debriefs. Just a single message on your phone.

“Meet me at the hangar. Be ready.”

You arrived at the hangar, dressed in your usual training gear, expecting something, anything, resembling a preparation session. But instead, Natasha was standing next to a private jet, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, watching you approach.

Your brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

She smirked. “Your final week of training.”

You stared at her. “What does that mean?”

She pushed off the frame, stepping closer, voice softer now. “You’ve pushed yourself hard enough, detka. Now, you rest. You reset.”

You blinked. “And you’re deciding that for me?”

She arched a brow, tilting her head. “Do you trust me?”

Your heart clenched at the sincerity in her voice. You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Yes. I do.”

Her smirk returned, this time softer. “Then get in the plane.”

You followed, still confused but knowing better than to question her now. The flight was peaceful. No talk of racing, no debriefs, just the soft hum of the jet’s engines. You sat beside her, fingers drumming idly against your thigh. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Natasha didn’t look up from her tablet, scrolling through something unreadable. “Nope.”

You huffed, shifting in your seat. “You know, normal people discuss things like this.”

She smirked but still didn’t look up. “And since when have we been normal?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into the plush seat. “Fair point.”

The destination remained a mystery until you landed. When you stepped out of the jet and into the warm, sea-salted air, your breath hitched. A private villa. Hidden away, far from the chaos of the racing world.

“You brought me to an island?” you asked incredulously.

Natasha just grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “You needed a reset.”

You blinked. “And your idea of resetting is a literal paradise?”

She glanced at you over her shoulder, smirking. “Would you rather be back at the track?”

You scoffed. “No. Absolutely not.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Then shut up and enjoy it.”

For the first time in months, you woke up without an alarm. Without the weight of race strategy meetings, without the looming stress of upcoming battles. Instead, you woke up to the soft rustling of waves, the distant call of seagulls, and the scent of coffee drifting through the open villa.

And her. Natasha was sitting on the patio, her laptop open on the table, a cup of coffee in hand, her eyes flicking between the screen and the ocean. You leaned against the doorframe, watching her, arms crossing over your chest. “Do you ever stop working?”

She hummed, tilting her head in your direction but not looking away from the screen. “Do you ever stop overthinking?”

You scoffed, stepping closer. “Touché.”

She finally looked up, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Coffee?”

You nodded, sitting down across from her. The moment you took the first sip, you exhaled, the warmth spreading through you. “Okay. Maybe this was a good idea.”

Natasha chuckled. “Told you.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the waves providing a soothing backdrop. After a moment, Natasha leaned back, closing her laptop. “How are you feeling about Abu Dhabi?”

You hesitated, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t push. Just watched. Waited. You sighed, setting the coffee down. “I feel ready, but also… it feels different now. Everything does.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Because of the championship?”

You swallowed. “Because of you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. A beat of silence. Natasha’s expression didn’t change immediately, but there was something in her eyes, something soft, something unreadable. You looked away, suddenly nervous. “I mean—”

“I know.”

You met her gaze again. She exhaled slowly, like she was choosing her words carefully. “I feel it too.”

The confession was quiet. Almost vulnerable. Your breath caught. “Natasha-”

She shook her head, a small smile ghosting her lips. “Not yet. Not before the final race.”

Your chest tightened, but you understood. This..whatever this was, was too big to unpack before the championship was decided. But that didn’t stop you from reaching across the table, from sliding your fingers over hers. And Natasha didn’t stop you either.

The week passed in a haze of quiet moments. Soft touches. Unspoken words. Natasha never pushed you to talk about the race, never brought up Walker, never made you think about anything except being here.

But the night before you left for Abu Dhabi, everything shifted. You stood on the balcony, staring at the ocean, lost in thought. You felt her presence before she spoke. “You’re thinking again.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t help it.”

She moved beside you, resting her arms against the railing. “Tell me.”

You swallowed. “What if I lose?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You won’t.”

You turned your head toward her, searching her face. “How can you be so sure?”

Natasha met your gaze, eyes burning with something fierce. “Because I know you.”

A pause. “And you’re mine.”

Your breath hitched. She turned toward you fully now, stepping closer. The tension between you snapped taut, electricity crackling in the space between. She lifted a hand, fingers brushing against your jaw. “And I don’t lose, dorogaya.”

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. And this time, this time, there were no interruptions. Her lips were on yours before you could even process it, warm, insistent, desperate. You melted into her, hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, needing more, needing everything.

The final race was tomorrow. The world was watching. The championship was on the line. But right now? Right now, the only thing that mattered was her. The atmosphere was electric.

Final Race

The Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi was alive with tension, the air buzzing with anticipation. Fans crowded the grandstands, waving banners, their cheers blending into the deafening roar of engines warming up in the pit lane. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden hues over the track, the last race of the season set to unfold under the lights.

This was it. The championship decider.

You stood in the garage, your fireproof suit already zipped up, helmet in hand, heart pounding in your chest. You had never felt this level of pressure before—every decision, every overtake, every second would determine whether you would leave this track as a world champion.

“Welcome to the final race of the season, the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix! And what a season it has been! It all comes down to this, two contenders, one final battle, and the championship on the line!”

“That’s right! Y/N L/N and Walker have been at war all season, and now, after 23 grueling races, it all leads to this moment. Whoever finishes ahead tonight will be crowned the world champion!”

The camera feed cut to Walker, standing a few garages down, already locked in conversation with his engineers. You caught his gaze for a split second, and he smirked, giving you a mocking two-finger salute.

Your jaw clenched. Natasha, who had been standing beside you, caught the interaction immediately. “Ignore him.” Her voice was firm but steady, grounding you. “He wants to get in your head. Don’t let him.” You exhaled sharply, nodding.

The pre-race ceremony was grand. Fireworks lit up the sky, and the national anthem echoed across the circuit as drivers lined up for introductions. Cameras panned across each contender, zooming in on your face as the commentators continued hyping the moment.

“This is the most anticipated title fight in years. The young challenger versus the reigning champion. Y/N L/N has defied all odds this season, recovering from injury, fighting back from setbacks, and proving she belongs at the top.”

“And let’s not forget the woman behind her success, Natasha Romanoff, the enigmatic and ruthless team principal who rebuilt this team from the ground up. This isn’t just a battle between drivers, it’s a war between philosophies, between two teams that have fought tooth and nail to get here.”

As your name was called, the crowd erupted in cheers. Your stomach twisted with nerves, but you forced a steady breath. Then, Natasha’s hand found your lower back, just for a second, a silent reminder.

“You’re ready for this.” she murmured, barely audible over the noise. You swallowed hard, nodding.

The camera moved to Walker, his confident grin plastered across the screens. He thrived under the spotlight, waving dramatically at the crowd. The moment passed quickly, and soon, you were making your way to the car, slipping into the cockpit for the final time this season.

The formation lap was tense. The weight of the championship sat heavy on your shoulders as you weaved through the turns, warming up the tires, getting a feel for the grip under the lights. Natasha’s voice came through the radio. “Alright, Y/n. This is it. We’ve prepared for this moment all season. You know what to do.”

You exhaled. “I do.”

A pause. Then, softer “I’m proud of you.” Your chest tightened, your grip firming around the wheel. “Let’s win this.”

This was it. The moment everything had been building toward. The last race of the season. The championship on the line. The crowd was deafening, their cheers vibrating through the grandstands, but inside the cockpit, it was just you, the machine, and the voice in your ear.

“Radio check.”

You exhaled, adjusting your grip on the wheel. “Loud and clear.”

A pause. Then, her voice softened, just slightly. “You’ve fought too hard to let this slip away. Start strong. Control the pace. And bring it home.”

Your heart pounded. Natasha had never been this soft over the radio before a race. It settled something in your chest.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Lights out.

The engine screamed as you launched off the line, your tires gripping perfectly, carrying you smoothly into the first corner. You held your position, P1. Exactly where you needed to be.

Walker was right behind you.

Lap 5

Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms. “He’s pushing early. Don’t let him dictate your race. You control this.”

You kept your breathing steady. “Copy.” Walker was testing you, feinting a move on the inside, but you covered the line perfectly.

Lap 10

“Box, box.”

You dove into the pits, your crew flawless. 2.3 seconds. You rejoined the track in P3, behind two drivers who hadn’t pitted yet. Walker followed, just seconds behind.

“Cold tires. Build them up. He’s going to attack.”

Lap 15

Chaos. Two cars behind you collided violently. A massive impact. Debris scattered across the track. One car spun into the barriers at high speed.

“Safety car.”

Your grip on the wheel tightened. Your eyes flicked to the mirrors. “Are they okay?” Your voice was sharp, urgent.

A long pause. Then, “Both drivers are out of the car. Medics are on them.”

You let out a shaky breath. The race was neutralized. But the tension didn’t fade. Natasha cut in, voice steady. Grounding.

“Don’t think about it. This isn’t your past. This is your present. This is your win.”

You nodded to yourself. You were not the same driver who crashed before.You were stronger. Smarter. Better.

Lap 20

The safety car pulled in. The race was back on. You timed the restart perfectly. Walker was right there, trying to lunge up the inside, but you blocked him cleanly. He was getting desperate.

And then, Lap 27.

He made his move. Too aggressive. Too reckless. Your rear tire was clipped. The car twitched violently. Your breath stopped. For a second, you felt it happening again. The Silverstone crash. The helpless spin. Your lungs locked. Natasha’s voice was calm, urgent.

“You’ve got it. You’re in control.”

You held it. You corrected, stabilized the car. Walker was still pushing. Still desperate. “Don’t let him rattle you. You have him.” Natasha’s voice was sharp.

Lap 35

Final one. Walker lunged forward. He was too aggressive. He clipped the curb badly. His car twitched. Your eyes widened. He lost it. His car slid sideways, full speed into the barriers. A brutal impact. Carbon fiber shattered. Metal twisted.

The crowd gasped. Your lungs locked. Your voice broke through the radio. “Is he okay?!”

Silence. Then, Yelena’s voice. “He’s moving. Medical is there.”

Natasha followed, controlled but tight. “Stay focused.”

Your eyes flicked up. The finish line was ahead. One more corner. You had done it.. The realization hit you all at once. You erupted in a scream. “YEEEESSSS!” Your hands trembled on the wheel as you crossed the line, the weight of everything crashing over you.

You had won.

Not just the race. Not just the championship. You had won yourself back. The sound of your own screams of victory echoed in your ears, blending with the deafening cheers from the crowd, the roaring engines, the overwhelming rush of adrenaline that flooded every inch of your body.

Through the radio, your team was exploding with excitement, voices overlapping, Yelena’s unhinged screaming, engineers shouting your name—everyone losing their minds.

And then, Natasha. But this time, her voice wasn’t just professional. It wasn’t just the sharp, controlled guidance of your team principal. This time, she laughed. A real, genuine laugh, the sound crackling through your earpiece, warm and unfiltered.

“Jesus, Y/n, you’re insane.”

You let out a breathless laugh in return, blinking back the sting of emotion. “I fucking did it...”

Her voice softened, low, proud. “Yes, you did.” The realization hit you like a freight train. You were the world champion.

The second you parked the car, you ripped off the wheel, unstrapping yourself as fast as possible. Before your brain could even catch up, you were climbing out of the cockpit, the weight of everything crashing into you.

They were everywhere. Your mechanics swarmed you, hands grabbing your suit, shaking you, hugging you, their cheers ringing out in celebration. Tears burned at the edges of your vision. This was real. You were on top of the world.

You hugged every mechanic who got to you, arms wrapping around engineers, feeling every ounce of their pride, their joy, their belief in you. But then, your eyes flickered up. And there she was.

Standing just beyond the chaos, arms relaxed, her lips curled into a rare, small smile, her green eyes locked onto you. And that’s when you felt it. The sting of emotions rising too fast, too sharp, the sheer weight of this moment overwhelming.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your legs were moving. You ran. Straight to her. Natasha barely had time to react before you crashed into her arms. She caught you effortlessly, her hands gripping tight, holding you like she had no intention of letting go.

Your breath was ragged, your heart hammering against your ribs. You buried your face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her, leather, champagne, and something unmistakably her. You felt her laugh, the softest thing, as her hand slid to the back of your head, holding you close. And then, before your brain could even fully process what was happening, Natasha leaned back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up, her eyes flickering between yours, searching.

And then, she kissed you. Right there. In front of everyone. The crowd erupted. The cameras flashed. The team roared. And none of it mattered. Because Natasha Romanoff was kissing you. Not rushed. Not hidden. Real. Raw. Completely, unapologetically hers. You melted into it, your hands gripping her suit, pulling her closer, desperate to feel every inch of this moment.

When she pulled back, her forehead pressed against yours, her breath warm against your lips. And then, she finally whispered it.

“I love you.”

You blinked, your chest tightening painfully. She had never said it before. Not once. Not when she held you after long, exhausting nights. Not when she whispered Russian against your skin. Not when her hands traced over your scars like they were sacred.

But here..in front of the world..she did. And fuck, you had never loved her more. Your fingers curled into the fabric of her race suit, your voice shaking as you whispered back.

“I love you, too.”

She smiled, a real, genuine, unguarded smile. And just as the cameras continued flashing, just as the team lost their minds, she pulled you in for another kiss. Because now, you were champions. Together.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as you made your way through the pit lane, your body still buzzing with pure, unfiltered adrenaline. Every muscle ached, every heartbeat pounded against your ribs, but none of it mattered.

You had won the fucking championship.

As you walked toward the podium, your crew and engineers lined up, cheering, clapping, some even grabbing your shoulders, shaking you with pure joy. The mechanics who had spent countless hours perfecting your car, the engineers who had studied your every move, your team, your family.

You grinned at them all, shaking hands, hugging anyone who reached for you. But then, your eyes flickered forward. Natasha Standing just beyond the team with your parents, arms crossed, her stance effortlessly composed as always. But this time, her green eyes weren’t filled with sharp calculation. They weren’t focused on data, strategy, or performance.

They were on you. And for the first time, in front of thousands of cameras, in front of the world, Natasha let herself smile. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t obvious. But to you, it was everything.

She lifted a glass of champagne, a silent toast from where she stood, her expression laced with something you’d never seen from her before, not in front of the cameras. Pride. Pure, unguarded, unmistakable pride.

Your chest tightened painfully. She was proud of you. And that? That made your throat burn more than anything. Before you could even begin to process it, an official gently tapped your arm, ushering you toward the podium. The crowd erupted as you took the steps, standing in the middle, on the highest platform. The place only one person got to stand. The champion’s place. Your team principal’s place. Natasha’s place.

Your breathing hitched as you stood there, the weight of it finally crashing over you. You had done it. Walker was a few steps below you, his expression tight, controlled. He wasn’t looking at you. Good. He didn’t matter anymore. Because this moment? This was yours.

The anthem played, the flags waved, and you felt the world shift beneath you. The bottles were handed over, the anticipation buzzing through the air. You grabbed yours, shaking it violently before popping the cork, the liquid bursting forward like a dam breaking.

And then, chaos. You turned the bottle, drenching the second-place finisher, who cursed but laughed, retaliating immediately. The third-place driver joined in, and suddenly, it was an all-out war of champagne and celebration. The golden liquid soaked your race suit, your hair, your skin. But you didn’t care. You laughed, heart soaring, the feeling unlike anything else in the world.

For a moment, you let yourself breathe. Let yourself feel it. You had climbed back from hell, from the crash that nearly ended your career, from the doubts, the nightmares, the whispers behind your back. And now? Now you were at the top.

Your eyes instinctively flickered past the cameras, past the roaring crowd. Straight to her. Natasha was still standing there, watching, her glass still in hand, her lips curled just slightly.

And this time, she lifted it higher. The acknowledgment. The silent toast. The unspoken message. Your vision blurred for half a second, but you blinked it away. And then? You did something you hadn’t planned. Something natural. You lifted your own bottle in return, mirroring her.

A toast. To the one person who had been there through it all. To Natasha fucking Romanoff.

The second you stepped down from the podium, the cameras swarmed. Questions flew at you from every direction, reporters desperate for the first statement from the new world champion.

You barely had time to process them.

“Y/n, how does it feel-”

“What a comeback! What do you have to say to your doubters-”

“What does this mean for your future-”

The questions were a blur. Your mind was still racing, your body still buzzing from the victory. “Alright, that’s enough.”

The reporters stilled. You turned, heart skipping a beat. Natasha was right there, her body angled just slightly in front of yours, the presence of a shield, a protector. And just like that, the questions stopped. Because when Natasha Romanoff spoke, people listened. She glanced over at you, her green eyes softer now, just for you.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

You nodded, exhaling softly, letting her take your hand, your fucking hand, right there, in front of everyone. The world had no idea what had just changed. But you did. And that? That was all that mattered.

The End.

-

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🏷️ TAGLIST: @l0nelyish @ayrtonwilbury @ima-gi--na-tion @whatthesnoodle @blackswanxzn @ivyasproperty @seventeen-x @wandanatlov3r @nebthetautora @casquinhaa @veroeuqin @1234mockingjay @artemisarroxvolkov @natashasmuse @cactuslover2600

[steveslevis]

i want your things in my room

azriel x roommate!reader

summary: azriel is your roommate and one of your best friends. it's normal to have a crush on and have horny thoughts about your best friend every once in a while...right?

warnings: mutual pining, idiots in love!!!!!, angst, alcohol consumption, masturbation (m), dom/sub dynamic, oral (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation, so much dirty talk from az, slight degradation kink, praise kink, sir kink, semi-unprotected (?) rough piv, slight breeding kink, choking/breath play, size kink/big dick azriel as usual, dacryphilia, probably some things i missed idk

word count: 8.2k

a/n: based off of this ask!!!! don't ask how i wrote this so quickly idk what took over me

“Are you ever going to admit that you want to fuck Azriel?” a low, unamused voice murmurs in your ear as you feel the couch cushion behind your back dip slightly with the weight of their elbows. 

You whip your head around at an impressive speed, coming face-to-face with your best friend and neighbor, Nesta, who is smirking at you as she extends a plastic cup filled with a mystery concoction of alcohol towards you. 

She’d caught you staring at your roommate from across the living room, ignoring the rest of the people bustling around you to essentially undress him with your eyes. Well, it didn’t take too much to undress him with your eyes, considering he’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a fully open button-down short sleeve shirt, accenting the gold chain dangling around his neck and the swirling tattoos over his bare chest and arms. It’s not your fault that he’s attractive and nearly shirtless, it’s just distracting. 

“I will never admit such a thing, because it’s not true.” you retort matter-of-factly as you pluck the cup from her hand with an incredulous glare. 

“Oh, sure.” Nesta hums unconvincingly before rounding the couch to stand in front of you, holding a hand out to you to help you stand. “Let’s go, the boys want to play beer pong.”

A groan falls from your lips as you stand, letting her pull you across the room to the corner where Cassian had set up a folding table and ten cups on each side. Azriel and Cassian are standing on either side of the table, practicing tosses while poking fun at each other. 

Cassian is the first to notice you and his girlfriend walk over, a wide, drunken grin spreading over his face as he sets the ping pong ball down to pull Nesta in for an embrace. As he does, Nesta grumbles something about how she just saw him ten minutes ago and that he’s so clingy when he’s drunk, but there’s nothing but love behind her eyes as she jokes with him. 

Oh, how you wish you had someone to look at you like that.

 An arm slings around your shoulder as you stare longingly at the couple, breaking you from your desperate trance. You look over to see your roommate tugging you close, a half-smirk on his lips as he stares down at you. 

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” you say to him before looking back to Nesta and Cassian, who are giggling to themselves in between kisses, in their own little world. “I’m so happy Nes finally found someone who actually makes her happy.”

“Oh yeah, they’re disgustingly adorable.” Azriel replies, a slight cringe playing on his face as his eyes flicker to the couple as his hand falls to the small of your back to guide you to your side of the pong table. 

“What? Not the affectionate type, Azzy?” you tease, a twinkle in your eyes as you try to hide the disappointment at his disgust in the public affection, though you’re not sure why you’re disappointed considering you’ll never be on the receiving end of his romantic affection.

“I don’t know, not really.” he hums thoughtfully, arranging the cups to his liking as he avoids your gaze. 

“You wanna know what I think?” you question, bringing your drink to your lips to take one long gulp. The two drinks you’d had prior to standing up are finally catching up to you now, leaving you with more courage and a warmer chest than you had five minutes ago.

“Pretty sure you’re gonna tell me what you think regardless of if I want you to or not, sweetheart.” Azriel teases, looking down at you as you take a step towards him, a smirk plastered on your face.

“I th–think that you just haven’t found the right girl to make you want to publicly display affection.” you say confidently, chin raised high to lock eyes with him. “I think you just need to find the perfect girl that you’ll want to claim as yours and scream it from the rooftops.” 

The two of you have a momentary staring contest as you search his eyes for any sign that you’re right, but finding none. Azriel opens his mouth to give you a smart retort, but before he can speak, someone backs into you and makes you lose your footing. You stumble forward, your chest falling flush with his bare abdomen as his hands reach for your waist to keep you from falling. He looks down at you then, eyes glued on your breasts as they threaten to spill from your top as you wrap your arms around him. 

All he can think about as he watches you scramble in his arms is how much he wants to say fuck it to this party and take you back to his room to see what those perfect tits look like in his–

A giggle falls from your lips, interrupting Azriel’s lewd thoughts when you finally stand up straight and take a step back when he lets you out of his arms. Your cheeks are flushed when you pull away, as if you’re just as flustered as he is about the interaction. 

“S–Sorry about that.” you laugh nervously, turning to look over your shoulder to make sure nobody else is going to knock you over. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Azriel chuckles dryly, moving to stand halfway behind you in order to prevent you from being knocked over again. 

“Are you two done being idiots for long enough for us to play or not?” Nesta calls over the table, raising her brows at you, which makes you roll your eyes at her as you nod. 

To any outsiders, the game of beer pong definitely looks like it’s being played by two love-sick males and the females that they’ll never get enough of. Nobody would guess that the “couple” being exceedingly touchy and overly-affectionate was the pair who just discussed his hatred of public affection, especially by the fact that he can’t keep his hand off your back, and how it keeps almost falling to your ass every time you jump with happiness when you make a cup. 

To anyone watching, it’s extremely obvious that Azriel is so infatuated with you that it’s almost ridiculous. To you, it’s anything but obvious as you tell yourself with every touch that he’s just your roommate and he’d never look at you that way. 

________________________________

Azriel can’t sleep.

Usually after a party at the apartment, he’s out as soon as his head hits the pillow, but not tonight. 

He’s plagued by thoughts of you, thoughts he probably should not be having about his roommate. 

The two of you have always denied any feelings for each other in front of your friends, but there’s no denying how you run through his mind every night. 

“We’ve just grown very close since living together, we’re best friends.” you’d said one night when your friends asked, as you were clinging onto Azriel’s arm on the couch drunkenly, “and best friends can flirt with each other and shouldn’t get any shit for it. Sometimes it just happens, alright?”

His mind races as he stares at the ceiling, unable to focus on anything but you, thoughts of you racing through his mind at breakneck speeds. 

Thoughts of you underneath him, your breathy moans ringing in his ears as he thrusts into you mercilessly. Thoughts of tears streaming down your cheeks while you choke on his cock as he fists your hair, fucking your face while cooing to you about how you’re such a good little slut. Thoughts of bending you over the kitchen counter to take you from behind, one hand wrapped around your throat and the other over your mouth to muffle your cries.

Fuck.

He should not be fisting his cock to the thought of you, especially with you sleeping one room over, but he can’t help himself. 

Ever since you moved in with him after you switched apartments with Cassian to escape the nightly fuck fest from Nesta and Cassian, Azriel hasn’t been able to keep you out of his late night thoughts. He knows it’s wrong, knows that imagining you riding his cock as he pumps his spit-slick length is fucked up, but you’re stuck on his brain. 

Tonight specifically, he does not give a fuck. He’s too horny for his own good, especially after seeing directly down your shirt when you fell into his arms. So, he continues to stroke himself, breathy grunts falling from his lips as his imagination runs wild. 

Azriel typically isn’t one to cum too quickly, but things have been different since you’d moved into the apartment. At first he’d told himself that he wasn’t having girls over so you wouldn’t have to listen to that, but deep down he knows that’s not the true reason. He’s utterly touch-starved and desperate for you only, so it only takes a few pumps with images of you flashing in his mind for him to finish into his fist, chest heaving and heart thumping against his ribs. 

It’s fine, it’s totally okay that he just came in less than five minutes to the thought of you riding his cock. 

Best friends do that sometimes…right?

________________________________

“So have you guys fucked yet?” Elain asks as she plops down on the couch next to you, making you nearly choke on your wine. 

It was your turn to host so-called “girl’s night” that Feyre and Mor insist on having every month, so you’re sitting in your living room with all three of the Archeron sisters, along with Mor and Amren, drinking wine and chatting about nothing in particular. 

You turn to look at the quietest Archeron sister, eyes wide in disbelief at her question. 

“I’m sorry?” you question, raising a brow at her as she smiles innocently at you.

“You and Az,” she clarifies nonchalantly, pouring herself another glass of white wine as she speaks, “have you guys finally gotten over yourselves and decided to confess your feelings and fuck?”

Elain is the last person in the room that you’d expect a question like that from, especially considering she’s the only one in the room with a history with your roommate. The two of them hooked up for a month or two last year, right before she met the love of her life, Lucien. There were no hard feelings between the two of them, but it was still an unexpected question coming from her. 

“Okay, you’re the second sister who’s asked me almost the same exact question about Az this week.” you say with narrowed eyes, shooting both Elain and Nesta glares as they smirk at you. “There’s nothing going on between us and there never will be. End of story.”

Your voice is firm, but that doesn’t stop the strange feeling that spreads across your chest as you speak. 

“Oh come on!” Mor calls out, shaking her head at you. “You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me that you feel nothing for him at all. I see the way the two of you look at each other and how you shamelessly flirt all the damn time.” 

“I don’t feel anything for him, I swear.” you retort quickly, trying to push your feelings down as they threaten to bubble over. “Even if I did feel anything for him, he doesn’t feel anything for me, so it doesn’t matter.”

Silence falls over the room as everyone exchanges knowing glances, making you groan as you feel out of the loop. 

“Why are you all looking at each other like that?” you huff, a frown pulling your lips down as you take another sip of your wine. 

“You really think that Azriel doesn't have feelings for you?” Feyre questions, making your frown deepen as you shake your head again. 

“You’re surely blind then, girl.” Amren calls out casually, shaking her head at you with slight disappointment. “That male is in love with you.”

“N–No he is not!” you nearly shriek, cheeks flushing at her words. “He is not in love with me! Like I’ve said before, we’re best friends, that’s all.”

Unconvinced murmurs spread through the room as you speak, making you laugh nervously. 

“Can we just–just drop it? I don’t wanna talk about Az anymore.” you ask finally, reaching for the remote on the coffee table, “We’re supposed to be watching that stupid dating show and taking shots every time someone cries for no good reason, so let’s do that instead.”

Nobody argues with you as you fumble with the remote, but exchange more knowing glances before continuing the night without another word about your roommate.

After four episodes of the cheesy dating show Mor had picked out to make fun of, everyone decides to call it a night, leaving you alone in the silence of your apartment. You know Azriel will be home from Cassian’s apartment soon, so you make quick work of cleaning up the living room so you can sneak into your room before he arrives. 

Unfortunately, the door to the apartment swings open and closed as you’re putting the last wine glass into the dishwasher. You look up to see a very annoyed Azriel standing in the middle of the living room, running his fingers through his hair as he sighs loudly. 

“Hey,” you say softly, frowning as you take in the exasperated expression on his face. “Are you alright?”

The harsh lines on his face soften slightly when he looks up at you, a frown mirroring your own replacing the scowl that he had before.

“Yeah–Yeah, I’m fine.” he replies, shaking his head quickly. “Cass and Nes just need to keep their noses out of my business is all.” 

“Oh? Are they very invested in your sex life too?” you say, forcing a teasing smile on your face. 

“Yes, it’s fucking annoying.” he groans while striding into the kitchen to rummage through the fridge, “I’m sure they say the same shit to you, I’m tired of them trying to push this fucking ridiculous idea of me asking you out. It’s getting old, they should know that’s never happening.” 

Fuck. 

Your smile falters for a millisecond before you let out a forced laugh, shaking your head as you ignore the way your heart sinks at his words. You knew he wasn’t interested, but he seems absolutely repulsed by the idea of asking you out. 

Is the idea of being in a relationship with you that disgusting?

“Yeah–That will definitely never happen.” you reply, your voice sounding a lot sadder than you’d planned. You point your gaze to your phone in your hand, pretending to check the time as you blink back a tear that threatened to spill at his reaction before taking a step towards your room. “I’m gonna go to bed. Goodnight Az,” you say without looking up at the male once. 

You close the bedroom door behind you and throw yourself on your bed without a second thought, letting your tears finally spill down your cheeks as you tug the comforter over your body. 

If you weren’t thinking about finally letting your little crush on your roommate go before, you definitely are now.

________________________________

The environment in your apartment flips on its head after that night, mainly because you forced it to change. While laying in bed crying yourself to sleep after hearing his disgust, you’d decided that you wouldn’t allow yourself to get caught up on Azriel anymore, that you wouldn’t let yourself flirt with him constantly or even let yourself touch him because it would only complicate things more. 

So you’ve been keeping to yourself, not spending any time in the shared spaces of the apartment, and avoiding him unless absolutely necessary. 

Azriel always seems halfway offended when you shy away from his touch now, something like hurt swimming in his eyes when you don’t feed into his flirtation, but that’s not something you should worry about anymore, so you don’t let yourself think about it. 

Everyone around you is extremely worried about your well-being, as you haven’t shown interest in going to parties or dinner or doing anything with the group in the last few weeks. Little do they know, you’ve been avoiding them for two reasons; because you don’t want anyone to ask about Azriel again and because you don’t want to put yourself in the predicament of getting drunk enough to flirt with him again. 

Unfortunately for you, Nesta dragged you across the hall to their apartment tonight, insisting that you come spend some time with everyone instead of holing up in your bedroom like you have been every night. You let her drag you over to their apartment, mainly because your hurt has fizzled into anger now, so you’re okay with getting tipsy tonight to dull the sizzling irritation. 

After three too many seltzers and a few slices of pizza, you’re feeling less annoyed by your roommate’s presence. You’re sitting on one of the couches in Nesta’s apartment with the Archeron sisters and Lucien, giggling about anything and everything with the females while Lucien busies himself on his phone and massaging Elain’s scalp as she lays against his chest. Cassian and Azriel are on the adjacent couch, while Rhys, Mor and Amren are carrying on at the kitchen island in a heated argument about nothing in particular. 

“So, Y/N.” Feyre starts after taking a long sip of her white wine. “What have you been up to? It feels like we haven’t seen you in weeks.” 

“Oh, don’t even start with her.” Nesta groans, shooting a glare in your direction, “she won’t even tell me, her girl best friend, what’s been up her ass lately.” 

“I’ve told you a thousand times, Nes, I’m fine! I’ve just–just been trying to expand my horizons lately,” you say halfheartedly, slightly cowering under your best friend’s glare. “Just been trying new things, I even went on a date last night.”

“What?” all three sisters say in unison, eyes wide as they stare at you sitting between them.

“With who?” Feyre questions, and you realize that all other conversation in the room has stopped and all eyes are on you now. 

“It’s not that big of a deal, guys–”

“With who?” Nesta repeats, silver eyes narrowed as she stares you down. 

“E–Eris Vanserra.” you murmur, only loud enough for the sisters to hear clearly, a blush spreading across your face as you speak. 

“Did you just say Eris Vanserra?” Cassian questions from the other couch, staring at you expectantly. 

You can feel Azriel’s eyes boring holes into you from next to Cassian with his gaze, which makes sense considering you went on a date with a male that he’s hated for years. Little do they know, you two had a great time but decided it would just be a one-time thing due to some differences in relationship expectations, so things ended swiftly after you hooked up. 

“I did,” you say with a smirk, finally sliding your gaze to Azriel for just a moment, who seems extremely annoyed by your revelation, “Seems like going on a date with me isn’t a fucking ridiculous and repulsive idea to every male out there.” You turn back to the sisters, trying your hardest to avoid seeing how Azriel reacts to your snide remark, opting to describe the date in detail for the girls instead of looking at him. 

You successfully avoid any interaction with Azriel throughout the rest of the evening, though you feel his gaze on you multiple times. Eventually, the night dies down and you decide to head back to your apartment, in desperate need of some good rest. You hug your friends and promise you won’t disappear for so long anymore, knowing that Nesta will drag you out of your bedroom by the hair if you even try. 

You finally make it to your bed a little after midnight, cozying into the covers as you try to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest that feels a little too similar to yearning for your comfort as you attempt to fall asleep.

________________________________

Azriel can’t sleep. Again.

And it’s because of you. Again. 

He’s not plagued with horny thoughts about you this time, but he truthfully wishes he was. It would be better than whatever this feeling was that was overtaking his chest. Every time he thinks back to the look on your face after your remark about going on a date with you being a fucking ridiculous and repulsive idea, his heart threatens to squeeze itself to death in his chest.  He can’t shake the image of your pain-filled eyes, can’t shake the thought of how you’ve avoided him at all costs since he made that remark all those weeks ago.

He knows he fucked up, knows he hurt you in a way that he’s unsure how to fix right now, but he knows that he has to win your trust back somehow.

________________________________

A week later, Azriel is leaning over the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cereal at 10pm when he hears the apartment door slam shut, followed by a sniffle and a stifled sob. 

Before he can stand up straight, you round the corner to the kitchen a small gasp falling from your lips when you see him standing there, fucking shirtless and too sexy, like he’s mocking you for another failed date. 

“S–Sorry, I didn’t hear you in here.” you say when you look up at him. 

“It’s fine, I didn’t mean to scare you.” he chuckles dryly, taking you in as you stand frozen in front of him. You’re wearing a satin emerald green cocktail dress that hugs your curves in the best way possible and black heels that make your legs look like they go on for days, your hair is mussed now, but he can tell that it was perfectly curled and styled before you left, along with your smudged mascara and worn-off lipstick. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, the remnants of tears pricking the corners of them as you try to blink them away. “Are–Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” you say, finally brushing past him to grab a glass from the cabinet before filling it with water. “Just another shitty date.”

“With Eris?” he questions angrily, shaking his head. “I swear, I’ll kick his ass–”

“No–Not with Eris. We broke things off after that first date.” you say with a humorless laugh before taking a sip of water, “It was some other guy that I thought would be nice, but he tried to fuck me before taking me out and got really–really fucking rude after I told him no, so I left. I hate stupid, one-and-done hookups like that.” you sigh before muttering under your breath, “Guess finding a nice guy who wants to actually go on a date with me without me putting out is a ridiculous idea.”

“Well, they’re all fucking stupid if they say they don’t want to date you.” Azriel mutters, rolling his eyes at the thought of someone turning you down when you went out looking like that. “Can’t believe some stupid fucker would see you turn up to his place looking like that and decide that he doesn’t want to show you off to the world.” 

“Az–”

“I’m serious, Y/N!” he all but yells, brow furrowing as he looks you over again. “You look beautiful even after crying half your makeup off, I can’t imagine how good you looked when he first saw you.”

“You don’t have to flatter me out of pity, I know you don’t find me attractive, Az.” you deadpan, rolling your eyes at the male as he takes a step towards you.

“Who ever said I didn’t find you attractive?” he says, his voice dropping an octave as he reaches for your chin to make you look up at him. “Just because I fucked up all those weeks ago and said the idea of asking you on a date was ridiculous when I was angry and drunk doesn’t mean anything, I still find you so fucking attractive.”

“Azriel,” you warn, voice shaky as your mind races. Everything is happening so fast that you can’t truly process what he just said. “D–Don’t…”

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” he retorts, careful not to touch you anywhere else as he tries to think of how to navigate this situation, whether he should get on his knees to beg for your forgiveness or if he should just take you in his arms and kiss you until you forgive him. 

Your knees buckle at the nickname, one that you haven’t heard from him in so long. Usually, he only calls you that when you’re both tipsy and feeling extra flirtatious, but you know he’s stone-cold sober right now, making it all the more intriguing. In your mind, you’re convinced he still truly thinks the idea of going on a date with you is ridiculous, but he did just admit to finding you attractive, which makes you more turned on than it ever should. 

Oh, fuck it.

Without a second thought, you stand on your toes to lean up into him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down for a heated kiss. Azriel almost stumbles away when your lips press to his, but his hands fall to your waist to steady himself as you deepen the kiss. His mind is buzzing as your tongue slips out, teasing his lower lip before biting it between kisses. After a few seconds, Azriel pulls away, panting slightly as he looks down at you with wild eyes. 

“I–I, what are you doing, sweetheart?” he questions in a hushed tone. 

“I think I need you, Az.” you say desperately, a slight pout on your face as you stare up at the male. 

“But, you were just complaining about how you hate hookups.” he murmurs as you stand on your toes in an attempt to reach his lips again. 

As much as he wants to take you right here and right now, he doesn’t want it to be because of an emotional tirade on your part.

You know it’s fucked up that you’re so turned on for your roommate right now, especially after getting mad at the male who tried to fuck you earlier, but you don’t care. You don’t want anything or anyone but him right now, despite your clouded emotions and any hurt you still carry for the male in front of you. 

“Is this just a hookup to you?” you retort before shaking your head to cut him off before he can speak, “A–Actually, don’t answer that right now. I just know that I need you right now. I don’t care if you hate me or however you feel about me.” 

“Gods, I do want you.” he murmurs, pulling you up for a quick kiss. “But I need you to tell me that you want me right now.”

“I want you, Az. I need you.” you say against his lips, “I–I’m yours tonight if you’ll have me. No strings attached tonight, I just–just need you. I’ll never mention this again if you don’t want me to.”

Something snaps in Azriel then and he can’t hold back anymore. He grabs your hips then, pulling you up to sit you on top of the kitchen island with your legs wrapped around his waist. The kiss he pulls you into is desperate and hot, your tongues and teeth clashing as his hands hastily push your dress up to your waist, revealing the black lace thong underneath. His hand glides between your thighs, fingertips grazing over the lace to feel the heat already pooling at your core.

“Fuck, love.” he murmurs against your lips, “You’re so wet, aren’t you?”

“Y–Yes,” you squeak out, hips bucking involuntarily against his hand. “So–So wet for you, Az.”

“Yeah? Just for me?” he teases, a smirk growing on his face as he circles your clit through the fabric, “Want me to taste this sweet cunt and make you cum on my tongue?”

You breathe in a ragged breath at his crude words, nodding feverishly at him as your mind spins at the sudden change in his demeanor. He just chuckles then, pulling your hips to the edge of the counter while also pushing your thong to the side to give him a full view of your glistening core as he shifts to his knees. Azriel mutters something under his breath then, two fingers teasing your clit before licking a stripe up your cunt, making you gasp loudly. 

“F–Fuck!” you whine, hand falling to his head as he eats you out like a man starved with loud smacking of his lips to match. 

“You like that, baby?” he says when he pulls away momentarily, positioning your legs over his shoulders before sliding a finger into your heat. “I bet those other stupid fuckers didn’t eat you out like this, did they?”

“I–I, they never did, n–never have.” you gasp, grinding your hips against his face when he dives back in with a chuckle. 

“What a shame, a cunt this pretty deserves to be devoured at any possible time.” he murmurs against your slick skin, slipping another finger in, “Want you to cum all over my face before I even get a chance to fuck you tonight, you deserve it, love.”

“‘M already–already fucking close, f���feels so good.” you retort, tugging at his hair as he pumps three fingers into your cunt while focusing his tongue on your throbbing clit, pulling moans out of you in a way you didn’t know was possible until now. 

Azriel only hums against your clit, letting his fingers set a brutal pace inside you as he licks and sucks on your sensitive bundle of nerves. He wraps an arm around your waist then, pulling you close to him to stabilize your squirming body as he continues his assault on your core. 

“Such a good girl with such a sweet little cunt,” he praises, gazing up at you while he licks at you once more, “Can’t believe I’ve never gotten to taste you before, don’t know if I’ll be able to share after this, love. You’re making the prettiest noises for me and I don’t want anyone else to hear them.”

“Then d–don’t share, o–oh fuck!” you whimper, thighs quaking as you feel your orgasm approaching. 

“Let me claim your pussy, sweetheart. C’mon, make a mess of my tongue and fingers.” he coaxes between licks, three fingers pressing into you quickly as you cry out loudly, “That’s it, baby. Yeah, I know, I know. Let go, love.”

Your vision blacks momentarily when you reach your peak, chanting his name loudly as he fingers you through your orgasm, cooing softly while pressing kisses to your inner thighs when you finally come down from your high. 

There’s a smirk plastered on Azriel’s face when he finally rises from his knees, lips glistening with your slick while he continues to slowly pump his fingers into you. Your mouth gapes slightly when his thumb presses into your overly-sensitive clit, and you reach for his wrist to stop him as overstimulation wracks your body.

“You did so good, sweetheart.” he coos, ignoring your silent protest for him to remove his fingers as he leans down to steal your lips in a kiss. “So good for me.”

“A–Az, I–I can’t.” you whine, bucking your hips when his thumb brushes your clit again. 

“You want me to stop?” he questions, though he already knows the real answer.

“I–I want you to fuck me.” you plead, shaking your head to cut him off before he gives you a smart reply about fucking you with his fingers. “Want your cock, please.”

“How could I say no when you ask so sweetly?” he coos, finally pulling his fingers from your dripping heat to pull your body flush with his. “Let’s go to my room, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.” you say jokingly, but the nickname triggers something in Azriel as he wraps your legs around his waist to carry you to his room, a low growl ripping from his throat.

“Don’t call me that if you can’t handle what will come after.” he warns, eyes dark as he pushes through the door to his bedroom. 

“What if I can handle it, sir?” you tease, biting your lip as you look up at him with wide, doe eyes. 

“Oh, you’re in for it now, sweetheart.” he growls, tossing you into the middle of his bed, “Strip for me, baby.”

Both of you make quick work of stripping out of your clothes, desire thick in the air as you make desperate glances at each other. After tossing your underwear and dress to the side, you crawl on your hands and knees to the edge of the bed in front of him. You reach your hand out for his cock once it springs free from his boxers, ignoring the nervous feeling in your chest when you see how large he is. 

“So–So big,” you remark, eyes wide as you stare at it.

Your eyes meet his as you lean into his cock, eager to wrap your lips around the leaking, red tip, but his hand in your hair holds you back before you take it into your mouth. 

“As much as I would love to see you choke and cry with your pretty lips around my cock, we’ll save that for another time. I need to fuck you, right now.” he says in a low voice, pupils blown with lust as he tugs you up to be face-to-face with him. “Is that alright with you, sweetheart? Can I fuck you senseless with my big cock?”

“Y–Yes, sir.” you say, nodding desperately at him. 

“Good girl, now lay back on the pillows for me.” he instructs, following you onto the bed to kneel between your spread legs. 

One of his large hands rests on your inner thigh while the other grasps his thick length, tugging on it lightly as he guides himself to your entrance. There’s a beat of hesitation as he slides his tip along your dripping folds, and he looks up at you for a moment.

“I’m–I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, please–please Az. Just fuck me.” you beg, hips canting up into his to make him groan loudly. 

“I’m clean, too. You sure about this though, sweetheart?” he questions, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation but finding none, “Because once I start, I’m not gonna be nice, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give up this sweet cunt, you might be mine forever once I fuck you.”

“Yes–fuck, yes. I’m all yours, sir.” you say breathlessly, a pout on your lips as you beg.

“Alright, sweetheart. Now be a good girl, stay still and take what I give you, alright?” he retorts, gripping your hip as he finally slides into you with a groan. “Fuck, that’s so good, baby.”

Your mind goes blank when he bottoms out, feeling so fucking full as his cock nudges against your cervix at the perfect angle. A strangled moan falls from your lips when he starts to move, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as pleasure nearly blinds you.

“Look at you, such a good little slut.” he teases as he picks up the pace. “Already crying for me, sweetheart? Is my cock that good?”

“Y–Yes, so fucking big, sir. F–Feel so good, so–so full.” you whine, eyes squeezing shut with tears streaming down your cheeks as he continues to pound into you. 

“That’s it, your tight cunt was made for my cock, wasn’t it?” he grunts, one hand falling from your hip to wrap around your throat experimentally, fingers splayed over the soft skin gently for now. 

Your eyes snap open at the feeling of his hand around your neck, looking at him with wide eyes as he smirks down at you mischievously. He gives your throat a squeeze then, making you moan wildly at the feeling of your breathing being constricted and relinquishing control to him. There’s a feral look in his eye at your reaction, making him chuckle while his hips connect with yours roughly.

“Ohh, look at that.” he purrs mockingly, letting his hand squeeze around your throat a little tighter now. “You like being choked don’t you?” he asks, earning a subtle nod from you, “You love it when I’m in control like this, huh? You like it when I hold you down and make you take everything I give you and take your breath away?”

“Y–Yes! Fuck, I love it so much, sir.” you reply eagerly, hips bucking up to meet his as your fingers find your clit. “I–I’m gonna cum. I’m so close, s–sir.”

“Go ahead and cum on my cock, love.” he growls, his length pumping into you relentlessly. “I’m not gonna stop until I cum deep in you, though. Gonna let you milk my cock like a good little whore and then fill you with my cum, alright?”

You can only nod, mind blank once again as your walls flutter around him while he mutters degrading yet praising things to you as he continues to bully his cock deep into you. After this second orgasm of the night, you’re on such a high that you can’t think straight anymore, only babbling nonsense falls from your lips as Azriel’s groans and the smell of your arousal fills the air.

“I’m close, sweetheart.” Azriel warns finally, pushing your own hand away from your clit to rub circles around it with the hand that’s not wrapped around your neck. “Gonna cum with me, baby?”

“Y–Yes, gonna cum on your cock, sir.” you moan, the first coherent sentence you’ve said in a few minutes, feeling that familiar coil winding in your gut once again. “C–Cum in me, please.”

That’s all the encouragement Azriel needs before he’s reaching his own high, cock fully seated in you as his hips stutter. He mutters sweet words to you under his breath as you cum with him, bodies as close together as they can be without melting into each other. 

It takes Azriel a few minutes to collect himself, panting against your skin as he finally releases you from his hold and rolls off of you. He looks to you then, seeing a blissful smile plastered on your face as your eyes are halfway closed, euphoria mixing with exhaustion as you catch your breath. 

“Hi, sweetheart. You did so good for me, such a good girl.” he mumbles to you, leaning down to kiss your forehead as you murmur to him under your breath. “Gonna go get some stuff to clean you up, alright?” 

You nod tiredly at him, watching as he slides some boxers before leaving the room. He returns only a minute later with a glass of water, a wet washcloth and a makeup remover wipe. He rummages through a dresser drawer for a sleep shirt as well, setting it next to you on the bed. Your heart flutters as he sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to help you sit up. 

“Drink for me, sweetheart.” he coaxes, smiling down at you while holding the cup of water to your lips. 

You almost finish the entire glass before you pull away and he sets it on the bedside table, then gets to work wiping off your thighs. He switches the washcloth out for the makeup wipe once he’s satisfied, reaching up to clean off your face. 

“I can take my makeup off, Az.” you giggle, trying to reach for the makeup wipe but he pulls it out of your reach. 

“No, no. Let me.” he insists, wiping gently at your cheeks, lips and eyes to get the remnants of your makeup that wasn’t wiped away off. 

You sit up fully after he finishes, reaching for the shirt he’d sat next to you in order to slide it over your body. He walks to the other side of the bed after that, pulling himself under the covers as you turn to look at him with wide eyes. 

“What?” he questions, brow furrowed as you stare at him with a sad look in your eyes. 

“Can–Can I stay in here with you tonight?” you ask meekly, afraid of how he might react. 

“Of course, why would I kick you out, love?” he says gently, pulling the comforter up to invite you to cuddle with him. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get some rest, okay?”

You smile weakly at him before climbing up to his side, letting his arm fall around your waist as you rest your head on his chest while he presses a kiss to your forehead. You know you should be worried about what’s to come tomorrow, but in the moment, while sitting in Azriel’s warm embrace, you couldn’t care less.

________________________________

Knock, knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock.

The most peaceful sleep Azriel has had in months is interrupted by an incessant knocking on the front door of the apartment. He groans loudly before opening his eyes while rolling over, eyes falling onto your sleeping form. 

His heart skips a beat at the sight of you snuggled into his comforter, chest rising and falling steadily as you sleep peacefully in his fucking bed. Warmth fills his chest as he admires you, but is soon interrupted by another annoying knock on the front door. He leans down then, pressing a kiss to your temple that makes you giggle softly in your sleep, before sneaking out of the bed to slip a pair of sweats on to open the door. 

The front door swings open to reveal Nesta and Cassian on the other side, both with amused expressions on their faces and bags filled with food in their hands. 

“What do you guys want?” Azriel questions, narrowing his eyes on the couple. 

Nesta shoulders past him, pushing into the apartment to make her way into the kitchen to rummage through the bags of food at the kitchen island. 

“Excuse you,” Azriel scoffs, internally cringing as his mind flashes back to what he’d done on that very counter the night before. “Who said you could just barge in here like this?” 

“It’s Saturday morning, we always have breakfast with you guys and neither you or your roommate were answering your phones, so we thought we’d just come over.” Nesta says casually. “Where is Y/N anyways?” 

“Sleeping.” Azriel says too quickly, panic spreading through his chest as he watches the couple make themselves at home, knowing that you’ll likely wake up soon and have to face them as you walk out of his bedroom. “Why don’t I just let you know when she wakes up and you guys can just come back when we’re ready?” 

“Sleeping? Where?” Cassian says incredulously, glancing at Y/N’s bedroom, noting the open door and empty, perfectly made bed before realization falls over his face. “No fucking way.”

“Cassian, I swear to the fucking Gods–” 

“What? What just happened?” Nesta questions, finally looking up from the counter and to Azriel, noting his mussed hair and the ghost of a lipstick stain on the corner of his jaw. “Holy fuck. You guys finally did it.” 

“Can you both shut the fuck up?” Azriel interjects, a frown etched onto his face as he glares at the couple. “Yes, we fucked. It was a heat of the moment thing and–and we haven’t really discussed what happens next. So I’d appreciate if neither of you were here when she wakes up so I can actually say what I need to say without you two fuckers staring at me expectantly.”

“Are you finally gonna confess that you’ve been in love with her since you first met her and that you can’t stand the thought of her being with anyone else but you?” Cassian questions with a knowing smirk, earning a withering glare from Azriel. “What? Those are your drunken words, not mine!”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say yet, but I know that you both need to get out of here.” he hisses, starting to usher the couple out. “Breakfast is on me today, repayment for bailing on you guys, okay? Just request me the money and get the hell out of here. You two will be the first to know about what happens, I’m sure.” 

Both Cassian and Nesta make their way out of the apartment begrudgingly, leaving Azriel alone to walk back to his bedroom. You’re still asleep when he walks in, but stir slightly when he closes the door and slides under the covers next to you. Your eyes flutter open only moments after he presses his body against yours, your brow furrows as you take in your surroundings, obviously forgetting what happened last night in your post-sleep haze. Eventually, you look over to him, an expression somewhere between a frown and a half-smile on your face.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, giving you space to sit up in the bed as you stretch your limbs and prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“Morning,” you say with a tired smile, a blush creeping up on your cheeks as you look over at him. “I–I almost forgot about last night.” 

“Yeah?” he chuckles, smiling down at you adoringly, “I definitely didn’t.”

You’re silent for a moment, mind whirring as you think of what to say to him. Your chest feels like it’s going to cave in at the thought of Az wanting to continue being your fuck-buddy, knowing you wouldn’t be able to handle being sexually involved without romantic involvement with him. It would fuel your crush way too fucking much. You tell yourself that you just need to lie to his face and say that it was a mistake, that it didn’t mean anything, but he speaks before you get a chance to let your word vomit come out. 

“Okay, okay. I can see you internally freaking out already.” Azriel chuckles nervously, fully sitting up in the bed before reaching out to cup your cheek and get your attention. You look up at him and his hazel eyes are swimming with a mix of wonder and nervousness. “Let’s talk about it, okay? I, for one, had a really good time last night.”

“I–I did too.” you stammer, heart pounding against your ribs as your stomach churns. “B–But I can’t do it again.”

“And why is that?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down. 

“Because I know you don’t want anything out of this, I–I know you wouldn’t want to be involved with me romantically and–and I can’t handle that.” you say, forcing yourself to look away from him, eyes focused on the comforter in front of you instead. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s not want at all.” he starts, shaking his head rapidly. “I want to be involved with you romantically, I was drunk and upset when I said that it would be a ridiculous idea to ask you out. I only said that because I thought you didn’t want me. I didn’t know you felt the same and was trying to protect myself. But–But now that I know you feel the same and that I hurt you by saying that, I’ll work my ass off every day to prove to you that this is not some meaningless fooling around and that I need you in my life. That I need to wake up next to you every morning and that I think I might’ve been falling for you since I met you in all honesty. I need you to know that you mean so much to me and I’m not just here for some quick fuck, okay?”

“I–I,” you stammer, at a loss for words at his confession. “You better not be lying to me, Azriel. Because I think I’ve been falling for you for just as long.”

“Oh thank the fucking Gods.” he sighs, finally leaning down to pull you in for a sweet kiss. “I promise to prove to you every day that I’m not lying, that I’m in it for the long haul.”

You giggle against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him as close to you as possible, heart filling so fucking full as his warm lips press against yours.

“Was I dreaming earlier or did I hear someone pounding on the door a little bit ago?” you question when you pull away from the very long-winded kiss.

“It was Nes and Cass coming here for Saturday breakfast, but I told them to fuck off.” Azriel replies with a chuckle.

“Do you think we should go tell them what happened?” you ask, eyes wide as you think of your friends finding out about you sleeping in Azriel’s bed without you knowing. 

“I think they’ll get the memo if we take the day to spend by ourselves, don’t you?” he retorts, peppering soft kisses down your neck.

“I definitely agree,” you giggle, leaning into his embrace, “I don’t know if I wanna leave this bed today.”

“I definitely agree.” Azriel mimics, laying down on the bed and pulling you up to straddle his waist. “I have just a few things I’d like to do instead of visiting with them.”

tags (add yourself here!!): @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @Bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @Buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace @feyretopia @mad-hatters-lover @kissesfromnovalie @mulledwinetea @saltedcoffeescotch @mrsjna @chillymountsjess @azriels-human @messageforthesmallestman @delphinefour04 @kbear8863 @secretsicanthideanymore @randomgurl2326 @shushsstuff @Caitm1 @eeniemeenie @esahintzkanen @lafawndiaries @homeslices @juliebluehufflepuff @portkeytomyworld @ashjade19 @wildfloweroutlaw @lilah-asteria @dreamsandatars24 @korebringerofded

[r-2-peepoo]

The entirety of Dracula by Bram Stoker is really just:

Dr Seward: I wish we could figure out what’s wrong with Lucy.

Van Helsing: I figured it out immediately but I’m just going to let you solve it yourselves.

Dr Seward: Or you could just tell us.

Van Helsing: Friend John :( I have known you for one thousand years and you have been one of my very good friends and best students :( Do you not trust me? Why do you not trust me, friend John? Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me? Do you not think I have a good reason for withholding vital information? :(:(:(:( Have faith in me, your very old and good friend.

Dr Seward: You’re right :(

Lucy: I love everyone so much and I’m going to tell them every day 🥰💕 also legalise polyamory wtf

Renfield: look at all my pets that I’m definitely not eating 🪰🪰🪰🪰

Dr Seward: What happened to all the birds I gave you?

Renfield, with a mouth full of a feathers: I have no idea.

Arthur: I think… I miss my wife… also how the fuck didn’t we realise Dracula’s house was right next door?

Quincey: I keep saying I’m not that smart but I’m the only one to immediately point out that something was actively taking Lucy’s blood. Brb need to go shoot a giant bat with a gun.

Mina: I am the only person keeping this shit show together. We literally would not have made it without me and no one who adapts my character seems to get that. Women are the heart of this story. I am the glue that binds this group together. I just want ONE MOVIE that understands that and values my intelligence, which is at the forefront of my character.

Renfield: I have an entire character arc but don’t expect any adaptations to show it.

Quincey: ok but what if… we shot Dracula with a gun??? Also stop fucking cutting me from all the adaptations.

Jonathan: has seen indescribable horrors, is a shell of his former self, will literally never be what he was before going to Transylvania

Dracula: oh Jonathan! 🥰🥰🧛🏻🧛🏻🥰🩸🩸🥰🥰

BONUS: everyone is constantly holding hands, especially all of the men, and talking about how they’re going to be best friends forever. The male friendships in this book are shockingly pure and the women are incredible. The Crew of Light are actually the only found family ever, I think.

[w-h-y--f-a-t-h-e-r]

This post is actually going to make me cry, i hate AI so much, it's taken so much from every hope for humanity's creativity and people still use it as an easy out of art.

It disgusts me how many people use C.IA or POLY or whatever the fuck, especially if those people claim to be against AI, I HATE IT!

And not to mention how many great youtubers have gone to using it for the sake of content, im not just talking about like cwebble cop or whatever. I mean like matt rose or doug doug, i love both of these guys and their content, but recently a significant portion of their content has been "Can AI do this?" "What if we make AI do that?" "Isn't it funny that AI is bad? Let me use it to show how bad it is"

no no NO! I WANT ACTUAL CONTENT! STUFF THAT MAKES ME NOT FEAR FOR THE END OF ART!

Of course I know that art can never truly die there will always be people like me who want to create actual art, but seeing it claim more and more people that I like seeing it just makes me want to cry.

Write it shitty, write it scared, write it without a clue but don't you be so spineless and have an AI write fanfic for you.

[mymoshangthoughts]

okay so ive seen the theme of linguang-jun trying to wife-steal airplane away from mobei jun a few times and that's oki and all BUT MIGHT I SUGGEST MY CURRENT BRAINWORM AS AN ALTERNATIVE

mobei jun wife-stealing shang qinghua from linguang jun.

it's purely a political move. mobei jun doesnt even know this guy, or if he does, he hasn't really fallen for airplane's charms yet. it's just this rodent man that his uncle is marrying and mobei-jun is in the middle of undercutting his uncle's political power and wife-stealing is just basically the next logical step for him

he doesnt actually consider what it means to wife-steal a guy, okay. he wasnt thinking that far ahead. he thought maybe a bit about papapa or heirs or that sort of shit, cuz that stuff is obvious. but he never really considered what it would be like to suddenly have this man living with him and sleeping in bed with him and waking up together every morning and talking at him nonstop and writing his insane porn and scheming for him and just... he never thought for one minute what it would be like to have a husband and he is at a complete loss lmfao

meanwhile airplane is like "meh i traded one loveless marriage with a random ice demon for another loveless marriage with a different ice demon, im not exactly losing sleep over this shit. besides, i wound up with the hotter one" (either an au without transmigration orrr where mobei jun was a kinda forgettable background character or even just "look he was my fav character but that doesnt mean i wanted to marry the guy lmfao i just think this type of personality is cool in fiction" REGARDLESS airplane isnt simping yet, he's just living his life lolol)

but yes, i want mobei jun to wife-steal the hell out of shang qinghua and to be utterly baffled when his husband is now just so much more than he expected. i want mobei jun to go a full arc of "omg im falling in love with my husband and i dont know how to feel about that". i want shang qinghua to just be a delightful gremlin who's rolling with the punches and living his best life "look i get to be queen of the north regardless, im living the dream life guys. DO YOU GUYS KNOW HOW FULL MY COFFERS ARE???". but also shang qinghua being hella good and capable and causing mobei jun to sit here like "wait did he just fix my entire palace in his spare time....... and now he's eating melon seeds and scratching his ass I DONT KNOW HOW TO COPE BUT NOW IM HORNY GRIPPING KNEE AND UNCLE WHAT THE FUCK"

linguang jun who spent exactly enough time with shang qinghua to know that marrying the rat would be hellish is just like "ngl, p happy he got bride-napped lmfao". look, linguang jun isnt into rodents. thats mobei jun's kink oki

[eureka-its-zico]

Residuals Pt.2

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

Warnings: Language, sexual themes (it's the patient)

A/N: So, this chapter is much beefier than the last. To anyone new here and my writing - I'm a long-winded bitch, so I apologize in advance 🤣. This chapter also uses slight dialogue from the show. There is a scene in this I took from my time working in the ER during the 2020/2021 pandemic. 100% this actually happened. It was traumatizing lol. Thank you, guys, so much for taking such an interest in this fic! For showing so much love and loving on this show along with me (and Dr. Robby lol) because it's fantastic and deserves all the fics and all the love! I truly am grateful and hope that you enjoy this chapter. Much Love, Jenn 🖤

Shout out to @viridian-dagger for looking this over for me. Thank you for putting up with me lol. I Love you. Also, thanks to @strangergraphics for the cute little divider.

Word count: 7524

Previous I Next

7:00 AM - 8:00 AM

You’d been staring at the screen for what accumulated into an eternity in the ED. The longer you kept staring, kept from just choosing one of the damn patients on the board, the bigger the risk grew that Dana would notice.

Or worse - Robby. 

If Dana took notice of you willfully choosing to stare off into premeditated space, you were willing to bet your firstborn she’d reprimand you first and tell Robby second. She'd shoo you away from her desk with a fervor usually saved for psych patients, as if you had cooties. With your current calculations on how this morning started, either option would be unpleasant. 

Whether any of you liked it or not, you were here, and that meant one glaringly - neon sign bright - reality. Robby was going to be your fucking boss for the next twenty-four hours. And not in a kinky way. At least, not the way either of you used to enjoy.  

From the moment the briefing ended, the disdain at your presence made it painfully clear that you were not welcome. Everyone dispersed in true manic speed to meet the batshit energy that constantly swirled inside the Pitt. It was the place that kept on giving even when you politely asked to be put in time out - because damn you needed just a moment to get your shit together. But the ER was in its own solar system, and it required everyone who walked inside to be ready for whatever was thrown their way. You didn’t get a say - weren’t allowed to say no or ‘hard pass’, on cases that came flowing in and what dictated an emergency. You were either ready or you weren’t. You either made it or you cracked.

There wasn’t any damn structure here. Just spontaneity with a dash of madness but, in that madness, greatness could be born. Adamson always said you never knew what kind of doctor you were - the depths of your compassion - until it was tested in the blood, sweat, and fire of the Pitt. 

You’d been tried, tested, and by the end knew exactly what kind of doctor you were. What kind of doctor you strived to be - like Adamson. Just like Robby. But it’d been two very long years since you’d been able to call this madhouse home. The ease of set-timed patients with a patient history readily at your fingertips had spoiled you. Every question that needed to be asked without actually asking was answered and waiting just for you to see. Pre-existing conditions or possible new ones with known side effects were readily available for you to view.

So, yeah, you were panicky - terrified - about heading out onto the floor with a thousand unknowns. It wasn’t helping that Perlah and Princess hadn’t greeted you with more than a sneer and an eye roll that’d impress your fifteen-year-old niece. Robby and his flock of med students bounded off to make rounds that lasted less than three minutes before rapids began flowing through the ambulance bay. With any luck, you’d have one solid minute to look over the board, dissect what room held the most viable case to close, and head there. 

Just jump right back in and pray you didn’t fall flat on your face. 

The numbing sensation that resonated earlier in your chest returned with a vengeance. It didn’t start gradually, but collided against your nerves; exploding like a colony of ants that bit and tore leaving behind flashes of panic. You tried to lead the sensation out through your hands with a subtle shake. If you allowed the anxiety to fester itself it would no doubt become housed to you the entire shift.

You were better than this. You interned in the Pitt. You chose to stay after you’d obtained a full-time position. Two years away from this damn madhouse shouldn’t have affected you this strongly but that wasn’t accounting for outside stimuli…

But looking up at the large TV monitor, new names being added to the FirstNet system with brightly colored labels, it made you want to scream. It made you feel hopeless.

Fuck. You were better than this. 

The background erupted with shouts from an incoming trauma. Two severe traumas from the sound of rushing feet and Robby’s directions. You didn’t hear most of what the paramedics relayed to Robby and the med students. You did, however, catch the word degloving as they rolled into trauma rooms one and two. You did not envy the med students.

You gave your hands one last shake as your eyes combed over the patient list one more time. You’d found a possible ingestion of a foreign object by a child in triage room eleven. Simple. Easy. You were already going over possible orders to give. An x-ray was to get a better picture if the obstruction was heading downward or if an endoscopy would be necessary for removal. What signs to look for as you assessed the child while making sure they were still alert and swallowing normally. You thought of how to introduce yourself when a familiar voice thrust you back into the present. 

“Forget how to read a patient board, Fullerton?”

Dana’s words were pure ice. The years of friendship and playful jokes appeared to be burned to a pile of ash. You didn’t need to look at her to know she wasn’t regarding you with a friendlier expression than Perlah had moments before. 

“No,” you sighed, your eyes finally dragged from the screen to her. “Just taking in the options.”

“This isn’t a buffet, in case you forgot. I know it runs easier and less dirty for you guys upstairs, but down here time is a precious commodity.”

“I am well aware of how simple consultations can turn serious, Dana.”

“Oh, you do,” she gasped in mock surprise. She’d removed her glasses from her nose and held them against her chest. “I guess that means you should stop wasting time and do your job. Don’t want your Press Ganey scores droppin’.”

“Not that I don’t love the pep talk, Dana. I’m just curious, are you going to be riding my ass this hard the whole shift?”

The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. The ears of every available RN and technician who sat around Dana’s nursing station no doubt heard. The verbal back and forth so early in the morning was beginning to give you whiplash.

“I don’t know, sunshine is there a reason you think I shouldn’t? You know,” she began, her body involuntarily inching closer. Her shoulder leaned in closer so her barbed words could sink deep enough to wound. “What a surprise to learn that this whole time - the entire fucking two years you were gone - you’d simply been up-fucking-stairs.”

It was in those last few words you saw it. It was so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t dialed in. No matter what Dana, or anyone else, said to you today, it would never compare to the carnage you’d left behind with your silence. The pain of seeing the hurt you’d left behind, sharp and unforgiving, was like a lancet; slicing through the tough hide you’d prepared for the day. 

“Dana -” 

Shit, you did not need your voice to crack. You did not need to crack. 

Unluckily for you, she wasn’t in the mood to hear from you. A hand rushed up to brush off whatever weak attempt at placating her she knew you would try and send her way.

“I don’t want to hear it, kid. Months I was worried sick about you. Just to find out you chose to forget we even existed down here. A literal ghost walking back into our lives right when we’ve just about healed. You’re a real asshole, Fullerton.”

She lifted the glasses back to rest on the bridge of her nose. The coolness of her stare reminded you - if her final words didn’t - that you weren’t a welcome sight in the Pitt. Your presence threw off what little harmony they coveted, the family dynamics, and you knew she would fight to preserve it - to protect Robby -  and everyone else in the process.

Your tongue pressed against the side of your cheek. A weak balm to cool the warring wave of emotions that rapidly replaced the anxiety that moments ago threatened to shatter you into embarrassing little pieces. Now you only felt like shattering for an entirely different reason. 

Dana tore her gaze away from you and answered an incoming phone call. Whatever emotions she contended with were conveniently pushed down because she had a job to do. So did you. You found yourself wanting to say to hell with today; with Gloria and all her standards. You hadn’t agreed to be fucking public enemy number one. 

It didn’t matter how anyone else saw you. What mattered right now was the glaringly obvious pain you’d caused to someone who was the Pitt’s raining surrogate mother. Who’d checked in on you, and brought extra food from home because she miraculously knew you’d forgotten yours. A friend that invited you to her family’s Christmas Eve dinner your first year as an intern because you didn’t have family to celebrate with. The woman who’d held you when you’d lost your first patient and scolded you about smoking cigarettes even though she smoked herself. 

You wanted to be stubborn. To wait for her to get off that damn phone so you could try and explain, but really what could you say? It wasn’t just Robby you left. You’d chosen to abandon ship with all of them aboard a sinking ship. They never even knew they needed life jackets in the first place. 

The cool stare of the nursing staff made your back itch. You needed to get away and get back to why you were here. What you were damn good at doing. Clearing your throat, you made your way around the nurses' station. The stride of your steps was suspiciously close to turning into a jog. Although, you’d never admit that out loud.  The sooner you could get to the patient's room the more normal this day would be.

“Holy shit, Fullerton? Is that you?”

The chipper tone and the laughter behind it had warning bells going off in your head in a matter of minutes. You only knew one surgeon who took glee in other people’s discomfort. 

Yolanda Garcia, the resident pain in the ass at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, beamed at you like the cat who was dangerously close to eating a new canary. You had a not-so-sneaking suspicion you were the canary in this scenario. 

“I don’t know, Garcia does it look like me? It’s too early for you to be hallucinating.”

“Does Robby know you’re here?”

Oh, she had to be eating this up. The sheer mayhem she knew this would cause - psychologically speaking - must have been making her toes curl. She was beaming, practically euphoric from the very thought.  Her feet were no doubt burning to run and tell him as if he didn’t already know. 

You tried to sidestep around her obnoxiously grinning form only for her to shadow your movement. 

“It’s great to see you haven’t lost that dream of auditioning for the Wicked Witch of the East, Yolanda.”

“Robby is going to flip when he hears about this.”

“Great. Why don’t you run along now and tell him,” you quipped while patting her arm. “I have patients to attend to.” 

“I bet you do.”

This time when you moved to sidestep her, Garcia didn’t make any move to follow. No doubt too busy riding her broom to be the harbinger of doom all over again for one specific unfortunate soul. 

“Are you aware that Fullerton is here? Just walking around the Pitt attending to patients?”

It shouldn’t have come as a shock that once Garcia saw you, she’d use you in any capacity to rile him up. Hell, Robby was willing to bet the minute she’d noticed you - whether walking or inside a patient room - Garcia would’ve encroached on your space. The two of you historically had one of the worst feuds Adamson said he’d seen between interns in years. It didn’t surprise him that even after you’d both secured your jobs within the hospital it never ended.

What did surprise him was how breezily she asked her questions. She hadn’t even taken five steps into trauma one before she fired each one off in his direction. His hands crossed his body to grip his shoulders. He needed something to steady himself and each finger that dug into the meat of his biceps was all he needed to help keep him centered. Keep his head in this room with this patient and not somewhere else.

“Yes, Dr. Garcia I am well aware she is here.”

He watched the exchange between Collins and Garcia and nodded his approval at Collin’s when she stood her ground and called for a popliteal block instead of morphine. 

“Where’s the next guy?”

“Next door. He’s a bit worse.”

This was something he could do. Something his mind could piece together and work around. Robby knew medicine. Saving lives wasn’t the hardest part of his day - it was having to try and make sense of his own that held that prize.

Garcia was in the middle of giving one last instruction of what she wanted before she fully followed him into the room. Dr. Mohan and a med student, Santos, were in the process of intubating Mr. Wallace. 

“How do you feel about that?”

Robby had been so laser-focused watching them place the tube that he hadn’t heard Dr. Garcia the first time. So, of course, she asked again. 

“Feel about what?”

He was under the impression they were focused on the patient. He should've known better when it came to Garcia. She was relentless until she got what she wanted.

“Come on, Robby, let’s not be coy. You expect me to believe you don’t have big feelings about her being down here? You guys were engaged - ”

A split second. That was all it took for him to become glaringly aware of the room. Of all the people in it, they no longer were singularly focused on the patient but split down the middle. While Garcia effortlessly watched over the med students and their progress, she equally watched him for any sign of a reaction. 

He needed to put an end to her question before she overshared information that first-day interns had no business knowing. Robby found himself itching under the watchful gazes of staff. Princess in particular he caught glancing up from where she was handing over instruments. 

“I don’t see how that information pertains to anything dealing with our patients, Dr. Garcia. How about we stay focused on the task at hand.”

Robby saw the smirk on her face. A dog with a bone. That’s what Garcia was going to be like all fucking day because she was just eating this up. 

He put himself back in motion - being the watchful attendee as Dr. Mohan successfully placed the intubation tube. 

“I’m in!”

“Good! Well done.”

Robby could do this. He could be a doctor. He could be the attendee overseeing and teaching others. He could do this. He could do this. He listened closely as Dr. King checked for the patient’s medical history - there was none. He listened to Yolanda give off medication to administer before shipping Mr. Wallace up to CT for a scan. Once Robby was sure everything was moving smoothly, he moved around the foot of the patient’s bed to stand next to Princess. 

“Do me a favor,” he asked gently, “Swap out with Jessie for me, would you?”

Their degloving patient screamed in a language no one knew but - Robby was hoping - Princess would know. He was following behind her when a familiar - and unwelcome voice - called out behind him. 

“Dr. Robinavitch. Do you have a moment?”

No. He would never have another fucking moment for Gloria. She effectively used up every last moment he had left to spare when she dragged you down here. Robby was barely holding on to what small pieces of sanity he had left. He didn’t need any more shit to deal with before 7:30 am. 

“Ugh, I’m a little busy right now, Gloria. One sec.”

He meant no fucking seconds but he still had to play nice, right. Robby was never good at playing politics. Adamson told him countless times it was the unseen added responsibility of an attending. The constant hounding from the administration staff and CEOs demanding doctors and nurses carried more than just keeping people alive. 

Gloria followed him through the rooms and stood at the side. Her presence was a constant reminder to him that she wasn’t going to leave empty-handed. 

Robby did all he could to monitor the med students’ and his residents as they made their assessments. When Princess notified him she couldn’t figure out the language, Robby took it as a small win to allow him to grab language services, giving him a few seconds to breathe. 

It was short-lived. 

By the time the officer walked in, Gloria had her fill of being on the back burner. She wouldn’t be ignored any longer and they both knew Robby was no longer needed. His residents’ had both patients stabilized and were finishing up preparing them to begin proper treatments. It left him the odd man out. It left him having to take a walk with Gloria. 

The walking and talking was about metrics - Press Ganey scores. The endless bitching about low numbers that couldn’t be fixed without proper staffing was affecting patient satisfaction. It was easy for Gloria to pin the poor numbers on Robby, Abbot, and the entire Pitt staff. Easier to claim they just weren’t already busting their ass hard enough instead of admitting they were short-staffed in every department. That their metrics and data issues of force-fed shitty scores could be solved simply by hiring more nurses - paying better wages. 

But everything Robby ever said - tried to tell Gloria until his vision reddened - fell on uncaring ears. 

After everything he tried to tell her again all she latched onto was when he used the word “Pitt” instead of the official term of an emergency department. Derogatory. That was what she called it. Incompatible with institutional images.

Robby wanted to scream. 

“You know what's incompatible with the institution's image? Me speaking to the media about people who code in our waiting rooms and people who get shitty care in our hallways waiting for an ICU bed for days.” 

“I’ve heard about doctors who tried that and found themselves out of work.” 

The thinly veiled threat wasn’t lost on him. The next words he would’ve liked to have said to Gloria in response, he was forced to cover up under a mirthless laugh. 

“I know today is difficult for you - “

Fuuuck no. No. He was not doing this, especially not with Gloria. No matter what was said after this, Robby could feel the cusp of a storm riding at the frayed edges of his psyche. Knew it was there with each passing millisecond as he waited for it to implode. 

“Everyday is difficult down here,” he bit in. 

“Boarding is a nationwide problem. Your predecessor, Adamson, sure as hell knew that. Or wasn’t that something he taught you?”

And there it fucking was. His eyes snapped shut as he tried to rain in the tidal wave that roared in his ears. The cautionary warnings of a catastrophe brewing beneath the surface only grew louder. 

It wasn’t even fucking 7:30 yet. 

“Fuuuuck. Wow. Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

Gloria would never back down. She was as strong and determined as anyone Robby ever met. Under different circumstances, he would’ve found her impressive, but this wasn’t any other circumstance than her riding his ass like she usually did. 

Robby shook his head again to try and clear the black dots from his vision. It was just a brief shake. His eyes skimmed across each full bed that held a waiting patient. The universe must have perfect timing with fucking with him today. In that brief look, Robby watched you appear from behind a patient curtain. A reassuring smile on your face as you spoke one final time to the family of three inside before you closed it shut behind you. 

You weren’t aware he’d seen you - that he was watching. It was a split second but live wires only needed one second to find a conduit to create sparks that burned down everything around it. He shook his head to try and clear it. His gaze landing back on Gloria with a new bone to pick. 

“Don’t you think you should’ve cleared it with me before you brought Dr. Fullerton down?”

Before his sentence finished, Robby could tell by Gloria’s response she found his question idiotic. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was unaware the board needed to clear every decision with you first, Dr. Robby. Also, weren’t you just complaining about the lack of staffing?”

“I was saying to hire more nurses - not to bring down a doctor from a whole other floor.”

“A doctor who has been with this hospital for close to a decade, trained by Adamson, and you, might I add. Look, I get it. You two have…history. Which is one of the main reasons we frown upon fraternization.”

“Please, spare me the HR talk, Gloria.”

“You need to put your big boy pants on, Dr. Robby. Fullerton is staying down here whether you like it or not. Don’t like it, can’t manage the crisis or who the hospital chooses to staff down in the ER, you can either step up or step aside.”

Gloria didn’t give him a chance to respond. She gave him one last condescending look, one Robby hoped he mirrored back to her, before turning on her heels and walking away. His eyes followed her for a few seconds, debating if he wanted to chase after her. Just hand over his badge and call it quits because the feeling of defeat weighed so damn heavy on his shoulders that he thought there might be a chance he’d never get back up. 

Instead, he turned to look at the nursing station where Dana was casually walking. He knew she heard the entire conversation. He just didn’t want to have to repeat what just occurred or discuss it in the slightest. 

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and was ready to return into the fray because he could handle that. He could help patients. He could be the doctor they needed. Before he even moved a step Dana motioned for him to come towards the desk. 

The little devil on his shoulder warned him that he might end up regretting it. 

“You know, Robby, I’ve been thinking - “

“Why do I feel like this isn’t going to go well,” he sighed. 

Dana simply waved him off before she continued. 

“You aren’t being very realistic on the whole, ‘stay in the triage only’ demand. You want her to just waste her skills by only helping out in the front?”

“She won’t be wasting them,” he huffed. 

His hands reached out to grip the edge of the counter. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He did not want to have this conver -

“I think you’re just hoping that’s where she stays so you don’t have to see her.”

“One can dream, Dana.”

Robby did not trust - nor like - the coy look he received in response to his words. 

“Who am I to get in the way of a man’s dream?” She replied, her eyes examining him in a way he hated. No one could hide anything from Dana.  “Although, if I know you -“

“Dana -“ he warned. 

“ - I would be willing to bet -“

“Dana, I’m being serious -“

“ - that you want to see her.”

“Now why would I want that?”

“You’ve been scanning the halls every few seconds since we’ve been talking, Robby. I don’t think you’re admiring the wonderful view of bodily fluids and stale piss scent.”

“Alright I’ve had enough of your idea of what I’m assuming is a half-assed pep talk.”

“Just…be honest with yourself, Robby. You both got a lot of unresolved tension with a dash of a shit ton of issues. Probably be better to hash it out when you can, and in private, instead of exploding in front of interns or patients.”

Robby wanted to question if she was willing to do the same. Would Dana be able to have you come to the desk for patient transfer information, for updates, calls; and for everything and not be as affected as he was? Robby remembered he wasn’t the only one who’d lost you - felt lost without you. 

Robby wasn’t ready to confront you. Hell, he wasn’t ready to be alone with you and try to talk like civil adults. He wasn’t there yet and maybe he wouldn’t be. What he could be was an attending physician. He was great at that. 

He could do that.  Everything else would just have to wait. 

Upon further examination of the little penny swallower in 7 North, he showed no signs of abnormal drooling or trouble swallowing. Palpitating the stomach didn’t have any response of abdominal pain or tenderness. With a few more questions about possible fever or trouble breathing, you felt confident in informing the family an x-ray would be needed just to verify the penny was making safe travels down to be…expelled. Easier and less invasive to exit that way. 

You told them once you were notified the x-ray results were ready, you’d come to speak to them about the next steps. Hopefully, it meant they could be discharged in an hour or less. Which meant you had an hour to kill between waiting for the results. After reading the chief complaint on the board for 12 South, you thought it was a solid contender for a quickie. 

As it turned out, it was the worst idea you’d had that morning. 

When you pulled back the curtain and began the examination, what you’d found waiting for you under the dressing gown wasn’t on your bingo card. Actually, it should never be on anyone’s bingo card. Not ever. 

You’d tried to come up with any other option than needing to consult Robby. He didn’t want to see you throughout the day - ever. It was a sentiment you equally shared with him and one you happily would’ve avoided except…you need the advice. 

You need to present the case and get some solid, solid advice and, quite possibly, traumatize him in the process. You couldn’t be the only one subjected to seeing what you saw at freaking 7:37 in the morning. The only issue: you had no fucking clue where he was. 

In true Pitt fashion, doctors were bouncing from one room to another. Already you’d heard McKay call earlier about needing a crash cart. When you’d run out to assist, Mateo, a newer RN you’d yet to meet let you know they had it - if you were needed they’d call. 

You also knew that after 7:30, rigs would be bringing in elderly patients from the nursing homes. Another thing that would keep Robby busy and make it near impossible for you to try and consult with him. It was already going to be a battle just to keep him from turning and bolting in the other direction when he saw you. 

This limbo of time left you a few minutes to run to the break room and take a blissful sip of your more than likely room-temperature coffee. It didn’t matter: caffeine was caffeine and you would take it any way you could get it. You just had to make one last pit stop before you disappeared. 

You circled the nurses' station and found the exact nurse you were looking for sitting at one of the station’s computers. You had to hand it to Perlah, whether she saw you coming or sensed your presence like a disturbance in the force, she refused to glance up from the screen. Her eyes scan over something repeatedly as her fingers pound into the keyboard. 

“Perlah, have you seen Robby?”

She still wasn’t looking up.

“Nope,” she replied, popping her P heavily. 

“If you do see him, can you let him know I’m looking for him?”

“Nope.”

Your lips tucked into a grimace as your gaze peered over the edge of the computer. Perlah’s eyes didn’t lift once. 

“Okay. Great talk.”

“Mhmm.”

Yeah, today was off to a really fantastic start. 

There wasn’t any point hanging around the nurses' station for longer than was embarrassingly needed. You took the loss in stride, and by stride, it meant with a heavy sigh of defeat that had your feet dragging that defeatist attitude into the breakroom. Where you found one of Robby’s newest med students sitting at the break room’s table. 

If you felt defeated, you weren’t sure what the proper word for her would be. She looked like a reprimanded child instead of a doctor. Her small frame was tucked in tight, like a fetal position with her forehead almost completely collapsing onto the table. 

You weren’t able to catch any of their names earlier because you all but missed morning rounds. All you knew was she was one of Robby’s four interns and by far the youngest from the looks of it. 

You eyed her warily as you moved towards the side counter. You’d stashed your coffee on top of the microwave and, once in hand, immediately brought it to your lips for a long pull. 

Yep. It tasted as good as you thought it would. 

The girl brightened once she realized you’d entered. Her nerves had her eyes darting down and back up again seemingly unable, or just not comfortable enough, to keep them trained on you. 

“You’re one of Robby’s new med students today, right?” A timid smile rose and fell on her lips. You watched while she tried to make out if you were friend or foe. In an attempt to prove the former, you offered up a warm smile as you introduced yourself. 

“Victoria Javadi - MS3.”

“It’s a pleasure, Dr. Javadi. May I ask what you’re doing in the breakroom instead of out in the Pitt?”

Your question was meant to be that: a simple question. No ulterior motives were waiting in the wings especially not the lecture Adamson gave you your first year when he caught you napping in here. But your simple question extinguished what little bit of life had lit up in the young girls’ eyes. 

“I - I - my foot hit a gurney during Dr. Collin’s and Dr. Langdon’s demonstration on the degloving patient. It was nothing.” 

It wasn’t nothing. Whatever happened was everything to her and not in the best of ways. 

“That’s okay. It happens,” you shrugged. “I stuck myself with a needle once.”

“Really?” She asked, her voice timid and eyes unbelieving. 

“Oh, yeah. My second year of residency too. The patient became combative while I was trying to administer the medication. The needle got jammed in my clavicle.” 

You couldn’t believe it - it earned you a laugh. A nervous one, but it was still a laugh. You watched her as she brightened and dimmed; a constant flux of warring thoughts that you weren’t sure which side was winning. 

“Whatever happens out there, don't let it get you down. We never stop learning as human beings or as doctors. Everyone out there has made a mistake in some capacity. Hell,” you snorted as you pushed off from the kitchenette’s counter, “Michael got hit with a bedpan once.”

“Michael?”

God, you’d gotten too familiar. Your memory of that day makes you have a Freudian slip into the days you called him more by his first name instead of his nickname. 

“Oh, uhm, Dr. Robby. I’m going to head out but if you want, once you’re done here, you can come find me. I’d be more than happy to teach you.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure Dr. Robby is just having me take a break. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” 

You were tempted to tell her to come find you anyway, just in case. In case it didn’t go how she thought when she did finally check back in with Robby. Whether she verbally agreed to the offer or not, you hoped she knew it was still there. This was a teaching hospital after all. 

Dana and Robby were walking back to the nurses' station. He’d just gotten one major surprise of finding out Javadi was Eileen Shamsi’s daughter and while he was all for surprises, that was one he'd like to have been prepared for. 

Just like Dana had warned him, via Perlah, that you were looking for him he saw you standing there waiting. For him. He’d had all of five seconds to come to terms with the fact you were both about to have your first direct conversation in over two years. After two long years of no contact, it was about work. 

He should’ve been happy it was just about work and not all the other bullshit that’d accumulated over those two years. He should’ve been fucking thrilled, but he wasn’t. Robby had so many questions - so many things he wanted to say. There was so much to say - to ask - and instead here he was preparing to discuss something easy. 

Robby and Dana split up at the middle entrance. She returned to man her station in the center of this circus, while he came up to stand beside you leaning against the nurses' station. Your fingers tapped on the counter while your chin rested in your other hand. 

“Something’s got you deep in thought.”

Robby knew the answer - knew it because outside of himself, outside of Jake, you were the only other person he knew inside out. Your fidgeting fingers, a tick he knew well, would tap out a Morse Code of a problem you were trying to solve. The faster the tapping, the closer Robby knew you were coming closer to asking for his opinion. You’d done this all the years you’d worked together and at home when you couldn’t decide if oregano was an okay substitution for Italian seasoning. 

“Cock rings.”

“Excuse me?”

Robby could feel his eyebrows skyrocketing towards the ceiling. He rocked forward and back on his feet while the fists he’d buried inside his hoodie pushed against the fabric. His body subconsciously leaned towards you because, well hell, he couldn’t believe those two words just left your mouth. 

He hated that his eyes caught the slight uptick in the corner of your mouth. The same corner where all your sarcastic ass smirks originated before they blackmailed their way to full-blown smiles. What Robby hated the most was how that small bit of familiarity took a sledgehammer to the carefully constructed walls he’d built. Fucking hated how his lips betrayed him by beginning to match the playfulness in your eyes. Loathed entirely how his heart did somersaults like he was a teenager again and the girl he’d crushed on just looked at him like he hung the stars. 

“Cock rings.” You said it like it wasn’t the lewdest thing he’d heard all day. Simple. Matter-of-fact. “What do you know about them?”

This was fucking absurd, was all he could think. 

“Uhm, why exactly is this your question?” 

“Jesus, Robby, I’m not asking if you’ve used them. My patient in 12 South - was brought in by his mother for supposed swelling and pain in the inguinal region. Upon examination, found he attached sixteen key rings as makeshift cock rings along the length of his penis.”

His brain was still in the process of trying to comprehend the scenario you’d just fed him. That was his excuse for his eloquent reply, “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“I sincerely, with my full chest, wish I was. He’s traumatized. Mom’s traumatized. Shit, I’m traumatized, but I can’t figure out a safe alternative to removing the rings without causing damage.”

“What are you two discussing?” 

Dana seemed to arrive at the best and worst possible moment because Robby didn’t know how to answer that question. Apparently, you had no problem informing her it was - 

“Cock rings.”

Robby wondered if Dana’s stunned-to-silence expression was how he’d looked earlier.

“Well, shit, Fullerton this is the wrong department for that - “

“It’s my patient in 12 South. He decided to MacGyver himself some cock rings out of key rings.”

“What about MacGyver?” 

Langdon slid a tablet back on the charging station - gaze laser focused between you and him. One of Langdon’s brows rose in silent question that Robby could only answer with a shrug. 

“I’m sorry but who is MacGyver?” Dr. King asked, eyes shifting with expectation between the four of them for whoever would give up the answer. 

“MacGyver’s an old 80’s TV show where the detective guy gets himself out of sticky situations by using random stuff.”

“Random stuff?”

“Anything eye level,” you quipped. 

“Okay, anyways, Fullerton,” Langdon butted in, “What’s with your MacGyver patient.”

“Cock rings.”

Robby swore if he heard the words “cock” and “ring” come out of your mouth one more time he was going to fucking combust.

“Cock…rings?”

From how green Mel looked after stuttering out those words, Robby was sure he wasn’t alone in his earlier sentiment. 

“They say it’s meant to enhance stimulation by restricting blood flow to the penis. I’m pretty sure men buy them because it enlarges the penis making it thicker with the possibility they’ll last longer in bed. You can currently pick one up on Amazon.”

“Jesus,” Dana mumbled. 

“Really?” 

Mel took a giant step closer to the edge of the desk. Her earlier discomfort was removed by the idea of garnering new information. The warning signs were blaring loudly when you whipped your phone from your scrub's back pocket. 

“Oh, yeah and they come in different styles of materials - “  

“Oookay.” Robby heard more than enough. If he was being honest with himself, fuck he hated how it bothered him hearing you talk so casually about sex toys. Toys he knew, for a fact, the two of you never used because he never needed the extra help. He knew every inch of your skin; how you liked to be handled and touched. Could recall with crystal clarity the plains of your body, mapped out to memory by his hands, by his mouth, and the way your breath would hitch just before a moan slid past your lips. If any asshole was touching you now - he wasn’t fucking doing it right. Clearing his throat - and his fucking head because Jesus H. Christ - he rested his forearms on the counter as he leaned closer to you. “Can we please move past showing my med students unnecessary sex toys?” 

Robby was leaned down enough that the next time you looked at him it was direct. Direct and ready to challenge him every step of the way. A spark of some hidden remark you were burying back under your tongue brightened his favorite color of iris. 

“Squeamish, Michael?”

And there it was again. That fucking smirk. 

The use of his name falling so casually from your lips was a gut punch that stole the air from his lungs. He couldn’t stop the pinch of his eyes that narrowed in on you. 

Did you just lean closer?

“Not particularly, no. I am, however, making sure we aren’t having an unnecessary conversation that doesn’t pertain to the care and wellbeing of our patients.”

“Sex education is fundamental education. Dr. King asked a question and I was teaching. This form of teaching does pertain to my specific patient who used a similar style of material usually made for this particular toy and, because of lack of education, thought key rings would be a supplementary alternative rather than a safer one. In showing Dr. King the types of materials safely used, and how obtainable and discrete it is to get one, she could educate someone else if she finds herself in a similar situation. Also, it’s 2025, Dr. Robby - we don’t kink shame here. We educate on safe sex practices.”

“Here, here!”

Robby shot a look in Dana’s direction and caught the wisp of a smile before she turned away. 

“What a great speech just to cover up your kinks, Fullerton.”

Robby couldn’t tell if Langdon was trying to bait you on purpose just to rile you up or to get you to slip up. He got neither in return. 

“You found me out, Frank.”

“Alright, enough.” He needed to cut in before you both went back and forth in an endless loop of who could irritate who the most. It was just a little over half an hour into the shift. “Dr. Fullerton, is there anything else?”

“Ugh, yeah. You still haven’t given me your opinion.”

“Because you never asked a specific question,” he reminded you. 

He watched you consider his words; your lips rising into that small pucker. It was your tell that always let him know the debating was over and you were ready to listen to what he had to say. 

A part of him hated the familiarity that rested between the two of you. Fuck, you hadn’t changed. Not in any way Robby was able to notice. It was barbaric; and painfully unfair that every mannerism and every glance housed years’ worth of memories. The most painful part of being reminded was the remembrance of loss. 

Loving you had been as easy as breathing for him. Until it wasn’t. 

The communication the two of you held so easily for years was torn apart during the pandemic. There was too much happening and not enough support mentally when the PTSD started. When the sleeplessness and hopeless feeling began to press a weight down on his chest - his existential crisis bloomed red and bright. Robby didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. 

And then you…you’d…

“You’re right, I didn’t.” Your words cut through the fog in his mind, bringing him roaring back to the surface. “If you have a few moments, I would like to get your opinion on my patient and what you think will be best for this particular…situation.”

Robby pushed his arms off the counter. An arm swept out in the direction of the hallway south to indicate you could lead. 

“Alright. Let’s see what you got.”

You clapped your hands together before you took a step forward. You hadn’t expected him to agree and the giddiness at winning a battle - or not having to fight one? - intoxicated him. A ghost of a smile tilting the edges of his lips unwillingly up. 

The two of you’d made it about five feet before Myrna rolled herself from beside her latest haunt. 

“Hey Sugar Tits, where are you skipping off to?”

“Myrna, I’ve expressly told you, my name is Dr. Robby.”

“I’m not talking to you, Fruitcake.” 

“It’s me,” you whisper to him before returning your attention to Myrna. Never stopping. Always moving. “I can’t talk now, Myrna. I have a patient.”

“You always say you have a patient,” came her gruff reply.

It was the first hint her chipper demeanor was about to expire. 

“Yes, because this is the ER; where I work.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice talking to you again too, Myrna.”

The walk to 12 South wasn’t quick enough. Every step and moment he spent walking beside you sent a flood of memories rushing to the surface. Robby didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to pretend you hadn’t shared a life - that he hadn’t spent time loving you in every way he could. 

“Fruitcake, huh?”

Your words cut through his thoughts and, at first, he’d been grateful for the interruption. Grateful until Robby noticed the teasing gleam in your eyes. How he could spot the mischief that darkened your eyes and didn’t have enough time to prepare. 

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled.

He didn’t need to look to know you were side-eyeing him.

“It could be worse.”

“Oh, no I doubt that.”

“She could call you something less delicious.”

His hand was mid-reach to pull back the curtain. Your sentence pulled him short and forced him to look down at you like you’d just grown a second head. 

“You think fruitcake is delicious? Nobody thinks fruitcake is delicious.”

“True, but it’s arguably better to be called a shitty holiday dessert than, say, something like cocksucker,” you shrugged, moving yourself around him to push behind the curtain. 

He was supposed to be angry with you - and he was. He fucking was but…it was easy, almost too fucking easy, to forget the last few months that led up to what dissolved your relationship. It was easy to forget you’d both broken each other in different ways. Robby should’ve hated you, but he couldn’t, and, because of that, he was grateful you couldn’t hear the chuckle he tried to shake away before he followed in after you.

____________

As always thank you so much for your support and for reading! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Much Love,

[exhuastedpigeon]

I rewatched The Scene™ of Buck taking over Eddie's lease again and I simply can't stop thinking about the potential for a callback to that scene during a marriage proposal.

"So, will you? Marry me, that is," Eddie doesn't fidget often, it's the only reason Buck can tell he's nervous. Which is fucking insane because the answer is obviously yes.

But before he says yes, he's got something he has to say.

"I've got a couple conditions," Buck tries to keep a straight face, but it clearly doesn't work, not with the way Eddie's eyes are shining.

"Okay, let's hear 'em."

"It's gotta be a small wedding, we can't afford anything big a-and I want it to just be the important people anyway," Buck says, finally letting the smile that's been trying to make an appearance since Eddie pulled out the ring bloom across his face.

"Alright, I think we can manage that," Eddie isn't fidgeting anymore, he's smiling right back.

"And uh, this one might be a little harder for you to answer right now and th-that's okay. I just want to put it out there," Buck says. "I might want — I might want to have another kid one day. I love Christopher, he's the best kid — the best teenager in the world. It isn't that I don't think he's enough, he is! I just —"

"Buck," Eddie's voice, soft and gentle, pulls him from his spiral. "I don't think you want to replace Chris, I could never think that. I know how much you love him, it's one of the things I love about you."

"But?"

"No buts," Eddie takes Buck's hand. "I am more than happy to talk about having a second kid."

"R-really?"

"Yeah man. I always assumed we'd have at least one more," Eddie laughs, his eyes crinkling. "Any other conditions?"

"No, that's it."

Eddie slides the ring onto Buck's finger, bringing his hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the ring before pulling Buck in for a proper kiss. "So you'll marry me?"

"Obviously," Buck grins into the kiss.

"Well you never actually said yes," Eddie shrugs.

"Fuck off, yes I'll marry you," Buck laughs, kissing Eddie again.

"My own fiance telling me to fuck off," Eddie huffs and what's Buck supposed to do with that besides kiss him again and again.

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ revolving door . . . m.s

in which . . . matt can’t resist going back to you, his ex girlfriend.

warnings . . . making out, choking, slight degradation, use of pet names, suggestive but no actual smut.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #3

matt kissed your lips desperately, his hands tightly holding your face. the kiss was desperate, it showed how much he yearned for you. matt lead you over to your bed, his lips not once disconnecting with yours as he laid you on top of it, him hovering over you as he kneeled between yours legs.

“shit baby—missed these pretty lips..” matt pulled away to say, then placing his lips back on yours once more. you moaned into the kiss, his words going straight to your core. no matter what you did, you couldn’t separate from matt. you swore you wouldn’t go back to him…but that quickly changed.

matt’s hand traveled down to your boob, cupping it and squeezing it as his tongue swiped against your bottom lip, his tongue plunging into your mouth desperately. the both of you panted, kissing each other so hard that you were barely able to breathe. matt pulled away, breathing heavily. “such a needy girl, yeah? so pathetic, i barely even touched you.” matt rolled his eyes, his lips connecting with the side of your neck, trailing down your body slowly.

you didn’t know what it was about matt, you just couldn’t forget about him. you swore that you wouldn’t do this again, you wouldn’t go back to your ex boyfriend. but…you just couldn’t resist. matt made you feel so fucking good, he knew your body in ways no one else did.

your back arched against the bed, but matt only placed a hand on your stomach, pushing you back down and pinning you there. he hovered over you, looking down into your submissive gaze. “love the way you taste, doll.” matt smirked, his lips crashing against yours with harshness, with need.

he groaned as he kissed you, the only sounds in the room was the sloppy and wet kiss between you and matt, your lace panties were absolutely soaked, you bucked your hips for some sort of friction. you could feel matt smirking against your lips, feeling the cold metal of his rings against your neck as his hand wrapped around your throat.

his scent, his lips, his voice…everything felt so familiar, you didn’t know if you hated it or loved it. the way he was able to instantly have you at his mercy, it was honestly pathetic how much you obeyed him. you couldn’t get back together with matt, but you loved the way he made you feel.

you gasped as you felt matt slowly removing your already drenched panties, his lips moving down to your inner thighs, kissing and teasing the skin. it was torture, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying this. you always came back to him like a revolving door.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[anaid-queen]

Things I Love About This: a probably incomplete list

from a cute moment to KILLER INSTINCT. this is how we love him!!

'he looks miserable without me' Ivo pleeeaseee 😭😭😭 (fr why is he so self-aware all out of a sudden?! or is that just extended praise for himself.... EITHER WAY I'M HHHH)

the Badniks showing up like a thing from a fucking horror movie, and then cut

the thorough inspection. 'and Stone eyessssss oh god

'do it for him' with lil hearts, giant eyes AND HIS NAME. not to be mistaken!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭

first look: awwwww, post-canon love 🥹🥹🥹 and pre-movies Robotnik is tsundere about it!! sweeeet

second look: WAIT WHAT ARE THE SECOND MOVIE FREAKS DOING THERE. (i just can't okay. i can't with them and how you draw them, EVER!!!! 'my dear sycophant' and those fucking E Y E S)

allll the descriptors <333 from giggling slightly to giggling more ('depressed hibernating bear era' i'm !!), to SUDDENLY OPENLY WEEPING. 'to be loved is to be changed era' WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT ACTUALLY?!??!?!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

he's still trying to take over the world as a streamer but doesn't want to reveal too much GOD, this man got too addicted to views fhsjfhdsjfdhs

'my favorite conquest is speaking' will live rent-free in my head till the end of forever

'you gtg, you're pulling focus' *lovingly kisses Stone first* if he ever changes i don't fucking want him anymore!!!!!! [AND DID I MENTION YET HOW FUCKING MUCH I ADORE HOW YOU DRAW KISSES]

aaaaand there's the grab and nuzzle 🥹🥹🥹🥹 he's so needy and can't we all relate?? wouldn't we all be this way if we had someone as hopelessly devoted as Stone!!!!

and lastbutnotleast the caption. 'Ivo tests if he's still got it (easy mode)'. if i tell you all my ideas wrt this (from vague HHHH to concrete WIPs i got!) we'd literally still be here tomorrow. wtf. wtf. WTF. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Who needs sleep when Ive had 2 large iced coffees and 2 bowls of coffee ice cream... Its all coming together.

Stobotnik doodles~

Territorial.

Do it for HIM but the 'it' is murder.

Stobotniks All three Robotniks thinking 'Wow these people are so weird... Thank god im the normal one.'

The eras

Lovingly married Stobotnik. (Hypothetical S4 Ivo wearing his old Stone-patched jacket like a bathrobe)

Ivo tests if hes still got it. (Easy Mode)

[nightplvmes]

one more time

xavier x fem!reader | nsfw, +18, MDNI!—explicit content, oral sex, over stimulation | an : if u have read my ANs of other one shots, i have already said many times that i do not know how to write nsfw and i am just starting and in this specific one shot it is evident, anyway… likes and reblogs are appreciated :) ★ masterlist here

"Come on, love. Just one more time," He murmured, sliding his hands under her hips to lift her.

She panted exhaustedly, she had lost count of how many times she had cum that night (three, it had only been three, actually). Xavier seemed… insatiable sometimes. Although he simply liked the taste of her too much or at least that's what he had said. She felt him spread her legs once again and didn't refuse, especially when the sight of her boyfriend between her legs was too much for her.

Xavier's eyes remained locked on her as he ran his tongue over her sensitive clit once more. She moaned and her hips bucked but he squeezed her gently to keep her in place. "Xav," she moaned, trying her best not to move too much. She was sensitive, her whole body was hot, and didn't know if she could handle a fourth orgasm in such a short time.

"Mmm…" She heard him make a noise that couldn't describe. His tongue running over every part of her, playing with her sensitive clit and then going back to play at her entrance. "I love your little noises." She smiled at his little compliments, the heat in her body rising once more. Rising, too fast. Too fast. Too fast.

"Xavier…" this time her voice seemed like a warning. He gripped her thighs tightly to hold her in place and her hips bucked as he sucked especially hard on her sensitive nub. "I'm close—fuck…" she managed to murmur between moans. Her fingers tangled in Xavier's hair, her moans coming out more ragged and quick. She was so close.

"Hold on a little longer for me," he murmured, kissing the inside of her thighs. She moaned, trying her best to hold back her orgasm. Her legs began to shake and her hips bucking against his tongue trying to rub against his tongue at her own pace.

"Xav… I can't," She whimpered desperately, feeling all the air leave her lungs, Xavier grabbed her hips again to prevent her from continuing to move at her own pace. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on anything other than Xavier's tongue playing with her clit or the way he made little noises of satisfaction. "I can't, I can't." Her back arched, unable to bear it any longer, he felt her warm walls around his tongue, her taste flooding his mouth once again, moaning in satisfaction.

She trembled with her labored breathing, her hips trying to move away from him as Xavier continued licking throughout her orgasm until he finally stopped, leaving kisses on her trembling legs. "So good…" He looked up, enjoying his girlfriend's trembling body after four orgasms. He placed one last kiss on her thighs before sliding beside her on the bed.

His arms went around her drawing her closer to him and she noticed his lips shone with the remains of her arousal. "I'll let you rest before round five," he murmured against her cheek and she moaned, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. Round five?

[pannman]

Reader learns Alastor's mother's Jambalaya recipe as a surprise

Reader: Hey Alastor, happy birthday!

Alastor: why y/n! You remembered! And... what is that, that smells so divine?

Reader: I made jambalaya. I've been practicing for months trying to make it taste just like yours

Alastor tastes the jambalaya*

Alastor: ....

Reader: do you like it?

Alastor: ...

Reader: is it-is it bad?

Alastor: ...hmm?

Reader: I'm sorry I thought it would be a nice gesture I-

Alastor cuts reader off with a hug*

Alastor: it tastes more like my mother used to make than even I could pull off. I don't know how you did it but thank you!

Alastor releases reader*

Alastor: how about we dine on this together?

Reader: I can't believe you actually hugged me

Alastor: yes, while I do find myself showing affection to others such as Mimzy or Rosie I'd rather appreciate it if you kept this our little secret

Reader: why?

Alastor: it's just a moment I'd rather keep between us

Reader: I don't understand. I made your mother's jambalaya and it tasted so much like hers that you hugged me and now you don't want me to tell anyo-ooooooohhh!!! Oh my gawd! You're embarrassed!

Alastor: I AM NOT!!!

Reader: that's fucking adorable!

Alastor: YOU ARE RUINING MY BIRTHDAY!

Reader: you don't want anyone to know you're a mama's boy!

Alastor: if you ever call me that again I'm putting YOU in the jambalaya

Reader: Fine, fine, fine just one more thing...

Alastor: and what. Is. That?

Reader: if your mother was here... would she like me?

Alastor: ...

Alastor sighs*

Alastor: she would love you

Reader: aaawwwwww!!!

Alastor: shut up!